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Posts Tagged ‘choice’

The only hope of understanding [pain] comes as we align ourselves with a groaning universe committed to cycles of birth, rebirth, and the longing for a just order. (Barbara A. Holmes)

Stop. Breathe. Not a new notion when it comes to managing stress. And yet somehow, each time I expect instant results. After the pause I open my eyes. The elongated blink wasn’t long enough. The same ugliness remains. Perspective doesn’t arrive until I’m ready.

That perspective rarely comes in permanent form, never as solid, one-size-fits-all wisdom. Recently, a blessed moment came when I noticed I could help someone in an unexpected, yet simple way, By listening. Talking, yes—listening more.

Light comes. In many forms. Sometimes in kaleidoscope, beautiful-but-not-easily-recognized forms. Then again it arrives as itself, obvious in nature. The love of a child or family member. An unexpected gift. A longing for a just order that results in action.

The good exists. It hides, but it exists.

 

 

 

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“Okay, my pen was here a minute ago.”

Life is an irritation. (Anatoly Karpov, chess master)

Our tech-friendly, easy-clean, comfortable recliner couch has found a way to annoy my husband and me.

It grabs cell phones, the remote control, important papers, and occasionally a container of dental floss. It slides them into cushion crevices or onto the floor, preferably inside well-shaded, flashlight-shy areas.

As we pull out the couch to retrieve the stolen items, plugs to the mechanical parts pull out from the wall.

As we sit, the comfy cushions caress us and widen the spaces between one beige square and another. The furniture isn’t prepared for two adults and an avalanche of items operated by arthritic fingers.

How easily I get stuck in broken places and forget the beauty of what I have—forget sun and crawl into shadow. In today’s argumentative atmosphere, anxiety fills the air like dust particles.

No perfect answer. Real life refuses to fit inside a fortune cookie. It refuses to see what is good, sincere, truthful.

I think I’ll check one more time and see if I can find perspective. In a moment of meditation, in intentionally focusing on large and small examples of kindness. Balance is rarely obvious but present. I wouldn’t know what goodness and truth were if I hadn’t experienced it. Touched it. Shared it. With someone who cared about integrity.

In this incredibly imperfect world, peace to all.

 

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Human pain does not let go of its grip at one point in time. Rather, it works its way out of our consciousness over time. There is a season of sadness. A season of anger. A season of tranquility. A season of hope. (Robert Veninga)

In my Star League Chronicles stories, textbooks open into three-dimensional realities. Therefore, in my created fantasy world, history isn’t written from the point of view of the victor or patriot; it comes from the individuals who lived it. Thoroughly. In any Star League subject, the characters physically rise from the pages. And they carry on dialogue.

The real world, unfortunately, isn’t always that honest.

However, when my husband and I visited Berlin, we touched the places where death and destruction took place. Both the German government and citizens admit the past, what they learned from it. I chose to absorb both the beauty and the pain—not to live in a past I never experienced—but to acknowledge truth.

Today, as I stand, walk, and drive in sunshine I ask the brightness to add perspective to the darkness that fills the current political scene. Recent events trigger both sadness and anger. They threaten possibilities of hope and tranquility.

Blue sky touches the horizon. An intangible space. It can’t be owned. I see it, know the blue comes from the sun’s rays refracted through the earth’s atmosphere. The blue fades. Gray takes its place.

Comments on the horrors of today, abound. In an endless loop. Simple survivor skills? Writing helps me, so do my husband’s loving backrubs, as well as a few minutes messaging a friend who happens to be less than half my age.


Age and time. Perhaps they are no longer issues. May I seek integrity and the ability to get up again. And again. To all those who value truth, let’s live what we want to see—even if no one seems to follow. Yet. No. The sky isn’t falling. It just feels that way.

Coping skills? Sharing accepted. And thanks.

 

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To the soul, there is hardly anything more healing than friendship. (Thomas Moore)

Hey, worn lock! Come on. Open.

This gosh-darned door won’t budge without a fight. The wood is old and swollen. The screws wobble like poor-fitting dentures. This door probably has been locked and unlocked, opened and closed, since the house was built, nineteen years before we made it our family home in 1976.

I anthropomorphize the door’s response as I push. It answers, No. Enough. I’m on strike.

My husband has more muscle. The door opens with a low, ouch.

A temporary fix now holds the assembly together—with a less-than-professional-but-works repair.

I think about my own that-is-enough responses. Turn off disturbing world news chatter. Take a break from speed editing marred with self-criticism. Slow down on the marathon cleaning. Pause the fear button. Begin again. And again. And again.

So often I think perfect is expected. Even though it doesn’t last longer than a sneeze. A friend’s smile keeps me trying longer for more important goals. The goodness of others also triggers gratitude.

How many wonderful people have been welcomed at my front door? I’ve lost count. Because the number doesn’t matter. The ages of entranceway guests don’t matter either. Friendship heals.

May my door continue to open to what can be. No matter how old its hinges may be. (Mine either.)

 

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Do not measure your loss by itself; if you do, it will seem intolerable; but if you will take all human affairs into account you will find that some comfort is to be derived from them.  (Saint Basil)

This poem has been in my file since my oldest granddaughter has been small. Yes, I choose the positive. However, it is a choice, not a feeling. An uphill climb is a sweaty uphill climb. Lately, I notice a lot of jagged rocks. Peace to all. Eventually.

EXPERIENCE

It contains puzzle parts made of fear, pain,

celebration, growth, loss, gain. The parts leak

inside, swell the pores and form leathery ripples

as time passes. They are never fully decoded.

 

I recall the last warmth of a friend’s embrace.

Buried now, she can no longer speak in earth terms.

I read the notice too late and never said goodbye.

Experience can’t fit inside a single life time.

 

Over generations, it mingles, swells. I watch

my granddaughter play. And pray she sees

more joy than sorrow.

Time embraces all, teaches few, keeps no one.

 

Love makes experience worthwhile.

I kneel, bless my next generation, and join

my first grandchild as she discovers the world,

one bright colored block at a time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are. (J.K. Rowling)

My grandson and I color together. He notices how difficult it is for me to maneuver my fingers. Arthritis and a fractured-metacarpal-that-healed-crooked make smaller crayons a challenge.

“Here, try this big fat one he says… And Minions are yellow.” He is certain about that fact. My lucky guess.

I thank him since my adult world rarely mentions animated characters. Grownups talk about world concerns, family problems, sports, the rising cost of gasoline.

Dakota notices both my gifts and deficits. Neither changes his love for me.

If only every relationship could be this simple.

Perhaps simple and easy are not the same reality.

Loving my young friend is easy. Any opening into the heart makes the spirit capable of growing—into accepting the light, into discovering who I really am.

 

 

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I’d rather see a sermon than hear one any day; I’d rather one should walk with me than merely tell the way. (Edgar Guest, poet)

My husband and I received two plants. As living, growing, loving gifts from our church family. Neither Jay nor I garden or know the difference between a weed and a rare flower, a mushroom and a toadstool. He takes care of watering indoor plants. Mother Nature tends to the outdoors.

These two plants belong outdoors. I assumed that after a few days, my husband had taken both small green pots from the screened-in back porch to their home outside. Only one made it. The other isn’t dead, but it is malnourished, waiting to be rescued. Drooping, brown-edged leaves fall from the side.

I watered the plant and placed it next to its healthier peer.

Peer? Yes. Planted at the same time. One starving, the other well-fed.

The individual who blasts views different than mine may look like the failing plant to me; he or she may think I am in the dying pot. Either way, negative judgment leads nowhere.

The man begging at the corner may be an alcoholic and drug addict; he may be a veteran with PTSD, or someone who lost everything from inadequate health insurance or despair. Appearances don’t tell the whole.

A storm last night watered both plants. No change in the flowerless pot yet. I want instant results. Real life rarely works that way. Next step—I must check with the person who gave us the greenery and get a hint or two. My plant knowledge may remain in the pre-kindergarten stage, but, any level of increased caring can help.

In the meantime, my seven-year-old grandson and I tinker with my failing printer. He is fascinated with the parts, with anything mechanical. The copy of his sight-words homework appears. The printer has come to life; he is ecstatic. I don’t know much about anything mechanical, like a printer. He doesn’t know much about printers or words.

We have no idea what we did right, but our work together has succeeded. Peers in a different sense. Okay, I did the work until my son came and finalized the original problem. (The machine was trying to send a non-existent fax.) My grandson brought the enthusiasm. The mix worked.

May people with differing points of view find the best in one another. Someday. Rich and poor, conservative and liberal, as equals. It may be the only way.

 

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