tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84345068510048577502024-03-12T21:18:56.829-07:00WRITE FROM THE HEARTInspirational stories, artwork, photos, and poetry.Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-13450588121033544022018-09-13T12:55:00.001-07:002018-09-13T12:56:30.810-07:00What is Spirituality Anyway…and How to Find Yours<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E06e0GpWFBc/W5rAFYCbVGI/AAAAAAAAAhg/xeY3OzOjNWU9qb7qb8Z6fg8xmmhSSOKSACLcBGAs/s1600/shaman-2897334__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="595" height="182" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E06e0GpWFBc/W5rAFYCbVGI/AAAAAAAAAhg/xeY3OzOjNWU9qb7qb8Z6fg8xmmhSSOKSACLcBGAs/s320/shaman-2897334__340.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pixabay</td></tr>
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As a minister’s daughter who moved away from organized
religion, finding my spiritual path has been the most important goal of my
life. One of the many ways people define themselves is by their belief systems
or lack thereof. One might say they are religious, spiritual but not religious,
spiritual, atheist, agnostic, or somewhere in-between. Our spiritual lives are
formed out of the human desire to understand ourselves in the context of a
changing and oftentimes chaotic world.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Religious” is clear; you subscribe to a set of predetermined
precepts or dogma as prescribed by one of thousands of structured religions. There
is usually a God or gods and goddesses in the equation and most include the
characteristics of faith, belief, worship, and creed. At their conception different
people in different parts of the world formed religious beliefs and codes from
their own views of the world and the cosmos, and often from their fears. Though
religions vary, many share common guidelines for moral behavior. None are wrong
and at the same time many try to force others to believe the precepts or dogmas
of a single structure. That’s not cool in my book and the failure rate is high.
Trust me, I knocked on plenty of doors passing out Bibles in my early days and
learned that people will believe what they want to believe.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Spiritual but not religious” can take many forms depending
on what you grew up with and how you have processed the difference between what
you were taught and what you now believe. You may have gained new insights,
departed from your religion of origin and yet, still cling to certain religious
ideologies.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Spiritual” can also take many forms as in “religious and
spiritual” or “spiritual but not religious” but tends to move further away from
strictly what you have been taught and closer to mature recognition of
universal themes among religions, mutual respect, interdependence, and
mindfulness of natural laws – those indisputable commandments provided by
Mother Earth and our environment. What we do to ourselves we do to the earth
and what we do to the earth we do to ourselves. <o:p></o:p></div>
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An atheist is defined as someone who lacks belief in a God
or being higher than oneself. An agnostic is someone who disbelieves in any
kind of God or gods and also rejects the idea of anything existing beyond what
they can see with their mortal eyes, though either may sit in wonder at a
sunset or the vastness of an ocean. It seems to me that an atheist or an
agnostic might still define themselves as spiritual if they pass their choices
through the heart and do no harm to others, similar to a degree to the original
intent of most religious and spiritual practices.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have often been defined by others as being “SO spiritual”
and the sentiment feels off-putting, as though I am in some way above the
ordinary. To me the word “spiritual” is simply one more way to label a person
when it is used in that way. When we label we separate ourselves from each
other. The word “spirituality” on the other hand is something we can claim as
our own chosen path that strives to make us better humans. If I am a spiritual
person, you too are a spiritual person if our mutual aim is to make the lives
of ourselves AND the lives of others of equal higher caliber with respect and
compassion, though our “rules” may be different. When we claim our own spirituality
there is no need to reject others for not thinking and feeling the way we do.
We can talk about our own path and what works for us and it is okay for others
to follow a dissimilar path. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The crossroads where we fall away from the spiritual path</b>
onto a rocky road is when we start telling others that our spirituality is the
only way and they are wrong for theirs. The road gets even rockier when we are
hypocritical. By veering away from the dogma we say we believe make us better
humans, doing the very things our religion or practice instructs us NOT to do,
we taint our spiritual lives with lies. Spirituality is a very personal thing
and to that end there are easily as many spiritual paths as there are people!
Perhaps it was meant that way, for us to each have different experiences, that
we might share our individual experiences with each other and grow from the
sharing instead of being at odds and arguing over who is right.<o:p></o:p></div>
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How spiritual are we if our religion teaches us the Golden
Rule – a maxim taught by many religions and cultures – and we treat others as
lesser beings based on race, gender identity, political affiliation, or other
petty grounds? How spiritual are we if we ignore the fact that even within one
religion, using Christianity as an example, there are a multitude of
translations of sacred text? The Holy Bible has been translated into 636
languages and within those languages there are nuances that can change meaning
from one language to the next. There are over one hundred versions of the Bible
in the English language alone and many of the translations conflict. The
majority of these translations leave out several of the original books, removed
from public access at the Council of Nicea where, under the leadership of Roman
Emperor Constantine, a relatively small group of men decided what to keep and
what to hide away in an archive. Those who did not agree with certain portions
of included text were exiled and/or excommunicated. From this perspective we
can see that the idea of one and only one true spiritual way is created in the
mind, rather than in the heart. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>We are all on different levels of learning in this earth school</b>
as well as having had varied learning experiences. If forced to define my
spiritual path I would call myself a mystic. I don’t take things at face value,
nor do I believe everything I read, hear, or am told because there are too many
conflicting ideas. I ask questions, LOTS of questions and process the answers
through my heart and soul. Though I was raised in a Christian belief system,
certain things did not make sense and too many variables of belief existed from
church to church within the same religion. At the same time, I have come to
appreciate my early religious training and that of others and can now walk into
any place of worship and feel comfortable without having to change who I am. I
am my own spiritual experiment and I base my path on personal experiences which
often include things of a paranormal nature. Personal experience is not belief,
it is knowing truth as it is offered to you as one cell in a greater whole. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The mystical path is not for those who seek a predictable
universe</b> because trusting your personal mystical experiences will most likely
lead you away from dogma and into realms that offer no promise, explanation, or
proof. Mysticism is the way of the unknown and can leave you with more questions
than answers. It is a way of resurrecting your innate intuition and finding
your place as one small piece of nature. Mysticism’s only requirement is
personal responsibility and deep respect for all living things. It invites you
to realize the original source of your views and feelings so you can heal the
recurring circumstances, reactions, or beliefs that keep you stuck in your
personal life and your life as a world citizen. The way of the mystic points
inward and does not rely on outward dictates. It is a way of awe, wonder, and
uncovering the wisdom and magic that life holds. It is a way to remember who
you were before society shaped and molded you and the way of mystics does not usually
fit into any organized system or group. Though it sounds like an austere way of
life, mystics are often playful, imaginative, and fun to be around.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">How to Find Your Spirituality</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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If spiritual status quo is no longer fulfilling, if you are
skeptical or something just doesn’t feel right about your current spiritual path,
trust that feeling. A wise Christian elder told me to drive around my
neighborhood and stop in front of churches, sit there for a few minutes, and
see how I felt. I am certain her vision was for me to only visit different
Christian denominations until I found one that felt right, rather than
including temples, mosques, and ashrams, but it was a step in the right
direction. A wise Native American once told me to try many religions and
experience different traditions so when an unfamiliar tradition appeared on my
path I steered toward it to learn and discern. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Finding your personal spiritual path can be a lonely journey
since a majority of people wish to keep things status quo and there will be
those who reject anything else. You will be led to people who accept and love
you for who you are, though they may also hold alternate views. You will find
you can be in the company of people of different traditions and can listen to
their views without needing to impose or enforce your own. You will use “I”
statements as you tell others about your path. <o:p></o:p></div>
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No matter what path you follow, people will see what they
will see in you, based on their own level of openness, understanding, and
compassion. No one I have ever met has beaten life’s emotional ups and downs in
total. Many hide behind their belief system as a way of pointing fingers at
others, a wheel spinning practice that imprisons them in turmoil. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Once you have healed any obstacles to a more expansive
perspective and sampled a variety of traditions you can decide which path is
the best one for you. As you grow your views may change and evolve. I’ve known
a few who came full circle and made a relaxed re-entry into their original
religion with an attitude of acceptance and “To each his own” toward other
religions and traditions. As long as you are in relationship to others and this
earth, life gets easier as you formulate your own spiritual life and allow
others to do the same. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Ultimately spirituality is a compass that helps us navigate
life and in my view we are all heading toward the same place. I keep a small
symbol in my mind to remind me of this, a whirlwind contained in a circle like
a wheel with curvy spokes. If viewed from the side this appears as many paths
leading up the side of a mountain. Considering the vast diversity of human spiritual
ideals, the best we can strive for is to walk beside each other and help each
other up when we stumble. Choose your spoke and one day we will meet at the top.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Many Blessings,</div>
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Robin</div>
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<br />Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-7121797336494681742018-01-03T17:35:00.000-08:002018-01-09T12:19:19.885-08:00Return to What is Real<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear Friends,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NA2Bw62vv9M/Wk2EE_UH0cI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/_Y5dj9w4M64DNCzLeRAdTqBW8Sf4qQ1qwCLcBGAs/s1600/hearts%2Band%2Bhands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="453" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NA2Bw62vv9M/Wk2EE_UH0cI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/_Y5dj9w4M64DNCzLeRAdTqBW8Sf4qQ1qwCLcBGAs/s320/hearts%2Band%2Bhands.jpg" width="320" /></a><o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hope you’ve enjoyed your holidays and are happily
beginning the fresh new year stretched out<o:p></o:p></div>
before you! An extended vacation I
chose to take from social media helped me discover a few things, or I should
say “rediscover.”<br />
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I found much more time to work on the creative endeavors
that usually get pushed to the end of the day. I painted, and sketched, and
played with words for my upcoming e-book. I read books and leafed through
magazines for uplifting articles. I tried out new recipes and stirred up some
old favorites. I tried out a new craft – wool felting – and finished a long
forgotten counted cross-stitch project. More room for meditation and
daydreaming – that oh-so-important method for stirring up the imagination – crept
into the latter hours when my energy shifts into low gear. I walked outdoors
until the deep freeze settled into my tiny township. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The days seemed longer in a good way and allowed lots of space
for good conversation. I listened and occasionally stepped up on my soapbox to
say what calls to me as important when some random comment sparks a thought. For
the most part I avoided all the bad news. Much of the “news” we read or watch can’t
truly be trusted anyway and at best is biased according to who writes or
reports it. On social media we are essentially preaching to a choir of our own
design so I’m not sure to what degree sharing on social media actually rallies
any new support or mobilizes a solution for our particular cherished cause.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then, coincidentally, I was privileged to read the concerns
of an eight-year-old child – not on the internet but written in pencil with all
the heart and depth and misspelled words on lined paper of a living, breathing
child that I have the honor to know. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The child asked why people are “always on their technology
but no longer talk to each other.” “People are addicted to their cell phones,”
dared this brave young voice of wisdom. “Am I the only one who knows this?”
asked the youngster. Thankfully the child shared these words with a caring mom
who, by sharing the notebook with me and a few others, has awakened awareness
for a few.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My phone is archaic with no internet connection, yet I am guilty
of too much internet time. My goal is to become less involved online, the way it
used to be before technology invaded our lives with its promise of making life
simpler. I’ve not found technology to make life simpler but rather to have traded
the old headaches for new, more infuriating ones. And most significant, computer
time has taken time from those I love and the activities that feed my soul. Social
media only gives the illusion of connection and I’ve heard from reliable
sources that teens are actually afraid to talk to each other in person because
they don’t know how! Now that is tragic.<o:p></o:p></div>
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On that note, I am giving up “the scroll” on social media
which tends to turn my intention to look at “just a few posts” into an endless
maze where I lose precious minutes and my mind turns mushy. From now on look
for one post I will share from my RobinHeartStories page and maybe an occasional
extra per day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I care what is going on for you and if you’re local, let’s
set aside some time to get together one to one with no distractions, where we
can be unedited and real, not a polished-up version of ourselves. Local or
otherwise, if you’d like to have a heart to heart on the phone please message or
email me with your number or ask for mine and we’ll chat like in the old days,
strumming our vocal chords with the latest in captured dreams and creative
imaginings. Or maybe we’ll be a compassionate ear for each other’s hurt or
recently suffered disappointment. Whatever it is, live, minute by minute
contact will bring us closer together and provide a future a child will be proud
to be part of.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Let’s make it a Happy New Year for everyone!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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Many Blessings,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robin<br />
Find me on:<br />
<a href="http://www.linkedin.com/in/robinreichert">www.linkedin.com/in/robinreichert</a><br />
<a href="https://twitter.com/RobinHeartStory">https://twitter.com/RobinHeartStory</a><br />
<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/heartstory/" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">https://www.pinterest.com/heartstory/</a><br />
<span class="vanity-name" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; display: inline-block; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: 17px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: middle; zoom: 1;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Facebook: <a href="http://bit.ly/2CINlcR">http://bit.ly/2CINlcR</a></span></span><br />
<span class="vanity-name" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; display: inline-block; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: inherit; line-height: 17px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: middle; zoom: 1;"><br /></span></div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-80485000183973446642017-12-18T12:50:00.000-08:002017-12-18T13:01:48.233-08:00Happy Conscious Holiday!<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f2PkYRD2CaA/WjgsaIbfBdI/AAAAAAAAAec/LBvMPrm0DpcQEJrUCBR3WQ4MK2gzTBLCgCLcBGAs/s1600/conscious%2Bchristmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="226" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f2PkYRD2CaA/WjgsaIbfBdI/AAAAAAAAAec/LBvMPrm0DpcQEJrUCBR3WQ4MK2gzTBLCgCLcBGAs/s320/conscious%2Bchristmas.jpg" width="212" /></a>Tis the season, they say, for good will and peace on earth.
Though it doesn’t always appear those</div>
sentiments are carried out in some
corners of the world, you and I can be the ones who follow through. We can wish
each other “Merry Christmas!” or “Happy Holidays!” and really mean it. We can
sing “Let There Be Peace on Earth” and BE the peace we wish to see. It’s easy.
That is if we vow to remain conscious during the holidays and all the rest of
the year.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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How do you remain conscious? At the holiday dinner, maybe a
family member says something that sets the hair on the back of your neck to
prickling. Maybe a friend forgets an important date. Maybe, just maybe, things
don’t go the way you’d hoped and your holiday doesn’t look Norman Rockwell
perfect, not even close. Your family members and friends begin, in your
estimation, to resemble Jacob Marley or the Abominable Snow Monster. When those
touchy, ticklish moments show up and you’re tempted to react to someone in a
not-so jolly way, recognize the source of your discomfort which is usually very
old, unresolved hurts from your childhood. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The source of your prickling, your sudden Grinchy mood, is
most often a sensitive spot that settled into place in your psyche a very long
time ago. Perhaps your cousin has just pushed your hot button asking you to
lower your voice and that makes you feel embarrassed. Your embarrassment
originated when a clumsy parent yelled at you for your three-year-old exuberant
loudness in a restaurant. You were just being like most three-year-old children,
innocent and joyful mirth cut short by an embarrassed adult. Here in the
present you overreact and are suddenly spitting out venom toward your cousin.
Not the warm, fuzzy atmosphere you hoped to feel at the end of your sleigh ride
to Grandma’s house.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There is another way to handle it. Recognize the feeling
when it comes up. Take a deep breath and remind yourself that your cousin
probably had good reason for her request – the baby is sleeping, she has a
headache, she is rattled and can’t focus when too many people are talking at
once. Whatever the reason, you can maintain your inner peace by becoming aware
of the things that upset you. Here are a couple of examples of UN-conscious scenes
from my long-ago holidays…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Once upon a time I traveled seven hours with my, then,
husband to visit family in Buffalo, NY for a week between each Christmas and
New Year’s. From the time we married we always left the day <i>after</i> Christmas reserving Christmas Day for
our own exchange of gifts and a relaxing afternoon before the tiring drive. Our
tenth year together we broke tradition last minute and surprised our families
by calling to say we had decided to drive up on Christmas Eve. We arrived at my
mother’s house after midnight, flopped into bed, and visions of sugar plums dissolved
quickly into blissful sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The plan had been laid out over the phone the day before:
Christmas morning and lunch at my mom’s. Christmas late afternoon and dinner at
his parents. Bright and early Christmas morning, my mother was already pushing the
start of “lunch” into the latter hours and speaking as though we would be there
all day. When I reiterated the plan she turned on the guilt and soon tears were
flying around her living room. She tried to manipulate with suggestions that I
stay and he go on to his parent’s house without me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Mom, I’m married now. I need to divide my time. We’re here
for a week and we’ll see each other a lot,” I soothed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“BUT IT’S CHRISTMAS!” she whined, wiping away the flood
gushing from her wide-open ducts. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Mom, the WHOLE WEEK is Christmas!” I pleaded, “Until
yesterday you weren’t expecting us until tomorrow.” Things degenerated from
there faster than Dasher racing Dancer across the Milky Way. Before you know it,
we were opening gifts with red eyes, fake smiles, and an atmosphere far from holly jolly. It all could have been avoided if my mother had been able to
pull herself out of her emotional stupor. In her mind I’m sure she dreamed of
the postcard holiday she never had as a child, but I couldn’t fill that void or
change her past. The gaping hole of her want was so huge that it negated logic
and any sense of how her tantrum affected me and my husband. There was no room,
in the midst of her troubled need, to think how his family would feel if I
neglected them or to consider that I <i>wanted</i>
to be with my husband’s family too. It wasn’t enough that we had divided the day
into equal halves down to the minute in hopes that she would enjoy the time we did
have with peace and grace. It wasn’t enough for her to know I’d be back to
sleep there and eat breakfast there and have several excursions with her and my
stepfather during the week. She’d gone into an emotional trance and our holiday
time was tense for the rest of our stay. <o:p></o:p></div>
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On another occasion I poured out my heart in a letter to my
hometown girlfriend. The trips back home were exhausting I said, not only from the
long drive, but everyone we knew planned lunches and dinners and gift exchanges
and activities that my husband and I wanted to attend. Every day we ran from
activity to activity with no time to just relax and chill out on our “vacation.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I shared in my letter that for several years I tried to keep
up the pace. I had usually set aside an afternoon or two to do something with
this girlfriend, just the two of us, and consequently added to my hectic schedule, but also missed time with other
people I loved. I wrote my letter with a loving plea for understanding that
something had to change so I could enjoy my time in Buffalo instead of dreading
all the running around. I said how much I wanted to see her and how much I
valued our friendship. I asked if she would consider coming to the place where
we were staying, at either my mom’s or his parent’s. She could visit and stay as long as
she wanted. Other people might be there too and we could steal some time in a
quiet room if she wanted to. This would save me the strain of trying to
coordinate with my husband’s schedule to see who needed the car when, and it allowed
me to stay in one place to catch my breath. My mother even agreed to attend a
few meals at my in-laws during the visits when it was their turn to host us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My girlfriend flat-out refused the compromise. “I miss you.
I want you all to myself.” If our time together couldn’t be us alone at her
place, then it wouldn’t happen. Then she too tried to manipulate, her voice
colored with gloom, “Well, maybe you can come to my family party this summer.”
So, in reality it wasn’t that she wanted me there with no other people around,
but rather that she wanted things her way to ease some long ago emptiness. I
knew the family history: her siblings were favored over her. I had given her my
undivided attention for many years and she didn’t want to give that up. Again,
I could no longer fill that void and stay sane. In spite of my sincere
explanation of how torn in pieces I felt having to divide myself among so many
loved ones, she wanted things to be the way they once were. It became more
about the picture in her mind of how she envisioned us together and much less
about the fact that we could still see each other on slightly different terms. I
could no longer trust that she cared about my physical and mental well-being.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother and my friend could not access enough
consciousness to realize we had a wonderful opportunity to celebrate together albeit
in a different form. Instead emotions got in the way and what could have been a
chance to make more beautiful memories together turned into a hurtful stain on
our history. Though my mom was my mom and we managed to limp through our
trials, my husband and I never risked Christmas Day in Buffalo again. My friend
and I drifted apart. If she couldn’t have me the way she wanted me, she wouldn’t
have me at all and a twenty-year relationship turned to dust, a very sad and unnecessary
ending. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This holiday and anytime for that matter, when you feel that
certain annoyance that sometimes comes with relationships, please take a deep
breath, step back, and hold your reaction in check. When you can be alone see
if you can trace the annoyed feelings to an earlier time where you felt abandoned,
humiliated, ignored, unloved, or any other negative feeling. Chances are you
have felt those feelings again and again throughout your life depending on who you
feel annoyed with at the moment. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now realize that most people don’t stay up nights thinking
of ways to hurt you. Your friends and family may have really good reasons for
doing and saying what they do and say. Also, you have no idea how someone may
be struggling inside and most are doing the best they can. Maybe they are in
their own trance of unconsciousness. Whatever is going on is not worth ruining
a relationship over at holiday time or ever. Always keep in mind that the
person you love and are tempted to aim your anger at could be at any moment swept
from this life forever. If you can genuinely identify that the person is
deliberately choosing to say hurtful things or disrespect you, then, by all
means, ask to speak to them about it in private when you are both calm and in a
mindset where you can really hear what the other is saying. Remember that
hearts are tender. Speak with love and not with intention to manipulate, seek
revenge, or punish. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From the bottom of my heart I wish you the gifts of conscious
living; love without unreasonable conditions, charitable conversations, open-minded
compromise, lots of hugs, smiles, and all the warmth that gathering with family
and friends can bring this holiday season and the whole year through.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Much Love, <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robin<o:p></o:p><br />
(Photo by Pixabay)</div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-3249365275773466322017-12-07T18:13:00.000-08:002017-12-18T12:22:34.141-08:00For the Love of Santa<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1oeAD_WlyBQ/Win0wUXxUPI/AAAAAAAAAdw/Hu723wIQLbwZARhYWwE5fuYLTQgGgwhUgCLcBGAs/s1600/Santa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="224" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1oeAD_WlyBQ/Win0wUXxUPI/AAAAAAAAAdw/Hu723wIQLbwZARhYWwE5fuYLTQgGgwhUgCLcBGAs/s1600/Santa.jpg" /></a>My mother had her share of lucid moments here and there
during the thirteen years of her illness. While the rest of the year she
remained confined to bed, at holiday time she did her best to rally for a day
or two to show me the beautiful woman beneath all the surface strife.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of her shining moments was the day she told me the truth
about Santa Claus. We were in the<o:p></o:p></div>
living room at 16 Wilbury Place in Buffalo,
New York. The stockings still hung over the brick fireplace and a Douglas Fir
tree glistened in the front alcove with too many strands of silver tinsel
tossed in random fashion by my own ambitious hands. The tree proudly displayed
our old handed down glass ornaments that glowed in the light of an old-fashioned
string of screw-in colored light bulbs. Douglas Firs were the cheapest tree at
that time, but boy did they smell good!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A handful of my friends considered themselves on the cusp of
adulthood, too grown up to deal in childish ways of years past while I still maintained
a relationship with my dear conspirator in the occupation of love, Santa Claus.
I’d captured him in my heart and he would have to be wrangled away or remain
there forever. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Several of those so-called friends elevated themselves by
making fun of the fact that I had written to the Man in Red, asked for and
received yet another doll from the Jolly Old Elf at the vulnerable age of
thirteen. Well aimed hits on my personhood, such as “Only babies ask Santa for
dolls,” plagued my sense of self-esteem and I did not appreciate the
accusations. Peyton Place had nothing over the scandal on Wilbury Place.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wise woman to her core, Mom felt my rising angst on the
topic of Santa and she knew I would no sooner give up dolls than say goodbye to
the benevolent elf of the North Pole. Dolls were my family, my only siblings,
and my practice children and I loved them dearly. Looking forward to my
correspondence with Santa each year got me through the long days of my mother’s
illness. In spite of her condition, Mom desperately wanted to relieve the pain
of my transition from child to pre-adult, no easy task and she wasn't about to take Santa away from me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I imagine she intuited that I was dealing with Santa’s
existence in my own way, that I already knew in my heart of hearts that our
chimney would never see one black boot or red velvet suit or beard white as
snow. Mom prevailed. She sat down in the rocker nearest the tree where I sat on
the floor studying the disarray of unwrapped gifts displayed at its base a few
days after Christmas. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Robin, you know what your friend’s say about babies being
the only ones to ask Santa for dolls?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes.” I answered, half expecting her to say the day had
come for me to grow up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, first of all if they’re referring to YOU, they’re
wrong. You are NOT a baby!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My ears were open.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You are my beautiful daughter and I’m so proud of you and
everything you do. And…I know how much
you love your dolls.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her words pricked holes in my tear ducts with the knowledge that
she felt guilty for not having produced a sibling for me to grow up with.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You know who Santa is don’t you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sat frozen in silence, staring down at the new Penny Brite
doll among Christmas boxes of shirts, slippers, and games, my gaze blurred with
tears.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Santa isn’t a person,” she said. “Santa is the Spirit of Christmas.
He represents generosity. He is everything good and kind and loving that lives
inside of you and all who open their hearts to know him. Santa is something you
can believe in for the rest of your life and I hope you do.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A couple of tears escaped and I scrambled up to wrap my arms
around her, my sensitive, thoughtful Santa Mom.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“One more thing,” she said. Mom got up and disappeared around
the corner to my Dad’s study for a few seconds. She returned with a shoebox-sized
box wrapped in candy-stripe paper topped with a big red bow and handed it to
me. “I know Christmas was a few days ago but this is special from me to you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
True to the little perfectionist I was fast becoming, I
unwrapped the package as if lightening would strike if I tore one tiny corner
of the paper. My chest swelled with sunshine when I saw the sweet baby doll
swaddled in a white lacy “Christening” dress, matching bonnet, and booties.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I picked this one because she’s soft and looks like a real
baby. I wish I could give you a brother or sister but it’s not happening. For
now, she can be your baby sister.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The doll wa<i>s</i> more
than special. Yes, she had the soft look of a just born infant and she smelled
delicious like all new dolls just out of the box, but much more astonishing was
the fact that my mother had gotten out of bed and had gone to a store to pick
out the doll herself. Mom hadn’t done trips to stores for anything in <i>years</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I love her Mom. I’ll take good care of her. And I love you!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The baby doll wore the proper sacramental attire, but I’d
been the one baptized into a new phase of life by someone whose wisdom was
never fully recognized. Mom’s Santa bore little resemblance to the Santa of
magazine advertisements and department stores. Her adaptation might have held a
vague shadow of similarity to the early St. Nicholas or Thomas Nast’s Santa,
the saint’s namesake, but in truth this spirit was my mother’s construct born
out of her love for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a rookie teen I could have been angry about the whole charade;
the milk and cookies for the big guy and carrots for Rudolph, the trips to
department store Santas, the letters “To Santa,” the elves, flying reindeer,
and presents “From Santa,” the collusion with other Santa espousing parents. But
I wasn’t angry. It was impossible. I loved the ritual that began every year with
an advent calendar on December first.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By telling me her version of Santa, Mom trusted I would sort
through the whole thing and sort I did. What would I do without a long string
that stretches back in time and connects me to my childhood wonder - wonder
that is palpable in the children’s stories I write and the fascination I have
with Nature? Where would I be without a jolly “Ho, ho, ho” once in a while far beyond
the season of Santa? Where would any of us be without Santa’s good humor? Imagination.
No one can tap into imagination if you don’t carry an image in your mind of reindeer
that can fly and elves that build millions of toys by hand, on request, in less
than a year. Imagination will fail you if men in red suits with bellies like
bowls of jelly can’t slip easily down slender chimneys or drive a sleigh
through the starlit sky and deliver those millions of elf-built toys to children
around the world in one night in all kinds of weather.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mom knew I would need all of what I gained from the
childhood fantasy that is Santa Claus as I entered the oftentimes too serious
journey toward what we call adult. She knew I would need the hope and the laughter
that Santa provides so I could endure the days when things don’t go the way I
want them to. She knew the importance of embodying wonder, the miracles, and suspension
of disbelief that Santa’s spirit offers. For all Mom’s wisdom and the beauty
she rendered by asking me to BELIEVE as a tiny tot and a budding adult, I am
grateful.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From a heart that still holds tight to the magic of Santa,
may you capture your own Spirit of Christmas and never ever let it go. Merry
Christmas!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-42594353223660228272017-11-17T09:19:00.000-08:002017-11-17T09:22:16.630-08:00Dear Mom<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Dear Mom,</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
It’s not your birthday or mine, no special anniversary to remember you by. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry tears of joy at the light bulb that just came on today.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
There were things I was afraid to see. I didn’t get it then, but I get it now. Why you, my peace-loving, gentle mother, in later years started saying, “The next person who crosses me, I’m gonna hit ‘em with my purse!” – a bit of wisdom borrowed from Ruth Buzzy of the Laugh-In TV show. I know you woul<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">dn’t have really hit anyone, but you were fed up even though you laughed at the prospect. Tired of being taken advantage of for who you were, far too many times.</span></div>
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px;">
With Jessica Fletcher style (Murder She Wrote) you chased down the UPS man and met him at his next delivery stop to yell at him for cutting you off in a near- miss that could have ended badly for you both (but especially for you). You told off your boss, a married man who solicited you, and quit your job. “It was a joke” he said, but you knew better. You also confronted your minister in a private meeting when he told his congregation “The Bible says you must submit to a husband no matter how you are treated.” You told him exactly how that was not true and he apologized to the whole congregation from the pulpit. You single-handedly ran after thieves who pilfered things from your section of Sibley’s Department Store and helped security head them off outside.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
At the time, I worried for your safety as an older middle-aged woman, donning your cape, grabbing your mighty purse, and rushing out the door to fight a never-ending battle for love, justice, and kindness. But now I see how you turned yourself into a fiercer version of the Wonder Woman you always were and never dared show. You had held back your Lioness spirit in hopes that others would meet you halfway. From your gentle place you tried to speak your <a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"tn":"*N","type":104}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/metoo?source=feed_text&story_id=1643172215722710" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;"><span class="_5afx" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit;"><span aria-label="hashtag" class="_58cl _5afz" style="color: #4267b2; font-family: inherit; unicode-bidi: isolate;">#</span><span class="_58cm" style="font-family: inherit;">MeToo</span></span></a> in a subtler manner until that voice got stuffed under the weight of oppression and your broken heart…but only for a while.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Then suddenly, there you were R-O-A-R-I-N-G back - for all your stolen dreams, your exploited generosity and loyalty, for all the Jokers who weren’t joking, and the Riddlers who riddled your heart with pain.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Now I get it Mom. Thank you, a million times over. Now where is that cape of mine? The next person who crosses me, I’m gonna hit ‘em with my purse! View Ruth Buzzy and Artie Johnson in that famous skit here: <a href="https://youtu.be/TCJJ2ejDfek">https://youtu.be/TCJJ2ejDfek</a></div>
</div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-32848787483937308752017-06-15T08:16:00.000-07:002017-06-15T08:16:29.914-07:00Worldwide Day of Giving<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YgnxcmuRql4/WUKjS43QU4I/AAAAAAAAAbI/Q7YSeoeW_aM6Rv-QaVKma2krlPLVbdPagCLcBGAs/s1600/oasis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="604" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YgnxcmuRql4/WUKjS43QU4I/AAAAAAAAAbI/Q7YSeoeW_aM6Rv-QaVKma2krlPLVbdPagCLcBGAs/s400/oasis.jpg" width="400" /></a>Today is "Worldwide Day of Giving" and I want to give you something.<br />
On the occasion of my wedding, a very long time ago, my Dad gave me the greatest wisdom that still holds true. To add emphasis to the sincerity and sacredness of our last one-on-one meeting before my life transition, he drove 45 minutes to join me on my work lunch break one week before the big day. Even before he uttered a word I remember feeling so touched and I sensed something coming that I knew I’d cherish for a lifetime.<br />
As was his style, he wanted to provide the most beautiful setting to deliver the message he wanted to get across to my still maturing spirit. He drove me to the town park and there on a park bench, surrounded by tall oak sentinels and the bright hues of annual and perennial plantings, he talked about the importance of communication and how to do it effectively. A light breeze whispered around us, enfolding us in a magical bubble, and Dad concluded with, “Always communicate. Good communication is the key to a good life. Good relationship.” We stood to face each other. He kissed me on the forehead, hugged me in such a way that I can still feel it. He stood back with his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes, my soul. “See you next Saturday.”<br />
The following week I sat wearing a long white dress clinging to a bouquet of silk flowers that quivered with my nervousness. My Dad walked into the room full to the brim with stoic emotion that might have spilled over into tears if he said too much. In silence, he sat down and removed the white ballet slipper from my foot, dropped a penny inside. “For good fortune,” he managed to push out between his trembling lips. In Cinderella-like fashion, he tucked my foot back into the slipper.<br />
He stared into my eyes with such love I felt it rush through my body and travel to the farthest reaches of my being. He took my hands in his, cradling them and holding the gaze. A tear stood ready to fall in the corner of each of both his and my eyes and once more he urged “Communicate.”<br />
Sixteen years later that marriage broke into irreparable pieces due to dysfunctional, often non-existent communication. A few shards still stick here and there in the scars that formed in my heart from that loss. I imagine that your heart bears similar scars. Scars that resulted from communication that missed its mark or silence that kept you or a loved one from fully expressing a hurt or a need or a question left simmering in your mind. Scars that formed as a result of being misunderstood with no door left open, no recourse for a conversation that might have healed the rift.<br />
The only thing that stands between you and me and a healing is fear. Fear of vulnerability. Fear of emoting. Fear of being rejected. Fear of being in the wrong. Fear of further misunderstanding. Fear – a senseless wall and an illusion.<br />
Here on the internet we try and sometimes manage to hit the bulls-eye. Other times we try and miss, try and fail every day via social media, email, and whatever other means keeps us from looking each other in the eyes and feeling the presence of each other. We want that communication with the desperation of a desert wanderer in search of water. We are parched, longing to be understood and loved and not quite getting there.<br />
So, on this "Worldwide Day of Giving" I give you communication and my vulnerability. But I can only give it to you if you receive it and give it back. If you have ever or will ever feel misunderstood by me, please let me know. If you think I have hurt you in some way, tell me and let’s talk about it in person over a cup of something warm and soothing. Even in face to face conversation two people can misunderstand each other. We make up stories and judgments in our heads about others hundreds of times a week, much based on our own personal history.<br />
The secret is in leaving fear behind and dropping down into your vulnerable heart and saying, “I didn’t quite get that. Could you explain further?” or “I really want to understand you. Please tell me more.” Realize that I may have misspoken because I’m a fumbling human and leave room for apology and forgiveness. Or you may have projected onto me the hurt you still unconsciously feel from an old childhood wound. I’ve been there and understand and will do my very best to listen.<br />
Most of our misunderstandings are big huge ginormous mistakes that can be made right. Stick with me through the dark night and I’ll stick with you. May we come to a completion where we can give each other a hug in the light of day, having moved toward an even deeper, more intimate relationship.<br />
<br />
Much Love,<br />
Robin<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-66660297996553540482017-06-13T07:02:00.003-07:002018-03-16T14:03:50.641-07:00The Road to Sacred Activism<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yfYLnV75mxs/WUA2B_T_rSI/AAAAAAAAAao/ipkA5BSuR04XNNWjK8gRc7QWBYPgtIq1gCLcBGAs/s1600/mandala1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yfYLnV75mxs/WUA2B_T_rSI/AAAAAAAAAao/ipkA5BSuR04XNNWjK8gRc7QWBYPgtIq1gCLcBGAs/s1600/mandala1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b>We're All in This Together</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Over the course of the past two years as tensions rose during the Presidential campaign, election, and subsequent results, I’ve been in a place of observation and meditation to figure where I want to be in all this as a woman and as a concerned citizen. I’ve watched rising movements to save the planet and an upsurge of feminism. Something needs to be done on many counts and I’m feeling that the approach of these movements could benefit from some shifts in attitude. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Subsequent marches on Washington appear to have been peaceful overall. People standing up for what they believe in. At the same time I read comments displayed beneath pertinent articles on social media and there is clearly a lot of anger, often aimed at either the author or other commenters. The mindset of “Us vs. Them” prevails in those comments and on social media when in truth there is no either/or, black or white, clear-cut way to divide anything or anyone. Goodness and evil reside in every single human being. There are good women and conniving women, upstanding men and twisted men, believers in God who judge and condemn and atheists who practice humanitarianism like a religion, Republicans with Liberal leanings, Democrats with a touch of Green Party, and Conservatives who would rather go fishing and forget it all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Divine Feminine Masculine</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I understand anger. I healed my anger and you can too. I’ve been there, especially when I see my beautiful country road strewn with trash or when it’s too obvious I’m being taken advantage of because I’m a woman or because I’m kind – defined as “nice,” “patient,” “peaceful.” I learned, in 14 years of introspective therapy, that underneath the fiery mantel of anger is sadness. I processed a fair amount of anger over time until I could see the offending aspects of my transgressors in my shadow self – the parts of me that I deny or hide. Only then could I transform anger and sadness into forgiveness. I also learned it is possible to have compassion for my oppressors and opponents - to feel relief from the angst inside myself, yes, and to find better, more effective, balanced ways of dealing with those whose actions tweak my sensibilities. At that point I was introduced to the ways of the Divine Feminine and Masculine.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> We hold people like Malala Yousafzai, Mother Teresa, the Dalai Lama, Mahatma Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr. in high esteem for their non-violent methods of inspiring change. These women and their male counterparts were successful in creating societal and world advancement because they each tuned in to their Divine Feminine/Masculine traits. Collectively these renowned individuals endured extremes of racism, bigotry, war, violence, oppression, poverty, and insurmountable odds, yet they maintained non-violence, inner balance, and unerring focus on their goals. Could I do the same? I was sure going to give it a go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Malala who was shot by the Taliban in 2012 and lived to share her views with the world says she had no desire for revenge against the Taliban or any other terrorist group. “I do not even hate the Talib who shot me,” Malala said. “Even if there was a gun in my hand and he stands in front of me, I would not shoot him…The extremists were and they are afraid of books and pens; the power of education frightens them. They are afraid of women, the power of the voice of women frightens them and that is why they killed 14 innocent students in Quetta [Pakistan]." I imagine the "Me Too" phenomenon stimulated quite a bit of fear as it raced through media channels. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Revelation</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">After years of working toward understanding how to attain the Divine balance within myself and applying what I learned to personal situations, I realized something. When I meet a person or situation with the same unbridled anger, aggression, sarcasm, and bitterness as my opponent uses on me, nothing is accomplished but more of the same. Female or male, these means are what we resort to when we react without taking a breath, without knowing we have great power that goes beyond emotional outburst, without knowing the balanced Divine Feminine/Masculine aspects of ourselves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Every time women meet men or groups meet opposing groups with the same attitudes and methods that have been used by patriarchal societies to oppress, those attitudes and methods are reinforced as the one and only way of doing things. In other words, if a woman confronts anger, aggression, sarcasm, and domination with more of the same, instead of resurrecting and accessing the innate feminine powers within her, she is telling her oppressors that there is more power in the way it has always been done. The abused becomes the abuser. Overarching patriarchy - unbalanced masculine without so much as a bow to the feminine - not only remains but grows stronger. The patriarchal ways of war, “us against them,” winners and losers, oppression, force, and aggression are therefore validated and strengthened. An interesting irony isn’t it?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Who We Are Really</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> I see too many people asking why things don’t change, why they – “the other” – don’t change when it is each of US that needs to change. If we continue to do things the way they’ve always been done, ongoing issues that plague society have little chance of transforming. As a society we have long forgotten what it is to integrate the Divine Feminine with the Masculine. Many women have lost their sense of true femininity in the quest to become man-like in a man’s world. Many men wander through life with no sense of the Divine Feminine qualities that lay buried within their own being. Though we might say we are all for women’s rights or protecting the environment, we continue to “fight for or against” rushing here and there with fists clenched, arms swinging in search of a target. How many of us even know what the power of the Divine Feminine is or how to access it? What would society look like if we transformed what we have into something that accommodates a balance of feminine and masculine?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b>The Cure</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We must start by taking a good hard look at ourselves and be brutally honest. Remove the stigma attached to therapy and accept it as a necessary life tool. Stop labeling and categorizing each other according to preference, belief, size, shape, color, and all the other diminishments we toss around with abandon. If we are against war, have we as individuals learned non-violent communication and have we delved into the sources of the things that trigger anger and war within us? Where in our lives do we support the things we say we are against? If we say we want a clean environment, do we do everything in our power to keep the environment of our own bodies healthy, make our earthly footprint green, and let our dollars speak for us? If we say we support women in being whole, healthy, and equal do we simultaneously support things that degrade, cheapen, and weaken women? As women and men, where do we degrade, cheapen, and weaken ourselves? If we say we want equality for all humans and an end to bigotry (defined as “intolerance toward those who hold different opinions from oneself”) where do we still draw lines of separation? If we want our leaders to be trustworthy, emotionally stable, and have integrity and loyalty to us, have we ourselves attained an unyielding strength of character, fidelity in our relationships, and emotional maturity? If we expect “them” to be honest and open, to stop keeping secrets and scheming behind closed doors, we must make sure we are doing the same down to the smallest measure of our lives. We are simply this: a microcosm of the things we see going on around us in the macrocosm. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> No form of activism is effective if we only look outside ourselves at the things that are wrong out there. Activism is not supported by finger pointing and blaming. Equality is not women turning into men and men becoming wimps. It’s not about one person or group giving something up and the other gaining unreasonable influence. True equality is about discovering the best qualities of feminine and masculine that are possible, honing them and integrating them into ourselves. In quiet meditation we can familiarize ourselves and cultivate what is innate in us and work toward attainment of the qualities we were not born with until we reach a peaceful balance. We can start now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Sacred Activism</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sacred potent Activism is not about fighting and waving fists and crushing our (perceived) opponents with cruel words, or worse, the subtle put downs and mockery of the “other” that tear at the fabric of our one and only human race. These are the tactics of unseasoned male teens battling throes of testosterone flush. Though our beliefs may be different we must remember we are dealing with fellow humans who have hearts and their own history that has brought them to their personal beliefs. All humans experience the same universal feelings as you do – love, joy, sadness, despair, fear. Sacred Activism is about activating the power that can only be accessed by finding a peaceful balance within. Once the balance is set in place, nothing can destroy it and everything good and rightful and positive CAN be achieved both personally and globally. We must learn to listen to and understand each other. Every time we forget to pass our thoughts and words through our hearts before speaking or acting, we have stepped backwards. We either choose to evolve together or destroy ourselves and each other together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Horses Can Show Us the Way</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Understanding horses offers great insight into how Divine Feminine/Masculine balance works. Horses are tuned in to their surroundings with a razor’s edge, on constant alert to sights, scents, sounds, movement, and the slightest sensations of physical and energetic nuance. “Under her Alastar pawed the ground. He’d pursue (a wolf they’d encountered on the path), she realized—longed to. To calm him, she had to calm herself (from Dark Witch by Nora Roberts).”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> I’ve experienced empathic horse behavior on many occasions. Once I walked to a horse paddock with a heart full of sadness. I walked up to the fence with tears running down my face staring at the horse I’d visited numerous times who had never given me the time of day. On this day however, the horse sauntered over and pressed his nose to my heart. Boom! A healing took place and I felt heard, understood.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> On another occasion, I was at a retreat working with horses who were total strangers. I was told to offer no physical or verbal cues as to what I wanted the horse to do. “Just THINK about him doing what you want.” You can imagine my confusion. How would a horse know what I wanted just by my thinking it? I mounted the creature and settled onto the gray speckled back, the quivering muscle and alive nerves beneath me – a horse still filled with the sensitivity born in him. My mind gently formed the thought “Go!” The horse stepped forward and stopped as he felt my disbelief. I thought “Go!” and this time trusted the feeling of it to work. The horse moved forward again and I thought “Turn left.” As I turned my head the tiniest bit to the left the horse turned left in sync; the magic of fine-tuned senses and the perfect demonstration of the blending of feminine (non-violent request) and masculine (action). Here was rider and mount operating as a unit in total trust and cooperation. No tugging. No force. No coercion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Later that day I had my first lunging lesson. Lunging is where you stand in the center of a ring or open area holding one end of a rope that is attached at the other end to the bridle of a horse about ten feet away. You encourage the horse to run circles around you for exercise and as a way to further ensure alliance and cooperation with each other. Again, I was told to think my request of the horse with one added component, “Feel your power!” My body no longer physically touched the horse so I had to make the connection another way. I knew what the teacher meant but because I wasn’t feeling it, the horse stood still. “FEEL your POWER!” the teacher urged me again and she patted her own solar plexus down to her lower abdomen, the center of our being where power lives. This time I took a deep breath, asked the power to grow inside me, and felt my gentle request. The horse started to move and then trot. Magic again. But not magic, just an attunement of feminine and masculine in perfect alignment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Somewhere in our busy lives we forgot what we learned in grade school: we ARE animals! Just as horses do, we have valuable senses and feelings at our disposal when we don’t let our supercharged brains override the subtleties. We need to understand that we can't hide, can't find peace or justice anywhere unless we find it inside ourselves. We need to calm ourselves, refine ourselves, in order to reach the entities that seek to do harm to us and the greater whole. How we behave physically, mentally, and energetically makes all the difference. It takes practice to exercise those unused muscles but we CAN do it. "It's a lot like nuts and bolts – if the rider's nuts, the horse bolts!"– Nicholas Evans</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Cultivation</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">When we identify and heal old patterned ways of response we connect more intimately with our inner world where real power and strength reside. We can then access compassion, unconditional love, forgiveness, and benevolence over animosity, hatred, and cruelty. Gentleness, kindness, patience, and composure can have great influence on those ruled by anxiety, anger, and intolerance. Empathy, seasoned wisdom, and understanding overshadow fear, suspicion, and discrimination. When we are steadfast in reverence and respect for ALL life we begin to listen more, talk less, and allow our intuition to guide us toward right interventions. And I must add, if you or anyone you know is being physically abused, all bets are off...do whatever you can to find help!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> We are all cells in the larger body of all life and the Earth. Only when we cultivate within us what we want to see in the world, do we earn the right to disapprove of others in their transgressions. Let’s continue opening our arms and hearts together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Please share this post if it has helped you and you feel it may help others! Email me with the URL of your share at <a href="http://www.robinheartstories.com/contact.html">http://www.robinheartstories.com/contact.html</a> and I will send you a <b>FREE</b> original story from my Inspiring Stories series. You will find my book Earth Divine - Adventures of an Everyday Mystic here: <a href="http://amzn.to/2EpoYS7">http://amzn.to/2EpoYS7</a> and my CD Mystic - Stories of Magic and Wonder here: <a href="http://amzn.to/2COJXNP">http://amzn.to/2COJXNP</a></span><br />
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Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-53099518092282622582017-06-05T07:38:00.000-07:002017-06-05T07:38:37.231-07:00Summer Memories Conclusion<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FBCiMEC-LV8/WTVskBTgHFI/AAAAAAAAAaE/Z9MkB07OCSQgnobHATgHs1LY7FWOJxivACLcB/s1600/encouragement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="453" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FBCiMEC-LV8/WTVskBTgHFI/AAAAAAAAAaE/Z9MkB07OCSQgnobHATgHs1LY7FWOJxivACLcB/s320/encouragement.jpg" width="320" /></a> It was around this time of year when I first expressed my teen ideal to become an artist, to write and illustrate children’s books. When the school guidance counselor poked discouraging jabs at my dream, the wife of my father’s boss stepped in and said, “If that’s what you want to do, you can do it!” The summer of 1972 she came to look at my portfolio and said she had a friend who might be able to help patch up the holes in my dream. Her friend happened to be a dean at the University of Arizona. An interview secured my acceptance into their art program. Though life’s twists and turns took me in a different direction I eventually got around to writing and illustrating my first children’s book “Feather Gifts for All Ages" and I’ve never forgotten the support of those kind women.<br />
Upon my return from the past to the present, along the tiny spirit road of that small rock I held in my hand, I realized there have been so many more supportive people along this life journey who said, “You can do it.” Mrs. Blatchford gave me sewing lessons after school when my sewing teacher ignored my abilities. Mrs. English pointed me toward my first fulfilling work in a fabric store; sewing being second only to art on my love-to-do list. Members of my beloved storytelling guild who continue to nurture my storytelling and stage presence. Friends, teachers, ministers, lawyers, team mates, co-workers, therapists, and strangers all appeared at just the right time to encircle me with love and encouraging words, to shepherd me onward when I felt lost. Each in their own way let me know I didn’t have to hide behind masks, costumes, or a stage persona. I could step into my own character and feel alive and confident, comfortable in my own skin.<br />
It’s those extra I love yous I still receive that help me relax when my head is exploding with adult details and confusion. It is a loved one sitting in silence and holding my hand when I’m blinded to the road ahead that helps me know the clouds will clear soon enough. It is a friend pointing to the stars and reminding me they are not so far away that I can’t reach for them that keeps me looking up and toward my dreams. I hope these Summer Memories stories have reawakened some of your dreams and stirred some good memories. Have a great start to your summer, the time of growth and ripening creativity! Breathe in the beauty of this day, your day, and the Earth that supports you! Wishing you well in it!<br />
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Love, Robin</div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-61017106590493945462017-06-02T14:51:00.001-07:002017-06-02T14:51:43.887-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RaXSlEulFUo/WTHdsPMHQPI/AAAAAAAAAZo/JeEZArcRoBgBKKSNAjN-NHZACu-8yLBEwCLcB/s1600/bicycle.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="607" height="179" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RaXSlEulFUo/WTHdsPMHQPI/AAAAAAAAAZo/JeEZArcRoBgBKKSNAjN-NHZACu-8yLBEwCLcB/s320/bicycle.png" width="320" /></a> This throwback to my summer memories has turned out to be more than just a stroll through the past. It’s a reminder of everyone who has supported my life and growth. Who supported you as you grew?</div>
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The year I turned seven I received a two-wheel bicycle for my birthday, one I could grow into, lovingly refurbished with light blue paint and fresh grease by my parents. Sometime around the last days of spring my Dad spent hours running alongside me promising “You can do it pumpkin!” Soon enough I pedaled through the hot afternoons of summer and away, flying into new worlds.</div>
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As I grew older, summers sparked bursts of creativity. I recalled the thrill of being on stage during that Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer performance in kindergarten. I hadn’t stepped in front of my classmates as shy Robin that day. I’d become Rudolph and experienced a flying lesson while wearing his skin. </div>
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I realized I could be anyone I wanted to be as long as the element of stage supported my wings. So, the summer I turned ten I gathered neighborhood friends and wrote, directed, and starred in a series of skits, complete with singing, dancing, and joke telling. In the basement of our church (free access being one of the benefits of having a minister for a father) we held practice, designed tickets and play bills, and eventually set up chairs for the audience we hoped to attract. </div>
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My dad and two of my friends’ moms filled half of the front row while the rest of the seats ran cold. But my friends and I glowed with the pride that reflected in the eyes of our parents and the sound of their applause for our accomplishment. I never forgot the good feeling of that day. Though I tended to still feel shy in day to day interaction and my creativity developed in more private settings, I knew that somewhere inside a more confident me stood anxious to come out. I’ll tell you more in the next edition. Until then let your creativity soar, even if it must be in the privacy of home for now. Breathe in the beauty of this day, your day, and the Earth that supports you! Wishing you well in it!</div>
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Love, Robin</div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-26662834864375611592017-05-31T12:04:00.000-07:002017-05-31T12:04:28.017-07:00More Summer Memories <br />
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Mr. Judson Shea was short on words but long on wisdom and teaching all those little things one might ordinarily miss. He liked to grow things; vegetables, flowers, trees, children. I remember him plucking a flower from a bush at the side of his house. He held the bloom one way and showed me a Bleeding Heart. He turned it upside down, gently pulled at the petals with his overworked fingers, and made Dutchman’s breeches dance in my outstretched hand. Before dinner one night he called me to watch as he cut up broccoli. He chopped off the “trunk” of the tree and said, “Most people throw this part away but here’s what you do,” and proceeded to peel the woody bark and expose the tender middle. “This is the best part!” he assured me and I’ve enjoyed my favorite heart of broccoli trees every since.<br />
The summer I was six our two families shared a day at Loon Lake. The Sheas had a little row boat and Mr. Shea wanted to take all the kids for a ride. Judilee, David, and young Jud piled into the boat like pros but I balked. I’d never been in a boat. The way it rocked and swayed as the other children settled made my stomach roll. Older Jud held out his weathered hand and in the calmest voice said, “Come on. Nothin’s gonna happen to you.” Tears ran down my face. I shook my head “No” with vigor from my stubborn stance on stable earth. Dad held my hand and urged me toward the end of the dock reminding me how he’d taught me to swim the year before. We must have stood there for twenty minutes with Mr. Shea holding out his steady hand and repeating “Come on now. You can do it. You’ll be fine,” as I envisioned sharks and piranha and sea dragons tearing me limb from limb should I happen to fall in the lake.<br />
Finally, grounded by the steadiest of unflappable adult voices and hands and conviction, I hopped down into the boat to meet my destiny. The ride wasn’t so bad after all and from that day forward I jumped at every chance to be on a boat; row boats, canoes, kayaks, paddle boats, party boats, motor boats I could ski behind, lobster fishing boats that toured around harbors teeming with wildlife, boats that sailed me out to greet whales and dolphins and more sea birds that I could count. I was hooked on a newfound source of joy and all because Judson Shea (accompanied by my Dad) never lost faith that I could do something, even if it scared me silly, and he gave me the time and space to make the decision on my own.<br />
I faced many more decisions and choices after that one but more on that another day. Until then breathe in the beauty of this day, your day, and the Earth that supports you! Wishing you well in it!<br />
xo Robin<br />
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Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-71201652937555835062017-05-29T10:53:00.002-07:002017-05-29T11:06:23.429-07:00Summer Memories Part 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If you’ve been following this thread of “Summer Memories,” you know that I started out finding a <br />
“spirit rock” and had followed the spirit line it contained like a road to the past. As I stood holding the rock at creeks edge, my mind part way between now and the then, a frog jumped into the water leaving ripples in his wake. I recollected a frog making the same plop sound way back when as he jumped into the shadows and hid himself from perceived danger when my friend Judilee and me appeared to catch tiny fish and pollywogs swimming in the warmer sunlit pools. Later my little friend and I bugged her brothers to let us join them in the treehouse her dad built the summer before. They claimed “boys only” and went about their manly impersonations. We girls were oblivious to any danger in our quest to gain entry to that treehouse. If the boys could scale the makeshift ladder, so could we. The boys heard us coming and reiterated “No girls allowed!” from their lofty perch. Our victorious giggles rang out across the cow pasture after Mr. Shea stopped his tinkering long enough to call to the boys “Let the girls come up there now, ya hear?”<br />
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We scrambled up the ladder, climbed hand over hand, and when I reached for the next handhold near the completion of my goal, a broken branch stabbed my palm. I struggled back down with one bum hand held protectively at my side and ran through the back door wailing a pained cry. I held out my injury to Mrs. Shea who turned to a nearby cupboard and grabbed a tissue for my tears and a clear unlabeled jar filled with who knows what. She dabbed the mysterious, mustardy yellow, foul-smelling salve onto the wound, bandaged it with gauze and tape, kissed my cheek, and hugged me. “There. It’ll be fine.” She smiled down at me and I trusted her faith that it would indeed be fine and when she said I could tackle that ladder again, I believed her.<br />
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In later years I referred to Mrs. Shea as my second mom for all that she brought to my life. She remains at the top of the list of many loving adults who cheered me on as I grew. Her husband remains in my heart for similar reasons but I’ll save that for next time. Until then breathe in the beauty of this day, your day, and the Earth that supports you! Wishing you well in it!<br />
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What are some of your summer memories? I'd love to hear!<br />
Robin<br />
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Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-62506733330955691902017-05-25T05:51:00.004-07:002017-05-25T13:01:12.116-07:00Encouragement<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="3dgh9" data-offset-key="8nhah-0-0" style="background-color: white;">
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> As I mentioned in my last entry, my parents early championing of my abilities fortified me with courage and the assumption that all adults – that they approved of, of course – would back me with equal sincerity. But not all adults were so easily swayed.
My kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Mahoney, and I started off on the wrong foot. A few weeks into a very rough beginning, she knew I was still missing my mother. One day I felt sick and stood before her holding my stomach. “I need to go home. I’m sick.” Mrs. Mahoney would have none of it, sure in her conviction this was a ruse to get me home to my mother’s comforting arms. Unfortunately for my teacher, the only proof I could offer that I had come down with the flu, was to decorate her shoes with that mornings breakfast. Mrs. Mahoney never doubted me again.
After she got to know me better and saw that I could manage time away from my mom quite well she came to believe that as shy as I was I could handle a leading role in the Christmas play. My mother nearly fell off her chair when I belted out my solo in “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Though she wore a gruff expression most of the time, I’m grateful for Mrs. Mahoney’s encouraging gesture that planted the seeds for future stage aspirations. I'll say more about that next time...
Until then, I encourage you to breathe in the beauty of this day, your day, and the Earth that supports you! Wishing you well in it!😀</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Robin</span></span></div>
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Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-75816926373841909842017-05-18T09:51:00.001-07:002017-05-18T09:52:44.973-07:00Summer Memories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rg9fducCNGU/WR3PnogmURI/AAAAAAAAAXk/NNoHzkVDL6E5XjqotZiOMSwmxcPIvOkXgCLcB/s1600/baby%2Bshoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rg9fducCNGU/WR3PnogmURI/AAAAAAAAAXk/NNoHzkVDL6E5XjqotZiOMSwmxcPIvOkXgCLcB/s1600/baby%2Bshoes.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I gave myself some extra time to explore while out on my
walk on a recent day that hinted of coming summer. I meandered along the edges
of the creek and found a rock containing a “spirit line” as my Native American
friends would call it. Spirit lines are typically placed in artwork to allow
the spirit of the artist to exit the work when it is finished. The line in this
rock invited me to wander past some of the sharp edges of now and into gentle thoughts and memories of people and experiences I am grateful for.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The line on the rock that has now taken up residence on my
hearth is light gray with a narrow black line dividing it down the middle, like
a road. When I hold it my finger traces this spirit road until I find myself in
warm past summer places, remembering all who helped me along my path to the
person I am now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My mother started me out right with bright white walking
shoes and “You can do it honey!” It was the summer of my second year when I finally
took my first steps unassisted. Her applause urged me on, though after waiting
fifteen months she may also have been secretly cheering for herself and her
aching back that had hefted a rapidly growing me since birth. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When I was off and running she and my father took me out on summer nights
to see the stars that floated down to glimmer about our yard. They each cupped their two hands like clamshells and urged “You can do it sweetheart!” as
they caught blinking stars one by one and placed them in a jar for us to
admire. </div>
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Their love of being outdoors showed me a love for and connection to nature that sustains me still. That early championing of my abilities fortified me with courage and
the assumption that all adults – that they approved of, of course – would back
me with equal sincerity. But not all adults were so easily swayed as you will see in
my next edition. Until then breathe in the beauty of this day, your day, and
the Earth that supports you! Wishing you well in it!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-33098343648379369242017-04-18T12:44:00.000-07:002017-04-18T12:44:55.691-07:00Sacred Space<div class="MsoNormal">
When I wrote down the stories for my book <i>Earth Divine – Adventures of an Everyday
Mystic</i> I wanted to get across the idea that if we pay close attention to
the incredible world that surrounds us and form true relationship with it, it
responds in miraculous ways. Focused communication with people and pets as well
as trees, birds, our wild four-legged friends, even rocks hold messages of
wisdom and guidance. They offer us a sense of comfort and belonging, but only
when we learn to be present and listen deeply. By staying present I found out
it is possible to connect on levels I would never have believed until I knew
the moment of NOW and realized the impermanence of things. I discovered the
sacredness of direct contact and communion with all my relations.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Technology offers <i>contact</i> with humans. It is now possible to
send messages to almost every part of the world. It also isolates us unless we have a dedicated intention to get out there and be with it all. What’s often missing is <i>communion</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There are many advantages to technological access. I
understand there are times when we want to connect with what the internet
offers. At the same time if technology takes away from real-time connection with
other humans and the world we are one with, where are we headed? Without down
time how can we expect our imaginations to soar and dream and create? Without
going outdoors for extended periods how can we have any hope of receiving
essential messages from our non-human friends – messages that enhance our time
here on earth? We are not using technology wisely. Before you tune me out,
please listen to this five minute TEDx talk: <a href="https://youtu.be/UNGvhO8XNrE">https://youtu.be/UNGvhO8XNrE</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve been thinking a lot about cell phones – the kind that do
everything but get you dressed in the morning. Cell phones are my biggest pet
peeve. Why? Because they usually go everywhere with their owners and get in the
way of live human interaction. I love the scent and sensuality of people – the
little plastic attention robbers that take people away from where they are in
present time, not so much. I want to know who you are today and who you hope to
be tomorrow, what you care about, and what motivates or stirs you. I want to hear it with my ears and see it in your eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I refuse to have anything but a simple phone. Friends and
acquaintances snicker at my antique, my dinosaur of the techy age. If my phone,
which does no more than connect me with (hopefully) a live voice or the
occasional text message, is a simple dinosaur then so am I. I am happy to compare
myself to those ancient creatures who lived as peaceable giants, who fed on
plants and small fish, in families, herds, packs, and in strong social
communities. <o:p></o:p></div>
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An article from Scientific American, written by Helen Lee
Lin, social psychologist, says that the mere visual presence of a cell phone
reduces the intimacy, trust, and empathy of a relationship. This is based on
studies rather than biased opinion. You may read more here: <a href="https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/how-your-cell-phone-hurts-your-relationships/">https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/how-your-cell-phone-hurts-your-relationships/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve felt the punch of being in the same space with someone
on cell phone Wi-Fi just as I imagine many other dinosaurs have. We may as well
be by ourselves if the other person is more interested in what’s happening on
the phone than they are in the person they’re sitting next to. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When two or more people sit in the same close space using
their devices, MIT professor and author Sherry Turkle calls it being “alone
together.” She says, “Technology has become the architect of our intimacies.
Online, we fall prey to the illusion of companionship, gathering thousands of
Twitter and Facebook friends, and confusing tweets and wall posts with
authentic communication. But this relentless connection leads to a deep solitude…as
technology ramps up, our emotional lives ramp down…we’re lonely but we’re
afraid of intimacy.” Listen to her TED talk here: <a href="https://www.ted.com/talks/sherry_turkle_alone_together">https://www.ted.com/talks/sherry_turkle_alone_together</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve observed people having lunch together, engaged with
their phones so much as to not know what else is going on around them let alone
with the person they arrived with. Would they notice if someone nearby was
choking? I’ve witnessed those in attendance at a concert in glazed-over
obsession with a tiny lit screen instead of paying attention to the people on
stage. As a performer myself, I know this has got to be hard for any performer
who feeds off the energy of the crowd. What we don’t realize is how much we need
tangible meaningful connection in any interaction. Phones are not only a
distraction but an adverse step in the direction of forgetting how great and
healthful real eyeball to eyeball, heart to heart communication and connection
can be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It can be too tempting to hide behind your little black box
and not have to deal with the feelings and musings of another living,
breathing, vulnerable person. A lack of face to face contact leads to
complacency, anti-social behavior, loneliness, and erosion of emotional health.
In Psychology today, Christopher Bergland wrote, “Phone calls and digital
communication, with friends or family members, do not have the same power as
face-to-face social interactions in helping to stave off depression."
These days people have fewer close friendships, decreasing social skills
(especially children), reduced language skills, and increased social media
bullying (both adult and youth), and technology addiction. As a society, we are
forgetting HOW to talk to each other.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Communication via technology tends to be quick, short, and
impersonal. Years of research proves that ninety-three percent of communication
is non-verbal. In online conversation, you have no way of knowing for sure how
your recipient will receive and interpret your message. If you “talk” via the
“waves” it’s too easy to react and say something you will later regret. You may
be present with your own response but fail to be present with that of the other
person. There is no voice inflection or tone. No body language or facial
expression and little chance of coming to an understanding if a comment is
misconstrued. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Growing up, I remember the mailman stopping by for coffee at
the homes of his friends. He lingered and joyful chatter filled the rafters. My
family had dinner with friends and nothing interfered with the flow of catching
up, who did what when, and how it all went. The smiling faces caused by
intimate conversation imprinted on my mind: Mom and Dad, Mr. and Mrs. Shea,
Myrtle Stone, The Halls, my high school pals, and so many more. Most are gone
but they live on in my heart because I paid attention when they were with me. They
told jokes, shared concerns, offered praises, sympathy, and congratulations.
When we were together it was rude to answer a ringing phone, turn on a
television, or play the radio unless it was turned way down. Two or four or ten
people engaged with each other full on, telling stories, listening - hearts
buzzing in tune with each other. It didn’t matter if the story was new or had
been told a thousand times. What mattered was connection and I always came away
with a sense of being supported and necessary to the whole. The place where two
or more gathered became sacred space. The same for solo moments. Alone time was
a sacred time without distraction for inner contemplation, soul-searching,
rejuvenation, and much needed quiet and rest from the cares of the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In yoga, I learned the ancient Sanskrit greeting Namaste – a
term that means, “the divinity in me recognizes the divinity in you.” Yoga
philosophy urges to <i>do no harm</i>. With
these yoga teachings in mind I dream of a world where we care enough about each
other and ourselves to enliven the sacred in our relationships and nurture them
by making room in our scheduled lives for at least half an hour a day of
intentional, meaningful conversation where we put aside all technology in favor
of bonding with those we love. I envision when two or more are gathered we
revere that time and space as sacred. Light a candle, hold hands, link arms,
share a sunset. Even the non-verbal can be intimate and meaningful when
technology doesn’t stand between us. When we are outdoors, alone or with
others, we take time to quiet our thoughts and listen to the wisdom that waits
in the hollows, the mountains, the creeks, the birdsong, and the serenity of
stillness.<o:p></o:p></div>
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May peace and wonderful conversations be part of your every day!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robin</div>
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Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-21316630281321751442016-11-15T19:48:00.000-08:002016-11-16T07:30:32.220-08:00What I Learned at Disney World and a Dream Come True<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m just back from Disney and have some unexpected
impressions to share.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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After this recent visit to The Magic Kingdom I read up on
the history of one of my most admired childhood cartoon heroes. The idea for
Mickey Mouse came to Walt Disney on a train trip from Manhattan to Hollywood.
His career had taken a nose dive and he and his brother faced a possible end to
their previous small successes if they couldn’t rise above the disastrous, blatant
theft of one of their most popular characters – a rabbit named Oswald. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In Walt’s own words, “All we ever intended for him (Mickey
Mouse) or expected of him was that he should continue to make people everywhere
chuckle with him and at him. We didn’t burden him with any social symbolism, we
made him no mouthpiece for frustrations or harsh satire. Mickey was simply a
little personality assigned to the purposes of laughter.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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After a few faltering steps, Mickey was off and running
generating laughter and endearment around the world. From this bit of
information I realized Mickey symbolizes hope, dreams come true, perseverance,
and love that grew out of one man’s wish to give people the gift of merriment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I was 9, the more famous characters at Disneyland in California
tended to be elusive. Back then I met Cinderella, Alice from Wonderland and the
March Hare, and had my picture taken with one of seven small friends of Snow
White, Happy I think it was. A few other characters wandered in the distance
and I left my one-day visit with the disappointment of a little girl whose
fondest wish was to meet the famous mouse. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In my twenties I had no better luck. A similar smattering of
princesses and colorful cartoon pals whisked by on my second visit to Disney’s
Magic Kingdom, this time at Disney World in Florida. My heart leapt at the
sight of Mickey and Minnie waving from a distant parade float with hundreds of
people waving back to them, forming an impenetrable wall between me and the illustrious
pair. The reason hope of meeting one little person dressed in a mouse costume (albeit a famous mouse costume) sustained so many spirits, including my own, escaped
my comprehension. Why did my mood sag when the hope was not fulfilled?<o:p></o:p></div>
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My initial assumption was that Mickey took me back to a
happier time, early childhood before my mother became ill. It made sense I would want to relive those special moments. That alone is reason
enough to cry happy tender tears, but when I looked up the history of the mouse
and his creator after my most recent visit, there was more, much more. It
dawned on me that Mickey and friends, with their cartoon antics, had lifted me
out of the dire circumstances of my mother’s illness every Saturday morning the
way he had lifted Walt out of the foreshadowing of failure...and now he stood poised to lift me out of the doldrums of a strange and sometimes frightening world.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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In keeping with my understanding that everything carries its
own energy, Mickey too, I believe, exudes the goodness he stands for. I imagine
that whoever is chosen for the honor of wearing the outfit must also radiate
the same goodness. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I knew little of his history when tears formed in my eyes as
Mickey arrived in his train for opening ceremonies on my first day at the park
last week. “Good morning! Good Morning! Sun beams are shinin’ through! Good
Morning! Good Morning to you!” One look at his squeaky clean presence and I
lost it. The next day Minnie passed through the crowd and tears rolled down my
cheeks again. <i>What is going on with me?</i>
Each time I entered a ride or watched a performance I remembered from childhood
the floodgates opened. If I was a proper adult I’d think “How embarrassing!”
but instead, how wonderful to experience some kind of mysterious magic reaching
beyond my adult exterior!<o:p></o:p></div>
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With perfect timing this trip occurred during one of the
worst weeks I’ve ever known. I’d been fending off bouts of sadness, trying to
maintain my usual bright outlook, working hard to not get swallowed up in months of devastating current events and the worst prelude to a Presidential election I’ve
ever witnessed. If ever I needed magic it was now. Though at the beginning of
the visit I did not think it possible, Mickey and friends opened a window where
glimmers of cheer could drift in with a wave of their magic wands.<o:p></o:p></div>
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One thing stood out as I walked the packed streets of this
vibrant fantastic world of Disney. There were no political signs. No rallies
with candidates shooting disparaging words at one another. No religious orders
defending their claims as the one true and only way to God. No people indulging
in desperate disputes on social media or in town hall meetings. If anyone cared one way or another about ethnicity
or sexual preference or who won the election or who earned their ticket to
heaven and who did not, they let it go here in a poof of fairy dust. Everyone
was there in pursuit of magic and joy, if not their own then for their
children. There were smiles, kindnesses aplenty, patience in long lines, and
laughter, LOTS of laughter. Laughter that would have made the wizard who
initiated it all very proud.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I came to the stunning conclusion that if humans can let all
the strife and hostility go in a magical kingdom for a day or a week, they can
let it go indefinitely. If we humans are capable of the incredible feats of technological
magic that stream from every attraction in that park I am confident we can love
better, fight less, listen more, seek to understand each other, and together
envision a brighter future for ourselves and our children. Though these
thoughts came later I am certain this is what Mickey intended for me to pass on
to you when my lifelong dream came true…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Due to some ticketing mix-ups our whole gang was treated to
a private audience with the Mouse with the Most. My eyes rimmed with tears one
last time when we entered his chamber and he said, “Hi everybody!” He was every
bit as real as stars and sunbeams and wishes that rise up from the heart. I whispered
to him that I’d waited to meet him since I was nine and he thanked me for
coming. After a few photos I thanked him too. Though I didn’t say exactly what
I was thanking him for, on some level I think he knew it was for resuscitating
my spirit. Maybe he saw it in my eyes because just as I turned to go he reached
out and gave me the best, the warmest, the most sincere magical mouse hug
anyone could ever imagine. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m thankful for one blessed idea and the man who nurtured
it into being. Now let’s turn the tables and give him and his little mouse
companion what they have given so many millions of children and children-at-heart:
smiles and laughter and a land that welcomes every person and nurtures every
spirit.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Be the change and laugh as often as you can.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love, Robin</div>
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Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-24256744477595245282016-10-12T16:48:00.000-07:002016-10-12T16:48:46.528-07:00Listening for Your Heart<div class="MsoNormal">
There is special kind of listening called listening with the
heart that unlocks a treasure unlike anything else. Listening with the heart
creates connection between two people, two countries, and even between a person
and themselves or their natural surroundings. Listening with the heart helps
you, well, get to the heart of the matter. It strengthens bonds. It opens the
door for healing to occur. And it’s good for your health!<o:p></o:p></div>
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You are not alone if you have difficulty listening. It is
one of our most common interpersonal relationship stumbling blocks. There is
only one way to access the key to better listening. You must turn off all those
red buttons that go off in your mind. The flashing red lights that have you
preparing a response without really hearing what the other person is saying.
The buttons that project your own meaning on what is being said instead of
listening to understand the other person’s meaning. And worst of all, the
buttons that urge you to jump in and interrupt because you think you have
something more important to say OR because what a person is saying makes you
uncomfortable prompting you to talk over and shut the person up altogether. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was in a health care workshop once when the facilitator
began to speak about how to handle someone who emotes in your presence and
perhaps shares an experience that is causing them concern. His simple advice?
Listen. He said, “If a client emotes with you it is a sign that they trust you
enough to allow a peek into their innermost being. This goes for anyone who
allows themselves to be vulnerable with you whether in business or personal
interactions. It is a <i><b>sacred </b></i>moment and one you should be honored to witness. Be
quiet. Give your full attention and respect.” He went on to say, “If you find
you have difficulty hearing someone’s story or observing their tears, I
strongly urge you to seek therapy to find out why. That is something going on
inside of YOU that needs to be addressed and healed.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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While undergoing a training in body-centered psychotherapy I
learned to listen with my whole being. When the traditional senses of sight,
hearing, and touch join together with well-honed intuition and empathy – while allowing
the mind to retreat to the background - we can be said to be listening with the
heart. This requires “tuning in” completely to the other person. Most of my client
sessions involved quiet, focused listening to what the person’s whole being was
telling me. Quite often during a session I did little more than mirror back the
few words uttered by the client. At the conclusion, inevitably the client
reported feeling truly understood though I had added little or no input. The client
was able to pull together lost parts of themselves and begin to heal simply
because they were heard with unbiased, unconditional regard for what their
experience was in a given moment. Healing does not need to be in a clinical setting to occur.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ulZepcn_0Fg/V_7KuAKZS7I/AAAAAAAAAVo/mwS_Fon4f3QvWz-f5szo58H--fbz1UKZwCLcB/s1600/heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ulZepcn_0Fg/V_7KuAKZS7I/AAAAAAAAAVo/mwS_Fon4f3QvWz-f5szo58H--fbz1UKZwCLcB/s1600/heart.jpg" /></a>Listening is an extremely pleasurable experience when you do
it with the intention of really connecting with another human being and meeting
them on their own level. The opposite, interrupting or talking over a person,
raises blood pressure for both parties and is often cause for two people
moving further away from each other rather than closer to understanding and
compassion. This makes sense when you consider the work of Dr. Rick Bommelje
and Dr. Manny Steil whose "Listening Leaders Newsletter" reports the
effects of interrupting on your health:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Several university
studies have found that people who interrupt conversations are at greater risk
for heart problems. In fact, one study at Duke University found that people who
interrupt are up to seven times more likely to get heart disease! Why is this
so? The researchers theorize that people who interrupt are excessively
competitive and controlling - two hallmarks of the worst "Type A"
personalities.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>But here is the
amazing kicker: These same high-risk people can lower their risk without
totally altering their personalities...and without any drugs, exercise or
dietary changes. All they have to do is practice being good listeners.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you are someone who tends to interrupt or gets anxious
during a conversation there is plenty of information available to help you
learn how to listen. Here’s a great short video from Ornish Lifestyle Medicine
to get you started: <a href="https://www.ornish.com/video/feeling-others/">https://www.ornish.com/video/feeling-others/</a> When you have more time, Leon Berg offers great suggestions in his TEDx talk <span style="background: white; color: #365899; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://youtu.be/6iDMuB6NjNA">https://youtu.be/6iDMuB6NjNA</a></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your significant others and business colleagues will thank
you! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace of the day to you and happy listening, Robin</div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-29827070198192966172016-10-07T13:20:00.000-07:002016-10-07T13:34:29.955-07:00The Art of Acceptance<div class="MsoNormal">
As I send out my
prayers and love to all people who face the wrath of Hurricane Matthew, a
thought occurred to me that is in some way comforting. I ask all who read this
to put things into perspective and please read to the end for the full message.
Natural disasters and the associated damage and death tolls have been a fact of
life since the beginning of time. When we watch the news we forget this reality
because devastation and fear mongering sells. Because it is happening NOW in
our lifetime, we realize it could happen to us. We don’t like knowing we are
vulnerable and one day we will die somehow, some way. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We forget that we
are also SURVIVORS. We get up each morning in spite of it all as we have for
millenia. We grieve. We restore. We move on. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
YES it is sad that
one precious life is cut short – someone’s mother or sister or child. AND what
is the best thing we can do to honor those lost lives? I say it is to LIVE each
day to the fullest – days they might have wished they could enjoy. Revere the
rising and setting sun, the trees, the lakes, the oceans. Glory in the gentle
breeze against your skin. Go out and jump in puddles in the middle of a
rainstorm. Play, dance, sing, create, and have hope like it’s going out of
style! Savor the wholesome variety of foods that are available to you each and
every day. Be thankful for the home that shelters you as best it can and the
clothing that protects you from the elements. Appreciate the wild creatures who
grace our planet and the domestic furred friends who add so much joy and
pleasure to your days. Above all, offer gratitude for the life you have been
given, CHERISH those who walk beside you, and let’s work TOGETHER to care for
and preserve OUR Mother Earth for generations to come. We don’t have total
control, and there IS A LOT WE CAN DO!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As you listen to the
tallies of today’s damage and loss and any that occurs in the future, realize
how our populations have grown exponentially through the centuries. Imagine
how devastating it was to lose 50,000 people in 365CE when there were far
fewer people on the earth. Here is just a fraction of what has occurred since
then, not to mention deaths that occurred in wars and hate crimes:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
January 12, 2010 - A powerful earthquake destroyed much of
Haiti and killed over 200,000 people.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1887 - The Huang Ho River flooded and killed 900,000.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
August 26, 1883 - The island volcano Krakatoa, Indonesia
erupted and killed 36,000.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
October 5, 1864 - Calcutta, India denuded by a cyclone that
killed 70,000.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
November 1, 1755 - An earthquake in Lisbon, Portugal killed
70,000. Resulting heavy damage from ensuing fires and tsunami flooding in
Morocco killed nearly 250,000 people.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
March 11, 1669 - Mt. Etna, Sicily erupted killing 15,000. On
March 25 it erupted again destroying Nicolosi and killing 20,000 more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Feb 2 1556 - Worst earthquake in history Shangxi Province,
China killing 830,000.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
July 21, 365 CE - An earthquake leveled the Egyptian Port of
Alexandria killing an estimated 50,000 people.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please don’t buy what the fear-mongers are selling. You’ve
been given a precious life and other precious lives to go with you on the
journey. You have the choice to spend your gift wisely with love and joy as
your focus OR to sit under a dark cloud of worry about things out of your
control. I wish you peace and beauty and love, Robin<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-22399137960754357922016-09-29T14:25:00.002-07:002016-09-29T18:42:56.838-07:00Rain<div class="MsoNormal">
Water speaks to your heart when you listen. On this day of Rain weaving in and out of the hours, what
does she say to you? You may want to go make yourself a cup of tea, sit back in your favorite cozy chair, and close your eyes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The softer gray light wraps my mind in a pleasant haze and I start getting all poetic on days like today. I've piled dry wood around the wood stove, ready for the first fire and thoughts of wool sweaters and long johns drift in the periphery. Winter is not my favorite season for its frigid temperatures and icy roads, but I do love the mystical quality of a fresh blanket of snow and drinking hot chocolate and baking sweet treats that fill the air with anticipation. Right now the wheel has just turned toward autumn and in order to stay in the present I want to enjoy every falling leaf, every coolish breeze, every snap of a crisp apple, and every pumpkin that brightens the fields. Winter will come soon enough and today Rain calls for attention.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rain has been elusive these last few weeks but she needs to
show off her talents now and again. Without her the world is parched and
thirsty for love. Love that nourishes. Love that heals. Love that cleanses and
soothes the cracked skin of Mother Earth. Love that urges all of life to grow
and flourish.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Without Rain the Sun works overtime, the Moon has too little
privacy, and Clouds fear retirement. Oceans and Rivers crave her presence. A Stream
will not flow without rain.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Without Rain there is no impish jumping and splashing, no
mud, and no bare toes meeting slippery pleasure. Rain loves the upturned faces
of children, those who are young and those who remember.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rain, Clouds, and Sun meet in sky studios to create what they
could not accomplish alone. The timing, the placement, the light must be perfect.
Let your dreams dance up across their arched artistry and down the other side.
Later, the Moon will bathe you in her warmth and share stories of mirrored
lakes and diamond rain drops. “Rain,” the Moon will tell you, “holds the very
keys to existence.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Be thankful for Rain! Where would we be without her?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Enjoy your tea!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-umbdJfPaUek/V-2I44XZukI/AAAAAAAAAUY/aMhONAx_3FQgAbqhA8DA0ZD9wbtAt72ygCLcB/s1600/rain%2Bfeet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-umbdJfPaUek/V-2I44XZukI/AAAAAAAAAUY/aMhONAx_3FQgAbqhA8DA0ZD9wbtAt72ygCLcB/s1600/rain%2Bfeet.jpg" /></a></div>
Robin</div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-58732209126266786852016-09-29T14:25:00.001-07:002016-09-29T18:55:27.610-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-66500539156400497362016-07-20T19:55:00.001-07:002016-07-20T20:13:28.400-07:00Now That's Freedom!<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xsiKOT3pmq0/V5A9tgyqNMI/AAAAAAAAATM/u_yROpgBiXwjnaz48bv8-VTwt7j_2vBvACLcB/s1600/heart%2Bcloud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xsiKOT3pmq0/V5A9tgyqNMI/AAAAAAAAATM/u_yROpgBiXwjnaz48bv8-VTwt7j_2vBvACLcB/s1600/heart%2Bcloud.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Today
was the day. My third visit to a dental office to complete a root canal. Yay –
it would be over with and ugh - I had to work up my enthusiasm for the long
drive and dreaded task.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
waited an unusually long time – a half hour – before checking with the
receptionist. “Yes, he knows you’re here,” she said. It was the first time I
had to wait at all and I saw the doctor peek around the corner several times as
though looking for someone. Someone other than me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">At
last, after he consulted with another doctor and the receptionist, my name was
called. It was not the best news. After driving 65 minutes into the city, 15
minutes to park my car and walk the maze of hospital hallways, and a total of
40 minutes in the reception area, my ears heard, “There’s been a mix up with
the schedule. Can you come back tomorrow?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
profusion of apologies bounced from doctor to receptionist and back again and I
was offered a free comprehensive exam. No I can’t come back tomorrow and a
comprehensive exam is not what I came here for. You can imagine the way my
belly did a flip and I felt emotion, somewhere between sadness and exasperation
rising up through my innards. But I held my self together and thanked everyone
involved. “It happens,” I sighed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">My
gut did not agree as I retrieved my car and figured the expense in gas and
parking fees and counted off all the things I might have done with my
afternoon. In the silence of my car a band of tension tightened around my solar
plexus and I huffed out a few loud exhales to release the excess energy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
little forethought goes a long way. I’d brought some meditation CDs with me.
Yes, I know you’re not supposed to meditate while driving and the one I popped
into the player contained more of a conversation about <i>how</i> to meditate. A soft, soothing, male voice said to stay in the
present moment. Don’t go into the past or future with your thoughts. Stay fully
present in your body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
was no easy endeavor because my mind was jumping to home, back to the dental
office, asking what errands I could run to make good of this outrageously long
drive. Then I thought, what is my experience in this moment? My experience is
my creation! What do I want to create? Do I want to waste these precious
moments of my life ruminating? I could choose to belly ache about a wasted
afternoon that I had no power to change. I could berate the person who caused
the mistake. I could be a prisoner in my vehicle or I could enjoy the ride. <i>How do I enjoy the ride?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
dared to duck into the past just long enough to remember that being in a moving
vehicle, as a 5 month old, soothed my colic. My 8 year old self, thought
driving was something to look forward to. I begged my Dad to let me sit in the
car to “drive” myself to faraway places. I felt the thrill of gripping a tiny
steering wheel, guiding a miniature car between rubber bumpers on an amusement
park kiddie road. My 17 year old self couldn’t wait to get a driver’s permit. <i>I’m so grown up! Look at me! Driving!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So
why can’t I do that now, in the present? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
can! I let my body fill up with all those past joys. I noticed the beautiful
scenery and the glint of sun off nearby cars. I pointed the car toward Dunkin
Donuts to treat myself to an iced coffee, then to Trader Joe’s to pick up a few
staples. <i>Wow! The day is so beautiful!
Blue sky! Pretty white clouds! Look at me! Driving anywhere I please! I AM
FREE!</i> Free to change my mind. Free to create a better experience. Free to
CHOOSE what to do with my emotions, to free my diaphragm of tension, to let my
shoulders and forehead relax. I always have choices. All it takes is to stop,
breathe, and consider the options. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
wish you many of these crossroads. May you choose the beautiful day.</span><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-34466036366236244262016-03-10T17:19:00.000-08:002016-03-10T17:19:15.992-08:00Earth Divine has a cover!<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Life is a learn as you go process and I've learned a lot these
last few weeks! After asking you to vote (and I am extremely grateful for all
of your input) on book cover designs for <i>Earth Divine - Adventures of
an Everyday Mystic</i>, a friend sent a helpful link on a different aspect of
the book that led to another helpful link and I soon discovered that even the
most voted for cover won't do as posted. Book cover design is quite a science
and one I knew little about. After much study I went back to the drawing board,
considered all of your comments on the first covers, and feel I have a
winner! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I'm pulling together all the loose strings that need pulling and
continue to learn about Create Space. As I move closer to actual publication I
will reveal the new cover and some other surprises that have come this way!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Stay-tuned and keep growing!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Robin<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-31634781715729384622016-02-23T18:27:00.000-08:002016-02-23T20:34:24.898-08:00Vote on my book cover!Hi All!<br />
I would love it if you would help me pick the cover of my next book! Please view the choices here, then comment under my Facebook post with the number that appeals to you. Which cover draws you in and <u>why</u>? Please feel free to add comments and any suggestions for tweaking. Thanks so much! xoxo Robin<br />
<br />
Cover # 1<br />
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Cover # 2 </div>
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Cover # 3 </div>
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Cover # 4 </div>
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Cover # 5 </div>
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Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-29671441929670547792016-01-26T10:24:00.001-08:002016-01-29T17:34:16.247-08:00The first thing in my Facebook news feed yesterday was the image of my best friend Dina and her buddy since high school, Frank Hutton - my friend grieving his death. I never met Frank in person, but in a very special way we met on another level in 2011 when he asked (via Dina) if I could polish up a personal story he'd written down. The experience touched him, changed him, turned his world around. The story brought tears to my eyes and changed me too. On this past Saturday, January 23, 2016 I messaged him to ask if I could have permission to include his story in a book I'm writing about such things - angels, love, and our invisible connection to each other, even when not connected by physical location. Frank messaged back, "Absolutely!" with a thumbs up symbol. I thanked him and said the story still gave me "warm fuzzies" and he offered another thumbs up. I'm honored to have met Frank on the level that he allowed me to see a tender side, a vulnerable part of himself. I am honored to share his story here with all who love and are missing him now...may this give you a smile and may he live on in your hearts.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>“It had been
a rough year. I was lonely, raw from a
very painful divorce, and though the sun shines brightly most days in Florida,
my perspective on life was pretty bleak.
I was not proud of the part I played in bringing my marriage of 23 years
to an end. It was clear that I’d been
heading down the wrong path and realized I needed to make changes, using my
past mistakes as a guide. Once I became
willing to change, some pretty amazing things started to take place and I will
do my best to re-create those events for you here. They say good things happen in three’s…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i> In December of 2010, I went to drop off a
holiday donation at Labrador Rescue Retrievers.
Pat and Lewis, managers of the local chapter, met me at the door with big
smiles and ushered me in. We exchanged Christmas greetings and as we talked
Lewis excused himself so he could take “Rolo” for a walk. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>When Lewis
opened the door to Rolo’s crate, the full grown, brown lab took off across the
room, came right over to where I was standing, and sat down next to me. I
looked down at Rolo and he looked up with big, sad eyes. Lewis said, “Frank, I think you have a new
pet.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>Lewis was
right, and the timing could not have been better! Within a week I brought Rolo home and we’ve
been the best of friends ever since.
He’s been a great companion; someone to love and care for who returns
love to me unconditionally just when I need it the most. It’s so easy to love this huge-hearted animal
who is so patient with me and knows when I am feeling blue. A smile comes to my face and I automatically
feel better when he follows me around. Sometimes I look over at him during one
of our frequent car rides and realize that this four-legged canine taught me
how to live again. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>Rolo is just
one example of how I believe a higher power interceded to help me get through
what I was going through at that time.
Though the sun shone brightly one June afternoon, things appeared dull
and dismal to me as I drove home after a day’s work as a fire
investigator. Since coastal Florida
offers a number of opportunities to pass by a beach, I often pack an extra set
of clothes so I can rinse off the soot and grime of the day in the beach facilities.
That Friday I also hoped to wipe away some of the gloom, regret, and loneliness
I still carried at times.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>On this
particular day, after my shower, I found an empty bench facing the ocean, sat
down to breathe in the fresh, salt air, and enjoy the view. I will never again be able to pass by that
spot on Flagler Avenue without remembering what happened next.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>As I watched
the waves crash and wondered what to do for a late lunch/early dinner, a dark
cloud of despair still hung over me. I heard a young child’s voice in the
distance and turned to look in the direction of the sound. There I saw a young mother and her small
daughter, laden with bags, walking toward me.
They were within a short distance of where I was sitting when I heard
the child tell her mom, “Mommy, you left your coffee in the car. Go ahead and get it. I’ll wait here.” As young as she was, maybe about six years
old, her mannerisms were very adult-like.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>The child was
dressed in a bathing suit, hat, and flip flops, and held her armload of little
girl necessities. One bag with a rainbow
design on the side was filled with brightly colored, plastic beach toys. About 5 Barbie dolls peered out through the
clear sides of the other bag. Her mom
wore a sundress, also in rainbow colors.
In my line of work you have to be detailed, understand what you
see. That day, my investigative skills
allowed me to remember a lot of detail that would later prove quite valuable.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>The mother
said she would only be a minute, told the child to wait, and promptly left the
area to return to her car. I turned back to look at the ocean and continued to
mull over what to have for dinner, thinking that the child and her mother would
soon be on their way. Only a second or two
later I turned again toward the place where the child last stood waiting and to
my surprise she was sitting right next to me on the bench!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>The child
looked up at me and smiled, her blondish hair waving in the breeze. “Mister are you going to the beach?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>“I don’t
think so,” I replied. I’m just sitting
here on the bench, enjoying the view of the ocean.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>“My mommy is
taking me to the beach. We’re going in a
minute,” she informed me. “She just went
to get her coffee because she left it in the car.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>“Looks like
you packed well for the beach and you’re going to have a good time!” I said.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>“Yes,” said
the little girl. “I am. In this bag (the
rainbow bag) I have some plastic toys that I can fill with sand and make
castles, and in this bag (with the clear sides) I have my Barbie dolls. I want
to build a castle for each one of them. I’ve been looking forward to this all
week and I’m very excited! And if I am good my mommy is going to take me into
the water!” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>Then, in a
very serious tone the child asked, “Mister, would you like to be my beach
buddy? I have several beach buddies but
it looks like you could use one. Beach buddies help each other out.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>I was stunned
by her directness and insight at such a young age. At the same time, my head was reeling with
thoughts of what might come next and I looked around to see if this was some
kind of joke…like someone from Candid Camera would suddenly rise up out of the
sand and say I was on the show. Then I
thought, “Oh no! What if Chris Hansen
from Dateline NBC is hiding somewhere and he jumps out, shoves a microphone in
my face, and says, ‘We see you talking
to this little girl, do you know how young she is?’” Then I’d be hauled off to jail or something. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>But it wasn’t
that at all. This was much more. It was
far from a coincidence or chance meeting.
Somehow it seemed that this child could see inside of me to the
loneliness and pain I still felt from my recent separation and divorce. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>Then came the
biggest surprise. This old soul,
disguised as a little girl, reached into one of her bags and pulled out a
multi-colored rock. “This is my buddy
rock, I want you to have it and as long as you have it good things will happen
to you.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>I
hesitated. “Well I don’t know, I think
you should keep it. It’s a beautiful
rock and if it’s brought you good luck and friends you might want to keep it.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>But she
insisted, “Someone told me long time ago that if I see someone who needs a
buddy rock to give it to them, and not only will good things happen to me, but
the person who I gave the rock to will also have good luck.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>How does one
so small measure “a long time ago?” She then told me to open my hand. How could I say no? She placed the rock into the palm of my right
hand and said, “This is yours now. Things
will be better; I know they will. That’s
how it works!”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>I thanked her
and promised, “I will protect the buddy rock and every time I look at it I will
think of you. If I see someone in
trouble I will pass the buddy rock on to them.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>“Mister, that
is what the rock is all about,” and with wisdom beyond her years, she left me
with one last instruction, “Once you feel better, and when it’s time you’ll
know it, you will give the rock to the next person.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fak82pZXc-4/VqwS_7yrCRI/AAAAAAAAAP8/pQKyZnV2lO8/s1600/Frank%2BHutton%2527s%2Bbuddy%2Brock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fak82pZXc-4/VqwS_7yrCRI/AAAAAAAAAP8/pQKyZnV2lO8/s320/Frank%2BHutton%2527s%2Bbuddy%2Brock.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>This kind of
experience was new to me and I was still inclined to look around nervously,
expecting I’d be in serious trouble when her mother returned and saw a strange
man accepting her precious rock. But it
didn’t happen.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>As her mom
approached I thanked the girl again and told her to have a good day. In a matter of seconds, mother and child
walked hand in hand, toward the beach entrance.
I looked away for a brief instant and when I turned back both mother and
child were gone. I scanned all around the beach for at least five minutes, but
they were nowhere to be found. It was as
though they had simply disappeared in a puff of smoke! <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>At the time I
didn’t think too much of it, but later on I thought how could they have
disappeared so quickly? All I know is
that after receiving the buddy rock, my outlook was a lot sunnier. The girl, wearing
a rainbow outfit befitting a super-hero of sorts, chased away my dark clouds.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>Within three
weeks of having the buddy rock the strangest of strange happened and again I do
not believe any of these occurrences to be “coincidence.” In my family it is no
secret that for personal reasons my oldest sister, Charon, and myself did not
get along for a many years. I made plans
to go to a party at the local firehouse in a town where my other sister
lives. I called to ask her if it would
be ok to stay at her place. She agreed
and also made a request that I try to patch up the bad relationship between
Charon and I. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>It had been
many years since Charon and I last talked…bad blood, as they say and it seemed
impossible that anything could ever mend the rift between us. My other sister mentioned to me that Charon
was in fair shape health wise and asked if I would be willing to talk to her.
Without hesitation I said yes. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>Though we had
not spoken to each other for years, during the 10 days I visited, a new relationship
blossomed between Charon and I. I can’t
explain it, but our time together went surprisingly well. We talked every day
and continued to mend the fences that stood broken between us. We’re still building this new friendship and
it’s working. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>I am coming
to the full realization of how one small event, taking place in mere seconds or
minutes, can change your life for the better if you allow it to. As I type this story, I have Rolo at my side
and the buddy rock is safely stored in my SUV where it will remain until the
day comes when it’s time to place it in someone else’s hand. Every time I see it there, I remember the
small child and her mother appearing to me surrounded in rainbow colors, at a
time when I was being swallowed up by an inner storm. In my mind, it became obvious that they were
more than human, sent by some mysterious higher power…angels maybe? Though the
conversation between that young child and I lasted only a minute or two, her
wise words and generous gift of the buddy rock will remain etched in my mind
for a lifetime. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i>The effects
of that one good deed continue to be revealed.
Part of my plan for healing has included what is now almost seven
straight weeks of attending church and by the time you read this, it will be
more. For most of my adult life I
avoided church, only going for weddings or funerals. But now I want to go; to participate on every
possible Sunday that I can. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<i style="text-align: justify;">What I offer
to those of you who read this, who may be going through what I’ve been through
is this: When you are in a bad
situation, maybe it’s time to take a step back, take a really good look at how
you’re doing things, and realize how you treat yourself and the people around
you. We all make mistakes and choices
that are not in the best interest of ourselves and others. But by being willing to change, and really
working at those changes, I believe good things will start to happen for you as
they have for me. Things might just turn
out better than you expected and you’ll be glad you made the choice to change!”</i><br />
<br />
Blessings and Love,<br />
RobinRobinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-83384930145210699252015-07-28T08:26:00.002-07:002015-07-28T08:32:39.582-07:00<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hello friends!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Starting on this gorgeous summer day, I have invited a young
friend to join me here. Arianna is thirteen and is becoming quite the young
lady. She has some questions, though, about our world and the way we operate in
it. We’ve been having some lovely discussions and she agreed that sharing them
here would be a fun thing to do!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “How’s things today Arianna?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Arianna: “I’m good, I guess. It’s ok to let everyone know
you call me Ari.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “Ok Ari, you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">guess</i>
you’re ok?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ari: “Well, sometimes I feel kinda sad. I hear my parents
and teachers talking about some really awful stuff that’s happening in the
world.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “Yeah. Me too.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ari: “Is it all true?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “Some of it is true and some of it is misinterpreted and
some might not be true.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ari: “My teachers say we should pay attention to the news so
we know what’s going on, but everything is such a downer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “It’s ok to know what’s going on, but it doesn’t all
need to be bad news.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ari: “Where do I find good news?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “You have to look for it Ari. You can start by finding
it at school. Good news might be at the bus stop, the grocery store, or on your
way to your dentist’s appointment!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ari: “Hmmm. Is it like last night when I saw a lady get out
of a car to carry a kitten safely away from the road?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “That’s a great start! It’s called finding beauty.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ari: “One of my friends gave another girl money for lunch
the other day. I thought that was beautiful. Her mom sometimes forgets or doesn’t have enough because her
husband died and she does everything herself. It made me want to do something
nice too!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “Yes! That’s what it’s all about! We can find or make
beauty any time, any place and it grows!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ari: “What about all the bad news? Is there anything I can
do about it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “Ari, you have a big heart and yes, there are things you
can do. We can talk more about that later but for now, remember you are only
one person and you can’t change everything. Too much focus on what’s bad will
make you so tired that there is no energy left to do ANYTHING. Keep looking for
beauty and make it happen where you can. Beauty and goodness are the vitamins that will give you strength when
it comes time to choose a cause to support. In the meantime, will you watch a
video with me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ari: “YES! I love watching videos!"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “Ok! Here we go and get ready to dance!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/0qX7ZsxD3Ik/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0qX7ZsxD3Ik?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Thanks for dancing with us everyone! Stay tuned for more conversation with Ari and I!Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8434506851004857750.post-11501635891030582382014-11-11T11:15:00.001-08:002014-11-11T18:22:36.581-08:00Hold Fast to Dreams<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">An ethereal voice called out and woke
me from an all too rare sound sleep, “Langston Hughes!”</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M7Yfbb4upP4/VGJf3WG_saI/AAAAAAAAAJU/-azYwqV6JWY/s1600/Lan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M7Yfbb4upP4/VGJf3WG_saI/AAAAAAAAAJU/-azYwqV6JWY/s320/Lan.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">“What in tarnation – to coin one of
my Dad’s favorite expressions – could that be about?” I thought.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">In the wee pre-dawn hour, with no
clue of the whys and wherefores, I stumbled to the kitchen to write down the
name. Back at my still warm pillow I reprimanded myself that solving this
mystery would have to wait until morning; knowing my female brain to ruminate
over such things to the point of bleary-eyed exhaustion. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">The name Langston Hughes has flown in
and out of my awareness, once, twice, maybe three times in my life, like an
elusive bird. Try as I might I could not resurrect any memory of who this man
was or what he stood for. Cup of tea in hand and autumn sun well enough above
the hilltops to clear the fog in my head, I began the search.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Nothing that I read about the man sounded
familiar except for a vague recollection that he was a poet. He was also a
novelist, playwright, and columnist. I learned of his African American and
mixed Caucasian ancestry, the history of his rise to fame, and his dedication
to writing for a cause.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">So why did this guy call out to me in
my slumber?</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">It was immediately clear that Langston
and I share something in common. We are dedicated writers with a “mission.” Another thing
that stood out to me was that he was a social activist, very concerned not only
for the welfare of the “negro,” the term in his era, but also that of all
people who were downtrodden and struggling to survive within very unbalanced
social and political structures. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">After reading two of his poems I came
upon “Let America be America Again,” whose passionate strains are reminiscent
of my recent frame of mind and I suspect the state of millions of minds in this
good ol’ U.S. of A., based on what I see on social media and hear in the
general population. How many of you, like me, have turned toward fantasies of “the
good ol’ days when everything was hunky dory?” That would be me, longing for an
escape from all the front page newsy horrors.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Sorry, but it just isn’t true. We’ve
never had “hunky dory.” Mr. Hughes poem sparked memories of my own mother
making the news when she wrote to President John F. Kennedy regarding the
threat of the atom bomb, and received a reply that directly addressed her
concerns. She was also recognized in the small town of Hornell, N.Y. for
writing to Nikita Krushchev, appealing to him to make peace with our country. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">“Let America be America Again,” brought
back the confusion of my very young self, curled up under a desk or crouched
low with my head smooshed against the school hallway wall, supposedly to
protect against the fallout of the deadly A-bomb. More smooshing, voluntary
this time, behind living room furniture occurred during the televised funerals
of J.F.K., R.F.K., and Martin Luther King whose deaths were too much for my
little brain to wrap around. Then there was the crush of hearing that my best
friend’s sister’s boyfriend was killed in Viet Nam and later worry that my own
dear male friends would be taken away.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Ah-ha! The light bulb virtually burst
over my head! I’ve heard it said that once your spirit returns to the ethers, the
highest wisdom is available. It seems as though my spirit and the spirit of Langston Hughes met up
in dreamland. His voice was speaking loud and clear now! "I did not steal you
from your pillow to tell you to dwell on what is wrong in this world now or in the
past!" He cried out to appeal to the mission I’ve committed my spirit to; the
power of Love. In his own way he made me see, from the perspective of the Eagle,
the reality of the timeline that was strewn across the furrows of my mind.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">You see, Langston was reminding me
that although he could only observe and experience the dreadfulness of racism and
poverty in his lifetime, he missed the victories achieved after the efforts of
M.L.K. and many others. He did not live to see how his own work has affected the esteem of
millions of people and will most likely continue to do so. This very morning he
made me see how it is all cyclical, the struggles and the victories, and how
the power of Love plays into it all. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">The power of Love is what lies behind
every concerned heart that keeps passion alive and never gives up during times
of political, social, personal, and environmental stressors. The power of Love
fueled Langston Hughes to make manifest his impassioned works. The power of
Love has brought the human race through seemingly impossible trials and into
this millennium. And it is the power of Love that will guide us to stay the
course in our current troubles and help us rise out of them.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Imbalances were made to come into
balance again. Langston Hughes demonstrated that all people are made of and for
Love and “We the people” have what it takes to make America, America again!
Thank you Langston Hughes for your timeless message! </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Many Blessings,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Robin </span></span><br />
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Let America be America Again</span><br />
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">
</span></span><br />
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Let America be America again.<br />
Let it be the dream it used to be.<br />
Let it be the pioneer on the plain<br />
Seeking a home where he himself is free.<br />
<br />
(America never was America to me.)<br />
<br />
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--<br />
Let it be that great strong land of love<br />
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme<br />
That any man be crushed by one above.<br />
<br />
(It never was America to me.)<br />
<br />
O, let my land be a land where Liberty<br />
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,<br />
But opportunity is real, and life is free,<br />
Equality is in the air we breathe.<br />
<br />
(There's never been equality for me,<br />
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")<br />
<br />
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? <br />
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?<br />
<br />
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,<br />
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.<br />
I am the red man driven from the land,<br />
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--<br />
And finding only the same old stupid plan<br />
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.<br />
<br />
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,<br />
Tangled in that ancient endless chain<br />
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!<br />
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!<br />
Of work the men! Of take the pay!<br />
Of owning everything for one's own greed!<br />
<br />
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.<br />
I am the worker sold to the machine.<br />
I am the Negro, servant to you all.<br />
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--<br />
Hungry yet today despite the dream.<br />
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!<br />
I am the man who never got ahead,<br />
The poorest worker bartered through the years.<br />
<br />
Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream<br />
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,<br />
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,<br />
That even yet its mighty daring sings<br />
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned<br />
That's made America the land it has become.<br />
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas<br />
In search of what I meant to be my home--<br />
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,<br />
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,<br />
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came<br />
To build a "homeland of the free."<br />
<br />
The free?<br />
<br />
Who said the free? Not me?<br />
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?<br />
The millions shot down when we strike?<br />
The millions who have nothing for our pay?<br />
For all the dreams we've dreamed<br />
And all the songs we've sung<br />
And all the hopes we've held<br />
And all the flags we've hung,<br />
The millions who have nothing for our pay--<br />
Except the dream that's almost dead today.<br />
<br />
O, let America be America again--<br />
The land that never has been yet--<br />
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.<br />
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--<br />
Who made America,<br />
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,<br />
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,<br />
Must bring back our mighty dream again.<br />
<br />
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--<br />
The steel of freedom does not stain.<br />
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,<br />
We must take back our land again,<br />
America!<br />
<br />
O, yes,<br />
I say it plain,<br />
America never was America to me,<br />
And yet I swear this oath--<br />
America will be!<br />
<br />
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,<br />
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,<br />
We, the people, must redeem<br />
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.<br />
The mountains and the endless plain--<br />
All, all the stretch of these great green states--<br />
And make America again! </span></span></span><br />
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.poemhunter.com/langston-hughes/poems/"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Langston
Hughes</span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</span></span></div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668767874065880422noreply@blogger.com0