The Rains May Fall

    Laying my head back I close my eyes. Corralled tumbleweeds are given free range. The wind is howling. It is going to rain. Holding the coffee cup in my hand I watch the curtains of the day close and the rain descends. The tumbleweeds take a sharp turn and gather up the dust of past rains. There was the Conspiracy Rain in my early twenty’s. Late afternoon, the pinks of the sunrise were peaking out. The radio played one of those songs that makes you laugh and cry as memories tap on your heart like the rain on the windshield. I pulled into a parking lot, parked the car and opened the door. Finding just the right spot, I walked over to the perfect puddle of rain and jumped square in the middle. Just one jump was all that I needed.
    Then there’s the rain of the Benevolent Gods. While on a five month journey cross country on motorcycles, a severe band of rain squalls found us along one of those unending stretches of Texas highways. Unable to see we inched along until we found an overpass. Motorcycles safe from harm, we scaled the cement wall and popped a squat. There we sat in our bright yellow rain slickers soaked to the skin and pouring the water out of our shoes. Luckily we had a few cinnamon rolls left over from breakfast. You’d be surprised, when you’re hungry, how your mind can conveniently not notice the only food you have is as soaked as your jeans. As we carefully portioned out little pieces, as always with a picnic, the ants found us. I tossed a couple of crumbs away from us hoping they would follow the trail and leave us alone. Soaked, hungry, cold and wet I found myself drenched in laughter, almost falling down the cement overpass wall. Would they go back to their ant hill and tell the others about the day the Giant Yellow Cinnamon Roll Gods visited and gave them mana?
    There’s also the rain of the Not So Good Helper. Ever have that experience of watching a car accident happening and there’s nothing you can do? Watching the young construction helper work on the deck was one of those experiences. You just knew this was not going to be good. The day had been beautiful. When night fell so did the rain. With the rain came the flood streams into the house through the basement windows. I now understand the Little Dutch Boy nursery rhyme. Standing on chairs, step ladders and the back of a recliner I tried to abate the flooding as best I could. The rains lasted all night as did the towel vigil. I remember the combination of panic and anger welling up inside me with its own flood until my inner dam burst and I yelled out to my deceased mother “I could use some help here Mama!” With that plea, I dropped my weary arms, watched the water pour into the house and had to laugh. 
    Finally there is always the Rain of Tears. We’ve all had those days. The Rain of Tears when the events of life so overwhelm you yet offers no reprieve, no sanctuary nor place to hide. Lest we think life malevolent or cruel, the skies open, the rains fall and we stand composed and camouflaged with our tears.
    Yep, it is raining tonight. Holding the cup of coffee I notice the tumbleweeds have settled. Alternatively, they simply could be plotting. Whatever their intent, I shall go outside and listen to the rain. I shall tell the stars, hidden but always there, to bring the joy of a mud puddle to those whose hearts are heavy. I will tell the clouds as they continue their course to feed those who are hungry – physically, emotionally and spiritually and keep them safe from harm. And to the ever present moon which is partnered with the sun, I will instruct these sentinels to seal and heal the broken hearts and those who are crying – silently and in the rain. They do not have to be so strong that they can only cry in the rain. Yes, it is raining tonight. This is good. Every drop that falls has a purpose.

[also posted on my blog']

Escape From Bombay (written circa 1993)

Bombay hit us the instant we stepped off the train. Millions of people ran around in disorderly chaos. The air was thick with breath. Our main aim was to get to Bombay Dadar and depart. To get there we had to risk the local services which are a cross between Network South East and the Tube. The train doors never close and crowds rarely wait for the train to stop before they jump on and off.

Bombay is India’s biggest city with an ever increasing population of ten million, 3000 a day arrive in search of hope. It is the city of fortune. A metropolis of corporate enterprises, businesses, the media and India’s film industry. As a direct result of all the hope it offers it is probably the city with the worst poverty my little eyes have seen. Miles and miles of ghettos and slums line the outer and inner city. Some are run-down and some are enterprisingly green, with yards full of lush green herbs; but they are all poor.

We made it to dastardly Dadar to discover that the waiting list for the waiting list for a reservation was fully booked. Onwards and upwards. Trains, crowds and crowds; lost looks and a million faces, colours suspended within a dusty, musky, stale smell. More waiting, asking questions to puzzled eyes. Eventually Bombay Victoria Central Reservations. First train to Bangalore at 10.10pm; six hours to kill. What do we do? Jeremy deposited me in the refreshment room while he went to phone Aeroflot to try and change the flight.

“I speak English.” I looked up. A British born Indian named Clayton chatted to me, tried very hard to buy me a coffee and spilt dahl on the guide book. The conversation was somewhat limited; essentially to do with the geography of the U.K and where I lived in relation to London. Eventually he left to further his geographical knowledge with another unsuspecting tourist.

Where is Bombay Kurla? At 7.00pm we walked straight into “Rush Hour”. Within seconds of standing on a deserted station we were surrounded by mad, foaming at the mouth, commuters, all of them desperate to be on the first train to Bombay Kurla even though a second was due a minute later. As the train was arriving the crowd surged forward; Jerry and I, with the help of an Indian business man, held back against the torrent of bodies, barely able to remain standing on the platform. Sedately we boarded the next train.

The forty minute journey allowed us to watch the city tick along. A snapshot look into the lives of thousands. Bombay life at the close of play seemed very soothing after our hectic day. We arrived in Kurla two hours before the train was due to leave. We sat on the platform, drank chai, ate plumcake and teased the chai boys. The warm, sweet tea refreshed and energised us. The station was like a huge aircraft hanger in the middle of suburban Bombay. The atmosphere was much more relaxed than the centre of town. The hours passed quickly and pleasantly.

The Bombay Kurla - Bangalore Express arrived. It was to be it’s virgin journey. There was great celebration as the guard handed out coconut and sugar crystals. We had a four berth carriage to ourselves. Bliss. With our ten rupee (25p) bed rolls we settled down in crisp, clean, sheets and slept.

http://claremacnaughton.wordpress.com/

Speaking of Strange Islands

We made the mistake of taking the slow boat, thinking it would give us a leisurely tour of the spectacular island-strewn waters of Ha Long Bay, Vietnam. Leisurely it was, so much so that after hours of winding our way among sharp, jutting rocks and lush green islands, we were now sitting in the pitch dark on a creaking wooden boat that had no running lights—well, that had no lights at all. Instead, a boy had climbed to the front of the boat with a flashlight that seemed to have faulty batteries. There were no lights anywhere around us, either, except for our own lonely light, which the boy had to shake occasionally to revive. The islands and rocks were invisible in the inky blackness until we were already upon them. I was recalling warnings in some of the guide books about pirates occasionally preying on tourist boats in Ha Long Bay. If there were any pirates in the area, we were surely easy pickins—although they would have had to locate us in the dark first. I wondered how much the captain of the boat could see—did he have cat vision, or bat vision? I could only hope he knew this area like the back of his hand, because floating dreamily through a labyrinth of tropical green islands by day had turned to navigating menacing rocks by night.
Full Disclosure: You can also (perhaps wisely) hop a fast boat and reach Cat Ba Island in one hour. The island has seen a dramatic increase in hotel construction in past years, mostly funded by overseas Vietnamese. But at the time we visited, things were still a bit more rustic, which made for more adventure as well.
Ha Long Bay (which supposedly means Descending Dragon Bay) in north Vietnam is dotted by, according to some estimates, 2,000 “islets”—which is to say, miniature islands of widely varied shapes and sizes. The scenery is stunning, and gliding through it on a slow boat can be an otherworldly, hypnotic experience. Our somewhat rattletrap wooden boat chugged along with a small number of passengers, including my sister and myself, as well as a French family. The boat operators used the small on-board space efficiently, cooking up a meal for us in the engine room as they piloted the boat. Old tires were scattered about the boat which appeared to be our life vests. On the way to Cat Ba Island, we passed floating fishing villages where entire communities spent their lives living on the water. After it turned dark and the boat plowed blindly on, a French passenger timidly asked, “Is this safe?” At that point, it didn’t really matter—the only way left was forward.
When we fortunately reached the island, a bus arrived to take passengers to our various hotels. Whenever the bus stopped, the driver put a cement block in front of it as a parking brake. When we finally entered our hotel room, ready to collapse after a long day, we noticed the sheets were dirty…as if someone had slept in them with muddy shoes. When we inquired about this, the proprietors responded by taking us to another room. The only problem was that in this hotel room, somebody’s possessions were still there. Unnerved at the prospect of other guests returning in the middle of night to find us sleeping in their beds, we requested a third room. In this room, the only problem was a non-flushing toilet, but otherwise it was clean, and completely empty of extra guests. I remember looking out the window into the alley below and seeing a sleek, fat rat the size of a medium-sized dog devouring something (probably a medium-sized dog.) Maybe it was some sort of water rat/native creature, but whatever it was, it was huge.
As you can tell, at that time, Cat Ba Island wasn’t about luxury accommodations. However, it was and still is about dramatic scenery: waterfalls, forests, hills, cliffs, caves, lakes, and sandy beaches tucked here and there among the otherwise rocky coastline. But the best part of Cat Ba Island is probably the breathtaking and nerve-wracking experience of getting there.
Also on my blog Strange Islands

Are Your Beliefs the True Barriers to Your Success? Unlocking Your Mental Filing Cabinet

Humans have a limited capacity for processing information. So that means that in any moment there is simply too much going on in the immediate environment to process. What reaches our consciousness is only a fraction of what we take in. We are selective out of necessity and we don’t see things as they really are, but rather as we are. So things that are relevant to the beliefs we have about ourselves, and others, and the world pop out from a sea of other information. This is a selective process that occurs outside of our awareness to spare us from feeling overwhelmed.

So there is some information that we are totally unaware of being stored away. Beliefs about the way things are or should be, or about our own abilities can be filed away, but remain an enduring influence on our thoughts and actions.

One way of finding out what you have been subconsciously filing away is to ask yourself what your beliefs are about a particular topic and then force yourself to keep coming up with answers until you have exhausted the in- tray and you are forced to access your locked filing cabinet.

It’s no secret that the process of doing a PhD has been as much about self discovery for me as it has been a quest for the truth about emotional processing. So I want to know if my unconscious beliefs are a help or hindrance to my success.

To access my mental filing cabinets and to discover what my beliefs are about my abilities to finish my PhD I have forced myself to come up with a list of 21 responses to the following statement:

Regarding my abilities to succeed and finish my PhD I believe that:

1. I can do it

2. I am smart enough

3. Maybe I’m not good enough

4. I don’t deserve to do well

5. I have to persist

6. I am weak

7. I block my abilities

8. I constantly put obstacles in my way

9. I can do it

10.I want to do it

11. I can’t do it alone

12.I need other people’s help

13. On my own I will not succeed

14. I must be independent

15. I must do it on my own

16. I won’t succeed unless I do it all myself

17. I fear involving others because they will find out my flaws

18. I hold on to the idea of perfection

19. I have to lose the idea of perfection to succeed

20. I need to put that energy into doing the work and assembling the team to ensure my success

21. I can do it.

What I have come up with although conflicting at times shows me that I already know that I need help to succeed, but that I resist it because I want to maintain a facade of perfection.

Some of my beliefs are affecting the way I am doing the work of my PhD. I find this information both surprising, and very useful.

It is only through the conscious mind that we can reach the unconscious beliefs that drive our behaviours.

What’s in your mental filing cabinet?

Hat Tip to Karen McCreadie for her 52 Brilliant Ideas Interpretation of Napolean Hill's Think and Grow Rich (2008) Woodlands Press

Image from WeHeartIt

Sticks and Stones

The following Blog is also posted on my page

" The Soap Box Truth "

“ Sticks and Stones may break

my bones, but Names

will never hurt me ”

Remember singing that as a child ?

Do you also remember being told

“ If you just ignore a bully they will simply go away ”

Unfortunately neither were true words of wisdom, in fact in the real world exactly the opposite would actually happen. Sticks and Stones in most cases may cause cuts and bruises that you can see heal with care and time while with words the wounds can not always be readily seen but can cut so deep that they never truly heal and if they do scar up then normally they permanently effect they way the persons spirit develops.

I was a victim of continual bullying while growing up, not so much the physical type but the verbal and behavioral types. I was always a overweight child and have always been a very emotional type of person. I am one of those people who just can’t hide their emotions and I wear them on my sleeve for all to see. This unfortunately while seen as a fairly admirable characteristic for a S.N.A.G “ Sensitive New Age Guy ” in adulthood it was just a big red target for other kids while growing up.

What better past time for a board kid then to take a poke at me when they were guaranteed a response every time, I never let them down !

I never felt like I belonged anywhere or as a part of any group, I was always the one on the outside looking in and wondering what it would be like to be one of them !

I was always the biggest kid in both height and weight and with time as I grew up I managed to build a exterior image of the Big Silent Guy which ( thankfully due to a couple of fights I managed to win ) no one quite knew how to take so by the time I hit mid high school I was left alone, completely. I may now have been completely alone but at least I wasn’t the butt of everyone else’s boredom and taunts.

Have you ever stopped to contemplate just how powerful your words are?

Those early years have profoundly effected how I deal with life to this day, even though I understand the pettiness of what was said all those years ago. My attempts to change my reaction to them as an adult is futile as my flight or fight responses are so ingrained that they are fundamentally a part of who I am for the rest of my days.

These days I talk very long and very hard with my son about what people say to him and how he deals with others words. I constantly tell him that words can only hurt if you give them the power too but you know what, that’s not true, once the words have been thrown at you they stick to you and corrode away at your spirit. As I write this I realize that they are just more of those fable words that we are taught as kids because adults don’t have the right answers for us.

My son “ Grub ” is very much like me in build and personality. He sees the world though very innocent eyes at times which is a characteristic I have openly encouraged as he grew up, after all we are adults long enough, all children should be able to enjoy the innocence of childhood as long as they can.

Because Grub is so sensitive, the littlest word can hurt him and parenting a sensitive child can be a tight balance at times preparing him for his teenage years and the real world verses trying to keep some of that gentle innocence within him so that he may grow into a strong compassionate young man.

I caught myself using the wrong words in frustration this morning when talking to Grub. In a frustrated moment while discussing Grub’s wish to drop one of his extra curricular activities I told him he was lazy for not wanting to put in the effort.

Now “ Lazy ” is such a small word, it is such a common word, it’s not considers a nasty word or a rude word and yet its effect on Grub was profound. He got extremely sad and upset, quite some time later he sent me a simple text with the simple message “ I’m not lazy, I’m just not interested in it anymore ”. The word had stuck to him and was eroding his spirit.

Now I know better, I know how words can hurt and I will apologies profusely this afternoon when I see him next but the damage is done and words can not be unsaid. I love my boy beyond words and I am forever protective of him from the outside world which makes my laps in judgment all the worse.

Each year you read about the new words they add to the dictionary, wouldn’t it be a giant leap for mankind if we could also remove words from the dictionary. Just think of it, our children would never have to hear words like Hate, Fat, Ugly, Dumb, Stupid, Unattractive & Lazy just to name a few.

Wouldn’t that be an amazing world !

~~~~~~~

Sharp Words

Please don’t whip me with you’re sharp words,
They cut so deep and burn.

They etch scars upon my heart,
And cause my innocence to turn.

Please don’t tell me your cruel untruths,
My soul screams for you to stop.

Please don’t push me down again,
Just to make you feel on top.

All smothered in hate and lies,
I can not breath.

I am like you,
I breath, I bleed.

I am not what you say I am,
But I’m starting to believe.

Please don’t whip me with your sharp words,
They cut so deep and burn.

They etch a scar upon my heart,
And my innocence can never return.

Andrew Swansson
© April 2010

100 Things

by Kristin (kbxmas)
This was posted on my blog, Wanderlust, where it truly is my 100th post.

In honor of my 100th post, I offer you 100 bullet points.

• 100 posts
• 5 months
• 58 sexy flags
• A web of connections across the continents
• new friends, more than I dreamed
• a world opened up before me
• one marriage, lost
• one voice, found
• one future, unknown
• Tonight I sorted through boxes in the basement looking for things to give away
• digging deep into the past and pulling up armloads of clothes and jetsam from days gone by
• I found an old purse and realized it had never been divulged of its contents
• One by one I pulled out pens, lipstick, chewing gum
• Then I froze
• This was my mother's purse
• The purse she had been using when she died
• Here was an address book from 1990
• and she had carefully written in and scratched out my various addresses, tracking me across the country, across continents
• and her last paystub, dated January 3, 1993
• The chewing gum was still soft
• I stood there for a long time
• When the purse was empty I handed it to Jim to put with the rest of the stuff we were giving away
• He handed it back to me, gently, told me to smell it
• I did
• but it didn't smell like her
• Too many years gone by
• Here is what I want
• To hold a mirror up to my children so that they may never doubt
• the incredible light of their own souls
• To never stop writing
• To travel the world, all of it
• To speak my truth, all of it
• And come late June, when the days stretch long and coreopsis and phlox and coneflowers blanket the prairie floor and the sky is a thousand miles wide
• I’m getting in my car and driving to western Kansas
• to Amy Leigh’s farm
• where I’m going to run naked through a field of wheat
• with or without you President Obama
• And that’s not all
• You know that new URL I have (wanderlustlust)?
• I didn’t buy just one
• flaghussy.com
• Uh huh
• And what the hell
• Australiancrush.org
• That’s right
• I’m an org
• Care to donate?
• But on this, my 100th post, I'm thinking mostly about you
• Without you
• all of this wouldn't exist
• and to me you are more than just someone who reads my blog
• because when I fell
• you were there to catch me
• and I’ll never forget that
• People can say what they will about virtual friendships
• and people have
• but I know better
• I know that you are not just a name on a screen
• that you live and breathe and love and hurt and write a piece of yourself into every post
• that you are gloriously imperfect
• as am I
• as are we all
• We are nevertheless blog gods and goddesses
• are we not?
• Expression spilling from our fingertips
• onto pages
• so that we may rest another day
• tame the wild beast
• Well, quiet her at least
• And something in the telling helps us know that we are not alone
• in what we feel
• in who we are
• because we are not alone
• ever
• ever
• ever
• And through each other’s eyes
• we see ourselves
• reflected back
• in all our wonder
• and in that reflection
• we hold a vision of each other at our best
• Mothers, fathers, sons and daughters
• we become our consummate selves
• courageous in the face of pain
• gracious in the face of slight
• We are artists in the medium of life
• dreaming dreams of who we really are
• fearless explorers
• genius creators
• lovers of venusian proportion
• hot bloggy sex on a popsicle stick
• That’s us
• you
• me
• we
• shine

 

Unorthodox Meditation

I've been absent from blogging for a bit longer than is 'normal' for me, although I already exist outside the accepted norm of multiple posts per week. Usually, my blogging process is to wait for inspiration to strike. I don't stress over it, or worry that it won't happen because it always does. People, places, things, moments all come together in a beautiful harmony that will inevitably spark thoughts which lead to a blog article being born in my mind. It is a pulse of sorts, with a rise and fall aspect to how inspiration and writing occur for me on a personal level.


These past ten days or so have been curiously quiet in that regard. Again, I haven't worried overly much. Friends online have begun to email with concerned questions of, "Is your RSS feed messed up? I'm not getting your blog posts. What do you mean, you haven't been writing?? You always write!" That's a composite comment of many. If nothing else, it was a pleasant thing to know that people who follow my blog do look forward to reading my newest work. This didn't do anything, however, to spark that next line of thought that would create a blog post.

So, I have remained open and receptive, but somewhat detached. There are simply times when we all feel the need to retreat. It is not that there are not words or topics to be written - there are many. I just haven't felt that sense of rightness that I normally do with blogging, so, although I have been writing, I haven't posted anything. Tonight, I spent time thinking about this. It suddenly occurred to me that I have been engaging in what I would call an active state of meditation.

'Active', in that I have been living the process outwardly, rather than only mentally and emotionally. I have been writing, quite a lot, yet none of the drafts of posts have resonated as being just the right note for being published on my blog. So, I have written thoughts in snippets, lines of text to come back to or delete, some fully realized posts that will eventually be posted. The sudden epiphany that just hit me is that this is the same process we experience with traditional meditation.

When meditating, we usually sit or recline quietly, allowing thoughts to flicker across our consciousness. We study those thoughts, embrace them enough to honor the thought, then we gently tuck them away and come back to quiet. It is usually a completely mental, inward exercise. Occasionally this will manifest in a different manner - through exercise, through creating art, through music, through spending time in nature. For me, these past 10 days or so have become a physical manifestation of meditation.

I have been physically processing a great deal of information and experiencing the effects this information, these contacts and these thoughts are all having on my body and immediate surroundings. I have been discarding some long held behaviors and activities that no longer serve me, while giving deeper thought to some I wouldn't have even contemplated mere weeks earlier.

I am sure this is nothing new under the sun. I am positive we all go through these active meditative states occasionally. For me, it is a bit unorthodox, but a method that I do occasionally feel shifting to the forefront of my attention. Because it is so completely different to my regular process of meditation, it can be slightly uncomfortable and cause frustration and confusion. I remind myself that this is another instance of Stackable Energy and breathe deeply as I navigate my way along, casting the occasional assessing gaze upwards at that tower of blocks of energy.

Generally when this physical type of meditation takes hold, I do tend to retreat a bit. Sometimes I will become mildly or aggressively ill, depending on the nature of the shifting and meditative energy that I am facing. Indeed, this past weekend, I came down with an indeterminate stomach bug that further pulled me back from the world. I have found that this is part of the whole process and seems to be the physical body's way of cleansing old energy, clearing the way for fresh, new energy to flood forward.

Perhaps this all sounds slightly cryptic and muddled. If so, forgive the indulgence. It makes perfect sense to me and is part of a concept I have been working on for a while. So, rather than writing about a specific topic that struck me in that lovely rush of excitement and enthusiasm, I chose to write about the less sparkly, more subtle aspect of inspiration....that of doing constant inner housekeeping and refining of mental discipline, energetic flow and methods of communicating. Without this slower, more quiet interaction with Self, I would not be able to write the lighter, or, conversely, deeper, more evocative posts. Yin and yang. Endless processing and striving for balance is what I chose to write about this time.

When this type of energy hits my personal horizon, bigger shifts are in the works. I have come to recognize this particular rhythm and cycle. What is it bringing my way? I have thoughts and dreams, but at this moment, I am choosing to not limit the possibilities with labels and words. I am staying open to the experience with arms open and heart full of expectation. I am going through a dramatic shifting of energy, which generally occurs in my life every 5-7 years. This shift has been enveloping me for the past 18+ months and is still in a state of flux. Some of it is mutable, meaning I have control over the eventual outcome; some of it is immutable, and something that will happen regardless of how I resist or embrace the inevitable outcome.

No, I don't always immediately embrace it. Oftentimes, I fight it, resist it, struggle to impose my own will, my own wishes and my own wants. I have learned over a lifetime, however, that this only postpones the inevitable and puts me through a lot of needless grief. Knowing this still doesn't always make the process enjoyable, but it does help to adapt and assimilate the new energy patterns.

I have somewhat of an idea and understanding of what is coming towards me. There are days it feels just right and other days it feels like my shoes are on the wrong feet. This is when the physical act of outward, active, unorthodox meditation becomes necessary. I am navigating my way through it all, swimming with and against the currents at various moments. In a few days, or a few weeks, I will step back into my regular routine, slightly different than it used to be, but better for the changes.
________________________________

If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.