"No hurt survives"

One of the nice things that I do for myself is to subscribe to daily installments from "STORYPEOPLE." I heartily recommend this little oasis of pleasure to You. I am particularly touched by this little Gem ...

"No hurt survives for long without our
help, she said & then she kissed me &
sent me out to play again for
the rest of my life."

STORYPEOPLE

Lovingly ...

Life's Meaning

The cacophony of today's noises cause me to revisit these thoughts from 20 September 2008 ...

“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.

An Alien

It was my experience to befriend a beautiful young woman who, with her group of friends and relatives, worked as Helpers in the newspaper distribution warehouse with me. Her intelligence and innate character were obvious to me. I engaged in every opportunity to encourage her embracing of her natural Gifts. But, with great sadness, I watched her as she sought to mold herself into the roles and behaviors of her family and unfortunate acquaintances. Here I offer my reflections on her struggles … insofar as I was privileged to know them.

I do know, for fact, of her slippage into self abuse (cuttings) … tattoos and piercings that she told me that she really did not want … and ultimately, her pregnancy … all, following in the steps of her peers.

The Alien role is one that I (in my past) knew with painful intimacy. I offer this reflection in the hope that that one ’Someone’ (known only to Life) who reads this … may benefit from knowing, that their suffering, fears, doubts, and struggles, do not go unseen, or uncared about.

An Alien

Alien to all that constitutes her environment …
wanting - no - needing to find a place of comfort.
Plagued by the exceptional capacities
encapsulated within her natural qualities …
she cannot naturally meld,
into the safety of obscure Anonymity.

So she camouflages herself,
with defacements common to those around Her.
She assumes the language, and behaviors,
that conceal her innate endowments.
She avoids all 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,
an endless waste.

Only in 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 physical wounds …
tangible, real, and knowable …
for all else is too dark and unknowable.
While these are accepted,
as deserved flagellations.

Children

While they are, admittedly, always at the center and core of my Heart's affections, I have, of late, been even more keenly focused on Children.

Please share with me a few moments considering ...
our Children.







"Better to be driven out from

among Men ...

than to be disliked of Children."

Richard Henry Dana

"All Children wear a sign saying, "I want to be Important NOW!"

Many of our troubled Children carry with them their Troubles, because no one was willing to read the sign."

Dan Pursuit

"Children have never been good at listening to their Elders ...

But they have never failed to imitate them."

James Baldwin

"If a Child lives with Approval ...

he learns to live with Himself."

Dorothy Law Nolte

All IMAGES: BBC

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

A Choice of "View"

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

Man Carves Wife a 6,000 Stair Path in Mountain

When Carole (my Dear Friend of 40 years) sent this story to me (she knows quite well where my interests lie), I simply HAD to present it to You. So ... "Thank you Carole."

An incredible love story has come out of China recently and managed to touch the world.

It is a story of a man and an older woman who ran off to live and love each other in peace for over half a century.

The 70-year-old Chinese man who hand-carved over 6,000 stairs up a mountain for his 80-year-old wife has passed away in the cave which has been the couple's home for the last 50 years.

In a twist worthy of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, friends and relatives criticized the relationship because of the age difference and the fact that Xu already had children.

Over 50 years ago, Liu Guojiang a 19 year-old boy, fell in love with a 29 year-old widowed mother named Xu Chaoqin..

At that time, it was unacceptable and immoral for a young man to love an older woman.. To avoid the market gossip and the scorn of their communities, the couple decided to elope and lived in a cave in Jiangjin County in Southern ChongQing Municipality.

In the beginning, life was harsh as they had nothing, no electricity or even food. They had to eat grass and roots they found in the mountain, and Liu made a kerosene lamp that they used to light up their lives.
Xu felt that she had tied Liu down and repeatedly asked him, 'Are you regretful? Liu always replied, 'As long as we are industrious, life will improve.'

In the second year of living in the mountain, Liu began and continued for over 50 years, to hand-carve the steps so that his wife could get down the mountain easily.

Half a century later in 2001, a group of adventurers were exploring the forest and were surprised to find the elderly couple and the over 6,000 hand-carved steps. Liu MingSheng, one of their seven children said, 'My parents loved each other so much, they have lived in seclusion for over 50 years and never been apart a single day. He hand carved more than 6,000 steps over the years for my mother's convenience, although she doesn't go down the mountain that much.'

The couple had lived in peace for over 50 years until last week. Liu, now 72 years, returned from his daily farm work and collapsed. Xu sat and prayed with her husband as he passed away in her arms. So in love with Xu, was Liu, that no one was able to release the grip he had on his wife's hand even after he had passed away.

'You promised me you'll take care of me, you'll always be with me until the day I died, now you left before me, how am I going to live without you?'

Xu spent days softly repeating this sentence and touching her husband's black coffin with tears rolling down her cheeks.

In 2006, their story became one of the top 10 love stories from China , collected by the Chinese Women Weekly. The local government has decided to preserve the love ladder and the place they lived as a museum, so this love story can live forever.

IMAGES and STORY from: Chinese Women Weekly

My "Thank You," to them, as well.

Fathers Day

Today being the day on which we, here in The States, recognize our Fathers, my thoughts return to one of my life's most significant of moments ... the last moment that Dad and I really communicated. And, I recall how I related that moment to You, My Dear Reader, back on Fathers' Day, 2006. I remember that it took me until 4:33PM, on that day that we recognize as “Fathers’ Day”, to get myself to the point where I could sit at the keyboard and deliver the thoughts that had me looking through tears as I delivered that morning’s newspapers. The source of the tears? An image. A clear recollection of Dad’s eyes on the occasion of that, our last, exchange between each other.

As some of you already know, Dad died at 3:05PM, Sunday, 05 May 06. But the image that visited me on that, and again on this Fathers’ Day morning was from a moment when I was massaging Dad’s leg to help him deal with a severe pain spasm. We were, with Linda my sister, in a hospital room and Dad had been suffering terribly with those seizures of abdominal pain. To lessen the pain and reassure Dad that he was not alone in his struggle, I employed a technique learned in assisting the mother of my children with her child-deliveries. (Those of you familiar with the "Lamaze Method" of "natural" childbirth, will recall the employment of "Eflourage" massage.)

As I talked Dad through each spasm and increased the intensity of massage to suit the pain’s demand, Dad looked through the fog of Alzheimer’s power and actually smiled at me in a rare moment of clarity. Though he could not speak, his eyes communicated volumes. Then, as the medications took hold and the intensity of the pain was mitigated, I started to withdraw my hand. Dad grabbed my retreating fingers and squeezed them with a ferocity that demanded attention. Upon looking into his eyes, I saw an eloquence in them that spoke with such unambiguous coherence, that I was abruptly brought to attention, and responded, “I know Dad … Me too.” Again, he smiled … a sweet, calm, and tender smile that, in harmony with his gaze, spoke to my soul. I "heard" his eyes. “I love you too Daddy (I rarely called Dad "Daddy". But it was entirely appropriate in that moment.) … I will be here, and see you tomorrow.” He squeezed an acknowledgment … smiled a pained smile ... then released my fingers.

That was the last time that Dad and I communicated. And it was that face that visited me in on that Fathers' Day in 2006, and again, this morning. So, why tell you about this? Because my life is dedicated to urgently encouraging you to adopt a life practice of recognizing, respecting, honoring, and communicating your deepest emotions to those for whom that communication will have life-enhancing value.

You see, my Dad did not know how to do that. He was raised by a father (his Mom died when he was young) who demanded a denial of all emotion (save anger) and had a cruel disdain for sentiment. Dad never learned how to deal with his emotions. It was only in his last couple of years that he slowly allowed himself to respond to my unrelenting expressions of love for him. Slowly, over a span of three years ... me saying "I love you Dad" with each departure from a visit with him ... "I really do love you Dad" repeated again and again ... and eventual acknowledgments by a slight nod of his head ... then a smile ... and eventually, a "Yeah, me too." Then that one singular moment, in the living room of his home, when he got up out of "his chair," ... crossed the room ... put his arm around me ... ACTUALLY placed his head on my shoulder, and nuzzled his face against my neck, as he whispered, "I love you Son." (I phoned Steven, my brother, upon my arrival back home, related that instant to him ... and we shared sobbing tears of wonder and amazement over the phone. "I would give anything to hear him say that to me" was his response.) Then my intimate communications with my Father culminated with that moment, in hospital, just recounted.

I want more for you, Dear Reader. I want more for those who look to you for instruction in healthy emotional living. I want more for those who have an unceasing hunger for your love and are crippled in their own emotional health by an absence of your assurances of affection. I want this because I lived for sixty years with a dad who had those emotions and sentiments caged within himself and was frustrated and vexed with his inability to release them. Dad would enthusiastically endorse my entreaty, to you, to take all possible measures to “Know Thy [emotional] Self.”

"The only thing you take with you when you're gone ...
is what you leave behind."

John Allston

Something Borrowed (so, OK ... STOLEN)

Here is something that I stumbled across whilst visiting Jillie's (one of my most favorite people and places for my restoration and pure [I use the word advisedly] enjoyment.)
And I simply HAD TO ... how should I say this??? OK!! I had NO CHOICE but to steal it and share the fun with YOU. Enjoy!

But ... Was It Marriage?

I have been engaged in a silent, stubborn, and reluctant struggle throughout all of this day. Those of you who have done me the honor of reading my heart’s expressions, have been so kind as to say things like “You are a rare man who is willing to ‘put it all out there’ without hesitation or apology." Well, my Dear, trusting Friend, I have been hesitating all day today.

My usual course is to post a fresh thought prior to leaving for work each morning. I often hear the guiding voice of my Dear inner Muse late in the day before putting an idea to paper. (That’s right … I do like to feel the heft of sweet old Waterman between my fingers, and the tactile delight of that magical ink being pulled from the nib by the waiting page.) I have all night to allow myself to listen to my Muses guiding revelations as I “sleep on” some topic that is usually completely alien to all that I have had on my mind during the days previous. Then, in the early hours, I assemble it all and type it into the computer. Not so today.

For, You see, Dear Reader, today I was not pleased with what Friend Muse had suggested last evening, and reinforced this morn. No, indeed! “It will be misunderstood!” I argued. “What will my new friends think of me?” I whined. And so it has gone for all of these past seventeen hours. “Who are you writing for?” that unyielding Muse insisted. “For your own popularity and acceptance, or for that One who is in need of what I have put on your heart to offer?” (and the “You self-centered coward” was silently implied, though not spoken)

So, here I am. Defeated! And damn glad that I am. For, you see, I would never have a moment’s satisfaction in failing to follow what I have committed my Self to … listening to Life’s leading; sculpting Life’s truth in a way that can be received and accepted; and humbly offering said Truth to whomever is trusting Life to hear their prayer and provide some helpful, sustaining, shred of hopeful insight that will allow them to take the next step in their walk down life’s pathway.

So, this evening, as shadows gather and weariness steals into my being, I offer what I have been so tardy in bringing to … that One who has been waiting.

But … Was It Marriage?

Yes! We exchanged rings. But… I was never… in my awareness; my innermost being; my soul and consciousness; married. Oh, if you looked in the County’s record books, there would be the indication that the person, known by all to be me, was legally married to the other person named there. Yet that person and I had acknowledged to each other the reality that we did not recognize our lives in the same way. We knew life and all of its elements through senses completely alien to each other.

We lived lives of accommodating separateness in the same dwelling for many years. We devoted our attentions and energies to the parenting and nurturing of our two children with a great measure of success and enjoyed the shared fullness of satisfaction in seeing our children flourish as individuals. But there existed absolutely no intimacy of conversation; shared time; spiritual awareness; physical contact; or interest in common, beyond the interests of our children, and the material requirements of daily life. For me, this bears not even the most remote, or distantly abstract similarity to marriage. Hence, I was not married. I was, however, in a relationship of committed necessity, born of devotion to the overriding needs and concerns of my two children. And that commitment; that mission; that devotion was the single constant source of joy and satisfaction in my life.

I am now (after many years of self condemnation borne of ignorance) conscious of the absolute reality that my most basic makeup; my innermost self; the element that drives my emotions, desires, needs, and tastes is, beyond all else, that of a certifiable, unchanging Romantic. This irrefutable fact has been clinically established by years or counseling, testing, and observation; documented and verified through experience. I am, therefore, constantly and perpetually vulnerable to the inclination to intimacy with every person and in every situation in my life. I am romantically predisposed toward life. This is common to all identified … (initially by Hypocrites and then by Aristotle, Plato, and myriad others after them … using differing labels … but all with the same definitions … ) as Idealists. I am one of them.

With this present awareness (which I was not conscious of during the first forty years of my life and was, therefore, left to cope in blind frustration) I can now understand the filter through which all of life’s experience has been known to me. And, furthermore, why I have always been vulnerable to the energies of those with whom I have shared life’s moments. And I would never wish to change even one of those often-painful moments at the cost of denying the Person that I now know and understand … the Person that was wondrously and specifically created to be … Me.

I write this to breathe a breath of hope and encouragement into the Spirit of One who may be struggling with conflicts between their inner senses and the preponderance of voices instructing them in the way that they “should be.” To you, Dear Reader (whoever you are) I say from the depths of my soul, BE who You are … embrace the wonder of who You are … protect and defend the unique and marvelous Individual that You are … and patiently, with gentle loving care, help those who share your world with You to know and accept You. This I write in hope and trust in the validity and worth of … You.

IMAGE: Doug Hough, The Lens flair