Is it in the cards?

        The one inch wide opening in the lid of the shoebox waited to swallow the validation I needed. The foil covered box with the randomly applied homemade hearts and adorned with ric-rac was what my young soul needed to help me know I was someone’s Valentine. The annual gesture of love and appreciation bestowed upon me from my peers finally arrived to where I would get the small folded tokens I desired to feel acknowledged, adored, perhaps even loved. Although the ubiquitous cards were as abundant as ticker tape in a hero’s parade, I cherished them as if “Be Mine” were a personal message from each young lady I had a crush on. Her personally scrawled, yet awkwardly scribed signature in the “from” line was intended for me to know it was from her, to me. Due to my initials: A. A. (Anthony Anders), I often sat in the first chair, first row, and got the first Valentines. I liked to feel, me getting the first cards was intentional. I see now getting them first was coincidental, getting any at all obligatory to each and every classmate. I still felt special. It was my choice.

        Later--- years after the tradition of placing the bi-folded gestures in a home-made box waned, I noticed a new tradition of exchanging flowers surfaced as a new way of dividing one another of those who had the adoration of another or others (plural) and those who apparently did not. Like feathers in the warriors head dress, the conquests visible for all to see, we were given the opportunity in our school as a fundraiser, the ability to buy flowers for our targets of affection. There were always the individuals who had bouquets so bountiful, they had to make trips to their locker to drop off the new acquisitions, to make room for more; and there would be more. I also remember the faces as they would light up with hope as the delivery person would appear with a bundle, and ceremoniously call out the names one at a time to pass out the tokens of love and adoration. I too remember the eyes of many cast downward in sadness as they were passed by. The problem being not only being passed by, but to get passed by again and again, in front of their peers, and then to leave school that day with no flowers in hand, both male or female. It must have been a long trip home feeling forgotten, unloved, and that the whole student body knew it. I can verify at times it was hard.

        As life progressed and the ability to take a date to a place nicer than one that has a clown for a mascot or super-sizing being part of the menu; I noticed the Valentine holiday became pressing as the awareness of being in a relationship, love, or even being “in-like” with someone was brought to the foreground of one’s priorities as the holiday approached. The “love holiday” often nudged us to realize we are to be coupled, to be searching for, or celebrating the love we currently have, or to get on the ball. Who wants to be eating take out Chinese on a TV tray watching movies on Pay-per-view, when the whole world is out on the town, in a romantic embrace, often paying twice as much for bad service in a dimly lit bistro? I remember feeling, “What is wrong with me?” “Damn you Hallmark”, I would curse to the heavens. I recommend Hunan Lion off Bethel Rd.

        My bitterness has long since faded as I refuse to substantiate how I am loved, by how many, or to what degree by the receipt of a card, flower, or chocolates, (Although I still love all the above.) I also find it hard to feel that 1/365th of my year is the benchmark to the relationships in my life as well as if I am worthy of love especially in respect to whether or not I get a physical token.

        I have been with my wife going on twenty years total, and we exchange our tokens. (She likes Anthony Thomas Chocolate covered strawberries.) I know enough about women and wives to know not to fumble there. If I do the story better include terrorists. I enjoy holidays as much as the next guy, but I have matured to realize that the gesture on one day does not make or break my love for others and the worthiness of receiving it. I also realize that even if one thinks that it is a “Hallmark” or consumerism holiday, it is often only a couple dollars and a few minutes investment to make a difference to those who cherish the gestures we bestow upon them consumerist or not. Most importantly I have found that the best Valentine was not created by Saint Valentine, but by Alexander Graham Bell. You can call your mother or father. You can call your kids. Call your spouse. Call your friends. If this is too personal for you, perhaps an electronic nod in the direction of those you appreciate or love is always nice to receive. Make Facebook worth your time for once. Take a lead from kids who make the best valentines, and I treasure every one I receive from mine (see above for this year's). The loving intention behind making the connection is a valentine in itself. One we can also do the other 364 days of the year.

        Love does not have to be reciprocated to be validated. Someone does not have to be aware of our love to make it real to us. Sometimes we have to love at a distance. What we send out, we get back. Remember this, don’t forget to love yourself. Show in your own best way to express your love for those who matter in your life. Profess your gratitude to your friends for their presence in your life. And finally, spend more time expressing your love than you do picking out your valentines.

I love you all! Happy Valentine’s Day 24/7/365...

           * Note - This post also found on my blog

Hi from Brum (Birmingham) Uk!

Hi everyone, thanks to Katherine I can join this wonderful group of writers and hopefully contribute something, some of you may like to read. I am now living in Birmingham UK with my two cats and two of my my three children. My eldest is living in Cyprus and is in the army doing his National service.

I am a school mentor which I love and I am passionate about writing. If I don't write I feel that I cannot function. I also like to draw and paint and find when I am having an off day and cannot write, I can get the creative juices flowing by using my right brain being arty.

I recently started a blog angelguided. It started off being a place where I can share what I have learnt on my journey of life and is a combination of self-help, reflections and inspirational poems.

I am creating a website called Angel guided mentoring where I will be offering spiritual mentoring and guidance. I have trained in counselling skills and I am a reiki practitioner, with angelic attunements.

I have a book in progress which is a book on grief and love. This is based on my Mother who passed away four years ago. I am starting a blog called Committed to Love where I will post from my journal, I kept the last months that I cared for Mum, my conversations I had with the Divine. I hope it will be a stepping stone and a catalyst to publishing my book, as well as giving people grieving solace and hope.

I also write on a site called Helium.com and have many articles on various subjects, most being spiritual and on family and relationships.

Talk to you soon.

Love Letter

    Reflecting on the images of Valentine’s Day, the chocolates scanned at the cash register, men staring at the card rack putting card after card back into the slots and the florist vans scurrying up and down the streets, my mind drifted to love letters. The trees are shrouded in hoar frost this morning and the bunnies have left their foot print necklaces upon the snow. Valentine’s has come a day early and here is the love letter left to me, to you and to all.

“I am here. I cannot promise that I will be here tomorrow. If I am not, it will not be because I chose to leave. Sometimes the path we travel can take an unexpected turn. But for today, as you awake, know that I am here. Unlike your coffee, you do not have to wait for me to brew. My gifts, my smile, my laughter and touch are waiting for your eyes to open.   

Awaken my love and let the day begin. Awaken and grab hold of me as you did those Christmas mornings long ago. Squeal and grab hold of me with the same abandon you tore open the paper wrapping. Worry not, I have not bought you socks, and if I did, I promise they would be festive. Awaken my beloved and play with me for hours. Let me see your eyes grow big and sparkle with delight. No single day to say ‘I love you’ or present a bouquet of flowers. Look around my love the earth is your vase. I am here my beloved and I am yours.”

    If nothing else is remembered, if all reflections leave me, if my musing spirit grows quiet may be this be the one that remains with me. May I always call to mind the love letter each day leaves for me. May I greet each day with the anticipation of unopened opportunity, gifts and love. May each day be the best gift ever because I was brave enough to ask, to open. May my eyes be open, and bold to read the letter, Life’s Valentine, and in reading, to write my own and then give away.


Happy Valentine's Day of Life! Also posted on my blog.

I want it all. I want it now.

Also posting on my blog.

I have been watching some afternoon television the last couple of days (thanks to this never-ending plague-like sickness) and in between all the sanctimonious advice, the rampant love affairs, and the extreme makeovers I see one message over and over again: You can have it all.

And hold on, if you call in the next 15 minutes, we'll throw in "No sacrifice" and a bonus "No wait" special. A slim waist, toned body, and that sultry blond can be yours despite your dim wit, thinning hair, and zero bank balance. Guaranteed.

This instant coffee lifestyle (100 percent taste, o percent wait) has permeated our culture so much that we fall for what would objectively seem to be completely ridiculous propositions.

You don't even have to lift a pinkie finger. Just let the Hawaii chair do the work for you!

Last weekend during Superbowl, I saw the Skechers Shape-ups ad. Voila! You can walk your way to a healthy you. Instantly!

No sweat. No tears. Certainly, no blood.

They don't want to impede your unhealthy, junk-food driven, zero-activity lifestyle. Just send 'em the money, get a trashy product that will inadvertently find its way to the garage or a yard sale, and wallow in self-pity. Until the next shiny, svelte promise comes along.

And it's not just the area of weight loss where we have this need for instant results/gratification. It applies to everything in life. Be it relationships, your career graph, material possessions, food...

What makes us such impatient but lazy gluttons for success? Why can't we toil for and work our way to our goals? What is it in our psyche that knowingly ignores or brushes aside the truth? Why do we not want to be "inconvenienced"?

Chasing instant results only means being embroiled in a constant struggle. What if we started planning for and working toward lasting results? Wouldn't that give us a better sense of accomplishment? Wouldn't that provide more value -- a sense of fulfillment?

If we could only learn to take it slow, to gather our will power, to coach our minds...

If we could only realize that the power is not without but within...

If we could only persist...

We could have it all. And we could relish it ... for a long time.

Your greatest enemy is your greatest teacher - darn it!

I read this beautiful and simple Buddhist saying somewhere, a number of  years ago, within a moment that stood alone, separate, as if waiting for me. It was that poignant, that perfect:

"Your greatest enemy is your greatest teacher"

 I knew this in every fibre and twitch of my being as soon as i read it. But it took me a few moments longer to process it with my sludgy brain. So I searched for an example to test the theory. I imagined my greatest enemy, and who came up surprised me. She was my opposite in personality - we had clashed for years and years - yin and yang -  though I did not think of it that way - as there is harmony and balance in ying and yang.  What I did think of was how as opposites, we always talked over eachother - as if we were in different worlds. I was never able to let things go when she said things I judged to be wrong-minded, or untrue or...whatever they were doesn't matter really - when two people clash there is plenty of fodder. She is a member of my extended family, so she is someone I could not avoid, she is part of my life.

I found it rather unpleasant, ok, terrible, to think that she could be my greatest teacher. She, teach me? What could she possibly teach me other than things I don't agree with? She was very conservative, I was, well, NOT. She seemed to only think of money, numbers, counting, counting...i never had money to count...She was reactive, I was certainly calm...er.

Clearly she needed to change, not I...

Aha. 

voila.

bingo. 

I knew as soon as I said this, my old mantra, that it was holding me back - that it actually cemented our tense relationship. This new little line i read forced me to realize that  I needed to change, not her. Sure, she might need to change as any human being needs to, but that was not my business to decide or worry myself over. My part was to change myself - and learn, from the enemy.

I did learn. And it was not pretty. I found that I was full of pride, that I was stuck in my ways, that I was not open to her differences, nor was I ready to celebrate anything good in her. She was the devil and I liked it that way. Such a heavy burden this was for me! Clearly, I was my own enemy.

It was slow, but I started to open myself up, try a new way of seeing. For example, we thought very differently - I excelled at abstraction, she at very concrete ideas. I could explore an idea and never stop exploring, she needed only to explore it until she found a way to make it useful or not, the end. Not a bad way, actually...I started to see her opposite ways as not inferior, but as an alternative way with wisdom of its own. I softened. When I started to perceive her with  fresh eyes - being open to her possibilities, her goodness, I began to be more free within myself - I will explain.

I realized that what I was doing is very similar to what psycologists call "oppositional identity formation" - my "good" identity was directly dependent on sustaining her "bad" identity - this meant I had to feed the monster - my idea of her being a "monster" had to be sustained by examples and stories. Anything good that arose from her I ignored, as it would not uphold my idea of her or of myself in relation to her. In other words, it was all about my ego, my idea of myself.

Ego is not bad necessarily, it just has to stay in check, in balance. Yes you should stand up for yourself at times, you should have a strong sense of self and your abilities, but no, you should not be so tied to your ego - your positive identity, that you cannot accept when you are wrong, that you crumble when others shine a light on your not so positive self, that you act in very strange, very unhealthy ways, very needy ways to maintain that positive identity -  that grand sense of self not grounded in what's real. I had to stop feeding the monster, so I could get a better look at reality, and rest in what is real - she is good, I am good - enjoy.

wow I learned a lot from my enemy.  And she had no idea.

But what she does know now, is, that I appreciate her very different abilities, especially the ones that urked me before, and that though things aren't always smooth, I do find her funny and full of heart, that I admire her energy and her forthrightness... and that we are not enemies...

I am no longer threatened by her goodness.

Identify your greatest enemy - be open to what they can teach you - it is a most difficult thing, but you can come out the other side better for it.

"Only God Can Make A Tree"

I've been staring at trees again. At first it was because I was missing their summer fullness – their green, warm-weather foliage blowing softly in spring and summer breezes. I love trees...the different shapes, heights, variety of leaves, those that flower – those that don't.

Recently driving through the local countryside on a wet, gloomy day – and we've had a lot of wet, gloomy days this winter – I realized how much I still enjoyed those same trees without their covering of green.

Without the thousands of individual leaves covering each branch, each tree reveals another side to it's personality. Bare of any covering, we are allowed to view the form and structure of each branch, each limb, each trunk...as they taper off into differing directions towards the sky.

Some trees are massive – those who have weathered decades of changing seasons - their bark showing signs of age their limbs curling in every direction as they continue to mature. Others are young and strong, their trunks straight – the bark still unmarked by time and nature.

I find them extremely moving and emotional. Even in the bleakness of winter each tree reveals an inner view of it's growth, maturity and wisdom to me. I find myself wondering what these trees have witnessed of humanity.... Forests that have come and gone; children playing and growing beneath them; perhaps travelers on foot, stopping for a rest in the shade of their branches. Growing weary of the browns, grays, and muddy colors of the winter, I have found a new way to appreciate their stark and unusual beauty.

Reviewing what I've just written, it seems as though I might be describing people. When stripped of all foliage - whether full and colorful or sparse and dull – we're all pretty much the same underneath. A straight or stooping posture, smooth or furrowed brow, and number of gray hairs permits us a glimpse of the wisdom and experience of another soul.

Like trees our roots grow wider and deeper with time – strengthened during periods of balmy weather, we are empowered to withstand the storms life surely will bring. Each experience, each encounter we make is an opportunity to put down another root.

Call me a “tree-hugger,” but trees make me smile. Even on the gloomiest of days I can look at a tree and witness its beauty, as it reaches toward heaven reminding me of the strength and power that lies within.

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

"Trees" - Alfred Joyce Kilmer, 1913

(Pictures property of Pamela Bousquet)

Taking criticism from the right people can lead you out of mediocrity

In the blogosphere you must question why you are blogging if you do not feel a little uncomfortable as your mouse hovers over the publish button.

When you put yourself 'out there' and say what you really think then you have to accept what comes back at you in the comments section.

I think sometimes that's easier said than done.

For example it’s easy to accept nice, supportive comments because then you know that you have reached readers who are a good fit for you.

Unfortunately nice supportive comments can feel a bit stale after a while. By stale I mean tedious from familiarity, boring and static. I believe that blogging by consensus will not move you forward.

I am the first to admit that I’m the one leaving nice supportive comments on the majority of the blogs that I read. A post that gets a nice supportive comment from me is usually a safe, balanced post that leaves me a little entertained.

More often than not I find myself wishing that more was revealed, and that there was some talk of other less positive issues that I face, such as money problems, relationship issues, etc.

And what’s more, if a less shiny side of the blogger’s life saw the light of day in their posts then I would find it harder to simply write a safe, supportive, nice comment.

I have never received any negative or constructive criticism on any of my posts, but I know that if I did I would be lead away from my position in an attempt to please those who did not agree with me. I am quite sure this would happen even though I know that it is impossible to please everybody. If you’ve never had a negative comment then you should reread the previous paragraphs again, along with me, and repeat as necessary.

So where does that leave me? My safe posts attract nice, supportive, and often' ho hum' comments that may keep me in mediocrity (this is why I am sweating as I hover over the publish button for this post because I am biting the supportive hands that feed my ego) and if I write posts that move me forward then I must deal with any negative criticism in a way that maintains my position. It’s clear to me that I both want to, and need to move forward.

So here is the deal. I will find the courage to be a better blogger if you will comment in a way that moves me forward. I want comments that ask more of me. I want your interactive, brain switched on, comments and I want your gritty engagement.

I will offer you no less than that in my future comments on those posts of yours that make you sweat.