Runaway Train

“Every time that I have been here, you have instructed me to sit comfortably and then you have introduced your intended agenda …” I said to him, “Today, I would like for you to make yourself comfortable, and I am going to tell you what my agenda has been …” And I did. I told him about her. I told him about “us”, and how we had become “us.” And this remarkable man, who had guided, coaxed, instructed, advised, listened, exhorted, admonished, and cared about me, as my psychologist and friend, for years … was thunderstruck.

“For all of these years, I have learned all about the make-up, the elements, the structure of You. Over that time I have witnessed you trying to do all of the right and best things in life. But this is the first time that I have ever seen you ’alive.’ The lights are on and you are ’at home.’ You have been a human … doing all of your life’s required and expected things … and for the first time, I see you as a complete human being.” I listened to his summary statement … and responded, “So, I have evolved from a “Human Doing”, to a “Human Being.” And we shared a mutual smile of acknowledgement and agreement.

Since that day, I have been focused on my responsibilities to that Being that I now understand myself to have been wondrously created to be. And have assumed the posture that all of life’s required “doings”, the “stuff”, the details, will be well and rightly taken care as a natural out-flowing from my being my very best Me. As Ghandi so beautifully put it, I “must be the changes that I want to see in my world. Hence the license tag on my vehicle that reads “justbeingme.” Just as my Email address is “justbnmebrown@juno.com", and this blog is “Just-Being-John-Michael" as my testimony to whomever may be open and sensitive to the message suggested there. For, My Dear Reader, that is what I was best created to be … Me. No other person can be this individual that I alone am. And Life holds no one else responsible for being all that I am capable of being … other than Me.

I went, that day, long ago, from his office alive, aglow, and being those things from the inside, out. He said that She and I reminded him of a “runaway train”, and mailed me a tape of a song so-entitled (which I still have and smile every time that I see it.) That runaway train did as all runaway trains must do … it eventually surrendered to natural forces, circumstances, and elements … slowed … stopped … discharged its passengers, one at a time, at different stations, for them to pursue their own individual purposes. But I now write, and live, in the residual power of what I retain from that illumination, that life energy, and that sense of being that she and I discovered on our beautifully wild and wonderful train ride. And I will forever love and respect her, and all of my memories of that gift of our moments together.

"What do you want?"

I was , recently, asked, by a new friend (as she discovers just who I am) ... a very special lady introduced to me by Steven (my Darlin' Brother) ... "What do you want?" A very fair and honorable question. To which I responded with an Email containing the little summary that I now share with you.

Why? I share it with you because it occurs to me that we could have a delightful time allowing ourselves to get to know ourselves better ... and enjoy ourselves even better ... if we candidly examined our first "knee-jerk" reactions to that very fine question.

So, my Dear Reader, I submit my bit of a response ... and encourage you to do what I did, this morning, and jot down your own spirit's reflexive responses to the question.

So ... what I want is ...

INTIMACY ... in thoughts, ideas, conversation, feelings, and shared activities.
CHILDREN ... Their sounds, curiosity, silliness, struggles, laughter, and hugs. To know their sense of security and comfort in the bosom of my presence and care.
TOUCHING ... Fingertips, arms, face, neck ... freely, often, comfortably, gently, appreciatively, and spontaneously.
KNOWING SMILES ... Private, quiet, random, filled with meaning and fun, lingering and savored.
UNBOUNDED ACCEPTANCE ... All inclusive.
MUTUAL ADORATION
KINDNESS

And as the song goes ... "These are a few of my favorite things."

And then there is what I said in ... http://justbeingjohnmichael.blogspot.com/2007/02/i-desire.html

Now ... while I DO appreciate, and enjoy GREATLY your comments on what you see and feel to be the merits, usefulness, and value, to you, of any of my "meanderings of the mind" ... please don't respond to this by clicking on "comments" if you want to have a bit of a chat on the subject ... for, as you have probably noticed, I do not employ that area for "chatting." But if you do feel like a good chat on this (or any other topic) please accept my invitation to Email me at ... justbnmebrown@juno.com , and I will happily answer.

'Til then, as always, I remain your faithful Friend and caring Servant

Living in Bed

“We can’t live our entire lives in bed!” was her response to an uncomfortable moment in our relationship. And we both understood that her words were not the literal rendering of her conviction at that moment … so when she amended her comment (a short moment later) with “But it would be worth trying to.” We smiled with our unspoken agreement in those unspecified truths that she was making an effort to articulate. And now, nearly twenty years later, I am still considering the import of what she was, then, trying to express.

“We can’t live our entire lives expressing our unguarded desires and emotions in an environment free of demands, requirements, expectations, or conditions. We can’t know, as our common experience, openness and candor … hilarious gaiety … whilst resting in our trust of all those surrounding us. We must deal with the conflicts and intrusions brought upon us by the roles, positions, and responsibilities imposed upon us by the world outside of ourselves. But it sure would be worth making the effort to make it otherwise!” This is what she was trying to say. What I have been considering all of these years later as I reflect on the lessons presented to me by that circumstance along with the myriad others in my life-curriculum.

What I share with you, My Dear Reader … as you search for a vocabulary to give voice to those impulses and inclinations that are perking within your spirit … is in the hope that I may, in some very small way, enable you to understand, accept, embrace, and ultimately celebrate a healthy realization of your innermost yearnings. That you may enjoy (YES, it is possible!) every element (or, at least, most ) of your life.

As I, simultaneously, hope that She has found the language to communicate Her desires to the one to whom she is married … and that they, together, might be basking in the glories of a life joyfully fulfilled .

Bayou's Memory

They were tiny gems … scattered randomly amongst the dunes of business detritus that constituted daily demands. Each one deposited with care … and having its own worth and value particular to its source … a poem … an inspirational quotation … a personal encouragement … the lyrics to a song. One by one left on my desktop … in an unmarked envelope … awaiting my discovering.

These were my immediate recollections upon seeing the photo of that particular bayou in Monday’s newspaper. That bayou where She was married to the man who became the father of their child … and is, these nearly forty years later, her husband. But at the time of her gifts to me … she was my soul’s hope … the lifting inspiration to my beleaguered Spirit. She believed in me when I had neither confidence nor belief in myself. She knew, in that beautiful core of her sensitive Self, the crushing weight of conflicts that besieged me. And she reached into my conflicted life with quietly deposited gems of healing, awakening, regenerating insight and hope.

Hers was the freely given gift of unqualified and unencumbered love. Expressed in unobtrusive ways that were never-before experienced by me. I had no knowledge of the poets, nor of the philosophers, nor of the thinkers whose words she knew would minister to the agonies of my daily battles between my unrestrained idealism and un-tempered spiritualism, and the world in which I worked. Hers was the gift of, first, small “flotation devices” to keep me from emotional drowning. Then timbers of ideas and perspectives with which I could begin building bridges between my romantic idealisms and the stark demands of the corporate beaurocracies that my work thrust me into. And when I would see her in the hallways of that place in which we worked … she simply smiled. A smile that said “you are OK! … and I believe in you.”

That you, My Dear Reader, may know the permanent and ever-endearing power of allowing yourself to acknowledge that Still Small Voice within you when it whispers a message of concern for another … and then responding in whatever small way you find available to you … I recount this treasured memory that will forever reside in my heart. She did not resolve my conflicts … She did not conquer my personal demons … She simply, in love, let me know that I was not alone … and that someone cared, and believed in me. I am forever grateful and blessed.


IMAGE: Jerry Maloney Art

My Ride

“I have been watching you as you pass by … and I want to see what it would be like to share in your traveling experience. My present circumstance does not afford opportunity for my spirit to fully express itself … and I have fantasies about the potential joys awaiting our traveling together.”

This is the condensed and abbreviated message spoken to me by 'Her' … 'She' being in the person of several with whom I have shared my life journey for varying lengths of time, and in various forms of “travel modes.” What has been universally true of all of them is that She eventually relegated me to a role as chauffeur and/or guide whilst She gazed longingly upon other travelers, as they passed by Her window, in their vehicles of other description and circumstance. And I have repeatedly refused to be relegated to traveling in an environment of indifference and uncaring, disattached, aloneness. So, I have always found an emotionally safe place to discharge Her from my presence that She may pursue her interests and desires unencumbered by my presence.

What I have learned is that I, by far, prefer making my life-pilgrimage in solitude (though my deepest core yearning is for intimate romance as a constant presence and companion) … to having to accommodate the presence of someone who is perpetually in search of some “improved” status, comfort, or image that may be gained through some other association or modification to Her association with me.

This is, no doubt, what I find so charming about the image of the person traveling in a make-shift donkey cart, down a highway built for the latest and most advanced of state-of-the-art vehicles. The message to my soul, in that image, is one of the most intimate experiencing of a journey … taking in, at a soul-friendly pace, all of the elements of the environment traveled through … smelling all of the fragrances … feeling each bump and vibration of life‘s highway … hearing all of life’s soundtrack … tasting and savoring Nature’s aliveness … and having the time to permit all of it to register and be recorded in the treasury of my mind. Hence, I still travel alone … knowing, full-well, that the world … the culture … the society in which I walk my personal walk … is one of constant, comparative evaluations and judgments based on material standards set by never-satisfied economic forces. For I have not, as yet, discovered Her … that person who would opt to … would have the desire to … could not wait to tune out the prevailing voices of the surrounding world to know the fun and joy of traveling with me for the sake of simply being an integral part of me in my unique life-walk.

So … Dear Friend, I travel solo for this moment. And I find ways to form thoughts like this into language that I can share with you. Hoping that by doing so, I can awaken a fresh awareness, in both you and myself, of aspects of our inner Beings that have a hunger for attention … but have lacked for a forum for expression. And that has made you a valued partner in my journey and in my life. Your responses to my seedlings of thought give rise to the germination of more refined strains of realization. And, as these blossom, I will continue to share the fruits with you. For we share a magnificent Spirit within us … and that Spirit … with Love’s motivation … has the potential for you and me to make our personal world a bit better for all who are touched by our presence. And this is a worthy venture.

Cavorting

“Cavorting!” … This is the word that proclaimed itself to my mind in the instant of my awakening. And that is what Dad and I had just been doing. Then I awoke … and had the immediate realization ... “Dad is dead!” (for this is, in truth, the fact.) Yet I was stilled for a moment by the suddenness of my recollection. What I had just been enjoying was something that had never been a reality for Dad and me … “cavorting together” … though he and I had a long-running, tacit agreement that we would have loved to.

The closest that we ever came was on that Thanksgiving Day, some years ago, when I showed up, at the home that he and Mom shared, with the promised Thanksgiving feast purchased from a restaurant. All of the side dishes were prepared and ready. All that was required (as I now recall) was the baking of the turkey that the restaurant had made ready in a pan.

Given the fact that a span of a few hours was needed for the roasting of “the bird”, Dad and I obtained the reluctant approval, from Mom (who did not like the idea of participating in an excursion just for the joy of it), for the two of us to set out on an exploratory drive in my new Jeep Cherokee. So … off we went. And I do not remember having ever seen Dad have such a child-like delight in an adventure. Lighthearted laughter and freedom of spirit were our companions.

We drove to a spot that had a view over the Bay to the flashing light of what remains of the Egmont Key Lighthouse where his Dad (my Grandfather) had served as Assistant Lighthouse Keeper in Dad’s youth. We read the inscription on the memorial to the sailors lost in the sinking of a Coast Guard ship … whilst savoring the distinct aromas of the head-waters of the Bay. We treated ourselves to some silly snacks from vending machines (something that Dad had always considered an expense far beyond rational reason.) I showed him new avenues of travel made possible by the construction of bridges and roadways that he had no idea existed. And we arrived back home later than Mom had allowed was considerate of her.

As I spoke with Dad through the open window of the Jeep, upon taking my leave and subsequent to a very miserable evening of strained submission to an air of guilt and reproof, Dad said only “I’ll never do that again!” And, of course, we never did.

But we did cavort! Just that once. But it was enough for me to have a recollection, just now, of how wonderful it was.

I miss you Dad. (And I miss all of the cavorting that we never did.)

[Definition: “Cavort”/ To act or behave in a jovial and exuberant fashion. ]

There Is No Death

Life knew of Dee’s loss. I did not. So, when I discovered the complete text of a poem that I had previously known of only in part … I simply smiled a knowing smile and expected that Life would soon tell me why it was important that I mark the page in the book of poetry. Not more than an hour later, I read an Email from one of my dearest of friends, Carole, and she asked that I prayerfully keep Dee in my thoughts. For, just this Tuesday, she lost her Dad.

There was neither question nor hesitation to turn to the marked page, type the poem, and place it here … to encourage Dee’s heart … respond to Carole’s love for her friend … and provide yet another example of the wondrous workings of Life’s Spirit when we will but be available and responsive to its Voice.

Please accept this work by J. L. MCCREERY … my gift to Dee, Carole, and to You, my dear Reader.

THERE IS NO DEATH

There is no death! The stars go down
To rise upon some other shore,
And bright in heaven’s jeweled crown
They shine forevermore.

There is no death! The forest leaves
Convert to life the viewless air;
The rocks disorganize to feed
The hungry moss they bear.

There is no death! The dust we tread
Shall change, beneath the summer showers
To golden grain, or mellowed fruit,
Or rainbow-tinted flowers.

There is no death! The choicest gifts
That heaven hath kindly lent to earth
Are ever first to seek again
The country of their birth.

And all things that for growth or joy
Are worthy of our love or care,
Whose loss has left us desolate,
Are safely garnered there.

Though life become a desert waste,
We know its fairest, sweetest flowers,
Transplanted into paradise,
Adorn immortal bowers.

The voice of birdlike melody
That we have missed and mourned so long,
Now mingles with the angel choir
In everlasting song.

There is no death! Although we grieve
When beautiful, familiar forms
That we have learned to love are torn
From our embracing arms …

Although with bowed and breaking heart,
With sable garb and silent tread,
We bear the senseless dust to rest,
And say that they are “dead,”

They are not dead! They have but passed
Beyond the mists that blind us here
Into the new and larger life
Of that serener sphere.

They have but dropped their robe of clay
To put their shining raiment on;
They have not wandered far away …
They are not “lost” nor “gone.”

Though disenthralled and glorified
They still are here and love us yet;
The dear ones they have left behind
They never can forget.

And sometimes, when our hearts grow faint
Amid temptations fierce and deep,
Or when the wildly raging waves
Of grief or passion sweep,

We feel upon our fevered brow
Their gentle touch, their breath of balm;
Their arms enfold us, and our hearts
Grow comforted and calm.

And ever near us, though unseen,
The dear, immortal spirits tread …
For all the boundless universe
Is Life … there are no dead!

J L MCCREERY

Your Life's Meaning

“Is this what gives meaning to your life?” A question that I have oft asked of myself. “Is the energy of this moment the defining power of your living?” “Is the music, inspiring your life’s dance, the melody that most honestly speaks the desires of your heart?” “Are you being true to all that is the precious core of You?”

I do not grade or rank the worth of the task or activity in which I am engaged. No, Dear Friend … I, instead, weigh the merits of my heart’s intention‘s in my engagement in any enterprise. And … only then … do I ascribe my own quiet appraisal of value in my endeavor.

I will not accept anger as my life’s meaning. Nor hate. Not even irritation. And certainly not malice. How dreadful I would feel if I felt that my life’s meaning could be defined as any one of those or their miserable cousins; bitterness, contempt, hostility, or vengefulness. I can not even consider carrying the burden of such as my daily baggage. For I opt, to the contrary, for a daily walk made lighter by the lifting spirit of a heart made glad by contemplation of all that is good. I am, you could say, made lazy by my addiction to easiness of spirit.

I write of these things today, in response to what I have recently seen and heard in the lives of some with whom I share my life path. I have witnessed the pain of their insistence on dwelling on all of those crippling voices of dark considerations. And I cannot bear the destructiveness of such a walk. Finding myself in proximity to such an environment of negative waste tears me down and renders me weak and useless. So I remind myself … as I refresh your memory … in the recollection of one of my favorite scriptural formulae:

“Whatsoever things are true;
Whatsoever things are honest;
Whatsoever things are just;
Whatsoever things are pure;
Whatsoever things are lovely;
Whatsoever things are of good repute;
If there be any virtue;
If there be any praise;
Think on these things.”
Philippians Ch4, V8

There you are! What, I ask you, could possibly be simpler? For how can we allow a seed of anger to be “planted” in our mind … and then ask why we are not reaping joy? Can we rationally expect peace to be the fruit of our allowing hatred to take root in our thinking? Does frustration and anxiety render a harvest of satisfaction and contentment? Please, My Dear Reader, permit me to suggest the beauty of the simplest and most rudimentary of formulae. Only cling to what you want to embrace as worthy of your life’s meaning. And gently turn your back on all of the world’s encouragements to devalue yourself with tabloid noise.

In the hope that you find a bit of encouragement in these considerations, I remain (as always) your loving and caring Friend and willing Servant.

Empty Nest

Having, in love, cared for, nurtured, and celebrated the gift, to my life, of a few, very special, beautiful, and unique 'injured birds' ...





Enabling them, each
in their own time …
with my unreserved
support and encouragement … and following their own individual inclinations …
to fly away …


I am, now, alone …
save the accumulated
feathers of marvelous,
colorful, and sacred
memories.






IMAGES: (upper to lower), www.iaw.on.ca, www.pionusparrot.com, www.terryco.us

Alien

My life pathway occasionally intersects that of a person who has touched my core … and my soul aches for her. For, what I hear from her is a crying Spirit that is lost … and I am intimately familiar with that pain. Whilst my miseries are something of my past, the awareness of feeling as an Alien in my personal world is forever fresh. Thusly, I am doing the only thing that I can for this young woman … I am telling her, here, that she is known … she is heard … and she is loved. And she is, above all, not alone.

Alien

An alien to all that constitutes her environment …
Wanting … no, Needing to find a place of comfort …
Plagued by her exceptional capacities carried within her notable qualities,
She cannot naturally meld into the safety of obscure anonymity.

So she must camouflage herself with defacements common to the others,
Assume the language and behaviors that conceal her innate endowments,
And avoid any challenges to the legitimacy of her portrayal …
Most importantly, challenges borne of her own awareness.

Unknown to her, the others find validation for their behaviors,
In her degradation of her appearance and demeanor.
For they all see the extraordinary gifts that are naturally hers,
Making their shared cycles of mimicry for comfort, an endless waste.

Only in those still, lone, and quiet moments of painful reflection,
Does she find herself confronted with unidentified frustrations,
As dissatisfaction, and Self loathing drive her to Self punishment.
Inflicting wounds … tangible, real, and knowable … for all else is too dark and unknowable … while these are accepted as deserved flagellations.

Hidden Spirits

“How do you lift spirits that are hiding and refusing to come out?”

This is the question directed to me by a new acquaintance last week. And, before I could respond, the person initiating the question informed me that they had decided to retreat behind the walls of their familiar fortress of sarcasm and feign indifference to the matter.

I am left, therefore, to offer an answer to the question, posed in a moment of fleeting openness, and hope that even if that person does not choose to consider it … perhaps Life has someone else at a point of readiness or need for this thought. For, I readily recall that on more than one instance, in my own life, the same perplexing query challenged my mind. So, I ask that you consider, with me, the possibilities in this idea.

For, My Dear Friend, the answer to why we have some aspect of our Self “hiding” and not allowing our conscious awareness to address it … just may simply be … Fear. That’s right … we do indeed hide parts of ourselves away from the dangers of ridicule, rejection, disapproval, and belittlement. And, unfortunately, the source of all of those negative responses is, all too often, ourselves. So we are saving ourselves the perceived possibly of conflict with ourselves … as well as all of the world round about us. Which leaves us still with the question … “What to do?”

The easy (yes … it can, indeed, be easy) answer is … create an environment that will be supportive, respectful, and honoring of all elements of our particular and individual inclinations, appetites, opinions, and persuasions. Generate a space, in thought and in practice, that validates the innate worth of that “spirit” that is seeking the shelter and protection of concealment. Accept and then rest in the knowledge that every element of each of us has merit. And should be treated with dignity and respect (whether it is socially, politically, or culturally “correct”, or not.)

To the rescue; Dr. Edwin O. Timmons of L.S.U. (Louisiana State University.) Now settle back a bit and consider, with me, what Dr. Timmons had to offer. He illustrated this conflict between the all-inclusive ME and the ME that I allow myself to acknowledge, and make known to others… as an ONION. That’s right, your garden variety vegetable (or whatever an onion is.) It was his idea that if we were to chart a description of our natural Creator-given traits and connected the points on that chart with a line we would have our true inner selves represented by what he called “our inner zigzag.” Pretty high-tech stuff huh? Bear with us now, it gets better, I promise. Let’s suppose that when we first make some expression of our little “zigzag” our expression is met (probably by Mommy) with some form of rejection or reproof “no, no, mustn’t do that…” We, for the first time in our fledgling experience, modify our behavior to avoid conflict or gain acceptance and/or approval. This “layer of behavior” Dr. Timmons referred to as an “onionskin” of behavior put in place to protect our ever-sensitive “zigzag.” That “spirit” that we hide away behind our protective “onionskins.”

Over the years of our lives, we develop, through countless experiences with innumerable persons in myriad circumstances, an infinite number of these layers of behaviors that insulate our inner-selves from any chance of hurt to ourselves or offense to others to whom we feel responsible. So what my friends recognized as ME … and I permit myself to accept an awareness of … was the carefully accumulated “onion” that I, with the best of intent, had painstakingly surrounded my fragile inner spirit-self with. This is what I give license to be perceived from without.

Now … with this insight, perhaps we can relax a bit, and put out a “welcome mat” for those aspects of our Being that have been, heretofore, so painfully repressed. “It’s all cool!” we can tell ourselves, “All that I am is valuable and worthy of my acceptance, respect, and yes, even celebration. And I will accept nothing less from those who would be my life companions. What I am, and who I am is my gift from the Creator. And I am grateful.”

With my sincere gratitude to the One who sent that original question to me … and my loving desire for those who may benefit from this little insight to find something of use in my expression … I bid you, Dear Reader, all kindness and happiness as we walk this life-path together.

Living

I share my celebration of my brother, Steven, with you today. For, you see, he is an embodiment, of this poem, who I appreciate an intimate knowledge of. And, in knowing him, I know a pleasure and delight that makes my life richer and happier.

Living
(author unknown)

To touch the Cup with eager lips and taste, not drain it;
To woo and tempt and court a Bliss … and not attain it;
To fondle and caress a Joy, yet hold it lightly,
Lest it become a necessity and cling too tightly;
To watch the sun set in the west without regretting;
To hail its advent in the east … the night forgetting;
To smother care in happiness and grief in laughter;
To hold the present close … not questioning hereafter;
To have enough to share … to know the joy of giving;
To thrill with all the sweets of life … is living.

IMAGE Steve Rannie (viewer), BBC News

View of Life

Some call it a “Romantic” view of life. They insist that to see the beauty, to hear the harmonies, to feel the gentleness and opt for kindness is to be “unrealistic” in perspective.
Their argument would have us devalue the very real presence of life’s best. But alas, Dear Friend, for us to adhere to what is proclaimed by news media, public forum, and religious rantings as the “factual” and deny the always-present good and lovely … is to harden our Spirit’s ability to respond to the elements of living that nurture, encourage, stimulate, and enliven its existence.

I choose (and it is, My Friend, a matter of individual choice) to embrace every small moment of joy … to proclaim the merits of all that is beautiful …
to encourage and celebrate each act of kindness, thoughtfulness, loving generosity, and selflessness that I am aware of … to all of the world that is so starved for hope, happiness, peace, and loveliness.

Does this mean that this old Romantic is oblivious to the overabundance of mean, unkind, greedy, ugly, and even evil forces and influences that are a constant presence all about us all? Certainly not, Dear One! All of those aspects of life on this ever-shrinking globe are options that constantly clamor for my focus … but I choose to protect my soul from the excessive pain, discomfort, and agony that would accompany my opening of my Self to their influence.

Again, it is a matter of disciplined election.

So, in keeping with that understanding, I send these hope-filled, spirit-stirring, and deliciously inviting images to your Soul and Spirit today.

Because I do, indeed, love You … and am committed to contributing all that I can, to a joyful and peaceful Today … for You.

These IMAGES through the gracious courtesies of Ian Britton (upper and lower images), FreeFoto.com; and Jon Sullivan (center 2 images), PDPhoto.org

Beneath the Surface

As you begin this new week ... please allow me to challenge you to slow yourself ... take a healthy, cleansing breath ... and go just a bit beneath the surface of the experiences offered to you by Life this week.

For, My Dear Reader, I promise you that there is beauty and exquisite wonder beneath that superficial conversation ... that surface phone call ... that exchange with co-worker, family member, neighbor, or friend. If you will but simply relax for a moment ... and permit yourself to drift with the current of the instant and discover the wonder that lies just beneath the surface of your life's fleeting happenings.

I am anxious to hear, from You, about the treasures that you find as you enjoy this exercise.

These IMAGES are from the BBC's presentation of winners of a photo competition sponsored by the conservation group Reef Check … celebrating special life forms found on Australia’s coral reefs. The UPPER IMAGE is by John Natoli, and the LOWER IMAGE by Justin Gilligan

Those Who Are Wronged

Whilst reading one of my favorite writers (Ken Follett) today, I came across an intriguing paradox that had the 'ring' of a quotation. I was impressed enough to search for the source ... and though I find the thought expressed by several ... none is attributed. It matters not ... for I have my own preference in stating the idea.

So, Dear Reader, whilst you enjoy this image gleaned from Jon Sullivan's travels to Ireland, I offer my perspective on the paradoxical idea gleaned from my reading. I ask that you consider, with me, the behaviors of those who have treated us shabbily ... and now act as though we have caused them some offense as victims of their misbehavior. I smile in rueful recognition. (enjoy the image!)

Those who are wronged … are never forgiven.

IMAGE through the gracious courtesy of Jon Sullivan, PDPhoto.org