Shine!

Sometimes we need that tiny spark of light to inspire and encourage a world of darkness. Many of us have evolved for the better: however, still within a dark place we’ve found the strength, the courage, and the will to change. While in a dark place, this metamorphosis of the self- is most of time- a good change. For some of us this can be a reoccurring cycle we go through for long periods of time, and for others it can be as long as we can remember. Change can be achieved but can be extremely difficult as we sit in the dark and try and do it alone. We can be ashamed and embarrassed to let others see or know our inner struggles. We only allow the world around us to see what we want them to see, and we decide to control what shines through and what does not.

 

Grant it, we are changing and for the better, it can be a slow and exhausting process. Many of us are unfamiliar with the mere thought that there is a more comforting way to evolve. Evolving outside of that dark place, evolving as a light, and in the light. Some of us are so accustomed to controlling our glimpse of light that we lose the ability to let all of our light shine at once, and more importantly we lose the ability to allow light to shine inwards! So focused on controlling the light, the spark, that flame that lifts us out of our dark place we create a one-way channel, an outward flow of anything good. Rarely do we allow ourselves the inward flow of all things good, the receiving of light. It’s a living and breathing oxymoron. We are so protected and guarded that our insecurities train ourselves to create a false feeling of security.

 

I am guilty of this… I’ve heard others tell me, “You’ve come this far,” or “Look how much you’ve accomplished,” and “You can do anything when you put your mind to it.” I can be the tinted window. I can deflect the light, the love, and the happiness that others want to share with me. I can deflect the smiles, the laughter, and the comfort. I can sit in a dark place and try and change all by myself. This is a lonely place to be in, an unnecessary struggle, and time to time the walls cave in and it takes more strength to hold them from crushing me. Yes, I have evolved and changed for the better, I have come so far, I have come a long way: however, it’s always been me climbing in and out of dark spaces. So I ask myself and I challenge myself, to crawl out of that dark corner and sit in the sun. To let the rays of light, of everything good shine down on me and to let it all in, to allow what I am not accustomed to, to allow what I am unfamiliar with, to touch me in the ways that I need to be touched, to allow myself to be approachable. I challenge myself to see the light that I am where I stand, to recognize that I am the lighthouse that can bring others in dark oceans safely to shore. I challenge myself to be the beacon that others see in me but do not see in myself. I challenge myself to accept and embrace all the beautiful colors of light that others choose to share with me. I challenge myself to accept help, to accept the hands of love that when faced upward light shoots out of their palms like super-natural power. More importantly, I challenge my self to accept the love God has for me and to come to understand it. I challenge myself to love Him wholeheartedly and listen to His grace.

 

Today I’m tired of evolving in a dark place. I choose to evolve in a space that is already well lit and warm. I choose to evolve in the light, in a space where I can smile and laugh, where I can love the way I was created to love. I choose to feel free in the light like a hawk over a mountaintop and under the sun. I want to feel *connected, close to Him, to the universe, and to all living things. Today I choose to shine!

 

Handlebars

So, after my workout this morning I sat quietly and this came to mind…

Often we see kids riding on bikes with another kid holding on tight while riding on the handlebars. As it came to mind I thought how much trust it takes to allow another to control the bicycle and guide the way while sitting on the handlebars. To leave the control of our direction in another’s hands and to their will.

Sometimes, the kid sitting on the handlebars can be uncomfortable, especially when there are bumps and holes in the road. There can be anxiety, and worry as the kid allows the guide to maneuver the bike as he/she pleases: not knowing where they are headed or which turn will come next.

Hear this… if the kid on the handlebars interferes with he or she who is steering the way, it can result in an accident, a terrible fall, much pain, and in a severe case – death! Also, the kid on the handlebars can – and may sometimes be incline to- take control of the steering by leaning, resisting a turn, or just simply trying to overpower the one who is steering the way.

However, if the passenger on the handlebars chooses to allow the guide all control, if the passenger chooses not to resist, not to lean but instead remain centered, chooses to let go of the anxiety and worry of where he or she may be headed, or when the next turn will come, and instead chooses to enjoy the wind in their face, the speed of travel, the passing environment, the sounds, the visuals: respects and trusts the guide, the experience can be joyful, memorable, fun, exciting, and gratifying.

This is my faith. Knowing there will be bumps in the road and holes to avoid, I am centered on the handlebars: and with all of my existence, I trust and respect my HIGHER POWER is in control and will lead the way.

Joy & Happiness: The Difference

A man has made at least a start on discovering the meaning of human life when he plants shade trees under which he knows full well he will never sit.

 

—D. Elton Trueblood

 

Our lives are enriched by the contributions of those who lived before us. Many men and women gave more than they ever took from society, and now we enjoy the rewards. Some people were fired with a spirit to beautify the world and planted trees that will live for 200 years. Others wrote music that speaks to us from another generation, and others established a government that guides our principles of justice. They gave so much because they knew they were a part of their community and the world.

 

I may not make the great contributions that will make me famous, but I can enrich my life and the lives around me when I contribute freely to improving the community and the world. I can do this when I simply say hello to my neighbor, when I serve on a volunteer cleanup committee for a local park, Habitat for Humanity, Caring For The Homeless of Peekskill (C.H.O.P.), and The Food Pantry. These are vehicles that I use to help beautify and contribute to the world, and that gives me a feeling of peace and self-respect.

 

I wasn’t always the person I am today. Knowing who I was and who I aspire to become has given me grace. Being angry, violent, believing in nothing greater than myself, and holding on to the “me against the world” attitude has caused much harm to my self and to those around me. I have a CHOICE and in the M.A.S. I was conflicted for a greater portion of my life lived. Recognizing that I can live different to make a difference has done wonders for my children, my wife, my family, my friends, even some strangers, and me.

 

The phrase ‘joy (AND) happiness’ always struck me to be odd. The use of the word ‘AND’ was always in question- as if joy and happiness were separate entities, and today I believe they are separate in definition.

 

Happiness is still something I have yet to achieve. I feel as if it is measured by time. For example when someone is happy it describes (to me) a length of time. Happiness seems as though it is a feeling that must be achieved. And forgive me, I can be wrong but I find when someone is happy it isn’t for a second, a minute, hours, or even a day. It is a state or a period in their life that they have experienced ‘happiness’. I have witnessed people in the act of giving, caring, and planting those trees that were not happy. Yet still they gave.

 

Joy is a feeling that I have experienced many times before but was too ignorant to recognize. Recently I am blessed to recognize the energy or the electricity it shocks my heart with, my soul, M.A.S. I feel joy is measured by moments, overwhelming instances that cannot be denied, and pure genuine emotion. For example, joy blasts our beings, it shocks the body, it creates tears that cannot be held down, and it sits heavy and in the gut. Again, forgive me, I can be wrong but joy does not have to be achieved, it happens whether we like it or not. It cannot be obstructed. It cannot be controlled. I have witnessed people and myself that weren’t happy experience joy in a moment, isolated tiny events, and it is obvious (to me) when it occurs. In the act of giving back to the community, giving back to the universe as it had given to me helps me to feel joy. Planting a tree and seeing it grow knowing I will never sit in its shade gives me joy. Seeing people do for others gives me joy. My heart pounds, my eyes well up, and my spirit is touched when joy overwhelms me.

 

This is only my opinion. This isn’t science, nor are they facts. This is not meant to offend those who claim to be happy- it’s just when I hear or read the word happiness it still seems so foreign. However, joy is familiar to me, as this year it has shaken me over as over again. I am so thankful for these moments and without shame.

 

Plant a tree.

 

Peace.

Mind, Body, & Soul – The Trifecta

Mind, body, and soul – mental, physical, and spiritual…

I gathered this morning with like minds. It was a powerful session, to say the least.

For me, it’s a trifecta. If my mental, physical, and spiritual, is not aligned I’m off-balance completely. It’s not an easy task, but sometimes more simple than I perceive it to be.

The mental comes with right thought, and right action. With these comes right direction. In addition, my mental depends on my ability to differentiate between right and wrong, between healthy and destructive living.

The physical comes with moving a muscle. “Move a muscle, change a thought.” Exercising, hitting the gym, doing my routine push-ups, going for walks, and playing with my children are all ways that I can keep my physical on point. My physical also depends on my diet. The food that I feed my body reflects my physical and the respect I have for it.

The spiritual comes with surrender. Surrendering to my HIGHER POWER is one way to stay spiritually connected. Hitting my knees and praying throughout the day is another. In addition, reading daily meditations, books about Buddhism, the Bible, and sometimes the Qur’an help as well. Even staying close and spending time with my children help to keep me connected and spiritually healthy.

All dependent on each other, my mental, my physical, and my spiritual need to coexist. There is a harmony that must be achieved, a balance- mind, body, and soul. One without the other is like a puzzle missing it’s pieces, incomplete.

For me, staying spiritually and physically connected is much easier than mentally. My mental can be quite dangerous to me at times. It holds resentments, dwells on the past, encourages frivolous mischiefs, and often entices me in all the wrong ways. My mind has a strong ability to hate but my heart does not. My mind has a clever yearning for revenge but my heart does not. My mind can isolate me from my body and soul, but I refuse to let it. My mind can seek out and befriend depression but body and soul know depression is no friend of min(d). Thank GOD for my spirit which keeps me grounded and my physical that allows me to soldier through and endure.

Today, I need be aware of my my mental and work towards the balance I need to stay aligned- mind, body, and soul.

It is not an easy task; however, I’ve come this far and I keep reminding myself it could always be worse. Today, I am grateful for my blessings and will practice an attitude of success and greatness while being transparent with a sense of humility.

I’m going through it, and I’m gonna get through it.

Anniversary of Tragedy

Soon I will face the anniversary of tragedy.

It has it’s own way of waking me.

It shakes me by the shoulder, and the surprise is crushing.

Unexpected, the belief in it all, is impossibly simple.

Concisely confusing, it is brief in its form and non-comprehensive.

Seeming tangible but it is not.

A fading existence, trying to hold on to memories

Memories appear misty and become translucent.

With an eager eye as if it were a reaching hand, I look.

With hopes to hold on to what is left of it all.

Let go and let HIM.

Let HIM hold onto the treasures that pain me.

Let HIM hold down the rising tides that rush my shores and salt my shell.

Let go and allow myself,

Allow myself to gain understanding so that he may grant me direction.

So that HE may lead me through the tragedy of LOVE and its clutches.

Chords

When I was a youngster…

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes became hours

Sometimes I waited long into the night before I-

Before I heard the tune of your pain at the piano

Most nights like clockwork you came home and you played

Your scales you played over and over again were

Reflective of your personality, always wanting to be better

A person better you were, more than you knew

Because all you knew were your mistakes

But, that’s not the case- you were great

You were unapproachable but it bared no weight

On me, as I am the son of a humble and powerful king

Powerful in his silence and humble in his nature

You were all these things- to me- and so much more

The peaceful elephant the powerful lion dare not tussle alone with

The young teenager trying to figure out the meaning of life

The hardworking ever-hoping blue-collar father

Trying to feed his family, but trying to feed his hunger

Trying to quench his thirst a presence like thunder

An eerie rumble that shook the world around you

Caught between you and your self, you were-

You were- so sick and so closed, and you so chose better

You so chose vision, hope, and you chose my brother and I

You were healing, and as your eyes opened you understood

The extent of, and severity of, a son’s love for his father

You had wisdom that needed me, as I listened

With battered ears as a young boy

To the surprise of my adult years your guidance

Was- IS worthy of a loving father

You genuinely wanted the best for me

And even when it seemed you could not fathom life

I knew- I knew underneath the thick layer of pain

Were smiles that pierced me like the sun’s rays.

You were amazing and I was amazed

Maybe, just maybe it was the chords you played

With a sound so quiet and yet so profound

I Will Not Pretend

I will not pretend.

Falling to my knees is what I needed.

Last night the word unmanageability was the subject of discussion.

Amongst (it) were other powerful words.

‘Unmanageable’ spoke to me as if it were a person in our circle.

While others spoke, Unmanageable began to quiet itself.

When I entered the room every thing was in order, so I thought.

Voices led the way, I listened, and I listened some more.

The first voice spoke as if HE put the story in place for me to hear.

The voice spoke of relative misfortunes and shortcomings, I was familiar.

But so unfamiliar am I that I needed to understand, and I tried.

As time passed and the speaker continued, my emotions were not so becoming.

Becoming unmanageable they were.

I thought to myself.

I tucked deep down inside those tears and tried hard not to vomit feelings.

The speaker spoke, and while the speaker spoke to the circle, HE spoke to me.

He tells me to listen and to share my feelings.

Now with two voices, one inside and the other out, I try to hear what is said.

I try hard to hear what is meant for me, I understand that I am beside support.

I am beside hearts.

“Trust me or do not trust me,” the speaker says. “But do trust in HIM”

Trust in HIM that I may be thankful for waking today.

Thank HIM for allowing me to be conscious in my sleep.

The speaker was troubled by words, warranted words.

Working doubly not to let the unmanageability of emotions take control of the podium.

A breath, and then silence.

Another breath, and then silence between words.

I looked on with great empathy.

HE was with me.

 

 

 

Breathe & Listen

WE were born with the ability to breathe. As an infant our breathing was excellent if not perfect. Our breathing was not yet tainted with experience.

As we grew older our breathing changed due to experience, especially as adults. WE suffered from adjustment: adjustment to pollution that taints the air around us (smoke, combustion, air pollution, etc.), and our own sources of pollution: for example, smoking, drugs, anxiety, stress, and coping with illness in our own ways.

Learning to breathe again – as we did when we were infants- can be a task: quite difficult. However, it can be achieved even if it is, for just a brief moment.

This brings to mind the act of slowing down. Slowing down, like breathing is something we distance ourselves from as we grow older. Before we know it we suffer from the “committee” in our heads – or the “the squirrel’s nest”.

Life, stress, relationships, substances, coping practices, and even the search for something greater than ourselves can be: noisy, debilitating, and can or will cause US to lead ourselves into moments of insanity.

Learning to slow down can be a task: quite difficult. However, it can be achieved even if it is, for just a brief moment.

We can succeed in the search for breath and the act of slowing down (tranquil moments) through destruction – destruction of the unhealthy habits WE created in our past that lead us to NOW. WE CAN, rebuild healthy habits, sober habits, and our ability to embrace: to live.

Through prayer and meditation we can achieve these moments. Taking brief pauses to revisit those things we are truly grateful for, truly thankful for, and what brings us a genuine feeling of joy can help us to breathe and slow down – or slow down and then breathe.

Paying attention to the ENTIRE moment is an act of embrace: the colors, movements, the smell, the feel or touch, the sound. Listening to your heartbeat, living through every living and mechanical motion slowly, paying close attention to our physical, feeling every step, feeling our heels touch the ground and closely following through until the tips of our toes leave the ground next, stopping to listen to our own heartbeat or someone in passing.

Upon putting my ear to my daughter’s chest to listen and understand her heartbeat I quiet my mind, I stop listening to the world around me, I feel her small harmless structure against my ear. I listen, I breathe, I listen, and her heartbeat comes to life. I trace the sound, the touch, and our connection with my senses, and I become comfortably lost inside the moment.

Sitting down after a hike, resting in a comfortable position under a tree and listening to the wind rush my eardrums as it brushes my face, hearing the symphony of nature: wind through the trees, birds in harmony, even the distant sound of traffic petting pavement: absorbing the temperature, the warm, soothing mixture of a calm breeze and inspiring sunlight.

Stepping out of my house, planting both feet on the step or the sidewalk, looking forward at the world before me, without taking my feet off the ground or disconnecting from the earth, I turn my head slowly to the left and listen and look, slowly turn my head to the right and listen and look: and trust in my ears as much as I do my eyes. Feeling the calm, cool morning air rest on my face and hands, hear my heartbeat as I mind little, and let my senses speak to my thoughts.

Thanking my HiGHER POWER for today: for the ability to slow the pace of a minute and ripple my seconds so that I can breathe, listen, and let go – let go of my (the) self in a moment to experience the NOW – to let go of fear, to let go of the tears and pain I disguise by default, to let go of the noise and embrace my inner joy, to cuddle my gratitude, to understand serenity, to experience peace, breath, and a greater understanding of a tranquil moment. TODAY I KNOW there are many and I thank HIM for the ACCEPTANCE.

Breathe, listen: for NOW is a moment.

Rt. #16 Bee-Line Bus Memoirs: The Elderly Woman and the Metal-Green Walker Pt. II

Rt. #16 Bee-Line Bus Memoirs:

The Elderly Woman and the Metal-Green Walker Pt. II

It was a rough day dealing with some customers with nasty attitudes that would rather I lose my job than read the back of their coupons.  It was rough because I was dealing with so many thoughts that day and they were running through my head all at once.  At home I had some things going on and was trying my best to cope with them all together.  A few weeks before that day, I had a car accident and totaled the car without hurting myself or anyone else, thankfully.  Only a week after the car accident I expected my father home from surgery and in good health.  Instead two days after having surgery in his left leg and after doctors told me he’d be better than ever with little or no extra nursing when he arrived home, I received a phone call at five o’clock the next morning.  The doctor said to me, “Mr. Claxton, your father was pronounced dead at 4:54 am this morning.”  He was 58 years old, and my little brother’s flight from California to New York landed 15 minutes after our father passed away.  I couldn’t get the picture of my father’s face tensed in pain with tubes stuffed down his throat out of my head.

The day was longer than it seemed and I was ready to go home.  I was not in the mood to speak with anyone about anything.  I just wanted to get on the bus and get home as quietly and unbothered as I could.  I left my associates with a goodbye as I usually do, and they were unaware of all the things I was holding onto in my head and in my heart.  They said goodbye and told me to hurry so that I didn’t miss the bus, and hurry I did.  I ran up the stairs trying not to drop all that I had in my hands, and continued to the exit where the #16 Bus makes its last pick up at 9:50pm.

The bus was already there but I was safe because there were people still boarding.  I walked over, boarded the bus, and I paid with my Metro Card.  As I picked up my head to scan the bus and figure out where it was I was gonna sit that night I saw Mrs. Holly sitting about three seats back from the front of the bus.  She had her metal green walker and many bags from different stores.  She smiled and said hello to me.  I smiled back and said, “Hello Mrs. Holly.”  She asked me, “You tired? You look tired? You’s a young boy why you look so tired?” With a slight smile I said to her that I was a bit tired and had some things on my mind.  I can remember trying to erase whatever it was I was thinking about that instant hoping she wouldn’t feel as if she were bothering me.  In my own way I was relieved she had noticed I was down.  It spoke to the attention she gave me, and her intuition.  I sat next to her.  After settling into my seat I looked at her and asked her in a low voice, “So what’s goin’ on with you Mrs. Holly?  I ain’t seen you in awhile.”  She sighed, looked around as if she didn’t want to share her story with the rest of the bus, looked at me and almost in a whisper she says to me, “I just came back from Syracuse.”  I asked her what she was doing up there, and what she was about to tell me next took me out of my head and into my heart.

Mrs. Holly had just come back from Syracuse visiting her granddaughter and her great granddaughter.  She had been up in Syracuse in the hospital for the past two weeks.  Her granddaughter flipped the car eight times with Mrs. Holly in the passenger seat, her granddaughter driving, and her great granddaughter in the baby seat.  Her great granddaughter was only months old at the time. Mrs. Holly said it was amazing and God’s will that the baby never left the baby seat and didn’t have a scratch.  She was thankful she told me.  However, Mrs. Holly suffered some broken ribs, a broken wrist, and some more bumps and bruises to go with.  She said her neck and shoulder was burned from the seatbelt.  She said her granddaughter was fine but needed to wear a neck brace for a little while until her neck and back was better and healed from the accident.  I was in awe.  She let out a sarcastic laugh as if she couldn’t believe it herself.  She kept repeating to me that she couldn’t believe the baby didn’t have a scratch.  She repeated to me a few times, “Ain’t dat something, the baby didn’t have a scratch. I gots some broken ribs.  God bless her soul, ain’t dat something?”  I expressed how amazed I was that she was sitting and telling me the story only 2 weeks after the accident.  I asked her if she was in pain and Mrs. Holly explained to me that she was in a little bit of pain that day but it was no more than what she goes through on a regular basis.  I was confused.  I asked her what she meant by that and she told me that she has cancer.

She proceeds to tell me that she has cancer throughout her body.  She tells me that after the accident the cancer spread into her neck, back, and while she’s telling me she’s signaling to all the places the cancer has caused her grief and pain.  She can hardly move that well but still she tries to point down to her lower legs and feet.  She tells me that she gets cancer treatments weekly and that it makes her tired.  She said her bones hurt.  Again, I was in awe.  She said that she needed the treatment and it was the only thing keeping her alive, and it was the only thing killing her.  I was speechless.  I could see the discoloration of her skin and patches of brown wrinkled skin that were darker than other parts of her face.  She pointed to the patches and told me, “Look, you don’t see what its doin to me?”  She was so comfortable with telling me and so confident it seemed, I was struck by her strength and her will.  I told her I that I could see the patches on her skin.  Her hands were three times darker than parts of her face.  Also, I could see where the cancer treatment or the cancer itself had caused deformities to her in her lips.  It looked as if she had a fat lip on the left side of her mouth and one of her eyes was not as wide open and as beautiful as the other.  I said nothing and only listened. She continued to tell me about her hospital stays and how she had to wait to return home because the hospital in Syracuse would not release her until she was better.  Finally I said to her, “Mrs. Holly, how do you do it?”  She told me she didn’t know and that she had plenty things in life she dealt with before her cancer that were more painful.

Immediately I asked her what could have been more painful than the cancer and the car accident.  She looked back at me and said losing my son.  I cringed as if the question should have never been asked.  She asked me if I remember her grandson, the big autistic man that entered the store time to time.  I told her that I did.  She said that his father – her son – committed suicide.  She told me that he shot himself while home one day.  She said to me, “He ain’t wanna live no mo’” She explained he was a good man and that she believed it was partly the reason her grandson was the way he is today.  She said her grandson didn’t say a word for years, and that she was the first person he ever spoke to after his father’s death.  He was in the house when his father took his own life.  She said that the mother was no good and abusive to her grandson and reassured me that when her son was alive he would stop the mother from abusing their son.  She said the boy, who was now a man, would not have been as troubled and quiet if her son had been around today.  She told me that her son would of never let that happen.  She expressed that she believes the wife was the reason her son took his life.  I passed no judgment and could only sense the tragedy she explained.

She told me how he did it.  Mrs. Holly was the one to find him after taking a potion of his head offwith a shotgun.  All I could think was: how could a mother find her son in such a way? How could she cope with life herself after that?  She seemed to be at peace with it and explained that she loves her grandson who she cannot have a conversation with but cooks him pancakes because that is what he likes to eat, pancakes.  She explained that her grandson wouldn’t eat for months after the father took his life until Mrs. Holly started feeding him pancakes, and now that is all he will eat for the most part.  She told me that family and caretakers would call and complain to Mrs. Holly that her grandson would not talk and he would not eat, and that they refused to keep cooking him pancakes as she suggested.  They would tell her that it wasn’t any good for a little boy to eat pancakes all the time and that he could not survive on those alone.  The autistic man is now in his 40s and has lived on pancakes, bacon, and sometimes some eggs since he was a child thanks to Mrs. Holly.  The man is big too, not obese at all.  He is a big, tall, strong man, and not a being I would want to wrestle with honestly.  I sat, listened, and I was in awe.

Mrs. Holly told me so much during the bus ride I couldn’t help but to think about her life and mine and think of all the blessings her and I were given.  She had a hard life.  She explained her aunt was 98 years old and still alive.  She said that her aunt often called her and told her to come visit.  She told me that her aunt was one of twenty children and the only one left.  Mrs. Holly explained that all twenty children came from the same man her grand mother’s first husband.  Mrs. Holly laughed when she told me her grandmother remarried after that.  She says to me, “Can you believe that?  Remarried after twenty children.”  I looked back at her shaking my head and laughed with her. I told her that it was beautiful having twenty children but it must have been hard.  Really, I couldn’t imagine.  Mrs. Holly explained that she was one of three children and that she had a good life, her and her sisters.  She explained that they were raised in the Carolinas and that she had to ring chicken’s necks when she was eight and let them dance until they were dead.  She laughed at the look on my face.  She said that her grandmother used to whoop her with a wet iron chord but that was not the worst of it.  She said that the worst part was how her grandmother used to hold them tight between her legs while she did it.  She expressed that holding her between her legs was worse than getting the wet iron cord: go figure.  She laughed again and expressed that she had a good life though when she thought about it.

All I could think of was the pain and the hurt a person can endure in life and how amazing Mrs. Holly was to sit and share hers with me.  To sit and trust me with her story was a blessing in of itself.  She was/is a show of strength to me, and she is a reminder to remember the gifts that God has given me to the day.  She is a reminder of pain and happiness wrapped in a person and how the human soul can still be lit by sparks of spirituality.  She reminds me that complaining will get me nowhere, and that looking down on myself and self pity are sin. Mrs. Holly reminds me that feeling sick, is not a reason to be sick, and that being sick, is not a reason to feel sick.  She is a testament of strength.  How can I be as strong as she?  Will I ever have the courage and the will to carry on as she does every day?  She reminds me that prayer and gratitude will move my feet and fill my heart.  Quite honestly she said so much to me that day on the bus that I was moved in so many ways and touched beyond belief I tried my best not to tear and in front of her.  I was successful in that I did not cry outright, but inside I cried joy and pain for her like I haven’t in a long time.  Mrs. Holly is a person I will never forget as long as I live and will always hope to see again.  Knowing that her days are numbered I often worry about her and if I will not know when she has left us.  However I know that when she does leave the physical she will be in goods hands and she will look down on me and remember the talks we had.  She’ll remember the young man that listened, the young man that paid close attention, the young man that sat next to her on the #16 bus.

Puddles

To all my family friends, and those I do not know

Puddles?

As many of you know I have some time off from work. In my time off I picked up my pen again, which is something I haven’t done in over a decade. I have so much to say, I see so much that I would like to communicate: OR, find out if anyone else has the same thoughts and visions. My eagerness to learn has never died: however, my motivation was at a low.

With that said – there are several people who may or may not use Facebook, and they are entitled to all their opinions. However, I will say that YOU and others have been a great support factor for me here @/on Facebook.

Often I speak to people who tell me they do not have the time, or they cannot deal with the nonsense that,”Facebook creates,” it is childish, and they have more reasons why they do not have an account, will not start one, or has canceled the page.

Yes, I have some negative friends and, I too can be negative sometimes. Some friends ask me why I am friends with someone like that, or some friends make comments that clearly explain our differences.

Often I hear how people have cut others off, and it is my feeling that 9 out of 10 of these people are killing themselves with their disgust and hate for others, specifically because they are not perfect themselves and usually display a smidgen of the elements they are disgusted with and hate. It definitely takes a negative toll on me. I usually sit and listen and offer alternatives, and likely solutions: but we are all stubborn as human beings.

So, I try not to avoid or disconnect with people on the strength of our beliefs not being in line with each other. If I were to do such a thing, I would have nobody, I would stand alone/be alone.

There is not a soul on earth that is in complete agreement with my soul, so why would I expect any one person to be. That is setting my self up for a major let down, which I have learned through experience. You are not me, I am not you, and we should expect to be different.

Differences in people are like puddles on the sidewalk.

If I were to “walk around that puddle” every time that I was face to face with it, it would dictate my path now and – in some respect – my future. This is NOT ME!

There are times when I need to face the puddle and walk through it. A Puddle is a puddle and that does not change. How we perceive the puddle will dictate how we approach and deal with it.

Now, remember when we were kids and we used to stomp in puddles, walk through them only to be amazed that we were standing in water, sometimes we kicked the puddles randomly, or would kick the water playfully to wet a friend. The fact was, we knew what the puddle was, we knew what could happen if we played with the puddle, walked through the puddle, kicked the puddle: whatever it was we knew what the consequences were: and, they were NOT ALL BAD.

Facebook and peoples feelings are a puddle. Both are puddles a you can walk around or you can sit face to face with, it is a person’s choice. I’d much rather enjoy the puddle than walk around it. WE ARE NOT TALKING ABOUT A TSUNAMI! In that case Facebook would be considered deadly.

I am talking about a puddle, a small little forgotten element that as a child many of us have enjoyed. Now, as adults WE DON’T EVEN HAVE TO LOOK DOWN TO AVOID THEM: we just do.

Now, in our adult lives the puddle does not exist. We walk around the puddle without even cherishing or giving credit to it for the laughs and the fun it provided in the past, which is still capable of providing the same entertainment today: however, we perceive the puddle to be a small, muddied mess, which if we encounter and engage will, dirty our brand new sneakers, get on a friend’s skinny pants, make others look at us as if we were a child, and sometimes laugh at us.

Well, I am going to pay attention to the puddles I face and be sure not to avoid those that are not harmful. I will be mindful and fair as to determining which are healthy puddles for me to play in and which are not. I will keep in mind that my judgement is screened by my own blindness, and that is safe to confide and to listen to others in regard to my biases and contradictions.

There are big puddles and small ones. Have you had to walk around or through any puddles lately.

Peace.

Choicemas-