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Posts Tagged ‘inspiration’

A Leaf-filled Heart, Nature’s Miracle

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on July 24, 2021| 2 Comments »

leaves shaped like a heart

You can be a victim of cancer or a survivor of cancer. It’s a mindset. (Dave Pelzer)

Debby and nature know one another. She celebrates it and doesn’t take blue skies and artistically shaped branches for granted. I love Debby’s lack of pretense. It comes naturally. She grew up on a farm and recognizes the innate virtue of the living world.

As a child Debby had a pet skunk. Scent weaponry disengaged. At an early age she could accept the soft beauty of a maligned animal. Debby recognizes goodness in the light-and-shadow natural world. Therefore, when she developed cancer and needed a spiritual sign, nature provided the hope she needed.

Fear is a normal reaction. Pain. Severe post-treatment nausea. Then, came the result of any trauma—waking in the morning and knowing the previous day wasn’t a dream. It touches anyone who has walked through hell.

Therefore, nature knew what to do. It created art for her in a unique form, one she could see from her window. Dried leaves formed the shape of a heart on the roof of a neighbor’s house.  Dried and crumbled oak. Cracked brown maple. Unidentified stems.

As new winds approached, the pattern remained. For weeks. Hope healed Debby’s spirit. Spirit filled her body, and the cancer did not stay.

Eventually, wind scattered nature’s artwork. It erased the leaf-heart. The message wasn’t needed anymore. Debby’s beating heart was going to be enough. She had purpose. She would survive.

The original photograph of the neighbor’s roof isn’t much larger than a postage stamp. The enlarged version, like life, isn’t as clear as I would like it to be. However, a little sun color highlights the miracle celebration. The unspoken possibilities.

The story of Lazarus claims he was raised from the dead. However, the rising wasn’t permanent. It didn’t put him in front of anyone in line at a grocery store. Imagine how many lines in his face he could have by now! His second burial didn’t make much of a story. His life in between? That could be another matter, possibly not exciting enough for added scribbled pages. Most of the good we do isn’t dramatic.

I am grateful for Debby. Her healing. Her presence in my tiny spiritual community. Her friendship.

Peace to all. May gratitude grab this moment, whether it be inside a place of struggle or a moment of triumph.

 

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Treading Water, Touching Wisdom

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , on July 17, 2021| 1 Comment »

pool_LI

If you chase two rabbits, you will catch neither one. (Russian proverb)

Two loads of wash in the hall. A bathroom that needs cleaning. An over-scheduled week. My husband suggests we go to the Y. Relax. Maybe when I get back, I will actually do one thing at a time. 

Buoyed by eleven feet of water, I tread from one side of the deep end to the other. Heat may fill the air, but I am surrounded by coolness. And a vague sense something special is about to happen. I smile at a young gentleman swimming close by. He smiles back.

Soon Randy and I engage in a long conversation. Well, he talks. I listen. “My heart stopped beating last March and my wife revived me with CPR.” My ears are open.

He introduces me to his wife. I hear their stories. They include meditation, music, a recording studio, a computer enterprise. Enthusiasm. A bi-racial couple with an incredible story to tell. Whether the husband or wife carries more sun-protective melanin doesn’t matter.

The point of this story has less to do with outside features than internal qualities. I see no wrinkles on my companions but recognize plenty of experience. I wonder if the couple has hit 40 yet.

I know I want to meet Randy and his wife again.  We met on a spiritual level. The ideal in any gathering. Buoyed by hope, I forget about a schedule that seemed impossible a few hours ago. One breath at a time. One slow kick after another keeps me moving in the water. Today. This moment. It doesn’t need to be perfect to be beautiful.     

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A Teaspoon of Vanilla, Bitter and Sweet

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , on April 30, 2021| Leave a Comment »

vanilla

Forever is composed of nows. (Emily Dickinson)

Back in the days when I thought childhood and eternity were synonyms, a neighbor kid and I poured vanilla into a teaspoon and tasted it. The flavor was nothing like the ice cream or cake that shared the label. The other girl and I giggled about it. And made faces exaggerating the bitterness.

Again? Yes. We did it again. My mother obviously wasn’t in the room. The taste didn’t improve. Neither did my judgment for years. In a lot of areas. Strange, Mom never did ask why she needed more vanilla so soon. Perhaps we didn’t take as much as my taste buds recall.

That old memory appears as I put a fresh bottle of vanilla in my cabinet. As my mind travels into other realities. Two funerals. One next week. Another not yet planned. The second death occurred today. A member of my church community. It doesn’t seem real. And yet, my head knows differently. I hear her voice in my head. I want to answer back.

Darkness. Light. Bitterness and sweet. This moment. Capture it now.

The holes in lace become the design. The bee, part stinger and part honey maker. A full moon against a black sky.

Childhood and forever. No longer the same.

Balance. May it find its place in more than flavors.

 

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Spilled

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , on March 6, 2021| Leave a Comment »

Cleaning anything involves making something else dirty, but anything can get dirty without something else getting clean. (Laurence J. Peter)

Maple syrup spilled

in the back of my refrigerator.

 

As I scrub, beeps sound

a warning. Close the door. Now.

 

A fridge’s chill skill weakens

when heated air threatens its territory.

 

Maple goo has attacked a jar of pickles

This won’t take long, I hope.

 

I scrub, giving no anesthesia to mechanical

cries. Yet when I wait on hold

 

for three-calls-ahead

at my local pharmacy

 

during a pandemic rage,

I sometimes sigh and pace, as if

 

the workload of a short-staffed drugstore didn’t exist.

I have an agenda. Twenty-six hours forced into twenty-four.

 

A bit at a time, I say to the fridge

opened for briefer moments.

 

A more intensive task comes next.

Removing stickiness inside me.

 

 

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I Left My Phone in the Car: A Prose Poem

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , on November 19, 2020| Leave a Comment »

The only thing worse than being blind is having sight and no vision. (Helen Keller)

My friend wears her mask over her nose, mouth—and eyes. I don’t comment. She’s blind. It doesn’t matter. I lead her to the hospital’s elevator and through registration. We wait. I suddenly realize

I left my phone in the car. I feel lost without it.

Sun shines through pale beige shades half-drawn along ample windows. The walls wear the same color and light. I try to embrace the moment. The gift of sight. The reason why I give to my friend.

But I left my phone in the car. I feel lost without it.

A medical assistant calls my friend’s name. Only patients are permitted in treatment rooms. I have time to think. To meditate while she meets with her doctor. Instead I bi-locate, tri-locate inside possibilities that will never be

because I left my phone in the car. I feel lost without it.

I find a single scrap of paper. And write. Absorb the moment. What gift is happening now? I breathe in and out. Slowly. My thoughts. Focused one moment, gone the next

because I left my phone in the car. I feel lost without it.

My friend returns. She leaves the aide’s arm and reaches for mine. Communication. Find the difference between sight and vision, want and need.

My friend and I talk. About the trivial, about memories that have lasted. “We’ve had a lot of red lights on this street,” my friend says. She is right. Aware, yet not stuck in the waiting.

My phone rests, messages on hold. Finally, I accept each bite of time. And swallow.

Kaleidoscope, mask and cell phone

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Can I Really Say I Hear You?

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , on September 22, 2020| 1 Comment »

acrylic painting I made recently based upon a photo of a birch in Acadia Park in Maine

There’s a lot of difference between listening and hearing. (G. K. Chesterton)

The scene is a circle of young women. In the distant past. I am among the women as I admit I am close to despair.

“Look at the beauty of the trees in the yard,” one member advises. She spreads her arms as if she were Mother Nature enjoying her handiwork.

The scene she describes doesn’t lift me. I feel censured for embracing a less-than-perfect place. And the blue rug where I sit opens. Or at least it seems to open. I fall through. Hidden inside.

Later. Much later. I realize I couldn’t accept the glory because it wasn’t mine. It belonged to someone else. I’d been given a simple answer to a complex situation. An accepting nod would have been better.

Strange. I understand this after my ears needed amplification to catch the most uncomplicated conversation.

It is also strange that I am grateful for the depths because now I can recognize a natural gem and celebrate its worth.

The news advertises fear. With or without facts depending upon the source. A friend calls about her confusion. I don’t have answers. I listen…

 

 

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A Red Car and Metaphors for Us and Them

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , on September 8, 2020| 1 Comment »

There is no us and them; it’s an illusion. We are all human beings, and we all have a responsibility to support one another and to discover ways of wresting the power from the very, very few people who control all the cash and all the property. (Roger Waters.)

Amazing how lost I can feel even though I know exactly where I’m turning left and right. Three errands. Each simple and specific. And yet my thoughts travel as if my brain synapses have no connections. I want to save the world. It isn’t going to happen.

A red car turns ahead of me into the parking lot as a small boy sticks his head out the window. He is a handsome child. Mocha skin. Hair shaved to reveal a perfectly shaped skull. He returns inside immediately. I imagine the voice of the driver, probably a parent. “Get your seatbelt on right now, young man.”

Then I see the identical shaved hairstyle of a smaller boy. He is seated in the middle of the back seat. The red car is no longer a vehicle in a line of traffic. It is its own world. A mini-community that turns toward another part of the shopping center.

I don’t know the family. And yet a scene hits me. The earth from a distance. Made from easily delineated parts. Water. Land. And everything is blurred as if it had no mountain, valley, creatures, or specks of dust.

When one group of people has never interacted with another, notions develop without dimension, fact, or touch.

“I’m not prejudiced,” an unnamed white woman announces. “I just think all lives matter.” The rebuttal comes, “But is your life being threatened? Has it ever been threatened because your pale-peaches skin has too many freckles?” And the response is a cold stare.

Us and them. May these words become pronouns again and stay out of the judgmental realm. They are too easily used as weapons.

A wider worldview. It may be the only solution. Yet not an easy one.

 

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Facing the Darkness Under the Bed: a Poem

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , on September 1, 2020| 3 Comments »

True forgiveness is when you can say, “Thank you for that experience.” (Oprah Winfrey)

What can’t be accomplished in reality, sometimes can be faced through poetry.

 

Facing the Darkness Under the Bed

 

As I sweep under my bed and touch

the darkness below the frame

I imagine going back into time

 

and watch my mom as her mother lies

on another bed. Twelve-year-old Mary Ann

cooks then washes dishes.

 

Her history textbook is opened

on the kitchen table. Ancient war dates fade,

battles with human losses,

 

each its own variation

of an untold Pyrrhic victory.

She hears a different kind of battle.

 

My mother as a young girl

longs to soothe the endless

cries of her mother

 

in labor for forty-eight hours.

Mama survives but delivers a

second dead baby. Mary Ann learns

 

to bury hurts as well, cover them

inside forgotten dreams. She leaves

the darkness under her bed

 

with the dust. Imagination,

it may be physically impossible.

Yet, I reach for the hand

 

of the twelve-year-old girl who will one day

give birth to me, and allow her

the gift of forbidden tears.

 

Perhaps then I can give

me full permission for

releasing mine.

 

 

 

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More Than a Swim at the YMCA

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on July 7, 2020| 1 Comment »

We’re capable of much more than mediocrity, much more than merely getting by in this world. (Sharon Salzberg, Real Love: The Art of Mindful Connection)

A Child’s description of a YMCA pool. “Nothing like the ocean…deeper even at the beginning.”

Two brothers enter the pool. I hear the younger boy say to the other, “This water is eleven feet deep. But it is nothing like the ocean. The ocean is deeper even at the beginning.”

I smile at the child’s innocence. His simple joy. The boy has his green wrist band now. So, he can plunge into the deep end. With confidence. Swim tests completed.

Unfortunately, during Covid19 days those times need to be reserved. Socially distanced. Limited. Nevertheless, I watch the family interact. Enjoy. Celebrate. As I tread water. And reality. As well as I can.

“You have a delightful family,” I finally tell Mom. She smiles. A camera slung around her shoulders. Pictures captured inside.

She is an attractive lady. Black hair almost to her shoulders. Smooth skin the color of dark chocolate. The boys are a tad lighter, with a chestnut tinge. Lean. Active. The father, attentive. Smiling. He doesn’t see me. I smile anyway. To a beauty that I recognize inside him.

And I think about how the ocean seems deeper, even at the edge. A long way between shores. A deep space between peoples.

“Have a blessed day,” I say to the woman as this group’s assigned time ends. As the staff prepares to clean. To keep the space safe during a pandemic virus.

Safe. Such a short word with such an expansive unsaid meaning.

Peace. For all.

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Childhood Innocence Versus Racial Prejudice: A Story from 2011

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , on May 26, 2020| Leave a Comment »

Know you what it is to be a child? It is to be something very different from the man of to-day. It is to have a spirit yet streaming from the waters of baptism; it is to believe in love, to believe in loveliness, to believe in belief; it is to be so little that the elves can reach to whisper in your ear; it is to turn pumpkins into coaches, and mice into horses, lowness into loftiness, and nothing into everything, for each child has his fairy godmother in his own soul. (Francis Thompson)

 Instead of a rant about racial prejudice, I reprinted this long-ago blog from March of 2011. I will let the children in the scene speak. May their innocence win.

 

A two-year-old girl at the Museum Center in Cincinnati protects one of the Children’s Center’s naked dolls as if it were her own. Her mother laughs. “I wonder how we are going to get out of here without it.” I watch as it becomes clear that she only wants this brown doll, not a nearly identical pale one she picks up by mistake. The little girl has ivory skin and wisps of honey hair, but she gravitates toward color.

 

 Funny, more of the pale dolls appear abandoned on the floor of the toddler room than darker-skinned ones. I smile, then laugh when I see my granddaughter Rebe making the same choice. “Baby” goes down the slide with her, takes a trip to the grocery in a miniature grocery cart, and explores the sandbox. Sometimes the doll is held upside down, but Rebe is visibly upset if “Baby” disappears into the arms of another child.

 

 Fortunately, I find another. Lots of pale faces lying around. But Rebe is not satisfied with the Caucasian version. As soon as the doll she wants is left for a second, she adopts it, with the speed of a hawk diving for prey.

    

True, Rebe has grown up in a mixed racial community. So did her father. But it seems that another awareness is involved here, on an innocence level lost long before adulthood. I think of the number of adjectives that describe darker skin, from mocha to mahogany to ebony. I can’t think of anywhere near as many words to describe fair and olive-skinned folk. 

 

Little people don’t need words. They go to the essence of a beautiful reality without it.

The photo is created from a simple colored penciled public domain photo, designed to mimic innocence. 

 

 

 

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