Thank you.
By reading my blog you give me the opportunity to do the work I love, that is talk about life and its various aspects.
I know, wandering around is one of the things I do best, so I thank you for respecting my voice while I do it.
Why wish on white horses? They give us hope.
I’m a seeker, and I figure that you, being here, must be one too.
They say we didn’t come into this life with a manual on how to live it, but what if in our wanderings, we find one.
To write, to compose, to draw, to paint, to
crochet, to knit, to build rockets, that plugs us in, at least for a
short time, to the garden we were expelled from.
You know what I mean—the garden represents our connection with our
divine nature. When we follow our divine nature, our calling, we are
ego less and defenseless for a little while—what a reprieve. The air in
that space is so pure it makes us heady with the belief that we can live
forever.
And you know what?
We can point others to their calling as well.
Steven Pressfield called me. I’m calling you. Pass it on.
I know many want to write, and I received comments from people who wanted to blog, so I wrote a little book titled, Grab a Pen and Kick-Ass. Not
that I can tell writers how to write, but I list ten books that can. My
intent was to motivate them to do it. Maybe I was writing it for
myself.
We have a job to perform, and that is to do the thing that means the most to us. Some call it their calling.
Remember the movie You Can’t Take it with You?The
grandfather swooped people into his house and let them work on whatever
they chose. The old men were making firecrackers in the basement. The
mother was writing a novel and had written herself into a monastery and
couldn’t get out. The little man that grandfather rescued from being an
accountant was making toys. All didn’t go perfectly—otherwise, it would
have been a utopia and not a story, but the idea is there. Do your
thing.
Singers sing, and painters paint, babies giggle, and children
play, and kitty cats sleep on your desk because they are happy to be
with you.
My buddy, Obi.
I talk about this subject of doing your own thing a lot because if
everyone had a dream and followed it, whether they were successful or
not in terms of acclaim or finances, they would still be doing what they
came here to do.
They might get frustrated, for perfecting one’s projects can require
patience–who wants that? And it requires perseverance and determination.
Darn, and I wanted it to be easy.
It is still worth the doing.
And think about it, we would have those moments of transcendence where we touch the garden.
For fun:
Watch this baby laugh hysterically at ripping paper.
I’m just going to begin writing. I’m frustrated. I’m not going to
think about posting this, for I’m in a quandary about what to think.
We’re in a pandemic. The government is undergoing a second impeachment
trial on the ex-president. We’ve had people storming the Capital, and
claiming to lynch the Vice President. We watch this in wonder. How in
the world did we get to this place?
We can hardly talk to each other anymore, for we might offend
someone’s sensibilities because we’re on opposite sides. And why in the
hell are we so polarized anyway? Extremism has happened.
I had decided not to talk about the virus anymore, for I believed it
gave energy to it, but I see people want to talk about it. It’s on our
minds, it’s in our hearts, it’s in our faces if we venture out of our
houses. It’s our concern right now, and we need relief from it.
People are home with their kids, trying to home-school, getting their
jobs done, and feeling overwhelmed. In times before the last
Presidential campaign, I heard that Russia—hey, I want to be friends
with Russia–and you don’t blame an entire country for the ills of a few.
Still, I heard that they were dinking with our media to keep us
off-kilter. Keep people off-kilter, and it’s easy to plant a belief. We
are open and susceptible. Like how in the world did insurrectionists
believe they could hang a Vice President for doing his job? Or resort to
such violence anyway?
I had to write. I know you know all this, but we have few people to
talk to about our concerns. We want to reach out and place a suave on
wounded hearts, but we’re home, behind masks.
We’re all in this together. Not one in the world is exempt from this
virus scare except maybe some lucky aborigines who never heard of
Covid19. However, they probably have their own concerns.
A little old lady at the eye doctor’s office, she had her temperature
taken, she was feet away from anyone else, she had on two masks. See
how frightened people are.
On January 7, a 34-year-old man admitted to a hospital in Bhutan’s Capital, Thimphu,
with preexisting liver and kidney problems died of COVID-19. His was
the country’s first death from the coronavirus. (And he was a tourist.)
Not the first death that day, that week, or that month: the very first
coronavirus death since the pandemic began. How did this poor underdeveloped country do it—A Coronavirus success story.
What to do? What to say? I’m just a person sitting in front of my
computer typing my heart-felt best. And there you are, doing your
heart-felt best. And I wonder what you and I can do to make a
difference.
I have written before about beliefs, and probably will again. A
belief is so firmly held that it’s like chipping cement to change it. We
argue, not over who gets the biggest piece of cake, but over
ideologies, which are thoughts. Of course, behind that belief is that
something will be taken from us, or we will be forced to do something we
do not want to do. That’s imprisonment, so I understand why we
tenaciously hold our position. We want to be free.
Sometimes a belief does not serve the person, or they hold onto a
theory such as when people thought the earth was the center of the solar
system that to change their minds means to lose face. But to change in
the face of new evidence is smart. And to allow change means that we
have grown. That change ought to be celebrated, not, “Haha, I told you
so.”
Most of us want to live and let live, but there comes a time when you
realize you are being manipulated or lied to, and it boils the blood to
watch injustice.
We have a strong sense of individualism in this country. We’re
pioneers, adventurers, explorers, investigators, and inventors. We love
doing what we do. Why then is there so much turmoil?
I’ve been taking care of business, being frustrated with my slow
computer and a website that was giving me trouble. So today, I’m turning
to the page and to you.
I wanted to write, so I’m doing it.
Perhaps I am writing “Morning Pages,” words for myself alone.
I know the world is filled with words, and I wonder if it needs mine.
Yet, my job is to write. It’s the job I have chosen for myself. I
believe (ah-ha, see a belief) that writing is a transformational
experience. I try to explain that to people in a little eBook, Grab a Pen and Kick-Ass,
for that reason. I enjoyed doing it. It was directing people toward the
pen and the page, not to teach them how to write; I list ten books that
will do that, but because I believe writing is healing.
In the March issue of Life Extension, I just saw that Matthew McConaughey has journaled since he was fifteen. How cool is that?!
Before I leave the subject of Beliefs, and I have written about them
before, and probably will again, I have noticed how literal people are.
You mention a myth, and many people do not see the symbolism, but
instead run off to the gruesome, the diabolical, and the horrendous
things people have done in the past.
My second daughter and I are writing a book in the form of letters.
This is an excellent activity during these times. We are Elizabeth and
Josephine, young archeologists in the 1920’s. Elizabeth discovered a
gold coin, and we learned that there are three coins that together form a
map to a treasure. The problem is finding the coins. One place
Josephine will soon go is to the Yucatan. I have personally stood atop
the pyramid, in the Holy of holies, that little room at the top of the
Temple of Kukulkan in Chichen Itza. In our story, I go to find a clue or
a coin I don’t know which. My point is my daughter asked me my
interpretation of a frieze present at Chichen Itza of a Jaguar holding
what has been interpreted as a heart. Curls come from his mouth appear
to be flowing over the object in his hand (paw). To me, those curls look
like his breath is flowing over the object in his paw, rather like God
breathing life into Adam. The “Scholars” say that Jaguar is eating the
heart.
What do you think?
Well crap. When I visited Chichen Itza, I saw a frieze of the victor
of the ball game. The Mayans built a ball court larger than a football
field. (A whisper at one end of the court can be heard at the other
end.) The victor of the game is represented as headless, with vegetation
coming out of his neck. The guide said they decapitated the victor to
ensure the crops. Well, that would really make a warrior want to win. My
interpretation is that it is symbolic. The vegetation coming from his
head indicated that they would have abundant crops. Did that mean they
cut off his head? I prefer not. So argue with me. It’s a matter of
interpretation.
You see, I see, we all see, but we see different. Why is that? Our
upbringing? Our genetics? Our past injuries served to form who we are.
Some believed they could storm the Capital and threaten the Vice
President. Some believe in throwing a tantrum if they don’t get their
own way. Some believe that democracy should prevail and are endeavoring
to make that happen. Some are afraid of losing their jobs or are in
danger of their lives or those of their family, or the repercussions of
going against the party line.
We need a Mr. Smith as in the movie Mr. Smith goes to Washington, starring Jimmy Stewart.
My telephone just rang. A certified caller from Georgia., I know
someone in Georgia, so I answered it. It was Judy, the niece of my old
friend June whom I have mentioned before. She is 97, and Judy took her
from Eugene, Oregon, to Georgia, where she could place her in a memory
care facility and look after her.
June is on her way out.
What an illustrious life she has had. An artist by choice, trade, and
talent. I can foresee the celebration now. She will sashay into the
group waiting for her on the other side– chocolate in one hand and wine
in the other, saying, “Whoopie, what a ride.”
