Category — Life experience

Along with being outside in a natural setting, one of my favorite places for meditation and inspiration is in the shower. When I am in the shower, I feel the most vulnerable but also the most secure. There I feel closer to God than almost anywhere else.

The fall of the hot water cascading over my skin makes me feel united with one of the most powerful forces in creation while giving me feelings of authority and humbleness. In the shower is where I often go to cry, to celebrate, to mourn, to laugh, to be a child again…if only for those precious minutes.

Water has always fascinated me as a symbol and manifestation of God’s spirit and supremacy. Even in its destructive wake of flood and crashing waves, there is a sense of dominion without limitations. And that power fortifies my own desire for freedom and control when it and I meld as one in the shower. The greatness of the water is both within and without me.

Showering has become something more than an expected and routine behavior or a daily ritual to me. It often takes on a sacred overtone. In its deluge I am touched, cleansed, baptized, blessed, refreshed and renewed. My tears add to its volume, my soul is stirred, and I am cuddled like a child by its embrace. The spirit of God is present in its unrivaled perfection and that lets me know I’m not alone.

Each magnificent drop of water is a world unto itself and a part of the whole. The joy of showers remind me that I am also as one with creation’s beauty and a receiver of its wonderful blessings.

From a very young age I didn’t think I was different, but I did feel set apart. There seemed to be some familial dissimilarity between me and my siblings who are an older sister and brother and a younger sister, born 4 years later on my birthday. Even with our shared birthdays, there still seemed to be a block between us.

I spent most of my inquisitive time with my father because my mother seemed to find fault with everything I did or said, including the dissenting mumblings under my breath for which I would often get a smack in the mouth. So I grew up under strained circumstances that made me aware of being in conflict with most of the people in my life.

Besides feeling separated from my family, my extreme thinness and gawkiness had an effect on friendships which limited my associations with my peers of both sexes. I was too quiet and introverted for the girls, and felt too unattractive and shy for the boys. As a result, I married the first man who came along when I was 19 just to escape my mother’s overbearing ways.

The marriage turned into a disaster with my husband’s infidelity, which coincided with my turning 21 and the happening days of the 60s. So for the next 13 years I lived a life of experimentation with drugs and sex, with people who had different slants, beliefs and attitudes unlike those with which I had been brought up.

My life continued its spiraling into the world of strong-willed activity until 1978 when I relocated to another state and sought a different spiritual path from the one I had been traveling. Although I found a deeper relationship with my concept of “God,” life wasn’t quite finished with me, and my period of metamorphosis was yet to come.

I met my “soul mate,” fell in love and added 2 more children to the 4 I already had with my husband. This man and I ended our violent and dysfunctional relationship involved in the throes of a civil child abuse case in 1988, and that  was when my life took a turn and my period of greater enlightenment began.

Sitting in court during the trial, and feeling completely anguished and sorry for myself, a voice spoke to my spirit and told me to “Pay attention.” These two simple words changed the perception of who and why I exist until today. I began to look outside myself at my life and the people in it to realize that I was not the only one “going through” something. The first victims I recognized were my sons and all the other children in their current situation of foster care or out-of-home placement.

There were many other parents, children and families just like me who were or had been alone, lonely, rejected, ignored and abandoned. But the voice made me realize that regardless of our circumstances, guilt or innocent, we are never alone. There is a supreme compassionate spirit, and my prayers which my mother said only went to the ceiling had not been rejected, were not being ignored, nor had I been abandoned. I might have felt lonely at times, but there was a power within me and in all of creation which had compassion for me and cared about my well-being.

The realization of the need to know that source of compassion struck me to the core, and from that time on I have felt it is my responsibility to give awareness of that source to others. So I blog about it and talk about it not only to those like me, but to everyone in which I came in contact, and I have become an advocate for those on the fringe, those considered “different.”

My understanding of the need to know about compassion goes deep into my moral fiber. I believe my experiences through life have groomed me for the mission I accept each day. If I am able to add value to just one life through the sharing of my experiences, I feel I have been able to extend the consideration that was shown to me. We are all human beings. One with the spirit of creation; and worthy of forgiveness, understanding, tolerance, and acceptance. But most of all, we are worthy of compassion.

For the last four or five years I’ve been writing blogs and doing social networking and have joined or connected to over 300 internet groups. When I Google my name, I’m surprised at the things that pop up and am amazed at how far my name and messages have reached. This is not to thump my own chest, rather to set the stage for something which never ceases to amaze me. I wonder and am surprised when others comment on how strong they consider me to be.

My readers’ perceptions make me wonder to what exactly is that strength attributed? Is it the time I’ve spent at the keyboard pecking away; or it is starting, deleting, uploading and downloading pictures and videos? Is it using the Thesaurus to express the same words in different ways to vary my content; or is it reading and re-reading, checking the spell-checked text to be sure I’ve caught all the errors? Is it arranging, rearranging, placing and displacing sentences, clauses, phrases, titles, paragraphs, punctuation marks, or whole topics?

Is it the subject matter I write about; the opinions I confer, the arguments in which I take a determined stand, or the information about my experiences I choose to share? Or could it be my resolve to write even when I wonder if what I am saying is making a difference?

I have come to accept that my being strong is not a power that I particularly possess. But my strength comes from the perception of my readers. If those who read my articles can derive some measure of understanding, enlightenment and inspiration, I believe they are made stronger. Their strength is then reflected back to me in encouraging comments they send which in turn makes me stronger.

Without receiving responses, the posts I write are merely me consuming time and effort. Instead they have become more than expressions of my point of view and a sharing of my life’s journey. Our ongoing communications have become a source of reciprocal strength, and I wish to thank all of my readers for making me strong.

Lying awake in my bed one morning at 5:00 a.m., my mind became clouded with all the sorrowful things that were going on in my life, and fear began to creep in. Fear has been described as “false expectations appearing real.” Considering that definition, I now realize that it was not fear with which I was struggling. My contender is time.

I have been diagnosed with breast and bone cancer; my relationship had dwindled to an occasional call or e-mail; one of my children (the most difficult one) needed to move in for awhile (with his wife and 2 children); my business needs a completely new revamping (the recently published book for children is being redesigned and republished); my neighbors, the government and the world all seem to be in turmoil; even the seasons seem to have lost their direction.

Despite all those situations, and more, the one important factor I did not consider as I lay there was time. In Ecclesiastics 3, we are told by Solomon that time is the one relevant ingredient, both positive and negative, in all our affairs. It is not the circumstances, or the requirements, or the components of the affairs in which we are entangled. Rather, our primary consideration should be the time we need because time is the one thing we cannot control. We can neither speed it up nor slow it down nor stop it.

As we are helpless in defending ourselves against the fleeting or ravaging of time, why then should we fear anything? Time will take care of all our problems. If we are ill, we will simply run out of time despite our state of wellness, and our relationships will either change or end. In any eventuality, every situation we think is so important and worry about will either continue as is, improve, or be eliminated…in time.

Therefore, if there is anything to fear, it is whether or not we are making the most of our time. Are we moving forward in our mission and purpose or are we allowing our circumstances, fears, and situations to immobilize us? We speak of seeking the truth, and there is this one…it is that life, and all its state of affairs, is only a matter of time.

History has shown that when one chooses to live life as a spiritual mission, one must first fall in order to rise again; to die to the self in order to rise in the spirit. Examples are Joan of Arc, Jesus, Moses, Martin L. King, Jr., and Malcolm X, just to name a few. Often the novitiate messenger has difficulty explaining what is stirring in them during the transition, only that “something is happening to me.” The transformation from flesh- to spirit-rule is traumatic.

It is not until the cocoon is cracked and the breath of life is allowed to touch the inner is the outer allowed to drop away. It was not until my involvement in a child abuse case threatened the loss of my children did I change the direction of my life completely. To the observant, the example of the butterfly is an ingenious way nature has provided us to recognize spiritual renewal and explain our metamorphosis to others.

Once we are able to grasp the implications of responsibility to our fellow human beings, our “calling” as it were, the picture becomes clearer. The fears of life dwindle in comparison to the brilliance of purpose that looms ahead. The scripture, “though you slay me, yet will I live” becomes the anthem of one’s existence. It is the attraction of the moth to the flame. The pull to get closer to the source by our willingness becomes over-whelming and draws one nearer to the light which is death of the flesh, but rebirth of the spirit…revival.

To enlighten others about the possibilities available to all human beings for as long as possible before the time arrives to depart this world becomes the mission. Once the seal is broken, the purposes and realities related to everyone you meet become clear. Their roles and yours becomes pieces of the puzzle which start to fit, and the picture begins to look like the top of the box. You can see where you’re headed and what the outcome will be.

We accept that everyone and everything comes into our lives for a reason and a season, not to stay forever because there is no such thing; all being temporary. Though the scenery and the players change, the story of revival remains the same…one of rejuvenation, redemption and reconciliation.

For a short period of time recently, my son, his wife, 9-year old son and 10-month old daughter had to move in with me after they both lost their jobs. Although I live in a small one-bedroom apartment, there was little I could do but make room and endure. For three long months, we had to share, tolerate and continue to carry on despite the circumstances. Struggle is a nice name for it.

But the most amazing struggle I was privileged to watch was that of my granddaughter, Sasha, who was learning to walk. Although her space was limited with all the boxes of human need surrounding her, nevertheless she would pull herself up on her chubby little legs again and again.

Her need to rise out of the play saucer in which she was placed, or up off the quilts I laid down on the floor for her was impressive but also distressing. She reminded me of my tries and failures to start my own business and the changes I had been through the last 18-plus years trying to stand on my own.

As with my first offers of help, reaching out my hand to her would be welcome at times, but then again she would choose to try and make it on her own even though she knew she might fall. I thought of the first contract from which I withdrew rather than drastically change my concept, and the second contract which failed when the publisher went bankrupt.

As I had, she realized somehow that struggle was a part of the plan, but if she was going to get off her knees and stand, she had to do most of the work herself.

My little family moved on before Sasha’s first birthday and her first solo steps, but I have the same faith for her that I have for myself. One day I will receive a call from my son saying she is running around and they have to run and catch her. And one day I will call him to say that my competition is struggling to keep up with me as the sales of my books and dolls are running way ahead of them all.

My neighbor and I met in the hallway of our apartment building and exchanged hellos. He has been having some serious health issues and so have I. During our brief interlude, we laughed at how we have simply just gotten old. We have to admit it, and were amused with how we now realize why old people always seem so short tempered and in such a hurry. They, or we now, don’t have the time to dilly-dally and procrastination is a waste of time.

We also touched on how limited we are in having someone to depend on and concluded that sadly, God is the only one. Everyone else is trying to keep it together just as we are.

I admit it was very disheartening to wake up one day and discover I was old. Oh, I’m not crying in my tomato soup, I still have an active life. But, as my health issues increase and my energy decreases, I have to face the fact that I am no longer in my 20s, 30s, 40s, or 50s, and quickly slipping away from my 60s. (I will be 68 in January.) What to do; what to do!!

I find it interesting that although I know how old I am when I look in the mirror, and by the way my body feels when I struggle with things I’ve been used to doing very easily, my mind only feels full to overflowing; not old. I just know that I know a lot about a lot. There aren’t too many subjects, except those extreme intellectual ones like quantum physics and such that I either have experienced, know someone who has, or heard or read about. This mass of knowledge gives me great pleasure, especially when I get to share it.

I guess the bottom line is that getting older ain’t that bad. In fact, I accept it as my reward for all the tears, confusion, and do-over’s I’ve had to endure. I love my gray hair and wish it were gold, because I’ve entered the “golden time of day” and find it’s not too bad. I dedicate the attached video to all those golden oldies like me and all those who look forward to becoming one.

Frankie Beverly and Maze \"The Golden Time of Day\"

Where does the labor pain go when it releases you? Is there a little pocket somewhere inside where it tucks itself away until the next time it holds you in its grip or until the doctors anesthetize you? Why is it that when it’s gone you can’t quite remember it other than that it hurt something awful?

Each time I went into labor with my six children, I waited with anticipation for the pains to begin, and longed for the occasion when I would be on my way to the delivery room. Most expectant mothers will tell you that by the time you get to the ninth month you relish the idea of your labor pains beginning, because it means that you will be able to reclaim your body from the little invader who has controlled your every waking and sleeping hours. You anticipate that finally you will be able to sleep on your back, tummy or side without a foot, elbow or knee demanding that you turn over to make “them” comfortable.

It is not, however, until the pains begin that you remember what it was like the last time when you swore to never put yourself in this position again. Rushing back to your core, the pain echoes the pressure, fear and excruciating squeeze and release of muscles left unused since the previous delivery. Like a steely Grinch, the pain carries away every smidgen of tranquility, relaxation and comfort you have been able to muster up for the big day. Replacing your excitement with only one desire…to get it out and over with as quickly as possible!

After everything is said and done and the baby is safely delivered, however, you realize what a great gift pain has given you. Staring down into the face of your newborn is one of the most fulfilling moments of your life and most satisfying. Those who have experienced it more than once can attest that wherever the pain goes, you are grateful that it resides in a place that keeps it safe, able and ready to help you deliver one of life’s greatest rewards ever.

When I wake up every morning, and I’m grateful for that blessing, I know that this is a day I have been given to create, or be or do something different. It is with that freshness of anticipation that I love to begin my day. Although there may have come up issues I had to address yesterday, or there may be things which have lingered around for quite awhile, each morn brings a chance to learn a new lesson; something exceptional. And that possibility is what makes living life a wonderful experience.

Since I have been old enough to remember, I have always been a crier. I cry when I’m happy, I cry when I’m sad. I even cry when I think about all the times I’ve cried. I realize now that mainly I was crying out of frustration, because I put so much on my plate all the time, and usually didn’t know how to find myself out of the maze of decisions I was making; so I cried. I also remember mourning the death of my parents years and years before they died, but when they did I was quite prepared. They had taught me all that they could, and although I missed them tremendously, accepting their passing was a lesson I had to learn.

Life has become more enjoyable for me as time goes on, and that’s because I have opened my mind to the possibilities that all my experiences come to teach me lessons, and the sooner I learn them, the sooner I can move on. In addition, if a similar experience or lesson comes up again, I can act rather than react in behalf of my own well-being and peace of mind. I have also learned to ask for help when I need it, I have stopped trying to do everything myself; which was one of my biggest problems. Others know equal to or more about certain things than I and it is their mission in life to provide their expertise, just as it is my purpose to provide mine. We can’t be all things to all people, not even to ourselves.

Each of us has something important to the world. As we go along, we should share our knowledge, even if it hurts or makes us ashamed to admit our choices…especially to our children. For it is in the relating to others that we receive forgiveness and restoration. We may think we are the only ones who have committed our acts, but logic should tell us that with billions of people in the world, there are many others who have made the same mistake, if we want to call it that. I believe there are lapses in judgment or misdirections or experimentation, but they are only mistakes if we do not learn the lessons they come to teach. Learning the lessons is what primarily makes life such a wonderful experience.