A Better Man | Playing For Change featuring Keb' Mo'

'Should you notice me singing to myself (which I often do) as I amble through the Market, the chances are pretty good that this is what I am singing ...



I challenge you to try to be "Down" with this song on your Heart! [loving smile]

"The Human Touch" revisited

In this day of applied Programs, Plans, Initiatives, and Systems, there is a void that is all too often left wanting. That want is addressed by this work of Spencer Michael Free. He (from his perspective as a practicing physician) spoke to an elementary requirement of the Human Spirit.

In response to a sweet reminder of this post (thank you Maria), I ask that we consider the power and potential that awaits each of us… if we will but offer our own personal provision of “The Human Touch.”

The Human Touch

'Tis the human touch in this world that counts,
The touch of your hand and mine,
Which means far more to the fainting heart
Than shelter and bread and wine;
For shelter is gone when the night is o’er,
And bread lasts only for a day,
But the touch of the hand and the sound of the voice
Sing on in the soul alway.


Spencer Michael Free (1856-1938)
Free graduated from the College of Physicians and Surgeons of the Johns Hopkins University in 1880, and practiced medicine and surgery for some fifty years thereafter. In addition to some one hundred medical papers, he wrote many poems.


IMAGE: Maria Brandstetter, BBC

Painful Presumptions

As with the previous post, I have offered this one before ... a bit over a couple of years ago being the most recent. But it is something that resonates within me, and I want to offer it to that those who are newer Readers. Again, with apologies to my lovely Friends who have seen it before ... here 'tis ...

Pre-sume /verb/ suppose that something is the case on the basis of probability
[The New Oxford American Dictionary]

He went forward on the presumption that He had the necessary understanding of the situation to equip himself for success. The elderly Gentleman (assumed to be the next-door neighbor) told him that after the locked door was overcome with the assistance of the ax (offered by the Gentleman for that task) He would encounter some resistance due to the rug that the occupant of the house customarily kept rolled up against the door as a deterrent to cold draught. And, indeed, after smashing the lock mechanism with said ax, He did, in fact, realize a firm, but yielding, resistance quite natural to a heavy rug. Hence, after persuading the rug to allow the opening of the door for a distance barely sufficient for his body to crawl through, he flattened himself to the floor and projected himself into the smoke-filled room and made his first attempt to evaluate the situation.

Having never before confronted a burning building, He was encouraged by the realization that the long ago learned (from sources not remembered) theory that there would be a space at floor level where the smoke would be eight or ten inches above the floor itself. And surely this was the reality that He encountered, as into that narrow space He crawled, and inched toward the room where He could clearly see the flames hungrily consuming every element and surface. This was the room that the neighbor had told him that the three children were normally in. Three small children who had been left by their mother who had gone for a quick visit to the store that was but around the corner. Three small children whose voices had been heard screaming for help just a short while before He had appeared upon the scene.

And now He was trying, through the acrid, oxygen-starved haze of that narrow corridor at floor level, to locate the children. Back out of the room He came to recharge his lungs with air. Choking, spitting, and coughing out disgusting remnants of that life-denying gas, He steeled himself for another entry. Again, He pushed past the rug-impaired opening and extended himself still further into the kitchen and toward what seemed to be the now fully consumed dining area of this small tinderbox of a dwelling. No luck … nothing … not a single child in sight and the heated chemical residue of all that the flames were converting into toxic gases scalded his eyes and his throat.

Back out, across the tiny deck that served as the back porch and into the small yard that was itself becoming engulfed in the stench of the fog from the fire. This time the neighbor was there with water (from some source that was not noticed) and offered to cool and wash his face. The water was gratefully accepted and used to wet his handkerchief, which He placed over his now-parched mouth and nose for his last foray into the hellhole of that inferno. He could only think of three small children who had not been heard from nor seen for what was beginning to seem like forever. Cursing the weight of that damned rug for its bulky resistance, He pushed yet again into now known territory and this time beyond until his lungs demanded retreat. Failure! With the mucous of a pulmonary system ridding itself of intruding threats pouring from his mouth, his nose, and even his eyes, He heard the arrival of the fire fighters.

To the first Firefighter to come into the back yard (where He and the, now still and silent, ancient neighbor stood) He yelled the information that He presumed to be a statement of all pertinent facts. The Firefighter gave him a look that was a puzzlement to him though it lasted but a fraction of a second. Then, to his astonishment, this huge (or so he seemed, clothed, as he was, in all of his fire-fighting equipment) fellow simply took a seat on that self-same tiny porch. The Man just sat there … “How absurd” He thought. He had just moments before used that surface as a launch area for entry into the chamber of unspeakable horror. “How can he be simply taking a seat and not doing anything?” He thought and wanted to scream.

Then … calmly … with measured deliberation … that Fireman leaned back, reached behind himself, around the still-open door, and, obviously (from the grimace of effort registered on his face) grasped that rug that had thrice been such an impediment to the would-be Rescuer, and pulled forth ... not a rug … oh no … a small boy! Cradling the inert form in his arms and hurrying toward the waiting medical equipment at the front of the blazing structure, the professional Angel of Mercy looked at the pair of dumbstruck observers and said “The children always go to the nearest door … and that’s where we usually find them.”

He had gone past that child three times. He had presumed the bulky weight to be what He had been told to expect there. He had presumed that He had all of the information necessary to do his best for the best outcome. He was ignorant of unknown probabilities. It is now thirty-seven years later and He still feels … really senses an actual awareness of the soft, ungiving weight of that little boy’s body as He pushed against it. He had cursed it for its impediment to his efforts to reach the children. Every time He now hears or sees a fire truck on its way to affect a rescue He instantly relives that moment. That boy would be somewhere around forty five years old now … but he is not. He never had a chance to be. And I … that’s right, I … will never stop regretting the presumptions that I made that day.

If there were no other reason for my efforts to share my perspectives … my ‘lessons learned’ … my little insights into this business of life ... the provision of an expanded set of possibilities for your consideration would be reason enough. I will do everything that I can to equip you with a wider understanding; a broader scope of outlook; an awareness of a more useful set of possibilities for your use in your entering into whatever areas of unknowns that present themselves to you. I can never accept the possibility that my reticence could leave you vulnerable to the pain, the unhappiness, the disappointment of missing the potential blessing of any experience … because your presumptions were left minus an expanded scope of possibilities that I could have offered you.

When I pledge myself to you as “Your Friend and Servant” (as I so frequently do) there is always, in my Soul, an awareness of the weight of some ‘rug’ against which you may be pushing in your life. And I must help you see the life potentials that could be there if only you know where to reach … what to grasp … perhaps, how to react.

To that end, I remain, as always, Your faithful Friend and willing Servant,

John-Michael
(originally penned 29July2005)



(IMAGEs: Through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com)

Generosity of Spirit

"It is the individual who is not interested in his fellow men who has the greatest difficulties in life and provides the greatest injury to others." ALFRED ADLER

Many years ago, I found myself kneeling at the finish line, on a track with six lanes of “runners” coming toward me … my camera at the ready … cheering the Runner progressing toward me in the lane that I occupied … and feeling the tug at my heart-strings as I saw him falling further and further behind the competitors in the five other lanes. The runner was my son. The event was one of several that he was competing in as part of the annual Special Olympics (a version of athletic competition tailored to the special limitations [all mentally impaired to differing degrees … some physically impaired] of its participants.) My son has cerebral palsy and the portions of his brain effected result in a moderate impairment of his intellectual functions as well as a minimal impairment of his hips, and legs. He was, on that day, the only participant in that race who relied in the services of crutches. And it was due to this limitation that he was losing ground to the other competitors.
My role, in all of this, was to subtly assist him in maintaining a focus on his own lane so that he would not drift off into the adjoining lanes. (That challenge of "focus" being one of the aspects of his impairment.) I accomplished this (without causing him the embarrassment that would accompany an obvious display of my intentions) by appearing to be intent on photographing him as he raced. I could see the growing dismay in his eyes as he recognized the inevitability of crossing the finish line well after all of the others had.

Then a wonderful thing, that (even at this moment, all of these years later) still has my eyes brimming with tears, at the recollection. The runner in the lane to my son’s right looked over his shoulder … saw the sadness and frustration on my son’s face … and stopped … and waited … and ushered my son … ahead of him … across the finish line. And then applauded my son (while also cheering him.)
Need I say anything more? Is there anything that my words could add to the eloquence of that young man’s sermon in demonstrated compassion and self-sacrifice? Can the poetry of one person’s obvious generosity of spirit be enhanced by anyone else’s commentary? I think not! So rather than speak to that young gentleman’s nobility, I will speak to us … You and Me.
Would it take so much for us to step aside and allow the one struggling along-side us to move ahead? Will our position in our own life-race be jeopardized by a spirit of generosity and sacrifice? Is that “finish line” of immediate gratification worth the loss of the higher goal of betterment of our shared environment? Will we be any “better off” as a people if we insist on focusing on our own agendas to the exclusion of a sensitivity to the plight of our neighbors? Did that young man not demonstrate, to all of us, the noble value of assuming responsibility for and taking action to benefit those who (while doing all that they are capable of doing) are falling behind?
No, My Dear Reader, I can not add to, nor do I wish to detract from the beauty of the message delivered by that wonderful Human Being’s behavior. So, in this thought on reaching out and touching others, I will dry my tears of recollection … and send these considerations to your safe-keeping.



IMAGE: Matthew Michael Brown (My Son)

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?!

An Afternoon With DaVinci

I didn’t get to enjoy seeing Dav and Heather in Florence, whilst they visited there in ’08 … so I will just ‘pretend’ to do so at the “DaVinci Shop and Café” at the end of the marvelous DaVinci Exhibition, presented at our Museum Of Science and Industry, Wednesday. They are so very cool! [smile]

Can you imagine my delight when Samantha (one of the MOSI Staff Members) asked me to share some philosophies beyond the “If, for the short while that we are in this Place, we don’t leave it better for our having been here … we will have wasted our time. And you, Dear One, have wasted nothing.” That I wrote on the back of one of my calling cards, and left for her on the table where she was demonstrating and explaining some of the wonders of optical innovations experienced by DaVinci.

So, I happily explained that I live in accordance with the personal imperative that states “Never leave any person or circumstance offered by Life, with the potential for a “Wish-I’d-A.” That is … the inner thought that says “I Wish-I’d-A expressed to that stranger how they touched my Heart as we passed.” or “I wish-I’d-a demonstrated the feelings of my heart to that individual whose presence moved me just now.” “So,” I explained to Samantha, “I clumsily, awkwardly, and sometimes haltingly (for I have had no teacher, guide, or mentor to demonstrate or instruct me in examples of practicing this business of reaching out to passing strangers in my world) verbalize my emotions … or demonstrate my convictions … thereby avoiding the possibility of ever having to reflect on the regretful awareness that comes with belated ‘wish-I’d-a’s”

She had to wonder “Just what kind of strange Person is this man who invites me to visit his Blog … and invites me to inform him of my progress in following my life’s dream?”

She doesn’t know that I spared her the added discomfort of having to deal with the “I love you Samantha” that was living just beneath the surface of my Being. That, I knew, would have been too much for her to process at our first encounter. [smile]

So, my Dear Reader, there you have a quick glimpse into an afternoon in the life of your John-Michael. (Who, because he knows that you know him well enough to accept and embrace this Truth from him, feels no hesitation to remind you …
“I love You!”) [tender smile]

(Thank You Dav, for the wonderful Photos!)

Aristotle (pretty smart guy) on FRIENDSHIP

The ancients listed friendship among the highest of virtues. It was an essential element in the fully flourishing life. “For without friends,” Aristotle says, “no one would choose to live, though he had all other goods.” Words worth remembering in a world of perishable “goods.”

According to Aristotle, friendship either is, or it involves, a state of Character, a Virtue. There are three kinds of friendship. These are based on pleasure in another’s company (friendships of Pleasure), or on usefulness in association (friendships of Utility), or on mutual admiration (friendships in Virtue). All are essential to the good life, and the best sorts of friends will not only admire each other’s excellence but take pleasure in each other’s company and find their association to be of mutual advantage. Here is a portion of Aristotle’s classic discussion.

From: The Nicomachean Ethics

"As the motives to friendship differ in kind, so do the respective feelings and Friendships. The species then of Friendship are three, in number equal to the objects of it, since in the line of each there may be “mutual affection ... mutually known.”

Now they who have Friendship for one another desire one another’s Good according to the motive of their Friendship; accordingly, they whose motive is Utility have no Friendship for one another really, but only insofar as some good arises to them from one another.

And they whose motive is Pleasure are in like case: I mean, they have Friendship for men of easy pleasantry, not because they are of a given character but because they are pleasant to themselves. So then, they whose motive to Friendship is Utility love their friends for what is good to themselves; they whose motive is Pleasure do so for what is pleasurable to themselves; that is to say, not insofar as the friend beloved is but insofar as he is useful or pleasurable. These Friendships are a matter of result; since the object is not beloved in that he is the man he is, but in that he furnishes advantage or pleasure, as the case may be.

Such Friendships are, of course, very liable to dissolution if the parties do not continue alike: I mean, that the others cease to have any Friendship for them when they are no longer pleasurable or useful. Now it is the nature of both pleasure and utility not to be permanent, but constantly varying: so, of course, when the motive which made them friends is vanished, the Friendship likewise dissolves; since it existed only relatively to those circumstances…

That then is perfect Friendship which subsists between those who are good and whose similarity consists in their goodness: for these wish one another’s good in similar ways; insofar as they are good (and good they are in themselves); and those are specially friends who wish good to their friends for their sakes, because they feel thus toward them on their own account and not as a mere matter of result; so the Friendship between these men continues to subsist so long as they are good; and goodness, we know, has a principle of permanence….

Rare it is probable Friendships of this kind will be, because men of this kind are rare. ... [ Note: With regard to the matter of 'rarity', it is worthy to note that, given the definitions of values inherent to Temperaments and Personality Styles (as identified by the “Myers/Briggs” methodology) those individuals given to the “Utility” and “Pleasure” motivations, as their most NATURAL and easily followed inclinations, make up approximately 85% of the general population. For these (the vast majority of the population) to seek the "Good" motivation requires some determined effort of Will.] ... Besides, all requisite qualifications being presupposed, there is further required time and intimacy: for, as the proverb says, men cannot know one another “till they have eaten the requisite quantity of salt together”; nor can they, in fact, admit one another to intimacy (much less be friends) till each has appeared to the other and been proved to be a fit object of Friendship. They who speedily commence an interchange of friendly actions may be said to wish to be friends, but they are not so unless they are also proper objects of Friendship and mutually known to be such: that is to say … a desire for Friendship may arise quickly but not Friendship itself."

_______________________________________

With the insights stated by Aristotle and restated countless times since then by innumerable others in various forms ... it should be clear to all that we do not all share the same hopes for, nor desires in, our friends. It is, then, my humble opinion that it might suite us better (and be far more fun), if we could celebrate the rare gifts in Friends that Life has given us; exercise the particular senses of 'taste' that satisfy our requirements for new friends; and avoid the easily available habit of condemning others for not living up to our unique set of expectations and/or qualifications for our "Friends."

I found ... in my personal quest to find a means for understanding (and accepting) the vagaries of those supposing to, at one moment, present themselves as Friend ... then assume themselves to be but passing Acquaintances ... that Dear Aristotle's observations were of great help. I offer them to You, Dear Reader and Friend, in the hope that your happiness and comfort will be similarly served.

Acceptance ... Respect ... Honor ... and Appreciation of each other - as we are - makes for a delightful world in which to celebrate the wonder of who we are. Just a thought ... [smile]


This item submitted with credit and thanks to the work of William J. Bennet in his "Virtues of Friendship and Loyalty." (A wonderful idea for a gift)

Our 4th Visit to an IDEALIST Neighborhood Card Shop

We Idealists are, if you will, the “Neighborhood Card Shop” of life’s market place. We do not offer the “necessities” of life … the lumber or nails … the motor oils … the bread or butter, nor the wine or cheese. We offer, instead, the reminders of the ideals that make all of the essentials worth their pursuit. Meat and potatoes we do not present … but we do offer the bouquet, the candles, the card that expresses the sentiment that You might wish to convey over the fine dinner prepared from the meat and potatoes. We do not provide essential nutrients for the sustenance of the Flesh ... we offer the reminders of the Spirit and Soul, the Emotion and Desire that inspire the Heart as well as the Mind. We provide the ’soundtrack’ that adds dimension to the ’movie’ of life.

There are far fewer "Card Shops" than there are other merchants. There is good reason for their infrequency. Life’s day-to-day requirements have material need for far more of the providers of ‘basics.’ It is also true that The Almighty created a fewer number of us Idealists in life’s mix. (Providing evidence of obvious 'Divine Intention' in this design ... fewer 'spices' are necessary in the 'recipe' of living.)

I know my place. I do not offer myself as your provider of your day-to-day material requisites. But, My Dear Friend, I ask that you grant proper acknowledgment and acceptance of … respect and care for my place in the “shopping district” of your world. I will serve you happily and faithfully.



(Those of you familiar with this blog will recall having seen this message before. I replay it here, once every year or so, to allow new Readers to know me better. I do hope that this little 'window' into my Person serves that purpose well.)




IMAGES [top]Silvia Doberti,
[center] Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com
[lower] Jon Sullivan, PDPhoto.org

"The Human Touch" revisited

In this day of applied Programs, Plans, Initiatives, and Systems, there is a void that is all too often left wanting. That want is addressed by this work of Spencer Michael Free. He (from his perspective as a practicing physician) spoke to an elementary requirement of the Human Spirit. I ask that we consider the power and potential that awaits each of us… if we will but offer our own personal provision of “The Human Touch.”

The Human Touch

'Tis the human touch in this world that counts,

The touch of your hand and mine,

Which means far more to the fainting heart

Than shelter and bread and wine;

For shelter is gone when the night is o’er,

And bread lasts only for a day,

But the touch of the hand and the sound of the voice

Sing on in the soul alway.


Spencer Michael Free (1856-1938)
Free graduated from the College of Physicians and Surgeons of the Johns Hopkins University in 1880, and practiced medicine and surgery for some fifty years thereafter. In addition to some one hundred medical papers, he wrote many poems.


IMAGE: Maria Brandstetter, BBC

World Peace

It is not so large … this World of mine.
Some would deem insignificant in Space and Time.
But it is the World, that I touch …
And is all of the World … to me … as such.

Mine alone is this chance to express,
All that is Kindness, and The Best.
Open, only to me, is this moment to show,
Expressions of Love and Compassion I know.

In this instant of contact, in our shopping …
Or, perhaps on the street, we pass.
My chance to say “I love you”
Only briefly, will last.

So I catch your eye, give you my smile …
Say “Forgive my intrusion, please.”
“I am aware and have noticed a way …
To appreciate You … and give My World … Peace.”

Making Love to Life

A dear Friend, Ray, an elderly gentleman who I noticed as he walked silently by (week after week… going about his business in a dignified, stately, and private manner), made an impression on my Spirit, with the beauty of his Spirit. “Please forgive my intrusion, My Friend” I said with a hand raised in a ‘please stop’ gesture, “but I am compelled to tell you that your eyes, your comportment, the very countenance of you, all speak together to say that the Man behind all is a man of worthy and noble character. I want you to know that your regular passing of this spot, where I sit, has blessed me, and made my world a better place, for your Presence in it.”


Ray (being a very shy and introverted man) blushed with this extremely out-of –the-ordinary declaration and thanked me. “You are quite welcome” was my simple reply and I immediately returned my attention to the work that was before me, so that he would feel no requirement for further engagement. This “sense it, say it, leave it” (my words…not his) methodology, was gleaned from the teachings of Leo Buscaglia, a Teacher, Lecturer, and Motivator of the mid-to-late 1900’s. The key elements, as taught by him, were to ask (and by the asking make clear your respect for and appreciation of the ‘space’ of the other) for “forgiveness for the intrusion.” Then, after your message has been stated, remove yourself straightway to make clear the absence of any hidden agenda ... thereby giving a complete sense of safety, to the Individual upon whom you have just intruded.


Ray and I, over time, became quite good Friends. And it was on one of our more lengthy visits (which, with Ray, were hardly more than fifteen minutes… [for him constituting something of a marathon of dialog]) that he and I had the following exchange. “John-Michael, I have to tell you that I envy the frequent and varied relationships that you seem to enjoy. I am so shy and retiring that I could never be as open and free with myself as you are. It is clear that you do genuinely love all of these people with whom I see you interacting and they, you, in return. That is something that I must say that I do envy.” “Ray, My Dear Friend," I replied "I make love to all of the world around me every moment of every day. But, Ray, you speak of the glory and warmth of your relationship with your wife, who you clearly adore, and by your comments, make clear, to any observer, the fact that she participates equally in her adoration of you. You go home, after witnessing my daily love-fest with Life, to her ... and immerse yourself in the totality of that love. I go home alone. Ray… I envy you.” We exchanged understanding smiles.


“Making love to Life” is the most accurate portrayal of my living. Intimate engagement in the most compelling of life’s elements … the core of Life (for want of a better term) … is the level at which I sense, acknowledge, and respond to my World. I take no notice of roles or titles for I have played many roles in business, religion, society, and family … and have done so wearing the many varied ‘hats’ appropriate to the roles (and did it all quite well and even to the laudation of each relevant world). And, in the doing, I learned the temporal nature of such things … passing; for the moment; and then to be gone as though never there. But Love, whether revealed in unspoken, distant appreciation or intimate exchange for the briefest, or more prolonged, engagement … is forever.


I am simultaneously saddened, and challenged, by the climate of today’s social, political, religious, and cultural atmosphere. Anger, vehemence, criticism, castigation, condemnation, confrontation, and refusal to respect, appreciate, or even consider the perspective of another, is the comfortably accepted norm. I simply cannot participate in (what I consider to be) this sickness. The twisting of the Soul of a participant is the price-tag for involvement that I would rescue all within my domain from paying. I have chosen to demonstrate the satisfactions, joys, happiness, and comfort of embracing others in the exercise of admiration, recognition, appreciation, adulation, and yes, even love.


This choice of behavior is not without pitfalls. I have found no models after which I may follow. There are, to my knowledge, no systems for the practice of such behavior that would have all potential misunderstandings and miscues worked out. I, therefore, find myself blazing a new trail with all of the elements of risk and even danger befitting such an adventure. But the quest is far and away worth the scrapes and bruises encountered along the way. I can endure the passing looks of skepticism, doubt, uncertainty, and even rejection encountered (thankfully ... with extreme rarity) amongst the more frequent and almost constant smiles of appreciation, satisfaction, enjoyment, and even surprised delight that my behavior evokes. This is “making love to my world” as I am called by the conviction of my Heart to practice it.


(originally penned, 2004)

Please accept my invitation to spend a few moments with some Friends who express my convictions ... in their own, beautiful, way ...

Peace Through Music Film Clip: Playing for Change from Playing For Change on Vimeo.

I do Love You, my Dear Friend ... and thank You for sharing these moments with Me.



IMAGES: Through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

I Dare You!

Come on! I dare You! Join with me, and our Neighbors, from around our little planet, and I dare You to try, to go away, not singing this as you go. You singing it right there ... me singing it here ... our Spirits rocking and swaying together across all of those puny boundaries that would keep us apart. I like it!!

Stand By Me | Playing For Change | Song Around The World from Concord Music Group on Vimeo.

By the way ... Have I told You, lately, that I love You?

Well ... consider it said.

[loving smile]

"Who are you?" ... He Asked

It has been a year, and a quarter, since I last offered this story, here. Because it was a defining moment (in many ways) in my life-walk, and many new Folks are now visiting here, I will, probably, resurrect it once, each year. With the spirit of this Happening encouraging me, I am planning to offer myself, as a Reader, to the Principal of an Elementary School just down the road from my home. It is, what is referred to as, an "At Risk School." This means that the populace of the school is made up of many who would be of the same ilk, as the young Lad, of this Story. I present the experience with a prayer that You, My Dear Reader, will find some encouragement, insight, or merit, of value to you, in it. That said ... here 'tis ...

“Who are you?” was the question thrust upon me by the challenging five year old kindergarten student as he set his back stiffly in its most erect pose. Pretty impressive stuff from a child toward a physically imposing adult male who was a total unknown to the child. Not to be channeled into his obviously well-rehearsed performance, I countered with “More to the point, (pretty cool, eh… using phraseology that was alien to the lad) … just who are you?!” Now we were engaged in the stand-off. Two duelers faced with the unspoken, but clearly understood standard that 'he who gives the answer first is the loser.’ But, here I genuinely wanted to know just who this fellow was. Not just his label … his name, but who he wanted me to know him to be.

We waited. Others at the service desk of the elementary school library ... waited. All eyes were now fixed on the young lad. He was, quite obviously, uneasy with this turn in a game that had historically garnered for him control of those upon whom he leveled his attack. Then, into the breach came a young man (an 'advanced’ age of eight years… but clearly an 'upper-classman’ in this arena) who turned to the boy (who for convenience, I will call Robert) and said “Hey man, the guy really wants to know who you are … you know … like what kind of a person are you?” I was shouting a silent inner cheer for this interceder who so beautifully cleared the air.

“I am bad” came the reply from Robert’s not-so-defiant lips. I was stunned … silence reigned at the library counter. All … students, and staff … were stilled with this declaration from a five-year-old boy … and I knew that this was a moment of pivotal significance. Not only for Robert; but also for the lad who had prompted him into this announcement; for the children who stood in silent recognition that this boy had made an honest, candid, and obviously painful statement of his inner perception of himself. I looked into Robert’s eyes ... really looked … focused into him. I gave him a moment to recognize the fact that, for me, right then, in that moment there existed no one in the world but Him.

Then I smiled a smile of appreciation and respect and said “Wow!, You are really smart! You are making a really good joke on someone! I am impressed! You must be … like a movie actor or something. Because I am a really smart man. And I know about how people are. And I am really good at spotting good people, and bad people (I then turned to the librarian and asked her to validate the truths that I had just stated, as to my credibility … for The Moment was at hand.) I can tell that you are really a very good guy … I know this… I can tell every time. So you must be making a super good joke on someone to make them think that a really good guy … is bad. I think that you must be a terrific actor.” And, My Dear Reader, I wish that I had at my disposal the ability to adequately portray the look of utter … Hope … that came across Robert’s face. Here this person of a mere five years was … soundly convinced that he, a human being, just the initial sprouting of an individual … was inherently, hopelessly, and forever bad. And some big old, imposing, white-bearded man was telling him that it was but a joke … a misunderstanding … a folly. I asked him if he would do me the honor of being my friend and we exchanged names and a bit more about ourselves.

I will not drone on about the comments from teachers and counselors who later shared notes with each other about this transformed young man. He had, obviously, made some adjustment in his game and had decided to only 'fool’ others into thinking him to be bad on selective occasions. And we enjoyed seeing each other and complimenting each others’ roles when I had the weekly opportunity to read to his class in the library. But the point in this is not this isolated happening.

The message, so clearly and eloquently communicated by Robert and his Moment, is this. We all … every single one of us … have an inner sense of who we are. Like Robert, we have been given this “script” by otherwise loving, caring, well-intentioned (yes, I do know that I am being generous here) Significant Others throughout the course of our lives. And … we buy it. We give these people our trust, our confidence, our faith in their 'superior’ powers of judgment, and we live out the roles that they hand us.

I ask that you put yourself in the person of Robert when I asked him “Who told you that you are bad? Was it someone here at school? Or was it at home? Who did you fool into believing this joke?” and ask yourself, Dear Friend, “Who am I listening to? What qualifies that person to fix a defining label on my spirit? Why am I succumbing to this influence? Wouldn’t I enjoy taking up a script of my own choosing and playing a new role that meets my inner desires?” I do not suggest that this is as easily accomplished in the well over-rehearsed and time-reinforced role of the more experienced adult. But I do offer the hope.

And in that hope, I remain, as always, Your loving Friend and willing Servant.

What ... Who

I listen, and reflect back what I hear,
in all that you are brave enough to reveal.

I provide, no classification System,
or Labels … no Judgments.

But an open and receptive Space,
that welcomes You … all of Who You are.

That we may share in what you have been afraid
to know … including those secret Treasures.

I provide, for us, a Place that knows
neither Alien nor Enemy.

The borderless land of Loving Respect,
and Individual Honor.

This is the sought-after definition
of what I do … Who I am.

For, I was, once, the One in need
of Acceptance … a peaceful Harbour.

John-Michael
25 March 2009

Colouring "Within the Lines"

The sensation of intense focus, as I paid mindful attention to ‘the lines’ in the colouring book, is still fresh. “Stay within the lines” was the always pervasive challenge. I clearly recall the feeling of mastery that accompanied my achievement of the ‘advanced level’ found in outlining each area with a bold application of the crayon. Now! That will surely facilitate tidy and proper colouring! Such was the exercise of those early years. Looking back now, I can see the training element that the colouring book presented. For, as I grew and learned more at more ‘sophisticated’ and mature levels … “staying within the lines” was something that the larger society (and indeed, the world at large) valued and required of each of us. “To know One’s place … and to stay in it” was something that my parents stressed. And it was against those attempts to confine, that I felt myself straining.

For, My Dear Reader, I am, at the core of my Being, not a “Stay Within The Lines” kind of guy. My temperament is inclined, innately, to be more of an Impressionist, or, perhaps (on those unpredictable, spontaneous moments) even an Abstract Impressionist. My Spirit is not ‘at home’ within the ‘lines’ of prescribed behaviors and expression. I am all about possibilities … not conclusions. My Soul cries out for the Infinite, and avoids the Defined like some kind of bitter fruit.

I know, and respect, the fact that most folks are comfortable within those lines. I appreciate the safety and security that is found there. I simply do not find those benefits for my Self in the same bounds. I am not an ‘emotionally tidy’ person. In fact, I would probably be considered, by many, to be quite a 'sloppy’ person … in the emotional department. And, not only do I enjoy the freedoms and liberties known in my “impressionistic” expression of my life’s colouring of the living experience … but I offer those possibilities and potentials to those whose lives I am blessed to touch. I linger for that short instant that looks the Other in the eye with a smiling, bemused, raised brow that says, “Why not?” And I often leave the passing company of friends, and strangers alike, with that exposure to an alternative way of living, lingering in their awareness. A seed of something new and fresh for them to reflect on. Maybe they too, can be just a bit more free with their recognition of and responses to the world around them. This is the message that I hope that I leave, ‘hanging in the air’ as I retreat.

Such is my simple reflection today. A basic recognition of something as basic and rudimentary as a child’s colouring book. But isn’t that what we are each doing with every moment of our lives? Colouring the perceptions of Others. Shading and giving definition, to the canvas of that World that we each touch, with the brush of our individual influence. With respectful deference to the individual who is most comfortable living within the “paint-by-numbers” life … I would encourage an occasional departure from the cozy confines of “the lines” … and whisper an invitation to give themselves some liberty … and venture outside into a soul-freeing experience of self-expression and Spirit-acknowledgement. Go ahead! Let those walls of your habitual 'box of behavior’ down … and taste the sweet nectar of openness and freedom. Let yourself speak the “I love you” words. Touch a Soul that is hungry for the Gift of your emotional involvement … if but for an instant. There is a world, just beyond 'the lines,’ that yearns for that colour that is only available from the palette of your individual experience, and care. I lovingly encourage you to share that joy of “going beyond” with someone today. I do love You, you know!

Response to a Bumper Sticker

I read a bumper-sticker, placed on the car parked along the path of my pre-dawn newspaper delivery route, some while ago. And it ’pushed a button’ somewhere within me. So, My Dear patient and tolerant Reader, you find yourself the victim of my ’venting.’ [smile]

If you want niceness to prevail in the world around you I offer this suggestion. How about asking “Please Be Nice” instead of dictating, in sarcastic tones, that the reader of your car’s bumper sticker (me, in this case) “Just Be Nice.” I will confess to my something-beyond-normal attention to the “music” or spirit of what is said. And, yes, I can perseverate on details that could easily be passed over. But… by golly… there is an undercurrent of unkindness, and indifferent insensitivity, that is growing into a major theme in our world. And I am ever-more convinced that it is born in innocuous messages. A bumper sticker that, no doubt, gave the driver of the car a feeling of having done a “good thing”… a “Better than thou” that cancels any possibility of something ‘nice’ coming from the exercise.

The phrase that is begun with the word “Just” is a phrase that is saying “All else aside… just _____”, or “I do not really care what your feelings, predispositions, or opinions are, just ____.” The employment of that four-letter word indicates the presence of intolerance, disrespect, and arrogant domination. The person driving that car is telling me “I don’t care what you think, who you are, or what you are dealing with right now … I am telling you to behave in a manner that I deem to be nice … because I feel that I have that right, and you should be obliged, to acquiesce to my command.”

Would it not be more in keeping with the supposed intent of that message to humble oneself, assume a posture of niceness:

NICENESS (definition)
1. Pleasing and agreeable in nature
2. Exhibiting courtesy and politeness
3. Showing or requiring sensitive discernment

In assuming such a posture, One would have to step down from their pedestal of pious self-importance. It is not easy to be arrogant when asking “Please.” But, Dear Friend, I submit that there can be a new and fresh undercurrent of kind consideration created in our world … that world that you and I touch … if we will but do the simple thing that begins with an honoring posture toward those whose lives intersect with ours.

Our world has a crying need for a lovingly caring and serving spirit from each of us to the other.

And all of my rambling on … sparked by a bumper sticker that was, no doubt, placed there with the best of intentions … though without the added moment of involvement in considering its implications. I would only ask that we all take the briefest of moments to consider our opportunities to, “Please Be Nice.”

There! Isn’t that nice? [loving smile]



Bumper-Sticker IMAGE: Cafe' Press

Why

The reasons for my compulsion to speak out, are few and simple. They are three, in number. And are both temporal, and spiritual, in nature.

Firstly, I am driven to make the world about me aware, of the wonder and perfection, of our diversity of unique natures. The recognition, acceptance, embracing, and celebration of the varied temperaments, personalities, and characters that are ours, with their incumbent gifts, peculiarities, and challenges, is my desire for all, with whom I have occasion to interact. Respect is the key concept that I hope to impart to a world given, all too often, to antagonism, condemnation, rejection, and, even, hatred for all who differ in belief, conviction, practice, skill, or persuasion. Respect for your Self just as you were so wondrously created … and for Others who were created with no less purpose and wonder.


Secondly, I desire to create an alternative environment of consideration, kindness, gentleness, and yes, love in the world about me. This I apply myself to achieving, not only by active practice of a spirit that communicates these qualities, but through the more aggressive efforts applied in vocabulary. By speaking out. By voicing the words of caring, noticing, appreciating, and loving. That word … love … is one that I incorporate into my consciousness and my expression whenever impressed by the guidance of that inner spirit that I permit to be influenced by what I will refer to as our common Creator. Common to all of us … neither gender, nationality, culture, politic, nor religion, specific. The Creator to whom I have surrendered my Spirit, and in whom I have invested my Eternal Self, is the Director of those thoughts, impulses, and inspirations that so happily encourage my expressions of appreciation, and love, for many with whom I interact daily.

And it is my hope and prayer that, in the wake of my life, I will leave a People who are comfortable with saying “Wow! You sure are different … and I love you without regard for our differences.” To have accomplished that, in any small way, will define my life’s efforts as a success.

Lastly, I am driven by my lingering awareness of the pain and unhappiness that has clouded so much of my life. And I will do whatever I can to spare you those miseries. The pain was borne of loneliness, and the unhappiness, a result of isolation due to the lack of a means of communicating the nature, desires, and feelings of my heart. The loneliness was a product of my innate nature being so out of the “norm” of that of the majority of the world around me. And the lack of ability to communicate the depths of my thoughts and feelings due to the absence of any mentor, teacher, model, or example to learn from and/or emulate.

So I now write with a constant desire to provide a flow of new vocabularies and illustrations from which I hope that you may glean a few ideas or concepts that give you comfort with some of your own feelings and thoughts. Feelings and thoughts that you have, heretofore, not had adequate means to acknowledge or adequately appreciate. And then to enable you to express and share those precious gems that you have inside of you with your own personal world. Thereby allowing you to enjoy the wonder of being You. And giving your sphere of acquaintances and loved ones the gift and delight of knowing, respecting, and enjoying all, of who You are, more fully.

These are the three purposes in my life … simple and clear. So, for those of you who have been asking “Why?” I hope that this gives some clarity to my reasons for my periodic notes and essays to you. That, and … the fact that I have chosen to love you.

John-Michael
(Penned: 01 September 2005)

I Don't Know Why

I saw this photo ... and I simply HAD TO share it with that unknown Someone, for whatever unknown reason, to touch that unknown need.
Life knows "Who" and all of the "Why"s ... that is enough for me. I love you ... Yes! ... You (Life knows your identity [smile])

IMAGE Through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

No Barriers

Life knows no barriers. Geography, culture, language, religion, politics ... none of these are even recognized by Life. And as I awakened yesterday ... with mind and Soul fertile from an evening listening to political debaters exchanging view on peoples and places that neither had any personal knowledge of, involvement with, or intimate participation in ... I was quite ripe for an introduction to Ghazala Khan with The Pakistani Spectator. Her introduction of herself, with its request for an Interview, found a ready mind and heart. Thusly, I, first, went to the site that she is a participant in ... read several postings there ... commented on one of them ... then, granted the requested Interview.

I now have a delightful new friend. And look forward to the fruits of my agreement to submit works, on topics of interest to the site, for publication by The Pakistani Spectator. All because I chose to respond ... to all that I was deluged with by the Debate participants ... and to the vacuous emptiness, devoid of comfort, that their remarks left my Spirit with.

Life is just so very cool!

A Single Voice

He was, arguably, the most powerful man in the world. Yet, when I saw his face, on the televised newscast, I saw a man beset with unresolved conflict and uncertainty. I saw pain. Although I was not a registered member of his political party, and did not subscribe to the core mantra of his politics … he was, in that moment, a Fellow Human Being … and he was hurting. And Lady Muse whispered “Help him!” So, from this tiny one-room cottage that constitutes one end of an old garage, I took out my trusty Waterman fountain pen … and I wrote a letter to him … the President of The United States.

I related a story that I knew would illustrate the simple message that would erase all of the consternation and doubt shown on in his eyes in that brief newscast. I told him of driving down a local avenue in an old Volkswagen with my son next to me in the front seat … and my daughter leaning up, between her brother and her Dad, as she delivered a message from her heart to mine. “I am proud of you Dad.” she said. “Why, Darling?” I asked, incredulously. “Because you haven’t given up. Since the divorce, you don’t have anything. You don’t have a home, or a career, or anything that you did have … but you keep trying and haven’t quit. And you haven’t committed suicide. So I am proud of you.”

Now, if you, Dear Reader, are amazed at such a statement from the mind of an eleven year old girl … I can guarantee you that I, as her Daddy, was completely blown away! And it is the power of this affirmation by my child that I communicated to the President of these United States in my letter of encouragement. I urged him to put aside the voices of Advisors, Political Influencers, Staff and Administrative Colleagues … and weigh his decisions and choices on the scales of the esteem and honour of his family. For, I offered, after the passing of all of those transient and altogether-temporary circumstances that constitute Office and Position, what his family knew him to be, would be the singular Standard, that overshadowed all other considerations, in eternal merit and worth.

I pointed out the fact that I was, of all possible people, the very least in influential status, social and/or community position, economic worth, or political power. But, I made clear, in the eyes of one eleven year-old girl, I was worthy of pride and satisfaction. And that, above all considerations, was the very best of lasting rewards.

Now, I know what you are thinking, Dear friend. For I too had known a previous experience in trying to communicate with the “Powerful and Influential.” On that occasion, I wrote a letter to a sitting President. And all that was accomplished was my receipt of a letter soliciting a cash contribution to that President’s political party. But, you see, on this occasion, I was writing in response to the direction of that certain, quiet, but altogether insistent whisper of my Lady Muse’s speaking to my Inner Self. So, I made a copy of the letter to the President … attached it to a very short note that said something on the order of:

“My Dear Mrs Barbara Bush,

I just sent the attached letter to your husband. Because I am simultaneously aware of the massive deluge of mail he receives; a sense of personal urgency and conviction in the worth and timeliness of my message; and lastly, your intimate and committed influence on him; I am hoping that you find enough merit in the message to feel it worthy of mentioning to him personally. I leave it in your trust.”

And I sent that cover note with the copy of the letter to the President of The United States, to the White House in our nations Capitol. Surely enough, I did receive (a couple of weeks later) a form letter from one of the President’s vast network of Underlings with its expected and altogether predictable collection of “Yada, Yada, Yada.” Then, to my complete surprise, (a short while later) I received a hardboard-reinforced, letter sized envelope with admonishments to “Do Not Fold” from the White House. Upon opening it I found a smaller sized note on elegant, personalized, and embossed note paper, a short note from the First Lady. She thanked me for my concern, my interest, and my commitment to the best interests of her husband.

She told me that she had discussed the content of my letter with “George,” … and that they both appreciated my efforts and kindness. And THEN! (if all of that was not enough) I received a note card from The First Lady’s Personal Assistant some days later. She asked that I mail a note to her with telephone numbers that would allow Mrs. Bush to get in touch with me … for she wanted to express her appreciation “in person.” And, yes, I did receive a telephone call, at my office, during work. (Our receptionist was completely blown away! You should have heard her voice on the intercom when she told me that I had a call from the White House, on hold. [grin] And, no, I didn‘t tell her that I was too busy to take the call. [smile])

I took the call, and had a short conversation, with The First Lady’s Personal Assistant, who expressed apologies, from Mrs. Bush, for her inability to call, due to a very hectic schedule “on the campaign trail with The President.” But, I was told, they did not want to fail to follow up my letter with a prompt and sincere effort. I received expressions of gratitude, once again, and best wishes from The First Lady.

I cannot share direct quotations from either my letter, or the note from The First Lady, for those are now the property of my daughter … the One whose encouragement and stirring words provided the core of my message to The President. I gave them to her … custom-framed in an elegant frame appropriate to the significance of and accommodating to the prestigiously embossed Seal of The White House … on her attaining her eighteenth birthday (her age of becoming a voter and participant in the processes of governance of our nation.) I pointed out, to her, the Truth that lies in the power of the very Least of us … when we elect to follow, with committed and diligent effort, the leading of our individual Inner Voice of conviction. I told her that the Note from the Greatest … sent to One of the Least … would remind her of what Life can do with any Individual’s efforts when those efforts are motivated and directed by the noblest of unselfish intentions.

And that is the Message that I would use this Story … to illustrate, and make real … for You, my Darling Reader. I whole-heartedly encourage your following of your own personal convictions and yearnings. That you may know the ultimate satisfaction of Being all that you have a core desire to Be. I have no reservation in telling You, that You, and You alone, have a special and unique place in this life … that can not be satisfied by any other Being. This I am certain of. I can assure You that your fearless response to that inner Leading, will result in a rewarding sense of completeness and satisfaction. How can I be so sure, you ask. Because I know how I am touched and moved by your individual influence on me. And I am so very blessed … and grateful … by, and for, You.

As I remain … as always … your most loving of Friends, and (though the Least of the most Insignificant), your most happily devoted of Servants.