Quote For The Day

"The weakest living creature, by concentrating his powers on a single object, can accomplish something. The strongest, by dispensing his over many, may fail to accomplish anything. The drop, by continually falling, bores its passage through the hardest rock. The hasty torrent rushes over it with hideous uproar, and leaves no trace behind."
Thomas Carlyle, essayist and historian

Quote For The Day

"As you go about your day, notice the mirror faces around you and feel the muscles of your own face. When you feel a bit of stress or tension, allow the ends of your mouth to curve up, lightening heaviness; softening the energy within and around you as you share the gift of your smile.

A smile can carry you lightly through an entire day."

Florence Ondré

Quote For The Day

"Underground nuclear testing, defoliation of the rain forests, toxic waste...
Let's put it this way: if the world were a big apartment, we wouldn't get our deposit back."
John Ross

Quote For The Day

"Translation is the art of erasing oneself in order to speak in another's voice."
David Cole, professor, author, and correspondent
(b. 1958)

Day In Haiku

Water colored blah
Inside, outside, all around
Human goo, got flu?

Quote For The Day

"Our heads are round so that thoughts can change direction."
Francis Picabia, painter and poet (1879-1953)

Quote For The Day

We have not passed that subtle line between childhood and adulthood until we move from the passive voice to the active voice - that is, until we have stopped saying 'It got lost,' and say, 'I lost it.'
Sydney J. Harris, journalist (1917-1986)

The Edge Of Seasons

Sunny Sunday
Beach breezes blowing coolness off the Atlantic
New roses, pink and petals fluttering
Riotous red Cardinals brightening georgeousness of greens hedges and tree leaves;
Trilling exciting new summer songs
People parading with surfboards under wetsuited arms
Bicyclers pedaling by; leaving trails of sunshine smiles as they speed along
Strollers taking in the sun on a pleasant constitutional
Babies happily babbling to the tune of perambulation
Neighborhood dogs calling bow wow hellos to each other
Dining al fresco, a mid day highlight
Enjoyment afoot

And then they roll in, sweeping sun from view
At once, in a moment's time span, it is grey and misty
And all cools.
Goodbye May
Hello June

Nap time is nigh

Quote For The Day

"We are all wanderers in the desert; at heart,
searching for the oasis of companions in kindness."
florence ondré

Quote For The Day

"It's not where you start. It's not even where you finish. It's the journey along the way!"
Florence Ondré

E.T. Phone home...

It's one of those days today.
Fuzzy brained and feeling covered with a big blanket of velour, I know I'm awake yet half of me is asleep somewhere in the cosmos..
What is in retrograde today?
No matter how well I've worded or worked, whatever is done winds up having to be redone.
A red sock finds it's way into a load of carefully sorted whites; buttons pushed to answer phones disconnect instead; in the best of intentions of recycling, checks wind up in the shredder with the envelopes in which they came and books with intriguing titles are begun which seem to have a familiar ring as you delve into the second or third chapter only to find yourself realizing, "My God. I've read this one already!"
Yes. Today was one of those days.
An email sent to me by my friend, Carol, made me think enough to want to share with others.
So, I cut, pasted, eliminated the naggy part at the bottom which usually attempts to guilt you into sending to '10 of your best friends' and threatens with some kind of negative reprisals from the Gods of Bad Luck if you don't. Then I added a personal note, a quote of my own and, after making sure it was all in order, sent with Light & Love.
Minutes later, I get a reply from my friend, Ben, thanking me for the lovely thoughts and discreetly pointing out a small error in my own quote. "I think you meant to type it differently... not sure," writes he ever so lovingly giving me a heads up. He knows I'll go crazy over the mistake if left uncorrected.
I'm a stickler for spelling and live in fear of looking like an uneducated schmuck for 'putting i before e after c,' leaving out any of what should be double letters or writing 'there' when i mean 'their.'
You get the picture.
Perfectionism is one of my challenges in many things and the rules in English class still ring in my head.
Yet, as diligent as I may try to be, electronic components of energy zip in and zap my best efforts, sending out half words crunched together, missing first letters of words and a nice word picture of me as either lunatic, space cadet or unintelligent.
"A writer?" I can hear people whisper in my head full of critiques. "Is she delusional?"
'Tsk tsks' slip across the ethernet and I cringe thinking, "I can't believe I just sent that out! Yeah, great. Nice to be quoted as the poet who can't spell...or spellcheck!"
I can't believe that my perfectly worded AND SPELLED missive wound up with a glaring word crunch- in red no less-size 20 type!
What is left to do?
Of course. Out goes the follow up e in which I edit the quote, spell the offending word correctly and fix the wordbotch glitch.
And then thank AOL once again for an oops which gave me yet another opportunity to grow in humility, let go of perfection and practice of patience with the wonderfully flawed process of being human...in an electronic age.

Quote For The Day

'Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle."
James M. Barrie

Quote For The Day

“While we are asleep in this world, we are awake in another one.”

Salvador Dali, painter (1904-1989)

Quote For The Day

"A painting is never finished - it simply stops in interesting places."
Paul Gardner, painter

Quote For The Day

“Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.”

Kahlil Gibran

Quote For The Day

"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding."
Kahlil Gibran

Quote For The Day

“Let your tears come. Let them water your soul.”

Eileen Mayhew

Quote For The Day

"Rudeness is a weak imitation of strength."
Eric Hoffer, philosopher and author (1902-1983

Quote For The Day

“By words the mind is winged. “

Aristophanes, dramatist (c. 448-385 BCE)

Quote For The Day

"Poets are soldiers that liberate words from the steadfast possession of definition."
Eli Khamarov

Day In Haiku

Snow showery day
Quiet hush soothing the soul
Momentary March

Quote For The Day & The Gratitude Pool

“Language is the archives of history.”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson, writer and philosopher (1803-1882)

Day In Haiku

Wild fear ebbs and flows
Today is time in between
Where there's breathing room.

Quote For The Day & The Gratitude Pool

“Tears soften human edges.”

Florence Ondré

Branching Out

It is said that we are all one; a part of one another; unique, individual yet the same; like limbs of a tree.

Pondering this thought over the years has taken many twists and turns as with each life experience, I’ve faced gnarls and windbends, whorls and snapping breaks of the branches of my own tree.

It never ceases to amaze me how varied human leaves look, sound, act, react or cease in the storms that this tree of life weathers.

Bending in sweetness to birdsong as a winged one alights in softness on a sturdy shoulder; swinging low with bountiful harvest of luscious ripening of the seasons, holding fast in the face of fierce storms, arms held akimbo reaching for light in the darkness and growing into fantastical shapes with aching, arching of years of survival in all life’s gales and gasps show the simplicity and intricacy of patterning on which one comes to depend for framework. A how-the-world-should-look-and-be in what is named normalcy.

Yet where one might suspect sapling flexibility there may arise oaken solidity unbending; fertile fruit bearing females may fail, male monoliths may moss, and where willows weeping-wend low they may wildly wail warning and warring while weathering the world.

How can it be that if we are all indeed one, there is such diversity, intensity and perversity on the tree of life?

One is tempted to be lulled into a false sense of illusion that leads to expectations of drops of kindness falling gently on leaves being met with kindness of receiving; joy shining in sunshine returning bright, reflective joy; compassion greeted green with whispering breezes empathetically enfolding and satin sadness shaded by the underside of understanding of silver soft leaves.

It is not always so, this vision of how things which seem to have always been will always be.

Therefore questions crop up as behaviors metamorphosis in conditions of global warming, economic explosions and scorched earth wars wreak havoc on the roots of our foresty home.

Chaos of color collapses into challenge to change beyond accustomed seasonal sensations.

Where green at its worst, was envy, it is now greed. Riotous Autumnal ruby reds are flames of fury; buttery yellows of golden years turn into fears for future and burnt browns and siennas represent shades of balefulness.

How can our roots hold fast while limbs have been arched in agony, twisted beyond recognition and broken in breach of faith while the trunk of our tree of life is interminably tested?

Can we, arms of this essential elm, embrace each other and weave together a tapestry of stronger support so that we all may live long and well enough to see other bebranched beeches benefit; palms together play; willows whisper wonder and gingkos give the gold of memory for hickory heirs yet to spring forth?

Will we want to wake up enough to branch out in saner directions; to bring our best to the borrowed time in which we’ find our firred and furrowed forest and are we willing to look deeply inside the bark of ourselves to become aware of and acknowledge our shortcomings and see the lunatic in limbs gone gaga?

Can we manifest peace and perfection without courage for a good look at our family tree and, in the middle of madness all around us, when found to be outrageously out of control; whacked out in our own wilder-ness, can we honestly own our own behavior, see our common roots in "out of my tree' behaviors and answer, without shame or blame, with perhaps a shower of light, the tree trimming question, “From what branch of the Crazy Tree did you fall?”

Quote For The Day & The Gratitude Pool

“We could certainly slow the aging process down if it had to work its way through Congress.”

Will Rogers

Day In Haiku

Morning truck sputters

Baby birds awake and sing

Rhythmic consistence

Quote For The Day & The Gratitude Pool

“”Now more than ever the receptors are open for those who couldn’t hear it before. So fill the air with love as you, I know, always have.”

Ed Barisano

Cry Me A River

“When life is challenging and I’ve girded my loins for whatever hard times, words, emotions or actions may come, the cells of my body clench together like little fists making up stones for my walls of defense for survival.

This is me trying to be stoic, strong, courageous in the face of trial, turmoil and turbulent times. Mostly it’s a protection mechanism that kicks in the minute shock, unexpected change or unpleasantness hits.

Survival in the face of loss; sturdiness of resolve to weather the storm and dredging up the wherewithal to stand the onslaught of the tiger is still in my being from prehistoric times. It’s in the genes. It’s the flight or fight syndrome in response to stress which consumes brain power, pulls my shoulders up into tuck position under both ears and sets me up for, at the very least, the need for a chiropractic adjustment.

Emotions get held in behind a wall of trying to hold up. Heart clenches and bones ache with the effort. God only know what the other vital organs are going through. I’m thinking the expressions, ‘hardening of the arteries,’ ‘hard hearted’ and ’hard of hearing’ aren’t being tossed around like salad for nothing.

When I’m so busy toughening up for whatever hard moments seem set to attack, I have noticed that my heart hurts, anger covers hurt and my listening skills decrease in width and depth to the height of crisis.

For most of my life, the one thing I’ve tried not to do in this arena is cry.

Upon feeling myself about to leak at the eyeballs, weak, vulnerable and loser are words that come quickly to mind. And then the orbital sockets strain with pain of fluid retention and girding begins.

Recently a good friend shared with me that she also worked her whole life to not cry. Now she can rarely accomplish this human feat of body and emotion when she know it might be helpful. She has become invincible; a giant warrior woman in a little granny’s body who takes no crap from anyone and, like me, sometimes has hard words or reactions pop out her sideways to zap those within bruising distance.

She is a stalwart advocate to have by your side in a fight and a bolster for one’s own backbone in adversity. I’m thinking she was a cave woman to be reckoned with by beasts of the forest and tribe members alike.

Defenders of the nest, lioness of the pride, and tigress to her cubs are appellations that suit us both-then and now.

I must be getting older or wiser because I want more than that kind of survival now. I know that when I’ve cried buckets of tears, I come away from the experience feeling easier in my skin, ready for a good nap and with the ability to feel all my feelings and the softness of sheets and pillows to boot.

It is as though I’ve been emptied of burdens too large and heavy to carry and though whatever I face might not have changed, I have.

My eyes may be red rimmed, my sinuses all schnuffly and nose puffed up yet my heart has eased into a calmer beat and breathing reaches all the way down to my lower abdomen easing out every vertebrae in my spine.

So why don’t I do this more often? Why wait until it’s a flood of gut wrenching proportions that gags me on it’s way out? How stuck in Neanderthal times am I and when can I choose to come forward in evolution?

When they say, “Old habits die hard,” they weren’t kidding.

I have decided that, though there have been horrific times when not existing in this world sounded momentarily good, I don’t want to ‘die hard.’

So, I’m going to practice becoming aware of when I feel little hurts or fears or challenges arise and allow myself to shed tears. I’m going to watch sappy emotional movies and cry until I’m not embarrassed to be seen feeling feelings. I’m going to carry tissues and keep them handy for every tiny touching moment life has to throw at me-good, bad or indifferent.

I don’t want to wait only until the concrete of my facade finally cracks, the damn dam burst and floods the plains of my existence.

I want to ease my soul, heart and tear ducts with rivers, streams and trickles of water down my face.

Why shouldn’t I live my own quoted words, “Tears soften my edges,” when I know the benefit for body, mind and spirit of that truth?

I feel softer, lighter and saner after a good cry; more in touch with my center and easier in breath and skin. More oxygen seems to get to my brain and I can focus on the heart of each matter instead of being scared witless behind a facade of the illusion of strength.

In truth, I feel good; stronger for the softness and nobody else gets hurt by bumping into my pointy, sharp edges.

When a friend said recently, “I know you’re facing some high hurdles but please, remember your center, dear,” my response was a childlike wail, “ I can’t find it right now. I can’t remember what it looks like.”

“Well I remember it and I know you will find it again too.”

Now that’s a gift.

It enabled me to let go and cry with relief that I was not alone loin girding like a David against Goliath and gratitude for her loving heart.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as my shoulders lowered and my cells expanded with the light of her love and my allowing tears to soften my edges.

There may not have been a solution immediately at hand, yet I felt less bowstring taut. No arrows flew at me or from me and I could let go of outcomes and simply be.

That basic task can be the most difficult thing to do in the human form. Be.

For years I’ve been in awe of my daughter in law, who is divinely named, Hope. The first time we went to the movies together, she cried during the emotionally touching scenes and I, who was feeling the same empathy for the situations and characters portrayed on the big screen, choked back my tears until my eyes and throat hurt from the effort. I blinked furiously, stared at anywhere else in the theatre to distance myself from the overpowering emotions and snatched glances at this beautiful young woman beside me who wept unabashedly and wholly appropriately in sadness and joy; no filter. I thought, ‘Wow! How does she do that? She is amazing!’ What a power of example she is. And her family is equally open, expressive and in touch with feelings. Her over 6 plus foot tall Dad was a superman of weeping with joy at the wedding. How great is that? And her lovely, sensitive Mom tears up in happiness each visit or upon leavetaking because she will miss her daughter when she goes home.

These wonderful human be-ings help me stay in the moment and remind me that crying is also a loving thing; a leaning into the heart which heals and makes whole.

After a good cry, I feel cleansed, more flexible, softer and oddly stronger.

And, now that I think of it, could that be why they call it ‘a good cry?!’

When I cry, I am present in the now, fully feeling, not shut down or cut off.

I’m able to be connected with others when I’m connected to my self. It is in the fertile fields, watered with weeping, where I can crack open the seed casing circumstances build and allow myself the softness of Spring, green growing, bending into the earth around me to blossom into the light.

I am soft petal and strong stem; able to wave, bend and stand tall in whatever breeze or gale force comes my way, as long as I keep the life giving and easing water flowing.

So join me in this practice if you will. Notice where you hold off and where you can receive; where you pull in and where you ease out.

Then cry when you feel frightened, lonely, hurt, sad, happy, joy filled, weak or strong.

Cry me a river and know that you are not alone in your feelings or challenges.

Together we can flow to the calming sea of unity and connection, where, in our softened state, solutions can float to us in ways, perhaps different from the way we wish, yet better than we can imagine.

I’m seeing you shine with light glistening on your tears.

Quote For The Day & The Gratitude Pool

"Walk lightly in the spring; Mother Earth is pregnant."
Kiowa

Quote For The Day & The Gratitude Pool

"There are some days (or some moments in the day) when I'm not feeling grateful for either what i have or what I have escaped.
So sorry to say it -yet it's the truth.
I'm reminded that there's gratitude deep down inside me somewhere and it will appear again.
I have the funny feeling it's going to pop out in feeling funny."
Florence Ondré

Day In Haiku

Snow melts in New York

Disappears to who knows where

Seattle’s dusting

Quote For The Day

"If you can't be content with what you have received, be thankful for what you have escaped."
Anonymous

Insult To Injury

Why is it that, when you go to the doctor's office, you are asked to wait while they take calls.
"We'll be right with you. Excuse me but I must take this call. This is an important call, just give me a minute here."
Any of the above statements are generally made while you are standing in some degree of discomfort or doubled over in pain with your head slumped on their desk or counter, which may be the only thing holding you upright.
Well, you think to yourself, it's probably a really important phone call and after all, you are already there. They certainly wouldn't keep you waiting if it weren't important.
And then you think, really this is a good thing, because when you call, you most certainly will want them to take your call and deal with your needs right away too.
You go home feeling safe in the knowledge that you will be treated as well with that kind of attention when you need to call in.
A smile eases across your face and a sigh escapes your lips.
Then the day comes when you are the one calling in.
And what do you get?
"Dr Gotchacovered3waysfromsunday's office. Hold please?"
You get out, "Hi this is..." before
Bang. They're off the phone and you are left listening to muzak at loud decibels or advertisements touting the praises of the doc's many swell services.
Bing! They're back on the line, "Hi, Can you hold please."
Wham! Gone again before you can say yea or nay.
You find yourself fighting the urge to reach through the phone to commit a bit of mayhem while la la la la’s run through your brain trying to drown out the tunes you never wanted to hear shrilling out of the earpiece.
They’re back, “Who is this? Hold on. I have to finish the patient in front of me.”
Click.
WTF?
And here you are in the quagmire of thoughtlessness at the intersection of “Rudeness and Whine.”
You sit stunned, wondering if is it just you, did your deodorant fail or was your breath offensive.
Ultimately arriving at the corners of “Conclusion and Don’ttakethispersonally.”
It is them.
Their system of multitasking doesn’t work. Trying to be all things to all people does not work.
It makes for an arena of folks becoming cluttered, incapable and non efficient when thinking they’re perfectly so.
A thought dear physicians and your office people:
“Put one person at the desk and one on the phones, puleeeez.”
They just don’t get that finishing with one person at a time and giving your full attention to that patient will get things done more efficiently and effectively with everyone feeling cared for.
And isn’t that why we go to the doctor in the first place?
Nu?.

Quote For The Day

“Before eating, always take time to thank the food.”

Arapaho

Quote For The Day

"Don't let yesterday use up too much of today."
Cherokee

"A Little Goes A Long Way"

By Florence Ondré

This attribute; this commodity; this vaporous substance; ever seeming in short supply could go for big bucks and have a street value higher than pain pills.

This illusive energy flits away like a firefly in July. Now you see it; now you don’t.

Just think of the daily commute; hours in traffic and, no matter how much you know that this is a process and it’s going to take some time to get to your destination, you’re tired; worn thin from the day. You’re looking forward to getting in your domicile, closing the door on the world, taking a nice long shower or tub, eating and dropping into bed. All without other people and their energies crashing in on you like uninvited party guests.

Ahhh, would that all your kindness, compassion and understanding could stay present all the time to keep your basest. grubby, forgetfulness of niceties at bay.

You are, after all really a very nice person. You know it; others have said so and doggone it, people like you.

Having stated the obvious, you might just begin to discern a smidge of foam at the side of your mouth and notice that your jaws are clenched tighter than a noose around a prisoner’s neck at the lynching. Your shoulders have pinned your ears up about an inch and a half at the very least and there are already itsy bitsy trenches between your eyebrows, which are closer than you remember from the morning mirror look-see.

It’s official. You are at the very least…cranky; verging on an slippy slidey path to agitated and irate.

Reasonable has left the building and willingly follows you like a growing shadow that Peter Pan could not possibly fit to your shoe no matter how much fairy dust Tinker Bell sprinkles on.

You’re exhausted and overloaded with whatever giant economy (ha) size big gulp of fear you bought on sale today.

The mere thought of having to wait cheerfully while the world goes to hell in its horrible little handbasket -or ,at the very least, wait without shrieking or seizing someone by the throat as they slow up traffic, make dumb mistakes, cut you off, walk in front of you like you didn’t exist or have the right to take up room on the pavement or give you the finger or a less than kind word is beyond ability.

You, dear soul, have reached your wits end.

And wasn’t that a shorter trip than you ever dreamed it would be?

You have run out of that preciousness called patience.

What could you have been thinking? How did you lose it and where did it disapear along the way?

It’s a stunner, isn’t it, when you think back on the train wrecks which follow the slip this energy gives you?

Even a kind word can send you over the edge into a tantrum.

“What could that dimwit been thinking when she said, ‘Have a nice day’? Did she forget that payroll was short, we didn’t get lunch and now it’s traffic snarls to match my mood in the stretched to over 3 hour commute home! What is she? Some kind of vicious hobgoblin? Nice day, my ass!”

This about one of your favorite colleagues, friends or neighbors.

Well, you might just want to take in a breath, release those shoulders from their perch as fleshy earirngs and remember that everything is gonna take as long as it takes and there’s a divine timing in flow that is bringing things about in ways better than you can imagine.

Might as well, put on some music, notice one good thing, feel the release and a smoother heart rate as you settle into change and, once again, practice patience.

Even one small moment when you have patience counts and when you have it for yourself, you can have it with others and situations over which you probably have minute (if any) control.

Then you could just think on how you didn’t throttle anyone today-even if you thought about it.

That’s gratitude following patience… and self restraint.

As Martin Luther King Jr said, “I may not get there with you……”

Just for today, it’s possible I’m right behind you, flying my crankyflag high until the process brings me that little bit which goes a long way home.

Day In Haiku

Oh beautiful snow
How high you are fluffed and piled
To icicle teeth

Quote For The Day

"God’s people fail a hundred times

Before each day is done.

But Grace, in whispers, lifts them up

One hundred times and one."

William D. Blake

WWW

No, not the world wide web
Nor world wide wrestling
Just winter white wonderland
With all its dazzling glory and hush
Crisp cold softening of life's edges
Stopping us from the scurry hurry of day to day
A snow day; a now day
A day off from school
Hooray!
Until the thaw.

Remembering In The Capitalistic Crunch

by Florence Ondré

When I'm down in the dumps
Thoughts jumbled in clumps
I am stopped in my tracks on the floor

When breaths come in gasps
While society rasps
Buy some fear and then purchase still more

These are times which confuse
And do rarely amuse
Still, there's something that's left to be learned

I do not have to lose
There are roads yet to choose
With good outcomes I've already earned

For my worth is within
As the world makes each spin
A given of good by design

Not some goal I achieve
Or a want or a need
It's just be-ing my spark of Divine.

Quote For The Day

“He who would do great things should not attempt them all alone.”

Seneca

Day In Haiku

Haiku sharing joy

View in sparsity of words

Crystalized exchange



this haiku was written for those who haiku and exchange thoughts & experiences in this word form expression.

thanks for sharing the joy.

Florence Ondré

Day In Haiku

“Oh, The Irony Of Spring”


New York Spring has sprung

Ahhh, sun. Fly blue skies and find

Snow in Seattle!

Quote For The Day

"Everything the power does, it does in a circle."
Lakota

Graveltude

excerpted from the novel, "A Confluence Of Circumstances In Our Time"

by Florence Ondré

Lately, while sitting in the pits of economic disaster contemplating the frailty of faith, I’ve found myself feeling grateful for things that might have usually been, at the very least, an irritant, such as:

An ascerbic comment heard; a thoughtless remark uttered my way; an ignoring of clearly expressed boundaries; a bright, chipper chattiness overriding the sharing of sorrow or challenge; a dismissal of valid feelings or experiences; an insensitive sounding snippet of word or deed which diminishes self that leaves me feeling shocked, hurt, shaken in my faith in people.

Of course, when this happens, what comes immediately to mind is how I’d prefer folks to act and speak.

I’d especially like my family and family of choice to treat me with unconditional love, kindness, sensitivity, compassion and non judgment, as I do them.

Does that always occur?

Nope.

Am I always shocked when it does not.

Yep.

Every time.

It takes my breath away; leaving me reeling from the blow of the two by four between the eyes.

Ready rejoinders appropriate to each experience seem to fly out the doors in my brain; opened like wounds in my rolodex of retorts.

Speechlessness descends upon me like a heavy veil crushing my spirit with a shroud of sadness.

‘Wha, why, huh?’ turns into “WTF and “Arrrggghhh!”

And I feel like Charlie Brown when the football is whipped out from under him as he trusts Lucy to hold the ball for him to kick…AGAIN!

With all my spiritual training, beliefs and practices, at low times like these, I’m left, shaking my fist at God, Higher Power, Spirit, All That Is, Angels-whoever is supposed to be ‘up there’- yelling, “What’s the purpose of this fanload?”

I know there’s always a lesson, a reason to everything and I don’t have to like it.

Everything is in Divine Order and All Is Well but do the lessons have to hurt so much, be so hard, draw blood?

I’m left feeling like I did something wrong and am paying the price or I was so bad in another life that I now have to crawl through Karmic dirt in order to balance out.

I know that I have no control over anyone or anything outside of my own skin…and even that’s not a given.

Human body parts wear down and give out at the most illogical an inconvenient times with not much notice given and, when my skin is thinning in the face of some challenge or I have no skin on at all because the challenge has lingered long, a whisper of insensitivity lashes livid.

Still, there remains this nugget of hope; the Chas. Brown football kick of blind faith that sometimes leaves me flat on my back, panting for breath knocked out of me, underneath the pile of feeling anything other than gratitude.

Recently, while facing the challenges of physical handicap, losing my home and sheer terror thoughts of how to survive…or not; while being wrapped in a cocoon of self imposed silence born of blame and shame at not being more than I could have been, I broke my isolation and attempted to share bits of my shredded soul with those I’ve called friends.

Their reactions and responses alternately lifted and toppled me.

Some pushed me into puddles of tears, others angered, socked with shock or led to laughter.

In all cases, after the weeping wound down, ire ebbed, guffaws ground to a halt and shock seeped away, I thought of each of these people I’d known for many years; times we’d endured and times we celebrated; what we’d learned about each other; how we’d grown and who we’d each become with our own individual personality quirks and qualities.

Several were women closest to me with whom there’d been some recent distancing. Thus, reaching out in such vulnerability presented an extra emotional hurdle for me to cross to melt my own isolation barrier in order to reconnect.

Searching with clear eyes both my own motivation and the possibilities that things had changed irrevocably in our connection, I made the decision that, no matter what pieces I didn’t like; no matter what unfinished business with each other, I did not want to change any of them.

I simply missed the intimacy and our comfort of close, loving support.

Ultimately, I kept reminding myself that I needed to keep my focus on me; listen and learn who I could or could not be near, instead of running at the always-fail punt; going to the hardware store for bread and milk.

And in this process of facing my fear of loss, aloneness in the world and unloveability, what I surprisingly found, after a variety of reactions of gravel, grace and grit, was odd gratitude.

Upon finally getting up enough courage to face friends; pick up the phone and say- out loud and outside my self imposed circle of silence-that we were facing losing our income and home , one reacted to my agonized admission of failure with a curt, dismissive,

“Oh, you’ve been there before, you’ll be fine!”

then launched into an all-about-her two minute gush before racing off with an “I’m at the store gotta go!”

I was left holding the disconnected phone in my hand; flattened like a hit and run victim.

Her next call was a chipper,

“Hey, am I ever gonna see you again? Let’s go to dinner,”

followed by a few yards of how happy she was that her job as a tenured teacher was secure.

Her next call was to share with me how she was getting offered a very lucrative retirement buy out that would put more money in her bank account then than now.

I congratulated her and got off the phone, happy for her and wishing I could be that safe, as I scanned my mind for marketable skills; picturing myself, sans degrees, as a bag lady at the local supermarket; losing my social security disability because it would put me over income limit.

I wondered, with my spine injury, how I’d ever be able to stand up that long for the bagging each day and realized in dark humor that, with what recovery I’d been able to wrest from 10 years, spent mostly in bed or a wheelchair, on pain meds, with hundreds of thousands of mortgaged dollars for out of pocket for uncovered therapies, I could probably now limp to the poor house.

After absorbing initial shock, I took time to notice what I was feeling. I replayed the initial reaction from my friend, which felt like I’d been told I’d just shared a molehill instead of the Himalayas we currently faced, and realized that, in being her usual curt self, she showed me that she didn’t take my plight as seriously as I and had faith that I would get through to a good outcome; reminding me I’d done so before.

Whew!

Maybe she saw something I didn’t.

What a weird gift wrapping but I was grateful there was someone out there who wasn’t worrying because it didn’t occur to her that we were anything other than capable and whole.



Another long time friend, who I’d been avoiding confronting about how sad I felt that our connection had lapsed overlong in phone calls not returned, promises unkept and feelings of not being of any consequence anymore in her life, responded with,

“Oh, yeah, we’ve been in that boat for a while now. We’re struggling too. We’ve been trying to work out some reorganization of loans and bills. No idea how it’s gonna turn out but we’re trying to live each day like you taught me—a minute at a time. American Express has asked us to ‘Please, leave home without it!’”

A rusted guffaw burbled up out of my throat before I could think. We both cracked up.

It felt like old times when we were a Long Island Lucy and Ethel capering in hilarious episodes of our own suburban lives; laughing at the absurdities in life, catching a prayer together or a piece of cheesecake, listening, making time for each other and finding the funny in the funereal.

In this honesty of sharing her own unvarnished story, she halved my own shame and blame.

A waterfall of weeping relief cascaded over me; wiping chunks of emotional debris from my concreted shoulders.

I cried out that which had been kept locked inside me; braved being vulnerable, humiliated or thought of as weak; sobbed through the feelings of having missed our closeness, wishing I’d have communicated when the first call went unreturned, creating a year long pattern of disconnection.

As we talked further, with no resolution in sight yet for either of us, we breathed again as friends.

Bearing up became bearable.

In this day, this phone call, this sharing, she gave me back connection and the precious gift of humor.



Another close campadré, who we’d heard recently snap out her opinion that people who were losing their homes in the banking mess ‘deserved what they got,’ went into her own shock and dread when, after weeks of simply asking for prayer without specifics, I finally told what we were facing.

I had to gear up for that talk because, though I know this friend loves us dearly, I feared the grilling for details I didn’t want to get into, the skidding to the top of the whispered, ‘OMG. Did you hear what happened to…’ gossip chart and being labeled ‘schmucks.’

I get that it’s human nature to awfulize (some of us were raised to think that was supportive response to an miserable experience) yet, other than silence, I needed, at this time, to keep as much positive energy around us as possible to hold the door open for miracles.

I believe that what we focus on grows and I surely didn’t want more negative focus.

The feelings we had the night of her quick (and unremembered) proclamation were, ‘Holy mackerel! She doesn’t know she’s talking to friends who are possibly near that very edge of survival,’ and reminded us to keep our own knee jerk reactions and judgment to ourselves lest we jab others with that same poker of hurt. We didn’t want to lump everyone in our country who’d been trying to survive 8 years of political and corporate greed and rapaciousness in the same cauldron with crooks, cronies and collective stupidity.

Predictably, when I could talk a tiny bit and returned her calls, my friend’s voice dropped to the hushed ‘OMG’ whisper of horror as she did the twenty painful ‘how, why, what’ questions over and over with suggestions for solutions.

I retreated back into the shell I’d barely crawled out of.

I tried answering in short courteous form; conveying that we were still in the throes of shock and agony and even threw out a funny line of ironic worst case scenario–living in the basement of the son and daughter in law who are least close to us.

Not a nibble. No humor to lift me here.

After my patience and energy ran thin enough to snap, I begged off the phone with my teeth clenched, afraid of hurting her feelings; frazzled with more fear than I’d had before I’d phoned.

As the days went by, I’d get a loving e-mail reminding she was holding us in light or a phone call checking in to let me know she was praying for us and, of course, a new piece of advice was offered every time of how to proceed or feel better in the middle of the crisis.

One day, it went like this:

“Hubby and I talked it over last night and we thought maybe, last resort, you could go live in your son’s basement and your mate could go to the West coast and live with his relatives.”

Aghast, I thought, ‘Are you freekin kidding me? Separate instead of pull together? What the hell could you be thinking?’ while simply thanking her for thinking of us and for her continued prayers.

I got the hell off the phone before I chewed her face off through Bell’s instrument of torture.

Next,

“It’s a beautiful sunshiny day today. Get out. It’ll do you a world of good.”

This call arrived while I was armpit deep in cleaning and throwing out years of stuff in order to try to put my home on the market for, hopefully, a quick sale. I was way on another side of ‘get out’ and it had nothing to do with El Sol!

Another,

“Put on your favorite outfit. You’ll feel better.”

Upon which I leaned against a wall, sagging under the weight of how out of touch she was with who I am and have been for years.

How had she forgotten that for the last 3 years, we’d been having to throw every stitch of clothing out after wearing because we are still living with the aftermath of glue contamination on our skin and can’t wash clothes without contaminating our laundry machines, the pipes underneath our house or the community?

Why didn’t she remember that I’d been shopping at the cheapest clothing stores I could find, had gotten far beyond a place where I gave a fig about fashion and, if I had a favorite outfit, it was long gone after the first wearing; disposable-nothing kept?

All of her monologues were delivered in hushed, intense tones; mixed in with a variety of ways of asking the core question, ‘Is it better yet?”

My ability to see absurdity in the world, left me thinking, ‘Oy! The draahhma of it all. If I wrote this in a play, the audience would be in hysterics…hell, I’m in hysterics of about ten different kinds and growing!’

And then came the call where she talked about feelings and was clear-as-a-bell-on-target about the emotions this disaster had exploded and was full-on-supportive-validating of my guts and lungs which lay splattered on the floor about me from the tornado of shame, blame, sorrow and anger with which this plate of misery served.

As she got into understanding the feelings involved in what I was going through, instead of awfulizing and trying to solve, she shared her own stuff; things regarding her own financial and home situation; what made her frightened, angry; how close they were to their own brink.

Sitting straight up in my chair, I blinked awake and aware once again of commonality in the face of what seems like terminal uniqueness. How close we are; all threads in the human tapestry.

The rug being pulled out from under us had touched her core of stability and had scared her to her soul. Her own whirlwind of what she’d do in the situation had reared its Hydra head and I got to be the befuddled being on the receiving end of her reactions.

My veil of shame lifted

I realized it wasn’t solely about me.

My situation had ignited her fear.

Her reaction came from her own life concerns and her ‘grilling’ and trying to come up with a batch of quick fix solutions showed more about how she might attack the problem than how I should.

Whew.

I could feel compassion instead of constriction. The cells of my body eased from heart attack stance to take a breath stand by.

The gift of friendship was not just mine or hers.

In feeling pushed apart, we were drawn close and I felt less alone and abandoned emotionally.

We were ok.



Yet another companion continued connection but kept talking about the shoes and clothing sales she was finding. Hard to take in light of me taking food back to the store and cashing in all department store gift cards for the money to pay the mortgage.

Some friends moved away into silence and apartness. No invitations came our way to get together, no Super Bowl Sunday, no weekend phone calls to touch base, no e-mails.

As time dragged on into more than a week without us moving out of ‘need prayers and miracles’ mode, less and less contact or mention of energy of support came our way.

It felt like we were just the speed bump in everyone’s ‘get on with it already.’

Few wanted to hear about it anymore. They’d moved on past the initial shock while we were still mired in terror with no way out visible yet.

It felt like the weeks after 9/11 when the nation mobilized their hearts and pulled together. People were nicer, gentler, more compassionate to one another. Traffic on the expressways slowed down to allow people to merge without getting the finger or squeezed out.

“You go first, no you go first,” was a rarely heard phrase resurrected into everyday language out of the ashes of disaster.

While in New York City at Ground Zero the energy remained softer longer, in outer reaches, got back to the same ol same ol. ‘Yeah, it happened, get over it. Get a horse, buddy! Now about me…’

The novelty of unconditional, loving support wore off.

Sustaining that level of committment to others ebbed.

There’s so much more to focus on.

Who can sit that long and pray for people?

Who can hold the light indefinitely?

Whaddya want from my life anyway?

Feeling all this dismissive, seeming heartlessness, I get that it’s almost too much to bear for people to be too close to the fire for too long, lest it be contagious or too overwhelming to dwell upon while feeling impotent.

I think how important it is that there actually are people who can and do hold the light for the world and individuals in need every day… and as I cogitate thankfully on this, I find I’m surprised to remember that I’m still one of those… no matter what is going on in my own life.

Nice reminder when I feel bereft of skills or value.



Another gift, even from those who absent themselves or fade off into the ‘acquaintance’ room-which is down the hall from the door marked, ‘friendship’ - is practicing ‘detachment with love’ when empty wells present themselves.

It helps me keep my focus on myself and remember that maintaining my emotional health is an inside job.

One gal I’ve known for years, calls it ‘dialing back’ from people who hurt you.



Yet another close friend, from whom I’d been experiencing odd, hurtful behavior, surprised me in a good way.

She’d been caustic in comments and plain rude in public to me and our time spent together sharing any kind of recreation had dribbled to zero over a long course of time.

I’d made excuses for her in my head because she was suffering with grave illness and losses in her family.

With every slight, I kept cutting her slack because I knew from whence she trudged. She’d been there for me in my own health and familial losses and I was determined to be there for her, give her space, not take offense, chalk up hurtful words to her ‘being overwhelmed.’

I wanted to be kind and compassionate.

The difference was that I couldn’t remember aiming my anger at her like the spikes I was receiving. I vowed that in the new year I was going to talk turkey to her and find out if I’d missed any hurt or slight on my part, get straight or let go altogether.

Bottom line, I missed my friend and didn’t know who she was anymore. I just needed to be treated better or walk away.

And then the security rug was pulled from under my home feet and I could not one minute longer endure the least slight without opening a vein.

No skin on.

Everything paled into unimportance in light of survival.

Take your bad behavior and shove it.

I was in a place where I didn’t care about anyone’s bad behavior as I faced my worst nightmare, being a bag lady on the streets.

We both belonged to a weekly writer’s group. After a session in which, as leader of the week, I’d brought in a gift to present to each member as a focal point for an in-session writing exercise, I was on the last shred of making excuses for rude behavior.

On a trip recently taken, I’d discovered little black boxes with the word, ‘irony,’ embossed in red on the top along with a tiny red line announcing, ‘a gesture of kindness.’

“How perfect for my writer friends,” I’d thought as I searched around town to buy enough for each of the dozen women to have their own. I’d be home for the holidays and wouldn’t these make a nice gift and fun for the group to write an in-session piece on the word, ‘irony’ and the line, ‘a gesture of kindness,’ would serve as a homework assignment.

Each little box contained sugar free mints. In mine, I kept little slips of paper with life’s ironies noticed written on them. I was excited to bring sweet gifts for everyone that might spur their creativity and simply let them all know how dear they were to me.

Under the heading of ‘no good deed goes unpunished,’ what I’d spent my hard earned money and energy on turned into anything but gratitude for a gesture of kindness.

Two out of the few present that day, pushed their shiny boxes back at me with disdain and my friend shoved hers across the table at me, announcing, after the woman next to her wrote barely more than the list of the ‘horrible’ ingredients, that she would never have this kind of stuff in her house!

I sat back numb, and devalued by the unfeeling rudeness and rebuff.

So much for a gesture of kindness.

I skipped the usual ‘lunch with the gals,’ feeling too raw and hurt; mumbled something to the writer next to me about ‘shepherding my energy’ (in other words ‘taking care of me by removing myself from further insult); went home and shared the experience with my mate who, with goggling eyes, said,

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry you had to go through that thoughtlessness. Good grief, even if one doesn’t like a gift, decent manners would be to say thank you on acceptance of the generosity of heart and then take it and do what you want later… at the very least, showing courtesy for the thought if not the gift itself. I don’t like you being treated this way.”

Yeah, me too I thought.

So, I picked up the phone and left a voice message for my friend, saying plain and simple how shocked and hurt I’d felt at her actions.

To her credit, she called me back later that day wanting to talk things over with me but by then I was knee deep in graver matters than the discourtesy shown me that morning.

It was days before I could talk to another living soul. We were sliding into homeless homeplate and I could barely breathe for the terror rising in my throat every minute.

Rudeness paled and people who couldn’t remember that I am a sensitive; a friend worth treating with words and deeds rooted in kindness, just didn’t matter at all anymore.

I got zapped into the isolation booth of utter terror.

No homeland security for me.

When I could speak, I decided to do what I want others to do for me-at least have the decency to return phone calls.

She and I arranged to meet at a local deli and before I could even start on my laundry list, she took responsibility for her actions; said she never wanted to hurt me and affirmed our friendship and its importance to her.

Armor dropped away from my heart, my shoulders softened and I told her how, under the banner of that very friendship, I’d been allowing the actions of her misplaced anger to continually hurt me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

I teared up as I answered, “I didn’t want to add to your already hard burden. I thought you might just stop sometime soon but instead, unchecked anger kept coming out sideways, skewering me. I just can’t take it anymore.

I choked out, “I’m going through my own hell and I miss my friend.”

She apologized and admitted that she’d been getting shorter and shorter on her already miniscule fuse.

There was a release of defenses.

Weight lifted with amends made; light peeked in through the cracks and the foundation of our friendship was reaffirmed with her promising to try to be more aware and sensitive and with me taking my own responsibility for speaking up immediately when I feel hurt; not letting it slide until our relationship is under the bus wheels.

She rallied to my side when I admitted the situation we were facing, didn’t judge us negatively and only offered that she wished she could solve it for us and take away the pain.

She refrained from giving advice and has continued on with sisterly love and an occasional suggestion offered only as another thing to consider as we face difficult choices.

And in the middle of chaos of calamity, what had been buried rose to the surface of what’s really important.

We’re back in the flow of knowing the depth and breadth of our friendship and how important it is for both of us to nourish this precious blessing.



And isn’t that what we all want at our heart… a comfort, a safe haven, a place where we can be ourselves, and have the breath of kindness blow the chaff from the beautiful wheat we all are.

The Angels have taught me that we are here on Earth, called to cross each others’ path to bless and be blessed by one another.

I believe this with all my heart and that belief, though sorely tested sometimes, remains true.

I want my friends to choose their words with care when I’m vulnerable and yet I want them to be themselves and stay authentic and connected.

Finding that bearable medium is hard and most of us don’t know what to say when devastation hits.

We’re uncomfortable with loss and sorrow and we are, like it or not, part of the culture of fast food and fixes. We feel undone when we can’t fast fix forward.

In mulling over these recent experiences and wide ranges of reactions- theirs and mine-what I realized, and was grateful for, with all of these women, was reaffirmation of how much we really do love and value one another.

And that, with communication and willingness to be flexible; making changes that best serve our common growth, we can always come back together to the truth of:

‘Though we might make mistakes, we are not ones.’

Yeah, are these women the same people they were before these epiphanies?

You betcha.

Will I be rankled by their particular brand of interaction in the future?

Absolutely.

I still get the ‘here’s-how-to-get-through-it better’ advice to ‘Wear a bright color today’ or ‘Keep busy so you don’t have to dwell on it,’ or ‘Red shoes always make me happy. Try donning your Happy Shoes.’

It’s becoming a litany of outrageousness in the face of so many people in our country who are facing what we are and worse. This cavalier, out of touch repartee defies taking any of it personally. Though much of it smacks of the thoughtlessness of people who say how great the dead person in the coffin looks or who urges the bereaved to get out there instead of feeling their feelings and acknowledging their loss, I know the heart means well.

I’ll ‘dial back’ my feelings of wanting to strangle the chipped chipperness and remember that underlying intention.

Will I be tempted to want them to behave in ways that make me feel easier?

No doubt about it.

Will I go over and over in my head what I want to say to them to insure my comfortability?

Yes, and I won’t speechify any of that projecting.

Will I communicate my personal boundaries as needed or when things change?

Yes, and hopefully, as gaps may open, not weeks or months after the fact.



We are works of art in progress and our friendship, like any vessel with good essential bone structure, is worth upkeep and occasional renovation as we sail seas, soft and stormy, on the ‘HMS Relationship.’

The gift in the grime of great challenge these friends gave me was being exactly who they are.

They each have their own special light to bestow.

They bless me in ways I embrace and repel; like and can hardly abide; which cosset and rub raw.

They make me question, laugh, cry, and scream. Ultimately they give me the most amazing variety of experiencing gratitude for their being exactly who they are in all their glum, glam and glory.

And there they are, this troupe of treasures, who trip over their own tongues, harpoon and hold me with their rough hewn and hand polished brands of caring; who dig me out of my dungeon of despair with their tempers, touches and telepathy and individually enrich me with their authenticity and unique, unconditional love.

The wrapping paper may be crummy at times but the present within is always priceless.

With all their thorns, soft petals and colors, I’m grateful for these women I call friends and, may Higher Power keep helping me release wanting things as I think they should be, I wouldn’t change any of them for the world.

For each of them; who they are, as they are, I am, down here in the gravel, simply grateful.

Quote For The Day

"Our first teacher is our own heart."
Cheyenne

Quote For The Day

"Gratitude is the most exquisite form of courtesy" -- Jacques Maritain

Day In Haiku

The forecast said, 'rain'
Yet bright blue met morning eyes
Confirmed by birdsong

Florence Ondré

Quote For The Day

“God gives us each a song.”

Ute

The Gratitude Pool

In a week filled with myriad challenges, gratitude is the calm in the storm; the safe haven to stop and take a breath and give over all to Source and allow Spirit to bring about outcomes far better than I can imagine.
Realizing human shoulders are not always as big as I think they are, is like a cool drink of water on the heat of a desert day.
I'm grateful to let go..even when it is hard living in the leap.
In Light and Love,
Florence

Quote For The Day

“If we wonder often, the gift of knowledge will come.”

Arapaho

Quote For The Day

"Gratitude is the heart's memory."
anonymous

Quote For The Day

"The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears."
Minquass Native American saying

Quote For The Day

"Life is sometimes like the card game, Uno. You have to lose all to win."
Florence Ondré

Quote For The Day

"We make rhetoric out of the quarrels with others, but poetry out of the quarrels with ourselves."
W.B. Yeats