A Friend In The Justice Department

 

“All I’m saying is, it’s living that takes courage. In my experience, the hero who charges the machine-gun nest is sometimes the guy who didn’t have anything to go home to. To me, the real hero is the guy who goes home to face whatever life hands him, no matter how tough it might be.”

The above quote is from Third Degree, a novel by Greg Iles. I finished reading the book last night. It isn’t an easy story to live with because it presents a great many of those really hard questions we all face if we are doing as the character says, facing off with whatever life hands us, no matter how tough it might be.

I spent part of the morning, yesterday, in a courtroom. I was there in support of a friend who was being accused of abuse by her adult daughter. Talk about tough. I was there for two main reasons. I don’t believe my friend is an abuser, and I, myself, have faced similar accusations. We live in a world where this is neither a rare or uncommon occurrence. But, it is certainly one that can and does leave scars on everyone involved.

The charges against my friend were dismissed. There was no celebration. Now, we must all wait to see if the daughter will appeal that decision and that is anyone’s guess, at this point. What makes this even tougher is that my friend adopted her daughter when she was no more than a three-month old baby. The young woman has had difficulties throughout her life with issues of mental instability, something that couldn’t be foreseen at the time of the adoption, but circumstances that my friend dealt with for well over twenty years, as she tried to get the help her daughter needed, and stuck by her through the ups and downs of a continued diminishing level of hope for resolution.

By Iles definition, my friend is certainly a hero. I strongly doubt, however, that she feels that way about her own person. Being in that courtroom was not a simple or easy thing to do. The awareness of the pain that coursed just below the surface of all those alleged facts had to touch each individual present. They certainly impacted on my person, bringing up memories and feelings I thought were long behind me.

And, of course, I wrote about some of that in my journal pages this morning. Am fairly certain that will not be a one-time endeavor. However, finding the Iles’ quote last night, did give me another perspective to explore, both intellectually and emotionally. I am not speaking about the concept of being a hero, but that one about staying and confronting whatever life deals us.

I couldn’t help but think of how my journal pages were an anchor during my own similar experience. They grounded me in a way that allowed me to face whatever was coming. They also contained facts that I might never otherwise have had at my fingertips. In a very real way, they were the justice that can be a crap shoot because it is dealt out by other human beings who have their own agendas and perspectives.

That isn’t to say that our justice system doesn’t work. Some of the time it does, but one can’t be guaranteed that in ones own case it will. That reality can turn up the volume of emotions to the point of implosion. As far as I know, my friend doesn’t keep a journal. She is however, meticulous about keeping records of any thing she deems significant. Records her lawyer used yesterday morning that resulted in a dismissal of all charges.

In my own situation, my journal pages were like a secret friend that accompanied me through my experience. Both past pages as well as those written through the experience itself. They allowed me to keep a somewhat clear head and that was far more important than anything else that might have been occurring during that time period.

That isn’t to say there were no scars. There were, and they were felt while I sat in that courtroom yesterday. But, I do know what to do about them and have already begun that task and will continue as long as that is necessary. At least I know that with the help of my secret friend, I can stay and face the healing of those scars. There is a great deal of comfort in that knowledge.

My daughter and I now have a good relationship and a stronger bond than I would have thought possible. And again, I am sure that my journal pages were a supportive friend through that process. They kept me alert and aware throughout our own experience and were invaluable in keeping me focused on what I considered the ultimate goal, rather than the emotional pain of any one given moment.

Do you have a friend in the justice department? Isn’t it about time you allowed yourself that very priceless element as you stand to face whatever life throws in your path?

The Underdog

 

I have often thought that the Underdog Archetype should be higher up on any list of such energies. The Underdog is that ordinary person doing extraordinary things. The Underdog comes from behind and through steadfast endurance could still possibly take the prize. He/she may not be the best at what he/she does, but each one deserves to be recognized as a winner in their own right. And probably more important, we all recognize that individual because we often find him/her within ourselves.

How many times do we, in our lives, stop and whisper something like, “Why am I doing this, no one cares or even understands.” Yet, for whatever reason, we care enough to continue and often do simply because it is important to our own person and how we see ourselves and our place in the world which we inhabit. That is the energy of the Underdog, often the doings of an unsung hero. Someone who is simply an anonymous blip on the radar of others.

On the same token, we often identify with such energy. Because there are only so many positions at the top of the heap, most of us either accept, or resign ourselves, to going unnoticed. We may wish it were different, but we usually know better and proceed according to our own dictates regardless. If the only reason for doing a thing was public recognition of that, very little would ever get accomplished. And, we do recognize that experience in those around us.

Nowhere was that more apparent than on the American Idol finale last night. Kris Allen won. Did America get it wrong? I don’t think so. Yes, Adam Lambert was definitely the powerhouse vocalist throughout this past season. He also had the flash and sparkle of an already established artist on many levels. He moved onstage with Kiss and Queen as though he’d been doing it for years, while Kris Allen looked bewildered and star-struck to be standing that close to that much fame and glitter.

That did not, however, stop him from performing and making himself and his talent heard. There were a few times when he simply grinned and I thought that he knew he was going to be upstaged and didn’t care because he was there and partaking in a once in a lifetime experience. He was game despite the odds. And that  is definitely the energy of the Underdog. That willingness to go ahead and simply do what one does because it is there to do. And incredibly satisfying just in the doing of it.

American Idol is a singing competition. But, more important, it is the giving of an opportunity to someone who might not otherwise receive such a chance. Placed in the hands of a voting audience that identifies with the Underdog energy, it becomes much clearer that that audience still holds tight to the American Dream and its promise to each and every one of its citizens, no matter how tattered or faded that dream might have become. Not only that, but will put out the energy necessary to see that dream come true for one of its own.

Adam Lambert is an already proven star. Kris Allen is a hopeful. And I happen to like what that says about us as a country and a nation. I like the fact that it says we have certain ideals that we adhere to. That we recognize steadfastness and enduring effort and will reward it. That doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy and support the glamour and sparkle that occurs on occasion. But, we are also more than willing to give our support to the Underdog because we recognize that he deserves the chance to prove himself over time.

It can be and is painful to find oneself in the Underdog position. Yet, for the very reason I stated earlier, most of us are in that place. What does that really mean? It means that we have a choice to continue, or simply let go and admit defeat. We may think that giving up and quitting only affects our own personal space. That isn’t true. It affects our world and the way it functions. Our despair and depression reaches out and touches everyone we come in contact with.

And on the same token, our willingness to continue despite whatever obstacles or odds are encountered, gives hope and strength to anyone we happen to interact with. It might very well be the only ray of hope one or more of them finds in his/her daily existence. And, I think, that is the reason we voted for Kris Allen. We all want that chance, some form of that opportunity, so we gave it to another individual just because we could.

That in turn says something incredible about us. I think it says that we have heart, as well as soul.

Oh Goody! It’s Recess Time

 

Okay, I have been busy. That happens when you get an unexpected respite from the usual routine. My older sister came to town and relieved me of my daily duties of fixing meals for Mom who fell and broke a bone and is very slowly recovering. She is ninety and the inactivity is frustrating for her and thus, all of us who love and are taking care of her.

When my sister first called and told me I was ‘off duty’ for a few days, I was both pleased and stunned. Rapidly ran through a mental list of things I could do, things I should do, and some that I might even want to do. Then sort of relaxed, did a deep exhale, and realized I was tired but didn’t want to waste this opportunity by sleeping through it. Decided to do something I have been thinking about for weeks, but thought might take too much time and be too much of a chore to commit myself to under the present circumstances.

For those of you who have been reading this blog, you already know that I have been spending some time coloring. Mandalas to be exact. They fascinate me and do exactly what they are designed to do. Create a space for spiritual growth and healing. Simply put, they soothe the soul because they are a genuine source of natural meditation.

I now have a large number of completed drawings that have been colored and have provided me with a much smoother path through a rather difficult time of transition. So, what to do with all of them? Have had the desire to share the images, but wasn’t quite sure if I was up to the task. When my sister phoned, I suddenly realized what I really wanted to do: create a small Mandala Gallery on one of my sites.

You can find it at http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/ It is located on a sub-page that is listed just below the banner which is also one of the Mandalas I have colored. I didn’t actually set out to create the Gallery. Was more curious about how and if  it was something I could actually accomplish. Once started, I got completely caught up in the process and spent several hours pouring over the completed designs and deciding which ones I wanted to use.

One of the unexpected things that happened was that I got several new ideas of things I could do with them in the future. New ways of coloring them and even some ideas about backgrounds and framing. Found several I want to redo in different ways and the things I might do to improve them. It was both exciting and relaxing all at the same time. A much needed rest and refueling experience. The best part was that I didn’t have to get up and leave before I finished and also knew I could take whatever time was needed.

Although the practical side of my person wants to use this time to catch up on all those mundane chores I have allowed to slide by me, the child in me is far more interested in recess. No plans, just play. And that has been satisfied in spontaneous ways. Yesterday afternoon, I went rummage saling with both of my sisters. And last night I managed to finish up several birthday gifts, as well as complete reading a mystery novel that seemed to go on forever.

In the midst of all of that activity, I managed to stumble across the answer to a question that has been bothering me for weeks. I would not have done so if I had been doing laundry or washing dishes. It was a very specific answer and I found it laying on a side table at one of those rummage sales. That, in its own way, was as satisfying as putting the Gallery together or finishing the birthday gifts.

Which brings me to today and the rest of my respite. The laundry awaits, as does the stack of dishes. I will willingly and gladly do them both. The child in me has been satisfied and the practical side needs her own time as well. Tomorrow I go back to my new chore oriented schedule. But will take with me a great many new ideas and answers that have a tendency to create new questions.

Do you remember recess time? Do you make room for that in your own busy schedule? Are you aware that we learn far more, and far more quickly, when we allow ourselves to play, rather than turning it into work? Something we have to do and possibly even resent doing?

Going through my completed images, sorting them out and letting them speak to me, one at a time, was a lot  like rereading pages from my journal. There are tidbits there that can get lost in the rush to get to the bottom of the page. Priceless pieces of knowledge and information stored right alongside all those mundane things I rushed to get past. Answers I didn’t recognize as such while writing them down, ideas for things I can, and really want, to do but don’t think there is enough time or energy.

Recess was a short break, probably intended for the teacher’s benefit rather than the students’. Yet, those few moments allowed both to rest and refuel for further adventures in the learning process. Do you allow for a few moments of recess on a regular basis? Do you go back and reread a few pages of all that you have written just to see how things have changed, or maybe haven’t? What does the word recess actually mean to you and how important do you think it could or might be? When was the last time you actually let yourself play just to play?

Remember to Breathe

 

Okay, I think I am in trouble. Haven’t a clue what it is I should write about today, just know I should be doing this. Tried to listen to some music to get me started, but was just too willing to be drawn away, getting lost in the words and the melodies. Which means no writing, just a great deal of daydreaming that is not going anywhere.

My life, the one I took so much pains to create, has been altered, changed to meet someone else’s needs. What used to come so easily and even smoothly, now has to be crammed in wherever I can fit it. And all I really want to do is drift away, get lost for a time, suspend time and maybe even place. That is so not happening.

I don’t resent the change, it is something I wanted and even sought. But, the actual adjustment has not been an easy one. It calls on me to watch the clock and that is something I’ve never been really good at doing. It also means planning and I do so love spontaneity. It also calls for some amount of ongoing daily preparation and decision making, and again, that gets tired quite quickly. Being on call and all the attendant what ifs are a hassle.

I assumed that eventually the adjustment would simply happen and I would be okay. Not sure about that one anymore. This is so indefinite and could go on for months and that thought is also tiring. I am not alone in all of this and I would think that everyone else is feeling some of the same things. But meanwhile, I have to deal with these feelings of wanting to just slide out from under and walk away. And that is not an option.

There are days when none of this bothers me and I can simply participate and feel fine about all of it. I would really prefer those days to be a bit more consistent. Apparently acceptance is going to be a hard won battle in this situation. Something I may have to work toward every day for a while.

Transitions are never simple. Why they can’t be is anyone’s guess. When I step back and realize how many things and people are involved and all moving at whatever speed, all of these personal feelings make sense. It’s sort of like being hip deep in a multi-level tidal movement, pushed and pulled all at the same time. Keeping ones feet down and firmly planted is all sort of impossible. Yet, absolutely necessary unless one intends to become just one more casualty and end up sitting exhausted on the shoreline watching everyone else moving about.

Part of the problem is that although there is a schedule, it is open to change at a moment’s notice. Because of that, my role is constantly in flux. I can make a plan, but must be aware that the plan could be changed with just a simple phone call or an unexpected visitor. And that has already happened many times.

This is all beginning to sound like the never ending complaints of a control freak, something I am not, at least hope I am not. So, we go back to square one: Remember to Breathe. If that means I need to just sit and listen to some different music, then I must give myself that opportunity. If it means spending time quietly coloring to regain some sense of balance, then that is what must happen. If it means writing a blog that doesn’t make much sense, I think I’m doing that right here and now.

I think I might be hyperventilating emotionally, lol. And I only want to laugh all the harder when I hear those words: Remember to Breathe. That is such a simple thing, isn’t it? Yet absolutely essential. We have a tendency to gasp, pull in air and hold it, when we are being pushed and pulled by circumstances. We actually do forget to breathe, to exhale. Let it all out and then pull more fresh air in deeply.

I am reminded of Anna Nalick’s song, Breathe, Just Breathe. That’s incredibly good advice. Words of wisdom I needed to hear and actually listen to. I do have a bit of time this morning, maybe an hour. I intend to turn on my playlist, listen to that song and color.

Do you occasionally forget to breathe? Can you really afford to suspend that for even one minute? I can’t. Have a good day. I’m planning on working through some breathing lessons.

Perspective, Rebellion, and New Possibilities

 

I am a rebel. Have been for longer than I can remember. I am, for the most part, not radical in my rebellion, just fairly consistent. I do not like rules unless they make sense to me. And I question all authority until it proves itself to be worthy of acceptance, thus leadership. I have been known to break with tradition because it smacks of rules set up for inexplicable reasons. Just because a thing has always been that way, doesn’t mean it is good, or even worth doing.

It isn’t easy being a rebel. There are lots of moments when I question my own rebelliousness. It can be so tiring, the constant alertness, struggle and conflict wear thin with time. But, even when I decide that I no longer need this sort of issue in my existence, something comes along to smack me in the face and demand a rebel’s outlook. Just what is that outlook?

It is awareness, an openness that can be hard to maintain. It’s a different perspective from the norm. A constant struggle to stay alert to the fact that each moment is new and will not come again. And a willingness to act in that moment, no matter the feelings that attend it. It is a view that can be both exhilarating and exhausting. That’s the reason I said that I am not radical but am fairly consistent.

I get tired and recede back into my neat little comfort zone. But then, of course, the world comes crashing into my ordered existence, messing with this or that, and here we go again. No one will ever know how many times I have attempted to quash this bit of my personality. Yet, it continues to rise to the surface and make itself known, demanding acknowledgement, or out right action. Given enough discomfort, I will eventually respond to that call.

Which means of course, that I have not always been comfortable with this particular role. Perhaps, I never will be. That’s an exhausting thought all in itself. Can a rebel not rebel? Can a leopard change its spots? Did you know that a black panther is a leopard and that it does have spots? It’s just that the spots are so closely aligned with the color of its fur that they aren’t noticeable until seen very closely. And who, in their right mind, would willingly get that close?

I have a black panther in my Personal Mythology (see Personal Mythology at http://intuitivepaths.wordpress.com/ . His name is Jacob, which means: the supplanter. That one who supplants, replaces the normal order of things. Yup, a rebel. He is closely associated with my emotional landscape and has been for many many years. He is also the only panther I will ever get that close to, if given the choice. I have learned a great deal about rebellion from him, and he has learned a great deal about how to handle a rebel who rebels at rebellion.

So, why rebel at what would seem to be a given? There is this little thing called a primary need for acceptance and belonging. Rebels, like prophets and poets, or any other dreamers, are not easily absorbed into whatever community they find themselves in. They are loners, but that  doesn’t mean they don’t partake in that primary need to be a part of a group. Can you say frustration?

Think about that for a moment. Here is an individual who knows beyond any shadow of a doubt that he/she is different and will always be so. Yet, right alongside of that core reality is the definite inextinguishable yearning to be accepted and to find approval. Fine line balancing act and on occasion one of those whirling plates takes off in its own direction, crashing into whatever stands in its unwitting path. Of course, it becomes pieces and some of them can’t be glued back together again. Whew!

Like I said, it’s not easy being a rebel. Just trying to hang on to all those whirling pieces is time and energy consuming. What about all the rest of life? How does one manage all those other things while making sure all the plates stay up in the air and moving when gravity alone will pull them out of sync and down toward that hard breaking ground?

And there is the underlying point. We are all individuals. That means, we all have some pieces that are different from what others maintain. We all have a set of whirling plates that need to be kept moving and up in the air. We all worry about maintaining that balance and none of us want to end in a crashing and breaking into pieces that can’t be put back together again.

Which means that although I am a rebel and my plates might be a slightly different hue, we are essentially in the same boat. You might not be a rebel, but I’m willing to bet there are moments when you are aware that you are quite different from your fellows. What do you do in those moments? How do you handle them?

Do you kick and scream like I have done? Or, do you accept that difference and use your energies more wisely? Like keeping those different plates up in the air and whirling while you tap dance around all of life’s obstacles? Some of which, by the way, can’t be avoided. Ever.

So, what if anything does all of this have to do with journal writing, which is the essential thrust of this blog. This morning I had a waking dream. One in which I knew I was awake but the scenes from my mind, essentially in dream form, continued to play out clearly on the screen of my thoughts.

Seeing as my journal is the first thing I engage in each morning, I wrote out those scenes and was immediately reminded of a comment that was dropped on one of my other sites last night. It was essentially about what those dream images were actually saying. The dream was about a change in perspective that changes not just the mind of the thinker, but his/her whole view of life and the world he/she inhabits.

It was all about something I have been wrestling with for some time. Something I want changed, but couldn’t seem to see my way through. I needed a new perspective. And my dreaming mind provided that with a little nudge from an unknowing commenter. I need that rebel that lives inside of me. That one who supplants, replaces the norm with something different, something new, and maybe even a bit risky.

Would that have happened if I hadn’t sat down in my very normal fashion and wrote in my journal? Maybe, maybe not. I’m just grateful it all fell in place so smoothly and privately. As I said, I am not radical in my rebellion. I have a tendency to go about it quietly and with deliberate thought. This morning’s writing opened a door to just such possibilities.

A History of Happiness

In response to Claudette’s Writing Challenge #13:  It’s In The Details
http://claudetteellinger.wordpress.com/

 Someone recently told me that she wanted happiness in her future. I replied that I get a bit fudgy when it comes to that word. It means so many different things, and those things change, seemingly sometimes from one moment to the next. So, I decided to write a history of the different things it has meant to me over the years.

There was a time, when I believed that marriage and having children would be, must be, the ultimate happiness. I was wrong, but it took an awful lot of time to figure that out. There were other things on the horizon while I was unknowingly waiting to know that.

Like crafts. I believed that if I decorated the walls of my house with hand-made projects, that would make me happy. I kept myself busy for years doing things like macrame, embroidery, crocheting, flower-arranging, drawing and painting, and lots more. I wanted my home to reflect my person, and to some extent it did. I also discovered that I was a very creative individual, but beautiful things don’t necessarily make for happiness.

Then there was music and learning how to play the guitar. That was hard because I didn’t start until I was thirty. I love music and although it was satisfying and gave me contentment at moments, I finally realized that that was just not enough.

So, I went to school. Actually, school was both a desire and a necessity. And for several years it made me happy, if happiness is defined by a certain level of contentment and the challenge that makes one move forward. College certainly did both of those things, and taught me a great deal for which I will always be grateful.

But, all things come to an end eventually. I graduated and found work. I actually liked my job a great deal, but mostly I liked the fact that much of the time, I was the one in charge. And although that too had an element of satisfaction in it, I became aware that whatever satisfaction was there, it just wasn’t enough.

Then the opportunity to teach came along. Not something I was looking for, but something I was willing to try. And it worked for several years. Again, that element of satisfaction was high a great deal of the time, I was absorbed in what I was doing and being. But, as will happen, the bottom dropped out and I was no longer physically able to meet the demands of the niche I had found. I entered the world of disability and all the bureaucratic hassles attached to that reality.

Just trying to make the adjustments took up a great deal of my time and energy. That wasn’t a particularly happy period, but I did manage to get through it. I survived. There was satisfaction in that awareness, even if it lacked a sense of contentment. Actually, I had to struggle against resignation a great deal of the time.

Next came the move back to the city of my birth. Coming full circle. For those of you who are familiar with this blog, you know that I spent some time trying on the role of a couch potato. I had earned it. But, I certainly wasn’t happy with it.

Throughout all of this, there was the writing: daily journaling, sometimes sporadic, poetry, and essays. It was another kind of music that wove all of the rest of my time together. Made it all of a piece. It was the warp and woof of the tapestry of my life. And no where else, was I ever as happy as when I was writing. Writing was the glue that held my life together.

Oh, there were always other things and people. I owned several dogs and they were each a delight onto themselves. But dogs, like people, come and go and take emotional investment that hurts when they must pass on. I had learned that other people can’t be ones only source of happiness. Happiness must come from within.

When I said that I get fudgy about that word, that is what I was speaking about. I love fudge, especially the kind with chunks of walnut in it. But walnuts can get stuck in the teeth, and can even break them if bitten wrongly. That is a great deal of what life is all about. Enjoying the fudge, but also staying alert to the fact that it is only a momentary pleasure. Just as happiness can be.

I truly believe it is important to take the time to explore ones history of happiness. The word itself is rather slippery, its definition often changing with or without a moment’s notice. Taking the time to define what has made you happy in the past, can lead to other paths that allow those moments of contentment to flourish.

Writing makes me happy. That doesn’t mean it is always easy or even goes smoothly. I find contentment and satisfaction on the page, more often than not. And after all of these years of searching for happiness, it is incredibly wonderful to know that piece of information. I wouldn’t have ever found it if I hadn’t been driven to write again and again and eventually realized that words and forming them were what held my existence together.

What makes you happy? How do you define happiness? For me, it means a certain balance of contentment and satisfaction derived from a continuing challenge that keeps me exploring and searching, as well as finding what I am searching for. And yes, there are still chunks of walnut in my fudge, but it’s also home-made and that is pleasing all in itself. I am still creating what surrounds me, still moving to the music that I hear inside of my head, still making new friends, and that for me is happiness.

I’d also like a Golden Retriever puppy, at least for a few days, but pets are not allowed where I have chosen to live. That’s okay too, dogs have a tendency to find me and I love the surprises they often bring, along with the love and exuberance they carry within their very cells. It’s contagious.