Alone

Her sweet message read, “You are never alone,” and I accepted it in the generous spirit that it was intended. I am truly grateful for her intention that I know she is with me … though we have never shared physical space together. Yet, her words have had me replaying her message over and over for the past couple of months. And I am continually reminded that, if there is any one word that could define my life experience, it would, in fact, be “alone.”

I am recognized by many … known by a few … intimate with far fewer … and, ultimately, alone. This, for one whose core Being is inhabited by an eternal yearning for intimacy, is not a happy estate. Thusly, I have disciplined myself to live in a contented acceptance (no small feat,) and deal with the aloneness by willfully numbing my dominant senses.

Though I desire no more moments of this existence … I do succeed (most of the time) in creating happiness and even satisfaction in each day that is served up by Life. But, at the end of each of these days, I rest my head with no appetite for another.

I speak of this with no wish for any sort of response … however supportive or encouraging they may be in purpose or intent. But merely to convey the workings of my mind … that you may know me better. See … there I go again … doing that ‘intimate’ thing. [small smile]

The Truest Measure

The truest measure
of Man's character ...

is reflected in the scale,

of what it takes to upset him.

With this in mind ...


Many who would pose as Great,

are revealed as Minuscule.


Whereas ...


Many, who the World would dismiss

as Insignificant ...

become known as Monumental.

Really Good ...

Alecia phoned to bring me up to date with current happenings in her world. I must say that hearing from her is one of my life’s richest highlights. In the course of our brief conversation (she was calling on a quick break between classes) she spoke of one of her students. It seems that this particular young man is challenged by his pencil sharpener. You know the sort. That tiny plastic holder of a metal blade that one introduces the pencil into and turns the pencil until the little ribbon of removed wood reveals a freshly pointed lead. Well, this particular maneuver is beyond the abilities of the young man in question. He continually finds himself with a lead that is broken off inside the sharpener. Thus, he cannot accomplish the sharpening task.

I should point out here the fact that Alecia is certified as a Teacher of students who are identified as being in need of the program that addresses the individual requirements of ‘Exceptional Students.’ That is, students who life has presented with all manner of physical, emotional, and mental challenges. And this young man (age 11 or so) has had his particular challenges manifested in the tangible form of a repeatedly-broken pencil lead.

Having addressed this difficulty every day for an entire week, Alecia had the student confront her with a declaration, “You are really good at this! You should do it for a living.” … then a grateful smile. She thanked him and thought, to herself, “I am doing this for a living!” as she enjoyed the humor in that recognition. “With all of my education, specialized training, and accumulated experience, I am un-jamming broken pencil leads in cheap plastic pencil-sharpeners 'for a living'." And she just had to share the humor of this reality with her Dad (me.)

We had a good laugh, and I suggested that she might want to embellish her resume with this newly developed ‘professional skill.’ Then she was off to her next awaiting requirement at the school. It was then … in the ‘after-glow’ of reflection … that I allowed my many years of working with my son, Matthew, and those who comprised his world (those Individuals struggling with just the sort of hurdles that Alecia addresses every day) to inform me.

Imagine,if you will, the position of someone who sees everyone around him accomplishing the mundane and ordinary task of sharpening a pencil … and not being able to achieve success in your own effort to do the same. Place yourself in the stead of that One who is compelled to ask for assistance … yet again, and again, for an entire week … with this elementary chore.

Which brings me to a contemplative moment of consideration … as I ask … what opportunity to un-jam Someone’s ‘pencil-sharpener’ are we addressing in our individual life-path today? Are we edifying that Other as we pause with their moment of need? Or do we consider all of our Station, Position, experience, Role, expertise, or Importance of too great a significance, or value, to dally with such small and bothersome matters as we are being asked, by Life, to contemplate.

I would hope, for all of us, that, as the scriptures so beautifully entreat, we would ... “in whatever you do in word, or deed ... act with your intentions directed toward all that is eternal and the most pure ... giving thanks for the gift, of each opportunity, to do … and to be … what benefits others.” (The book of Colossians chapter 3 verse 17 [John-Michael’s version])

I pray that it be said, of each of us, by every Life that we are privileged to touch, “You are really good at this!”

Lovingly …

The Wonder of You

When I awakened this morning, this was 'playing' inside me. No! I haven't even the remotest clue why. I haven't heard either the song or the music for a very long time.

Nonetheless, I do love all that it speaks of ... and hope that it sparks some pleasure in you, Dear Friend, as well.

The Wonder of You

When no-one else can understand me
When everything I do is wrong
You give me hope and consolation
You give me strength to carry on

And you're always there to lend a hand
In everything I do
That's the wonder
The wonder of you

And when you smile the world is brighter
You touch my hand and I'm a king
Your kiss to me is worth a fortune
Your love for me is everything

I guess I'll never know the reason why
You love me like you do
That's the wonder
The wonder of you

The Wonder of You
Artist(Band):Elvis Presley
(words & music by Baker Knight)

One Word

It may be that I am vastly different from others. I really do not know how the putting away of feelings and impressions is accomplished by those around me. But I do know that I have a need to place the stuff of my life in order, with something akin to the systems that we employed in my 5th and 6th grade classroom. Our class was housed in the school library. Each day was begun by the checking in and shelving of the library books returned by the school’s student body.

Hence, we had to know the classification and sequencing system of each book in order to shelve it properly. So it is with my thoughts and feelings. I must identify, with an appropriate ‘label,’ each experienced emotional happening, in order to ‘file it away’ comfortably. So, you can see why those ‘labels’ are important to me.

Thus it is that I have been vexed for a number of years by my inability to affix a word to a couple of significant happenings in my life. I have long-known that the process of thought ... the management of impression, emotion, ideas, and the like ... is made possible by the ‘tools’ of thinking. Namely, words. Without those words … those tools … no processing of ideas, feelings, or emotions, is possible.

This awareness is what motivated me to devote every possible moment to the enriching of my son’s linguistic abilities. I would converse with him about totally inane subjects … matters of meaning and import … concepts of vague or abstract impression … specific linkages and/or sequencing of elements of life ...anything that would enable him to better engage in, his own private and personal, experiences of thinking, and sorting out, his mind and spirit’s workings.

I am pleased that I can rest in my knowledge that his abilities, in those areas, developed far beyond the most optimistic of projections, offered by specialists, in disciplines devoted to the treatment, and development, of persons with disabilities. He excelled over any projections presented in estimations of the long-range effects of his cerebral palsy. So, you see, I have a keen understanding of the import of those critical tools of language.

So a word … just the right word … is vitally important to me. And I never relent in my quest for that particular word … as I seek to define, and better understand, and respond to, my life experiences. That one word … that will enable me to place that experience in its proper place on the shelves of my experiential library.

Now, that’s a hell of a lot to say as a prelude to today’s happening. The light-bulb over the head moment when the perfect word presented itself to me. The word that identified, with absolute exactitude, that look that was in my daughter’s eyes when I last saw her. The word that explained all of the depth of meaning being transmitted by her words, demeanor, and spirit, as she dismissed me from her presence. The word that speaks of the volumes of understanding that was present when I was similarly dismissed from my mother’s presence as I, at age 20, left home. One word that I have not for all of these years, been able to find … that I might be able to affix an understanding that would satisfy (and bring resting comfort to my groping for closure.) At last I have been given the wonderful gift of that specific word … it is 'contempt.'

Now, at long last, I can rest in an understanding of what was being conveyed by those two individuals, in those happenings of five years ago (in the instance of my daughter’s presentation) and over forty years ago (with my mother’s indelible look.) I had not encountered that sensation outside of those two experiences … until last week. It was then that I was revisited with the flash-back recall of all of the feelings and emotions associated with a confrontation with contempt. In that instant, the clock of history was spun back … and I, again, saw that look in my mother’s eyes. I relived all that was still fresh from the archives of my recollection. I, afresh and anew, saw utter contempt in the face of my mother.

But now, unlike the previous time, I can simply, and quietly, label it for what it is … and shelve it … with determination to never check that volume out again.


Oxford English Dictionary

contempt
noun
The feeling that someone or something is worthless or beneath consideration.

My Morning Chapel

One of my very favorite songs is the old hymn "In the Garden." Part of it goes, "I come to the Garden alone ... while the dew is still on the roses."


Though this morning's dew is found clinging to magnolia blossoms, Spanish moss, and grasses and ground cover ...


I still felt my Spirit celebrating oneness with all that is eternal and holy.



I invite you to 'worship' with me ...

Amen!

The Moods of Sunrise on Lake Platt

I invite You to take a brief Moment ...

There!

I do, truly, hope that You allowed your Self the enjoyment of a deep breath ...
and, perhaps, even a sigh.

I thank You for sharing this Moment with me.

Lovingly ...

Her Effect

Passing loveliness ...

Fleeting chord ...

Wafting fragrance ...

Tingling air ...

Striking colors ...

All elicit response.

Now here ... then gone.

Impact ... then Memory.

Impression ... then afterglow.

Lofty peak ... then soft meadow.

Such is her effect.

The Mist that was her Presence.

The vapor that lingers.

She touched me.


John-Michael
4 May 2010

Be Still ...

“Know thyself”
Ascribed to: Plato, Pythagoras, and Socrates

“The spirit is the true self”
Cicero (MarcusTulliusCicero[106-43 BC])

“This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”
William Shakespeare(1564-1616)Hamlet(1601)

Let’s take a moment to consider our least known, but most valuable personal resource. That whisper that speaks to you in the stillness of your aloneness. But, pay heed... you have as a constant “resource” a multitude of voices that would try to convince you that all of the inclinations of your heart (the revelations of that frequently referred to, still. small inner voice) are “deceitful.” This white-bearded old man is here to tell you, in the strongest and most confidently clear voice imaginable, “value YOUR inner messenger.” This “still, small voice” is not emotion, or mood… not feelings or sentiment… but the insight and cognizance born of That which is beyond us. Do not allow outside voices to erode your confidence in the worth of either you (just exactly as you were created) or the Spirit to which you have committed the expression of yourself.

Here is a real-life story that reinforced my certainty in the worth of our inner voice. It was presented in a documentary dealing with a British anthropologist who went to the Bush to study a group of Aboriginal peoples. His specific interest became the Shaman or Medicine Man of the group. By the standard of the Westernized scientific world from which this academic came, this Shaman was as unimpressive as could possibly be imagined. He had but a few teeth remaining, a small stature, skin that made a crocodile’s look fair, but eyes that revealed the universe with a smile that compelled complete trust and confidence. The Shaman looked into the camera and said “I go to my places by the same path again and again. But sometimes my inner voice tells me ‘today a man waits for you with a sharp spear. Take another path today.’” And the Shaman’s face folded into a smiling cacophony of wrinkles as he concluded, “I have never met a man with a sharp spear.”

He always, without questioning, doubt, or hesitation, took the different path. He paid heed to the Spiritual message delivered as a quiet whisper to his consciousness. I was personally sold on the merit of this man’s inner voice when the documentarian closed his presentation with the fact that the anthropologist abandoned his previous life to become the disciple of the Shaman.

I am continually reminded, by Life’s frequent gifts to me, of the far-reaching value of “Be still and know…” For it is only in stillness that we can really hear. In that documentary, I heard my Spirit saying “listen, pay heed, and proceed with confidence in your trust of Me.”

Don’t you see? The Shaman didn’t inquire of his tribesmen, nor did he
examine the trail for forensic evidence. He went through no religious or ceremonial rites, nor did he wait for a study of the choice at hand. He simply listened to his inner voice and responded with confidence in Its distinct directive. It is so for me when I reach a point where I can tell that I have read all that I have need of reading, I have discussed all that is required to clarify my thinking, and I need only to allow that inner Resource to sift through all of the materials installed in my mental, emotional and spiritual archives to present the message for that present moment in my life… to “Be still and know…” Herein lies the wonder of BEING. That is the being of ME. The ME that answers for and accepts the responsibility for responding to Life’s prompts. The ME that is eternal.

IMAGE through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, Freefoto.com

Revisiting "When We Meet"

(Just because I wanted to) [smile]

When We Meet

I’ll not meet you side the highway,
Nor in the halls of commerce,
Where serenity and quiet,
Have no home … nor can be found.

I’ll reserve for us a table,
With a window on the Bayside.
Softly draped, with cloth of linen,
Weaved by noble Peasant hand.

We will sup with wine by locals.
Label known not to the merchant.
We will dine on fare from labours,
Of attentive, gentle care.

We'll be slow about our speaking.
Of each other we are learning.
Of each other are becoming,
More as One ... no more, the Twain.

We are learning, and accepting,
All that is our inner Beings.
All within us … all that makes us …
All defining who we are.

Can we cling to, save, this moment?
Can we hold it to our bosom?
Will it nurture and uphold us?
When our outside worlds, we face?

‘Tis most certain that we cannot.
For life’s swirling all about us.
This, the fledgling bond between us …
Life would pull and tear apart.

So please meet me, ere you wander,
In your busy life and duty,
At our table … by that window.
Where our Union knits, once more.


John-Michael
25 February 2008
Revised & Retitled 3 May 2009

Prelude to "The Magician's Blanket"

My wife asked me (more than once) why I felt compelled to tell my world about all that was most personal and private in my life. I remember, quite clearly, responding with something closely akin to “My experiences are the only things that I am the authority on. Only I can speak of the intricate details and elements that surround my experiences. And if any part of what I have lived can be used by anyone to make their life easier, less painful, better understood, or more enjoyable or happier … then I will not exercise some sense of protective selfishness in denying that person, or those persons, a gentler, more satisfying, or joyful moment in their pilgrimage. This is all that I am capable of giving … and I will not hesitate in giving it.” My answer did not assuage her desire to cloister her life from the knowing of others. But that is her choice. You, Dear Reader, know mine.

That said, I am responding to the urging of Lady Muse … and giving, here, some of the details surrounding my earlier “The Magician’s Blanket” post.

Breakfast at our favorite Diner had been previously planned … and (after my morning run) it was there that I went (still wearing perspiration soaked sweat-clothes) and found my business Partner in a booth with two young ladies.

“Here we go again!” I thought. Knowing my Partner to be the most charismatic and accomplished “Gamer” that I had ever met (and he still, to this day, holds that ‘distinction’), there was no shock at seeing him fully engaged in his favorite sport.

He introduced me to the two … one, the glamorous and finely turned out woman who was obviously accustomed to being the center of attention … the other, a very pretty young woman who was the filling the role as “companion to the Looker” that I too was familiar with in my social and business engagements with my associate and friend.

So, here we were … the two of them happily playing their well-rehearsed, and finely polished, game with each other (something akin to two creatures strutting their finery at the peak of mating season … determining whether there would be a conjugal conclusion that would be chalked up as one more on their sizable scorecards) … and the two sidekicks who had heard and seen it all far more times than could be tallied.

She and I said little … quiet looks exchanged … smiles and rolling of eyes that said volumes of understood knowing.

Then the two leading characters in our little play decided to move the production to the apartment that the two girls shared. It seemed that they planned to move to a new address in the near future. Mister Mover (pun intended) suggested that he and I (my participation was an easily assumed given [in his estimation]) wanted to survey the size and scope of the proposed move (the furniture, and etcetera … not the unspoken, but well understood ‘move’ that both he and she were sparring around). Thus we left the diner. Mister Smooth and Miss Glamour in his new, sporty, and very trendy car … and (by default) the two attachés in the second car.

Much like two ‘Seconds’ at a duel or sporting event, She and I accompanied our ‘Star Players’ as they continued their jocular joust.

But this time … something new and unanticipated was happening ... the magic of a drawing bond between us. It was first evidenced by our gently, quietly, and quite naturally taking each other’s hand as we walked to the car. We attributed it to the cold and our need to share some warmth. It was so appropriate and right that we continued holding each others' hand throughout the ride to the apartment.

Then, as The Two continued their ongoing sport, the two of us sat next to each other on the earlier-mentioned sofa … and talked. I still remember (these 30+ years later) what we talked about. This unassuming and delicate creature enjoyed her weekends driving a huge, four-wheel-drive pickup truck in “mud-boggin” competitions. I was amazed! And appalled. The thought of people purposefully abusing and misusing equipment and/or machinery was something that I could not countenance. My Dad had programmed me to respect, care for, pamper, and always protect all things of mechanical or technical nature. I could not fathom someone going into a deep mud-filled swamp with a beautiful piece of finely engineered machinery and, with intent and forethought, try to see how much abuse and challenge they could get their truck to survive. So, we talked, at length, about every aspect of this avocation. She was as amazed at my concern for her truck … and for her personal safety and well-being. An invisible chamber, of private seclusion, formed around us, as we shared perspectives.

It was quite cold in the apartment … so we employed the blanket spoken of in the earlier post. Then, after a while of celebrating the silent, yet eloquent, communication that can be known in holding hands (something that I will yearn for ‘til my last breath) ... without words, a kiss.

The noise of silliness coming from the others became almost an embarrassment … so we pulled the blanket up … over our heads … and formed the magical cocoon that I have spoken of. The rest I have already shared. (Save our, eventually, agreeing that we should go upstairs and “survey the bedroom furnishings” in keeping with the advertised purpose of our being there.) [conspiratorial grin] The Two were so wrapped up in their game that they assumed that their sidecar parties were simply attending to the mundanities that fringed their superficial frolics. (And we quietly giggled our appreciation of their self-absorption.)

So there, Dear Friends, is what is oft referred to as “The Rest of The Story.”

When I received an unexpected invitation to be a Friend (on a social networking site) to a lovely young woman, who I met recently, I happily agreed. She had made a very notable impression on me at our meeting. Beyond her obvious beauty, there was an evident depth of character … and something that rang familiar about her. So, I visited her profile … and was moved by a stirring that was profound and not understood. This 'stirring' kept me awake all night, with a powerful force that was beyond my understanding. It was most unsettling!

Then, in the stillness of early morning … with my first pot of coffee … it all came back. It was a bit over thirty years ago … this moment in my past … but crystalline clear. And I began to understand the similarities in my new friend, which brought that past treasure into my present.

I had met the young lady in question at a gathering of a group of friends … in a place that was very active and energetic … and she was a still pond in the midst of an active sea. There was a depth that was neither presumptuous nor disattached about her. … just as that precious woman had quietly and oh-so-beautifully displayed on that morning … so long ago.

And, on that morning of my recollection, as I recognized who my new friend reminded me of, I was engulfed in the the tsunami of recall that washed over me. It was overwhelming! And, at this writing … four days later … I am still dealing with tears welling up in waves of tender emotion and remembering. Sweet tears that taste of delight and peaceful joy. What a gift!

So, there you are, Dear Reader and Friend. I know not what benefit may be known, by some unknown Individual, from these revelations from my Library of Memory. But, trusting in the wisdom of my unfailing Lady Muse, and in keeping with that life commitment expressed to my former wife, I lay it all out there for the use of whomever may find some encouragement, insight, understanding, or even entertainment, in it. For, ‘tis still true that “My experience is all that I have to offer this world that I live in.”

And I do so … in love. [smile]

Andy Mackie ... "Harmonica Man"

Something that Steven (my sweet Little Brother) shared with me ...
and I simply MUST share with ... You!
Enjoy!
(I do love You, Ya know?!

The Magician's Blanket

Wrapped in that Blanket … the one recruited from the sofa that we shared … we became Subjects to the transforming powers of life’s Magician.

Concealed from all the world outside, we transformed into something of wonder and delight that had ne’er before been known.

Two people, who barely knew each others’ names …
we became a Oneness that shared a joyful pulse …
breathed a complimentary breath …

moved from the chill of the winter without … to a perspiration of sensual Tropics that existed only in the cocoon of our newly created world.

We touched … melded … melted into a warm liquid that flowed gently and easily over shores of receptive desires.

There were no Circumstances … no details … neither requirements nor responsibilities constraining our openness to each other.

There … on that sofa … in that little apartment … within the folds of that blanket’s security … we found Home.

All that was known then as Reality, has been blown away and scattered as the sands of the Sahara … no one grain known to any other.

What abides today … and lingers as Genuine … is the indelible Truth of our union.

Known to the rational and fact-encumbered mind, as “passing, fleeting, and momentary”... those moments have a legitimacy and substance that is as fresh now, as it was overwhelmingly present, then.

If only I could have had the presence of mind … the wisdom and maturity yet to come … to tell her that she was forever part of me … and wanted there.

But, alas, the cocoon melted away … the oasis of visited Bliss receded into the distance … circumstance and routine pulled us over inevitable horizons.

And here … today … I find us, and our envelope of satisfying fulfillment, comforting and evermore Precious.

(These are the reflections brought to the fore of my awareness, by a new Friend. My deepest and most sincerely admiring thanks to Her.)

Erdrich's "Advice to Myself"

LOUISE ERDRICH: [I’ve]” just got to be Erdrich. I can't do anything else. I'm going to read this, 'cause this is what I finally had to do. I had to give myself advice …”

Excerpted from: the transcript, of Bill Moyers’ interview of Louise Erdrich, found at … http://www.pbs.org/moyers/journal/04092010/transcript3.html ... and edited by John-Michael (in structure only [spacing, capitalizations, and punctuations] … no text altered)

Advice to Myself
Louise Erdrich

Leave the dishes.

Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
and earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.

Leave the black crumbs at the bottom of the toaster.


Throw the cracked bowl out and don't patch the cup.

Don't patch anything. Don't mend. Buy safety pins.

Don't even sew in a button.


Let the wind have its way … then the earth
that invades as dust … and then the dead,
foaming up, in gray rolls, under the couch.

Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.


Don't keep all the pieces of the puzzle ...
or the doll's tiny shoes …

Don't worry who uses whose toothbrush …
or if anything matches ... at all.

Except one Word to another … or a Thought.


Pursue the Authentic.

Go after it with all your Heart.

Your Heart, that Place
you don't even think of cleaning out.

That closet stuffed with savage mementos.


Don't sort the paperclips from screws from saved baby teeth
or worry if we're all eating cereal for dinner again.

Don't answer the telephone ... ever ...
or weep over anything that breaks.


Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons
in the refrigerator.

Accept new forms of life and talk to the dead
who drift in through the screened windows … who collect
patiently on tops of food jars and books.


Recycle the mail, don't read it … don't read anything
except what destroys the insulation
between your Self ... and your Experience.

Less ... More

My Being is rendered utterly mute by the power of the blossom

I am speechless …

Without vocabulary to adequately express

I have neither thought nor voice …

Sufficient to do justice to her beauty

Then … with the removal of light, with all of its revelations

I enter the realm of another sort of experiential awe

This visitation is suggested by line and contrast

‘Tis the eloquent Silhouette … Mistress of the Minimal

In the absence of detail, my Spirit picks up its brush

Coloring the Image with my own imaginings

The Silhouette invites my fuller participation … deeply within

My spiritual Voice is freed to whisper … even sing … its offerings

I participate, even more fully than possible in the presence of detail

Can it be true … that what seems Less, can be so much … More

IMAGES:
Through the generous courtesy of Ian Britton, freefoto.com
Through the generous courtesy of Jon Sullivan, pdphoto.org
Through the generous courtesy of BBC News