"My Brain Doesn't Work"

“My brain doesn’t work” was his answer to the question posed, by the one person in his world in whom he had a trusted confidence, coupled with an affection, that motivated his desire to be understood. I sat on the other side of our booth in the tiny restaurant and observed this exchange with over thirty years of accumulated emotion founded in love, devotion, responsibility, invested effort, and parental pride. My son was seated next to Annie. To appreciate this scene fully, you must have a sense of my son’s fondness for this young woman … his guest for lunch.

In one of my constant series of created exercises, designed to prod and reinforce the development of a brain that cerebral palsy had affected, I made it a “game” to challenge my son with questions that were playfully presented as attempts to catch him unaware. “Well, Son … yesterday I … or let me see … was it yesterday? … what day is this? … Oh … and tomorrow will be? … Oh … OK … so the day after tomorrow will be? …” and on it would go. (I had learned that “sequencing” was one of the functions of his brain that was severely impaired by his handicap.) When he would proudly cut the game short with correct responses, I would “high five” him and say “Wow! Tried to catch you, but you are too sharp for me today” And he would do the “guy thing” and put on a smug smile of victory.

So, it was very much 'in character' when (as we were driving toward our daily visit to the workout facilities at the neighborhood YMCA) he asked “Dad! What is today?” I employed a few staged hesitations feigning calculation and proudly announced “Monday!” “Nope!! It’s Annie!” was his response with a wistful smile of romantic anticipation. For, you see, Annie was his trainer at the YMCA. And my son was completely enchanted with his “Annie!” And we were on our way to be with her.

With that understanding, you will appreciate his delight when I asked him who he would like to invite to join us for a lunch made possible by the cancellation of his regularly-scheduled speech therapy. There was not so much as a moment’s hesitation in his reply of “Annie!” Thusly, we were in the company of this lovely young woman of delicate sensitivities and grace on the day and at the time of note. After expressing her happiness that we had the opportunity, made possible by the cancellation of his therapy, Annie’s question to my son was, as she called him by name, “Now, why, exactly, do you go too speech therapy?”

He looked at her with such a tenderness and sincerity that it is, all these years hence, still fresh in my recollection. And with an openness that projected his desire to be completely understood he responded with the aforementioned “My brain doesn’t work.” Then, after a moment of profound silence, he looked to me with a look that said “Help me here Dad, I don’t know how to explain further.” I was doing my best to maintain my composure. (I must note here that, prior to this moment, my son had never acknowledged… in any way… any level of awareness of his disabilities. And here he was, at over thirty years of age, revealing a depth of awareness that was profoundly complex in its scope. So, I was torn between the pain of hearing the love of my soul verbalize his burden … and the desire to cheer and applaud this demonstration of a mental grasp that had never before been revealed. But I was in the moment that was his … and my reactions and emotions were secondary to his moment.)

“Well Son … you are a very smart guy. You are quite intelligent. But cerebral palsy has made your brain so that it sometimes ... doesn’t cooperate. And that is what the speech therapy is helping us to find out … ways to make your brain cooperate when it doesn’t want to … by getting your brain to show us what it has a hard time with. And you are getting better at making your brain cooperate by taking charge of it and showing it that you are the Boss. That‘s why we are going to speech therapy.” “Yeah!! That’s it! My brain doesn’t want to cooperate!” he responded, with a look of victory, and discovery that illuminated his Being.

And from that moment forward, he and I had a “frame of reference” that gave him a “tool” to use when frustration and exasperation wanted to overwhelm him. He would, frequently, say “Ohhh… my brain isn’t cooperating today!” And he didn’t, any longer, have that so-long-silently-held concern that he … the person … was flawed. It was simply “that uncooperative brain” acting up again.

So … My Very Dear Reader … why have I subjected myself to this exercise of pained agony, in recollection of the emotions incumbent to the reliving of this event? Simply because I have pledged, to you, my faithful presentation of lessons learned, in my pilgrimage, that have the potential to be of assistance to you, in your walking of path. And I know that you, just as I, have times when your brain … your subconscious … your self-image … your deeply-held concept of yourself … “doesn’t cooperate” with your wished for … your intended … your hoped for images, of who you want to be ... what you want to do … how you want to live.

And just as was true in the miniscule moment portrayed (in uncomfortable detail) for you, you can take control of your “uncooperative” thoughts. You can assume responsibility for the management of your thought processes, and take the reigns of mastery of your “mental behavior” just as my son (who lives with a permanent impairment, that he could easily fall back on and allow to provide an all-too-easy excuse for irresponsibility) did.

I do not suggest that this is easy. I do acknowledge that practiced history may shout discouragements that try to drown out the voices of determination and desire. But I, simultaneously, offer the quiet reassurance to you that, even as my mentally impaired son has done, you can experience ever more frequent moments of victory and conquest over the obstacles and hurdles of any prevailing circumstance. Please try. Please choose to make that effort! The YOU within ... that wondrous YOU, with all of your treasury of unique 'irregularities' that are your individual gifts from Life ... awaits your determined and resolute choice to Be ... the Being that you can enjoy being.

And I pledge my unfailing and unswerving support and encouragement, as I remain, Your lovingly faithful Friend and constant Servant.

Another look at "Who Are You?"

In response to a comment from one of you, I am offering, for your consideration, this bit from a couple of years ago. The tender and painfully-caring remarks of my kind and loving Friend, yesterday, brought this meaning-filled moment immediately to mind. And, after "sleeping on it" and allowing my Muse an overnight consideration of the matter, I awoke convinced, that what I would have told my sweet Friend, yesterday, I simply must present, today ... for You. 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.

I Do Love You

Yes… ‘Tis true.

Immediately your inner reflex is to say “but you don’t know me” or perhaps (as is true to the majority of those to whom I am sending this note) “we have never even met … it is not possible for you to love me.”

Oh, My Dear Friend, I do love you because I choose to love you. I love you because to do so is the inclination of spirit that I have opted for in my living of life. I love you because you and I have been introduced… our paths have intersected… our spirits have bumped into each other in accordance with the direction of the Power that orchestrates all of the universes both known and unknown. This is an eternal and immutable fact, that I am as certain of as I am of the blink of my eye, as I type these words in this moment.

You may be one of those to whom I have been sending messages for a while and have never heard a response … or heard from once or twice when your spirit was touched by a particular note of harmony with my thoughts. Or, you could be one of those with whom I have an intimate and constant contact and am involved with every element of your life. It matters not what circumstance surrounds our knowledge of each other. What is of imminent importance is the reality that Life has blessed us with each other. And with that awareness … with that gift … with that singular window of opportunity comes the chance for the exercise of Will. My choice is to will myself to embrace you, without reservation, and give, to you, the election of your own response … free from expectation, requirement, anticipation, or even, in many instances, knowledge of who you are.

Yours is the opportunity to know something that you may be completely unfamiliar with (for I know that I have had no model, in my experience, to follow). You can enjoy the availability of a Friend for whom you have nothing to offer beyond … simply, your friendship … and only as much, or as little of that as you wish. And, better yet, this gift to you is not even contingent upon your friendship offered in return … it is a gift without strings … no requirement for any reciprocation or even acknowledgement. This is my choice for my heart. This is what I give my Self … my very Soul … license to do with every opportunity offered by Life.

It is my desire to make every effort possible to give away every bit of love that I am capable of mustering. My delightful experience in this quest is that there is an exponential multiplying of my capacities to love with the exercising of the option. (How cool is that?)

Mind you, I am not talking about a ‘socially correct’ kind of ‘community caring.’ I know that the fulfillment of my yearning … the satisfaction of my desire … the attainment of my goal … is only possible if the love is genuinely for You … the individual person that is the entirety of You. And, while this is a concept completely foreign to and perhaps unacceptable to the world about me … I am convinced that the days that are mine on this globe are granted to me for the purpose of planting, nurturing, and encouraging seeds of genuine love in the hearts, minds, and imaginations of every life brought my way.

So, My Very Dear Friend, perhaps now you have a little better idea of why I continue to communicate with you … why I smile when I see your name in my e-mail address book … why I express feelings, thoughts, and impressions that seem, at times, to be a bit apart from what you feel is the ‘norm.’ Loving each other is, sadly, not our world’s norm … but it is the norm for the One who created us … and I enjoy, thoroughly, communicating that eternal norm, that overriding and all-encompassing norm that will outlast all of the strife, doubt, anger, bitterness, mistrust … every fruit of Love’s antithesis conceivable.

There you have it … now another piece of that puzzle in your mind is provided. I am grateful for, and thank you for, this opportunity to share my view of this life that we share … together. My sincere desire is for the genuine intent and commitment of my spirit to be known to you … at this moment of your reading… for, don’t you know … I Love You.

And, I remain, as always, Your faithful Friend and willing Servant.


(originally penned 29 April 2005)

Did I Do Something?

When Garrison asked Concert Pianist, Andre Watts, if he would be unnerved by the presence of any significant individual at one of his performances, the gentleman said that the presence of his last teacher, a Mr. Fleischer, would give him some apprehension. “I would imagine that he would be saying ‘I told you not to do that’.” Mr. Watts said.

What concerns me here is the revelation that Mr. Watts' thought was centered on the possibility of condemnation… a recognition of “what I did wrong.” Why, I wonder, do we instinctively anticipate a negative critique? All too seldom, to my thinking, do we think that the appraisal of another will be in the theme of “Oh… how pleased I am that you did those good things so well!” Is not a positive endorsement of more worth and value than a “constructive” criticism (or, at least, of value equal)? Why, oh why do we feel that a correction is of more merit than the recognition of the things done well? No!… and again I say “No!” to this habit that we have adopted to feel compelled to offer only a “helpful” suggestion as our first and primary comment when presenting our impression of the performance of another.

Consider with me, if you will, yourself in the tender embrace of your Partner after a particularly intimate interlude. You respond to the “How was it for you?” question with “It could have been worse.” “Unthinkable!!” you say, and of course I agree. It is “unthinkable” that you would be so insensitive, and so just-plain-stupid. Unthinkable because you would never be so uncaring for the feelings of another. And unthinkable for the simple, self-serving reason that you would not want to jeopardize your hopes for a welcoming reception to that ’venue’ for some future ‘performance.’ So, I ask, why would we apply a different criteria to the world around us in our everyday experiencing of life’s ‘concert?’

How could we be so insensitive to the feelings of those who are performing their daily tasks, or accompanying us as fellow members of our life’s ‘audience’, that we respond to some negative imperative and point out the “It could have been worse"s that are an always-present part of living. The news media has a compulsion to point out what could have been the extreme loss of life in a situation that, in fact, was blessed with no loss of life. The weather reporter is driven, by some dramatic urge, to declare whatever could be, or has at some time in distant past been, the absolute worst scenario remotely relatable to a present set of benign indicators. We are inundated with a deluge of “glass half empty-isms” when all we really want, or need, is a sip of encouragement to relieve our thirst for some joy in life. Who even asked for a full glass in the first place?

Isn’t it possible that we could, instead find that act of kindness, in the sea of meanness, to point out with “Look … what a lovely thing!” Is it so difficult to focus on the small wild-flower in the field of brambles, and as the butterfly does, fly over the painful, clutching thorns of “realities” that would demoralize and discourage … and savor the sweet nectar of something just as “real” (though more rare), that sustains and nurtures our souls. Does that mean that we are somehow unmindful of life’s ‘brambles?’ Certainly not! It simply means that we have the option, moment by moment, to see what Life has provided for our happiness and fulfillment … and are willing to pull free of the defeating and spirit-crushing brambles, to fly to it, tell of it, and celebrate the joys of it … whatever it is and for however long it can be enjoyed.

I ask that you consider the response of this famous and well respected concert master of world renown… our aforementioned Andre’ Watts… who has all of the talent, training, and experience that could, reasonably, establish him to be above vulnerability to any anticipation of the criticisms of others. The majority of us, at any age, are not nearly so well equipped. Thus, for him to reveal his susceptibility to an unpleasant critique, serves to accentuate how pervasive (and even, possibly, irrational) this common fear is.

Please, Dear Friend, listen to yourself when next you have occasion to comment on the behavior or performance of another. Let’s agree to lift one another up on the arms of kind consideration. Wouldn’t it be a marvelous thing to have others hoping that You will be the One in their “audience” in life … because they know that You will be supportive, appreciative, and respectful of them?

It is my intent that I will be such a person in your life.



IMAGE (Our "Inner Child"): Martina Brandstetter, BBC News

Loving Frank

It will soon be two years since Frank’s spirit set itself free from his weary and worn body. Frank is (Yes! “is” for our spirits are eternal) my friend. We met in the early morning darkness, as I was delivering a newspaper to the lady across the street from his condominium. I was taking my customary care to toss the newspaper either close to the lady’s gate, or, when possible, over the gate. I had noticed that she sometimes didn’t pick the previous day’s paper up, as I delivered the current day’s. So I deduced that she had some physical limitation that made going out to the parking space sometimes-difficult… hence the ‘close to the gate’ ritual.

On the particular day when Frank and I met, I had completed the lady’s delivery and was backing my van out of the parking space when in the corner of my eye I saw movement. Here came an elderly gentleman, shuffling his feet with what was obviously some effort, and doing his best to, simultaneously, wave a “wait” message to me. So, I waited … and waited … and (well, you get the picture.) After what seemed a passable version of ‘forever’ he arrived at the window of the van.

When he had established his balance and reclaimed some semblance of normal breathing, he introduced himself and asked me for a favor. “That lady that you deliver the paper to is my daughter. She doesn’t read the paper, but has it delivered for me to read. I have, sometimes, had a difficult time getting out to pick the paper up. And, sometimes, you throw it over her gate and I can’t get to it. If you would just throw it out in her parking space, I can get to it there. I would really appreciate that.” Well, you can imagine how I felt. Here I had been laboring under the assumption that I was accommodating someone with physical limitations … when, in fact, I was creating an insurmountable hurdle for this very gracious gentleman.

From that day on, I pulled up into Frank’s parking space and threw his paper (a loving gift from his daughter) just as close to his back door as I could manage to. And while Frank and I never had the opportunity to visit in customary terms, we formed a bond of deep, quality mutual respect. We shared frequent waves and salutes when I made his delivery. He often made a special effort to be at or near his door when I came. And we had infrequent but rich occasions to exchange lingering handshakes flavored with verbal expressions of appreciation for each other. I had the opportunity to give Frank a few “I love you, My Friend.”s and he voiced his, more reserved, sentiments. I was given the gift of assuring this fine and gentle man that he was noticed … that he mattered … that he was admired … that he had worth … that he was loved. I will miss his presence. There is, still present, a “Frank shaped hole” in my world.

“So,” you ask “why do you tell me all of this?” I tell you, Dear Reader, because I am frequently presented with statements like “I’m just not like you … I can’t express myself to others the way that you do” or “I am just not comfortable with doing the things or saying the things that you do.” or, “People just won’t understand what I’m doing … or why … like they do with you.” And here is, for your reflection, an illustration of just how easy and simple and uncomplicated it can be for us to touch our world for Love. It’s like the words of the old song “You gotta have heart… there’s nothing to it but to do it” . That’s all, My Friend, simply listen … allow yourself to see … take the moment … take the moment … take the moment … (see there, you were already getting impatient with that illustrative repetition … GOTCHA! [chuckle])

Please believe me … you and I can make a difference in our individual little worlds … with Love and Willingness. You just wait. You will see. In tiny ways, life will become more enjoyable and internally (in your own private and intimately personal core) ... richly rewarding.

Trust me, OK? We Can Do This!

Not SomeTHING ... SomeONE

"How many cares one loses

When one decides...

Not to be something...

But to be someone"

Coco Chanel




IMAGE: BBC News

My (annual) Return to a Metaphor for My Life, "My Cafe"

As I sit here…at my table on the sidewalk of this modest little ‘café’ that is my life…I read, I listen, I observe, I feel, I think (a lot), and people pass by.

Occasionally, someone will wave a “Hello” to which I respond appropriately. At some times, an individual will stop by and chat.

There are moments when someone will pass by in traffic and speak through their open window or even pull over for a moment in the temporary “Load/Unload Zone” and visit at greater length. Rarely, a chair will be pulled out and occupied for an extended time and we will speak of deeper and fuller things.

All the while, the world passes by… doing all of the things that need to be done and going to all the places that require going to… while I can be counted on… even want, more than almost anything, to be counted on… to be in my spot for whatever kind of invitation is deemed necessary by whomever deems it so. And I am delighted to be there for each and every one.

What I yearn for is someone to share my table with… permanently. Enjoying the sights, sounds, fragrances, pains, joys, and events that visit our place. Happy to be with me… of me… in me… and never jealous, resentful, or envious of the complete focus that I give as my loving gift to whomever requires a part of me. This I yearn for hourly.

[I note here the fact that this "Revisited" article was originally posted 14April2006. I present it, again, to allow new readers to have this perspective and insight... that they may know me better. JMB]


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

Another Breakfast With Herman

“Bring your breakfast out here and keep company with me and my friends this morning” Herman said. So, I did. And as I took a leisurely breakfast, Herman reminded me of our past together. How I had taken him, as a pit (or seed, if you will) from that delectable avocado, and carefully placed him at just the right depth in a glass of water. Then onto the shelf in the window. How I maintained the correct water level as he sent those first little shoots of root toward the glass. And, when he had developed a thick and strong network of roots with a delicate head of sprouting greenery, introduced him into his first tiny pot of rich soil.

We have shared many years, and many successive pots as he grew and developed under my tutelage and nurturing. What a momentous day it was when I decided to usher him into the world of Mother Earth with all of the potential opportunities… and vulnerabilities that she represents. He took to his environment with a flourish and grew with amazing quickness into a wonder of some twelve or thirteen feet in height. Then the storms of 2004. The elderly oak, under which Herman had thrived, lost its hold on one of its dead limbs… it fell… and Herman caught the full weight of it and was broken at just a foot above the ground.

I was saddened to have to remove all that we had enjoyed watching grow to full and healthy stature. But I refused to remove all of him from his place there, under the oak. All that was left was a short stump of what he was. But under that stump there lived a healthy, complete, and strong base of roots that had begun in that tiny glass many years before. And those roots sent power and energy to that wounded remainder of my lovely tree… and he began again! This morning, the voices of Life’s Spirit… or God… or my Muse… or Nature… or Herman… whatever source you care to identify… spoke to me and reminded me of the importance of that initial nurturing in life. How critical the establishment of a strong and healthy root network is to the stability and nourishment of any Being. And how, when life’s happenstances allow some force to break us… seemingly beyond hope (and, Dear Friend, haven’t we all had those times of being ‘broken’?)… we will always draw on the energies… the foundational power… the nurturing supply from our well-established roots.

For some of us, those roots may be stunted by inadequate nurturing and care at our beginnings. It matters not. For right now… at this very moment… we all can cultivate a base of understanding… a system of supportive and sustaining spiritual, physical, emotional, and social sustenance that will establish our own place in Life’s garden. All we need do is open ourselves to the guiding care of our Master Gardener… listen to and respond to the still, small, and gentle voice within that whispers “This is for you” with new opportunities to learn, explore, experience, and grow. And we can be certain that as we encounter those inevitable experiences that cause us injury and pain… we can grow back from those ‘breakages’ stronger and more resilient than before. I know. Herman reminded me just this morning.

Conflicted

In response to questions from some who are curious about or interested in, what they have termed, my “writing process” … I am sharing with you all, my morning (today, 07 March 2008.)

Rising (as always) at 2AM, I went to the computer, responded to a few 'comments’ on the blog, then decided that what was on my soul to say today, I have already said in a previous posting. So, I went back; copied it; and posted the thought with the addition of “Another” at the beginning of its title. Done! No creativity required today. Coast. Slide. Chill for a day. OK. Well … not so OK, after all. For ‘Friend Muse’ had other ideas. Consequently, the delivery of newspapers in one particular neighborhood in Tampa went like this.

Using right hand … assemble two sections of paper on surface between myself and passenger door ; roll sections together; slide rolled paper into plastic bag draped over right thigh; hand now-bagged paper over to left hand; throw paper from window of van (with accuracy that would intimidate a major league baseball pitcher [grin]) … pick up pen; write one-half of poetry verse on pad …

Assemble; roll; Slide in bag; Throw; write; … (repeat cycle whilst driving around neighborhood. Watching out for joggers, walkers, going-to-school bus students, dog walkers, other vehicles, trees, and so forth, and so on.) So, Dear Friend, Yes! The morning paper was a bit tardy in its delivery to a few customers this morning.

Then to the market for a few groceries, and home. Put Norah Jones on Pandora.com, and type the result. And here ’tis … (I hope that you enjoy it!)

Conflicted

This is where it started
Where it all began.
You a lonely woman,
I, a yearning man.

I responded to your passion …
Invitation to “Secret Love.”
Knowing in my Spirit,
What this was made of.

As You are reaching for me,
Your mind says “Go away!”
When all within would send Me,
I hear you beg me “Stay!”

I hear you say “I loathe you!”
And then “I love You Dear.”
Your anguish in “Go from me!”
Then, “Keep me ever near !”

The love you see me sharing,
The intimacies I’ve shown,
You long to have in your life.
You want them for your own.

I understand your struggle,
I see and hear your pain.
Subjected to your turmoil,
Again, and yet again.

Our natures are too dif’rent,
Conflicts crystal clear.
Longings when apart …
Clashing when too near.

So now you must go your way.
And Me, I must go mine.
Perhaps we’ll each know Love’s song,
Some other place and time.

John-Michael

07 March 2008

Now, Dear Friend, you have a peek into, not only what is stirring within my heart, but how Life’s sweet voice, my Muse, clarifies it all to me. And, so that you will have a more accurate picture of this John-Michael character, I will share what I know that I should not. An “alternate” verse four:

I heard your “Stay away!”
Then “Keep me ever near!”
I’ve told you that you give me,
This pain that’s in my Rear.

Go ahead! Have your chuckle! It’s called “coping!” [silly chuckling myself]

I thank you for your indulgences as I open myself even further to you this morning. I love you (Yes! You!) and I like what Life has given us in each other.

My Voice

“All I have is a voice to undo the folded lie…
We must love one another or die.

W. H. Auden (1907-73)

Having established the understanding that my direction had to come from within with my compass settings to be determined by choices to benefit eternal (as opposed to temporal) accounts, I needed to find my voice. You know; the question of “How do I communicate to those around me what I am feeling, what I understand to be true, what I yearn deeply for…without having them look at and listen to me as a complete FREAK.”

So, how does one find his or her “voice”? Where can you go to learn a way to express what you have seldom been able to whisper to yourself in a moment of introspection? I had no one to go to for directions. Even if there had been a mentor figure (and who, pray tell, is so blessed) I am certain that I would have been incapable of framing the question. What does one ask…”Excuse me, but I am in search of a voice, and wonder if you might have a recommendation?” No, the way seemed to be to listen to the voices around me and sift out all of those incongruous to me with an increasingly discriminating mesh to single out that one, or combination, that comfortably sang my spirit’s song.

For my quest, I found two. They sang different parts in life’s chorus, and they produced a harmony in which I, for the first time in my life, felt free in expressing myself.

The first was (and still remains, some twenty-plus years later) a treasure who stopped me cold in my tracks with the simplicity, candor, intimacy, and unadorned caring of her voice. This is a person whose audio-cassette brought me (literally) to my knees in gratitude and admiration. I know that she would, today, be embarrassed with the simplicity and unrefined quality of that early message, but it was the perfect thing for me… right there and right then in my journey. Ann Kiemel’s “Hi, I’m Ann” was, and remains, one of the most momentous discoveries of my life.

From that tape and the book with the same name, I discovered the spirit with which I could speak to my world… every day…in every circumstance… with each individually unique person… and maintain the integrity of my own soul’s purpose… to heal… to encourage… to minister. But Ann, as an attractive young woman, was not a figure who would be perceived in the same social context that I would be. Had I presented myself with the same vocal script that served her so well, I would have produced a completely different (and undoubtedly unacceptable) response.

Then came the discovery of Leo Buscaglia, Ph.D. From Leo, I learned the art of approach… address… and retreat. The language and manner of those elements, in caring and honest combination, allow me, almost daily, and sometimes frequently in a single day, to approach complete strangers with a message of how they have touched me in some specific and enhancing way. Let me give you an example.

It was one of those “The well is dry… I have nothing more to give… please leave me alone, everybody!” days. I intentionally chose a ‘Hamburger Joint’ that did little business, due to its bad location, to minimize the chance that I would have to interact with anyone. Upon entering the place, I was encouraged to find that there was only one customer, other than myself, there. This gentleman was a rather tall, robust, elderly fellow who moved through the traffic-control maze with a slow, stooped gait that reflected the wear of the years. In the quiet of the near-empty establishment, I could not help overhearing the gentleman presenting a well-worn copy of a cartoon to the order taker. This young girl was, quite clearly, not amused (not with the cartoon, being there, doing her job, or, at that moment in time, with life in general.)

The gentleman was simply standing there… waiting…hoping to make some pleasant contact in his seemingly lonely world. What he was being met with was an irritated indifference… and my heart could not stand to witness his disappointment. “My very Dear Sir,” I addressed the note written on personalized note paper (I had gone out to my car and retrieved the very nice paper to make the impression that the gesture was worthy of care), “Please accept this note of thanks and appreciation for your willingness to reach out in a world that often is not ready to accept reaching out. Your generosity in offering humor touched me and made my world a better place. I feel better because of you and salute you.” Then I signed the note “a fellow pilgrim,” added my name, and when the man went back for his free refill of beverage, placed the note on his tray and left the restaurant.

Upon reaching my vehicle, I looked back and was instantly brought to tears of gratitude by the radiant smile and hearty salute sent to me by the man with a small note of encouragement and appreciation in his hand. We were two comrades joined in the quest to abolish indifference in our shared world. This was the expression of the “voice” given to me by Life. The intimacy learned from Ann Kiemel, expressed with the technique gleaned from Leo Buscaglia combined to give my soul its voice.

(This passage excerpted from a book in progress, John-Michael)

IMAGE courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

'Tis You, and Not Me

Again, this morning, in response to the thoughts accumulating and falling in order as I work … I stop at ‘Mickey D’s’ on my way home. The staff knows … coffee … back corner booth … Waterman in hand and little tablet on table … let the writing begin!

And, today, I offer decades of repeated experience in the form of :

'Tis You, and Not Me

I have heard the “Darling,”
The "Sweetheart” and “Dear.”
I have listened to whispers,
And, hope-filled, drawn near.

And, Oh how I’ve wanted,
Yearned that it be …
That the moment, the enticements,
Were intended for me.

But time has belied it
Too many lips have grown cold,
For me to deny
The truth that they told.

‘Twas never Me that they wanted
I was never their dream.
Only my heart’s expressions
Did they long to glean.

The lyrics of my love’s song,
The ballad of my words,
From the lips of another
She wanted them heard.

She has longed to hear
Declarations of love
The One she has chosen
Is not capable of.

So, I hear her “I love you”
Knowing yet ‘tis untrue.
She loves my words only
To be spoken by You.

The soundtrack, the script,
From my pen she would place.
In your heart she would have them;
On your lips … in your face.

Thus, now knowing and wiser
I give my heart voice;
Aware and accepting
That You are her choice.

I now sing my heart’s love song
Lest the song go unsung;
That You may adopt it …
From You, now it comes.

John-Michael

05 March 2008

Life's Tears

I return, today, to a thought shared two years ago. For, this morning, I sense a ready and wanting Soul looking and listening for what lies in this reflection.

“Dad…Why do you always cry? You cry when you are happy and you cry when you are sad. Why?”

I knew that this was one of those rare moments when my concrete thinking daughter was open to an insight that could have long-lasting consequences in the development of her ability to relate to her feelings. I had best be brief, succinct, and accurate. “Please God” I silently prayed.

“I cry because I allow myself to feel… and tears are an important part of the feeling system. You see, Sweetheart, we were created with our hearts capable of feeling both joy and sadness. But our hearts can’t contain too much of either. So…we have a safety system that keeps our hearts from breaking if we feel too much of either sadness or joy. The extra comes out as tears. They can be happy tears or sad tears. But they both come out so that our hearts don’t have too much of either to hold. Because I permit myself to feel a lot… I have a lot of extra.”

Those with whom I have shared the first part of my emerging book 'Why I Am Here and You Are There', will know that I live my life in response to the leading of “The Master Gardener” as my “still, small” inner voice speaks to my heart. Today I awoke with the recollection of the dialogue (with my daughter) that I just shared with you and an acute sense that there is someone, some “plant” in the “Master Gardener’s” care that is in need of the nurturing benefit of this little message of encouragement. In my capacity of “Minister of Manure” I am compelled, by previous commitment to the Master, to spread some of the “compost” of my past experience where preparation has been made and a receptive heart is readied. So, My Friend, whoever and wherever you are, here is the answer to your petition.

Go ahead… it is OK… allow yourself to feel… to embrace…to experience… to savor life as it is being presented to you at this very moment. Your heart will not break… tears will protect it from the hazard of too much (and the garden all around you will benefit from the watering of the excess of your courageous participation in the adventure at hand.) Live life… all of it…saving it is not an option… invest YOURSELF in living. And if tears are the result… let all (your children, your family, your friends) know that the tears are from a heart overflowing with the excess of living life.

Love Storm

Seizing, testing, and tearing at the togetherness of his vessel,
The sudden, unbidden storm of cyclonic passion unleashes its powers.
While the wizened and weathered sailor thrills at this new challenge;
His readiness and responses to the furious encounter telling of storms before.

For him ‘tis but an awakening of long-dormant senses.
He thrills in his celebration of this rush of uncommon energies and power.
All made richer by his ability to understand; to accept; to welcome.
For he knows ‘tis nothing but a passing gale … a magnificent gift of Nature.

But he relishes that wistful dream of distant trade-winds of constancy;
Reliable breezes of prevailing forces that maintain a pleasant voyage.
Thus he sails on … enjoying the breath of Friendships that sustain;
The occasional gust of camaraderie … a sweet puff of Congeniality.

Keeping, all the while, his sailing skills sharpened … his ship in readiness;
For that anticipated, unknown, yet expected eruption of Love’s powers.
And he smiles the smile of One who never abandons his yearning
To sail into life’s sunset-painted horizon with sails billowing,
Filled to Desire's capacity ... with satisfactions brought by,
The still unknown ... Her.


John-Michael
03 March 2008

Persha

I am, occasionally, asked (by the “uninitiated“) what this “still, small, inner-voice,” “Muse,” “Life’s voice,” business is all about. Today I am going to give you a “real-time” account of just what the aforesaid is “all about.”

It was at 11:30, last night ... (and those of you who know me best know that I am soundly asleep at that hour [given the unrelenting reality of rising at 2AM for work every day]) ... and I was awakened by an immediate and clear understanding that someone who I care about was in some sort of emotional crisis and had their mental and emotional focus on me and reaching me. So, I took myself from my bed, went to the computer and fired it up, checked for any message that would clarify the specific nature of the crisis, saw no message … and waited (Yes! I waited … because I know that the forces of our Spiritual Self communicate far more directly and quickly than technology’s finest efforts.) And, at 11:47, as anticipated, the telephone at my elbow rang. And on the line was the sobbing, completely hysterical voice of one of the dearest of my Loved Ones. She was completely out of emotional control. She was terrified and panicked … and at least one and one-half hours away from me by car.

I told her that I was on my way … where could I find her? She protested the distance, time, my having to be at work in a few hours … and all with the frightened and pleading tones of voice that said “Help Me … Please!” I spoke words of reassurance and comfort all the while knowing that neither would be accomplished without direct and immediate physical intervention. Then I heard the Other Voice. I heard my Loved One speaking to, and being spoken to by, Someone who was intensely, yet calmly and caringly focused on understanding my Loved One’s situation. That person took control of the situation with a grace and confidence that was not of this world’s teaching or direction. There was, in her voice (this “Someone”), a purpose and assurance of imminent comfort and peace. And I enjoyed a certain knowledge that Life had carried to my Loved One all of the love and care that I was feeling.

This Someone told me (for she insisted that my Loved One allow her to speak to whomever my Loved One was speaking with, on her cell phone) that she had just returned home, would normally have gone into her dwelling place, but, on this occasion, “felt lead” to go down to the area where my Loved One was. This special Someone and I agreed that our following of the leading of our heart’s Messenger was something that should be a “normal” course of all of our lives. That to consider such a happening (as was being played out between her, my Loved One, and myself) to be out of the ordinary was an indictment of humanity’s failure to realize a critical aspect of our being. That of the potentials available to our spiritual attunement to one other.

Life’s loving and protecting, nurturing Power is known to many peoples of many cultures by many names. At approximately 11:50 PM, last night, its name was ... Persha.

Namaste, Persha.

The Children

I have, of late, found myself enchanted by stories shared by Mom’s telling of their lives with their diverse children. All sort and description of environs and settings. Varied ages and interests told of. Demonstrations of talents, abilities and gifts that entertain, amuse, and bring a tear of admiration. And I miss, sorely, an immersion in that magic.

I have attached, to this reflection, a photo of myself in an environment that was as close to heaven as I have had opportunity to be for a long while. I was invited to visit a local elementary school that I might provide a “break time” for teachers of kindergarten and first-grade students. Each teacher would bring their class to the library (Yes!, don’t say it, please. I know. It is now referred to as a “media center” in today’s nomenclature. But it will always and forever be the library for me. And my dear and treasured friend, Carole, who was [she has retired now] the “Librarian”, was my hostess and the one who invited me.)

So, on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, for a few weeks, I had the immeasurable joy of having a single class at a time sitting on the big round rug before Mister Brown’s chair as I read a wondrous selection of stories to them. And I took advantage of the opportunity to pause … and s_l_o_w_l_y point to each and every one of these gifts from heaven … and tell each individual “I love YOU,” and after another pause … the next one … “and I love YOU” … and so on, until each child was personally reassured that they were, in fact, loved for that day … as an individual. I took the moment to let them absorb a reality of relaxed, comfortable, natural, and gentle language of love and respect. For each other. And for themselves. It was glorious!

I have no doubt that MANY of these gems of potential had never been spoken to in such an intimate and gently caring way. Most especially the boys. So you can only imagine my joy when, as his class was lining up to leave the library, a tall, thin lad of far-East extraction, ran back to me, threw his little arms around my neck and declared “I love you Mister Brown!” I have tears flowing as I recount the moment, even now. Nothing could surpass my joy in that instant. Then, seeing what this bold classmate was doing, an adorable little “Shirley Temple look-alike”, bolted from the line and delivered her version of the same. I know that there were clouds in the sky that day … but they were so far beneath my feet that I couldn’t describe them.

After that encounter, it became “group hug and proclamations of love” time for each class as they prepared to leave me. I had teachers whose classes did not come in for reading sessions, come into the library to find out just who this guy was … this “Mister Brown” that they heard students and directly involved teachers speaking of. And why? Simply because I chose to open my heart to, and teach those darling treasures to open themselves to, intimate and genuine expressions of those emotions that they had no previous vocabulary for. I allowed them to discover the joy of honoring and being confident in the worth of their feelings. And the boys seemed to be the most grateful .

On my last day there, I attended several holiday presentations made by students for their parents, in their individually decorated and prepared classrooms. Their was an endless parade of parents saying “So! YOU are the Mister Brown that he has been talking about all these weeks.” Don’t you see, My Dear Reader, it mattered to these children. An environment of validation and caring was immensely important to them. As was demonstrated by the excited voice of one little boy as he repeatedly called my name whilst I was headed for my van at close of all of the holiday festivities. Here he came, at full gallop. His Mom was hurriedly trying to catch up with a very large package carried in both hands. “He asked me last night, to bake his most favorite cake for today. When I said that that was a very nice idea for his classmates … he replied ‘Oh no, Mom. It’s for Mister Brown … he will be there!’” I was overwhelmed! There he stood … waiting … knowing what simply HAD to follow … “I love you [and I gently spoke his name]” He literally glowed!

So, Dear Friend, with my eyes blurred with fond recollection, I take this moment to thank all of you whose stories of loving and supportive … caring and engaging … and intimately involved living and growing experiences with your children, have been such a joy and blessing for me.

I do, indeed, love You.