Hi everyone,
Sorry for all the tears from the other post. I appreciate all your kind words and thoughts!
Here's something a little lighter and adorable. I had to go hug my dog after this and give him a treat.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
The Story of my Father and the Greatest Gift he Gave Me
I should be in bed right now, dreaming away, but this is one of those moments where the words wont leave my mind until I get them out. Fathers Day is coming and it's time to tell my dad's story.
As you all know, or kind of know, my dad passed away when I was a little girl. I don't have a lot of firsthand memories of him. My mom has told me stories over the years that I cherish as they're all I really have as a way of knowing who he was. What I do know is beautiful and I hold onto them like a rope that is holding me up, preventing my fall into the void of forgotten sentiments. I repeat the memories over and over to myself to make sure I don't forget them. To make sure I don't forget him.
It may sound like I'm boasting, but I'm not. It may also sound like he had some super cool, fancy life, but it was just a happy, simple one. There was nothing extravagant to our life together as a family. I'm simply proud of who he was. That he was a good man with a good heart and a good head on his shoulders. I'm proud that he got to do something he loved in his life and that he got to live his dream as much as he could. I'm proud of how people respected him for his honesty and his ethics, how they looked up to him, and how he stood up for what he thought was right. Truthfully, I'm also jealous that they got a version of him I was never able to experience.
Friends of the family would tell me about my dad as I was growing up. My moms friend, Jacquie Lynn, who is a spitfire and someone I've always looked up to for her independence and passion for life, always had the best stories - of everything. You would not believe the fantastical things she's done in her life, but I know plenty of witnesses to her adventures. She knew my mom and dad when they were younger and the thing she would always, always tell me is that I should be proud of the man he was. She would tell me was how tall and strong my dad appeared to everyone because he walked with confidence and conviction.
My dad never went to college. I'm sure my grandfather would have appreciated it, but my dad didn't see the need. In his spare time he worked on cars and all things guy like and taught himself how it all worked. How engines should run and things should tick. He could fix anything mechanical: Cars, helicopters, trains - you name it. This got him his job as the head engineer at work. He had the coolest job ever, in my mind. He got to fly all over the world - Japan, Italy, France, Germany - to fix engines for everything and everyone. I think that's where I get my travel bug from, which secretly pleases me to no end. It's hard knowing what qualities you have from someone without having been able to really know them, and to know I've been where he once went and have seen what he once saw makes me feel closer to him. I recently found his old pictures from his trips to France and on the back he wrote descriptions of everything, just as I do now when I load a picture online. Getting that glimpse of his personality through them made me realize how similar we are in that sense. It was if I had written on them myself, with the funny captions and quirky comments.
He used to work on race cars and then drive them around the race track after he'd fixed them to make sure everything was working correctly. I used to stare at a plaque that hung on his hospital wall that was signed by all the race car drivers and engineers. I always wondered if he would have taken me with him around the track, if I would have gotten to hang out with the cool race car drivers. To a five year old those are the dreams of gold and silver - where your dad is the hero that can do anything and take you on cool adventures like that.
My mom thinks I look more like him than her, even now. Everyone else says I'm the spitting image of her, but then again they haven't seen my dad. I honestly don't know how I got all of their features except for the dark hair that I so long to have without the use of a bottle of dye.
Of all the qualities my mom says I have of him, I don't think his brilliance is one of them. Not in the way he worked, the way he could figure out all the problems no one else could answer. She says I have it, that I fix things without realizing it. She says when I was a toddler I would break apart his radios and odd things in the house (that really shouldn't have been broken) and then put them back together. This I don't recall. I'm certain I was a perfect little angel...OK, maybe I remember a few times...
Anyway, I do think I have his silence, though. I think better when I can walk away and come back. I think better when I'm alone. When he had a tough situation he would go to his office, shut the door and think, think, think. No one would bother him because they knew this was his process. Later he would emerge with a plan that solved everything.
My mom tells me that had he lived he would have built me my first car. I'm certain it would have been pretty badass. I think I get that quality from him, the car loving part. People who don't know me always assume I'm a girlie sports car kind of a person, but I'm not in the least. I like trucks and SUV's, things with torque and power and some serious height to them. I like rims and grills and leather. I like driving fast on the open roads with my radio blaring. I like getting my hands dirty polishing the steel and conditioning the leather. I can't tell you a thing about the engine but I can clean a car like it's no ones business.
While I have never had a horrible time dealing with his death, being that in many ways we never bonded like a father and daughter would had they had more time, more years together, I still have my moments where it hits me that I have missed out on experiences that can never be replaced by anyone or anything. I will never have the chance to have my dad scare away a boyfriend, teach me how to drive, or even dance with me at my wedding. My children will never know their grandfather and I, unfortunately, will have limited stories to tell them about him.
A few months ago I had a dream about him. You see, I dream a lot. In fact I would say I'm an advanced dreamer in any and all things having to do with dreaming, so while I've had many a dream that felt real I've never had one that was this intense. This jarring and dramatic.
I was with my mom and my dad hanging out in the desert as if it was a beach by the cooling waters of the ocean. It was an odd, out of place scene, but we were all happy hanging out together. I was reclining on the sand and my dad was next to me talking while my mom was a little further out in her own space. This next part is what kills me.
My dad and I are talking when all of a sudden he grabs my face and looks at me in the saddest, most heart wrenching way ever. He's searching my eyes, my entire face, and emotionally he is breaking down as he starts to say, "How did you get so old? I don't understand. You're supposed to be a little girl! I don't understand what's happened! What...what have I missed? When did you grow up?"
This painful dialogue goes on for what seems like an eternity and right when I think he grasps the situation he snaps back into his former self, just talking to me on the desert beach. I swear with everything in me I talked to my father, somehow, someway, that night. In that moment in my dream, in everything I could feel and sense and grasp, it was as if my dream version of him was replaced with my real living, breathing father. Like he had briefly broken through the barriers of all time and space and was having an actual conversation with me. A conversation in which he hadn't realized yet that he was no longer here, that time had passed and I had grown up without him, and the moment that he did he had to go back to wherever he had come from.
When I was fourteen I was in my bedroom going through old family videos. I found one of me and my dad and for the first time in my life, in my adult memory at least, I heard him speak. It took my breath away, made me dizzy, to hear in a video what I never would again in real life. I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote my very first poem, for him, the one that started it all. I submitted it in competition after competition and won all of them, eventually getting it published internationally. I think my mom is the only one who ever knew that until this very moment.
After that I started writing poem after poem after poem until I had dozens of them piling up around me. I knew then that I wanted to be a writer, I just never did anything about it until recently. Poetry...it's so personal. I felt like if I shared it with anyone they would see into the deepest, darkest parts of my soul. They would wonder who I really was, with all these thoughts and ideas I've never shared. And this, all of this - my poems and the book I'm working on and even this blog - all comes down to the moment I heard my dad speak. It all comes back to him. It was the cannon ball that broke through my silence, that placed pen to paper, that gave me courage and showed me what I was capable of doing. He made me realize that the one thing I wanted to do more than anything in this life, is write. This is his greatest gift to me.
Although he has left me, he still speaks to me in times when I need him the most. Last year in school we were doing an energy class where you lie down and a few people stand around you, place their hands on your shoulders, head, legs, and restore your energy, so to speak. Energy work is really not my thing, so I thought this was going to be bogus and completely unhelpful. I even apologized to everyone beforehand, stating that this probably wouldn't work on me. My friends, Josh and Sergio, were on my left and right sides, hands on my shoulders and hips. Someone was cradling my head while another person held my ankles. For about 10 minutes or so we all just closed our eyes and all the people around me focused on healing whatever it was that needed to be healed. After a few minutes, to my own surprise, I felt something. I suddenly had this sense of being rocked.
No one was actually moving me at all but for the entire duration thereafter I genuinely felt all of this love and comfort and this endless sense of being rocked like a baby in someones arms. After class Josh approached me and told me he had a message for me. He said that he heard a man's voice, someone that he sensed as a father type figure, tell him to tell me, "It's OK. Everything's OK." Josh and I didn't know each other that well yet, so when I told him my dad was dead he was surprised, but believed even more so that it had been my dad. This message, coincidentally, came at a time when my life was a bit crazy and I had a decision I needed to make and I really didn't feel like anything was OK at all.
Sergio came down the hall and the two of them proceeded to tell me how the whole time, although again no one was moving, it felt like they were rocking me. I, having not told a soul that I had in fact felt like I was indeed being held and rocked, informed them that I had the same weird sensation. In the end we all agreed that what I needed at that time in my life was apparently my dad and so that is what I got. Then I went and cried like a baby.
Since then one other person at my school has passed a message to me, after more energy work, from someone who they believed was my dad. The message was pretty much along the same lines. I believed her, as I did Josh and Sergio, since she would have no way of knowing my dad had passed away and also had no idea of what had happened months earlier. I can never thank any of them enough for what they have given me by believing in the work they do and in what comes out of that work.
Sitting here now I suddenly realize how appropriate the messages are, him speaking to me like this. It was his voice that struck me so hard all those years ago, causing me to start writing in the first place. It was his voice that I wrote about in the poem that made me believe in myself. Even in the last stanza, I just now realize this as I'm adding it below, it's his voice I vowed to listen for. More than a decade later, no video required, he's talking to me.
Life really is amazing.
While my dad can't be here with me now, a part of him will always be with me in my words. Below is the poem I wrote all those years ago. I love you, dad.
My Father's Voice
 |
| Mom and Dad on their wedding day. |
As you all know, or kind of know, my dad passed away when I was a little girl. I don't have a lot of firsthand memories of him. My mom has told me stories over the years that I cherish as they're all I really have as a way of knowing who he was. What I do know is beautiful and I hold onto them like a rope that is holding me up, preventing my fall into the void of forgotten sentiments. I repeat the memories over and over to myself to make sure I don't forget them. To make sure I don't forget him.
 |
| Me, my dad and my grandpa. I'm pretty sure I'm thinking "What are you saying?" since my grandpa had a strong Croatian accent. |
Friends of the family would tell me about my dad as I was growing up. My moms friend, Jacquie Lynn, who is a spitfire and someone I've always looked up to for her independence and passion for life, always had the best stories - of everything. You would not believe the fantastical things she's done in her life, but I know plenty of witnesses to her adventures. She knew my mom and dad when they were younger and the thing she would always, always tell me is that I should be proud of the man he was. She would tell me was how tall and strong my dad appeared to everyone because he walked with confidence and conviction.
 |
| Some guy, my dad, some guy - In France |
 |
| I love this one. See his reflection in the window? On the back he wrote "I was told I had to stay aware from these." Ah, dessert! I always take pictures of food too. Just like him I guess. |
 |
| I like the fact that none of us are posing. That we're just living in this moment. |
Of all the qualities my mom says I have of him, I don't think his brilliance is one of them. Not in the way he worked, the way he could figure out all the problems no one else could answer. She says I have it, that I fix things without realizing it. She says when I was a toddler I would break apart his radios and odd things in the house (that really shouldn't have been broken) and then put them back together. This I don't recall. I'm certain I was a perfect little angel...OK, maybe I remember a few times...
Anyway, I do think I have his silence, though. I think better when I can walk away and come back. I think better when I'm alone. When he had a tough situation he would go to his office, shut the door and think, think, think. No one would bother him because they knew this was his process. Later he would emerge with a plan that solved everything.
My mom tells me that had he lived he would have built me my first car. I'm certain it would have been pretty badass. I think I get that quality from him, the car loving part. People who don't know me always assume I'm a girlie sports car kind of a person, but I'm not in the least. I like trucks and SUV's, things with torque and power and some serious height to them. I like rims and grills and leather. I like driving fast on the open roads with my radio blaring. I like getting my hands dirty polishing the steel and conditioning the leather. I can't tell you a thing about the engine but I can clean a car like it's no ones business.
While I have never had a horrible time dealing with his death, being that in many ways we never bonded like a father and daughter would had they had more time, more years together, I still have my moments where it hits me that I have missed out on experiences that can never be replaced by anyone or anything. I will never have the chance to have my dad scare away a boyfriend, teach me how to drive, or even dance with me at my wedding. My children will never know their grandfather and I, unfortunately, will have limited stories to tell them about him.
A few months ago I had a dream about him. You see, I dream a lot. In fact I would say I'm an advanced dreamer in any and all things having to do with dreaming, so while I've had many a dream that felt real I've never had one that was this intense. This jarring and dramatic.
I was with my mom and my dad hanging out in the desert as if it was a beach by the cooling waters of the ocean. It was an odd, out of place scene, but we were all happy hanging out together. I was reclining on the sand and my dad was next to me talking while my mom was a little further out in her own space. This next part is what kills me.
My dad and I are talking when all of a sudden he grabs my face and looks at me in the saddest, most heart wrenching way ever. He's searching my eyes, my entire face, and emotionally he is breaking down as he starts to say, "How did you get so old? I don't understand. You're supposed to be a little girl! I don't understand what's happened! What...what have I missed? When did you grow up?"
This painful dialogue goes on for what seems like an eternity and right when I think he grasps the situation he snaps back into his former self, just talking to me on the desert beach. I swear with everything in me I talked to my father, somehow, someway, that night. In that moment in my dream, in everything I could feel and sense and grasp, it was as if my dream version of him was replaced with my real living, breathing father. Like he had briefly broken through the barriers of all time and space and was having an actual conversation with me. A conversation in which he hadn't realized yet that he was no longer here, that time had passed and I had grown up without him, and the moment that he did he had to go back to wherever he had come from.
When I was fourteen I was in my bedroom going through old family videos. I found one of me and my dad and for the first time in my life, in my adult memory at least, I heard him speak. It took my breath away, made me dizzy, to hear in a video what I never would again in real life. I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote my very first poem, for him, the one that started it all. I submitted it in competition after competition and won all of them, eventually getting it published internationally. I think my mom is the only one who ever knew that until this very moment.
After that I started writing poem after poem after poem until I had dozens of them piling up around me. I knew then that I wanted to be a writer, I just never did anything about it until recently. Poetry...it's so personal. I felt like if I shared it with anyone they would see into the deepest, darkest parts of my soul. They would wonder who I really was, with all these thoughts and ideas I've never shared. And this, all of this - my poems and the book I'm working on and even this blog - all comes down to the moment I heard my dad speak. It all comes back to him. It was the cannon ball that broke through my silence, that placed pen to paper, that gave me courage and showed me what I was capable of doing. He made me realize that the one thing I wanted to do more than anything in this life, is write. This is his greatest gift to me.
Although he has left me, he still speaks to me in times when I need him the most. Last year in school we were doing an energy class where you lie down and a few people stand around you, place their hands on your shoulders, head, legs, and restore your energy, so to speak. Energy work is really not my thing, so I thought this was going to be bogus and completely unhelpful. I even apologized to everyone beforehand, stating that this probably wouldn't work on me. My friends, Josh and Sergio, were on my left and right sides, hands on my shoulders and hips. Someone was cradling my head while another person held my ankles. For about 10 minutes or so we all just closed our eyes and all the people around me focused on healing whatever it was that needed to be healed. After a few minutes, to my own surprise, I felt something. I suddenly had this sense of being rocked.
No one was actually moving me at all but for the entire duration thereafter I genuinely felt all of this love and comfort and this endless sense of being rocked like a baby in someones arms. After class Josh approached me and told me he had a message for me. He said that he heard a man's voice, someone that he sensed as a father type figure, tell him to tell me, "It's OK. Everything's OK." Josh and I didn't know each other that well yet, so when I told him my dad was dead he was surprised, but believed even more so that it had been my dad. This message, coincidentally, came at a time when my life was a bit crazy and I had a decision I needed to make and I really didn't feel like anything was OK at all.
Sergio came down the hall and the two of them proceeded to tell me how the whole time, although again no one was moving, it felt like they were rocking me. I, having not told a soul that I had in fact felt like I was indeed being held and rocked, informed them that I had the same weird sensation. In the end we all agreed that what I needed at that time in my life was apparently my dad and so that is what I got. Then I went and cried like a baby.
Since then one other person at my school has passed a message to me, after more energy work, from someone who they believed was my dad. The message was pretty much along the same lines. I believed her, as I did Josh and Sergio, since she would have no way of knowing my dad had passed away and also had no idea of what had happened months earlier. I can never thank any of them enough for what they have given me by believing in the work they do and in what comes out of that work.
Sitting here now I suddenly realize how appropriate the messages are, him speaking to me like this. It was his voice that struck me so hard all those years ago, causing me to start writing in the first place. It was his voice that I wrote about in the poem that made me believe in myself. Even in the last stanza, I just now realize this as I'm adding it below, it's his voice I vowed to listen for. More than a decade later, no video required, he's talking to me.
Life really is amazing.
While my dad can't be here with me now, a part of him will always be with me in my words. Below is the poem I wrote all those years ago. I love you, dad.
My Father's Voice
My father’s voice was proud and strong
Within it rang confidence, strength and song
It was deep and clear and demanded truth
It held no lies and it longed for youth
My father’s voice was stolen away
By the dark of the night, by the light of the day
It was stolen by the wind and blown into the sky
Never to be heard again, set free to fly
His voice was soothing, his tone was calm
It echoes through my mind, it echoes through the walls
It can drive a person crazy, it can calm a baby’s cry
It left his soul so fast that I couldn’t say goodbye
I hear it in my sleep, in my dreams it fills my mind
It whispers through my music, it screams throughout all time
It was taken by the sunlight, as the sun shall rise and set
I will try and try to catch it for it knows it owes me debt
I’ll not give up my fight and I’ll listen for the noise
Of the whispering and echoing of my father’s voice
Related Post
Without You
The Diving Bell, The Butterfly, and My Dad
I Remember You
Related Post
Without You
The Diving Bell, The Butterfly, and My Dad
I Remember You
Thursday, June 16, 2011
I Believe In Things Unseen
This is one of those poems that just hit me out of nowhere, word after word, until it all made sense.
I Believe In Things Unseen
I Believe In Things Unseen
I believe in things unseen
And in the dreams I dare dream
In my mind, and in my visions
In a place where magic visits
I believe, in this, in you
In things I have not seen come true
In silent whispers, stolen tears
In memories forged from prior years
In other places, other worlds
Where death is lovely, yet a curse
Where darkness beckons with a kiss
The innocence of tempted lips
In sunsets rising, stars that shoot
In places that are dark with soot
In death and shadow, love and light
Where my imagination lies
I believe in strengths unknown
Buried deep within our souls
In depths within yet undiscovered
In learning to trust one another
In simple truths we have not found
That silence is the greatest sound
That there is more to everything
If only we would just believe
In the unseen and the unheard
In things that are misunderstood
In long lives and the fountains youth
In searching for the hidden truth
That once we welcome in the light
There will be nothing left to fight
I believe that what we dream
Is more than just imagining,
It’s more than our revolving mind
It’s secret words lost over time
It’s places that we long to see
It’s everything that we believe
Its every thought, idea, hope
That’s living out there, still unknown
It’s undiscovered, blind to eyes
That veil what they wish to spy
It’s stories told but long forgotten
Myths and legends, memories haunted
For I believe in things unseen
In all the daydreams that I dream
I believe, in this, in you
In things I wait to see come true
Sunday, June 12, 2011
The Kindness Chronicles - A Kind State of Mind
The poem I posted the other day (I Know How it Feels to Scream) was in regards to this particular post. I scared my dear friend into thinking something was wrong, but really that's an older poem of mine and meant to let you know that I get it. I've been there. I know how it feels when things in life are difficult or you're trying to improve your life, yourself, in some way. It can seem like you're all alone, like only you are dealing with this, but you're not. I want you to know that. You're not alone.
For this particular post I want you to slowly think over what I'm trying to relay to you. Everything about your life, however it turns out, comes down to this one thing.
In high school I remember a test our English teacher gave us. If you could wish for anything, what would it be and why? Some people said money, some said a nice car, some just wanted to be done with high school. When asked why they wanted these things the answer was always simple - it would make them happy. Our teacher asked us why then, if happiness was what we ultimately were seeking, did we not just wish for that instead? That way, no matter what happened in our lives, no matter what we had or looked like or did, we would be happy.
These days happiness seems to elude everyone. Antidepressants are everywhere you look. I personally think a lot of that has to do with what we tell ourselves and trick ourselves into believing. How cruel or how kind we are to our own person has everything to do with what our life will look like day by day.
We judge one against the other. We grow up comparing ourselves to everyone. As children we hear the adults around us complain about wrinkles, body image, and social status. We absorb that and then we repeat it. Over, and over, and over. We compare cars, houses, jobs, bank accounts, and waist bands. We strive to be better but we take on other people's ideas of better, not our own. We latch on to the distractions in life, close our eyes, and keep going forward without ever stopping to really feel what we need to feel, so that we do what we need to do, just for us.
Different is a dangerous idea. Not just looking different but acting or thinking differently. We don't acknowledge that being different makes us unique and beautiful. The thing we forget is that the people we look up to, the movie stars and models, the hero's - they are unique. They don't all look the same, act the same, or think the same. Imagine if they did. Everyone would be identical and we would look up to a clone of just one person from long ago. The world would be terribly boring and everyone would be the same.
The worst part of all of this- we are never good enough. Never thin enough. Never successful enough. Never rich enough.
Never enough of anything.
For this particular post I want you to slowly think over what I'm trying to relay to you. Everything about your life, however it turns out, comes down to this one thing.
In high school I remember a test our English teacher gave us. If you could wish for anything, what would it be and why? Some people said money, some said a nice car, some just wanted to be done with high school. When asked why they wanted these things the answer was always simple - it would make them happy. Our teacher asked us why then, if happiness was what we ultimately were seeking, did we not just wish for that instead? That way, no matter what happened in our lives, no matter what we had or looked like or did, we would be happy.
These days happiness seems to elude everyone. Antidepressants are everywhere you look. I personally think a lot of that has to do with what we tell ourselves and trick ourselves into believing. How cruel or how kind we are to our own person has everything to do with what our life will look like day by day.
We judge one against the other. We grow up comparing ourselves to everyone. As children we hear the adults around us complain about wrinkles, body image, and social status. We absorb that and then we repeat it. Over, and over, and over. We compare cars, houses, jobs, bank accounts, and waist bands. We strive to be better but we take on other people's ideas of better, not our own. We latch on to the distractions in life, close our eyes, and keep going forward without ever stopping to really feel what we need to feel, so that we do what we need to do, just for us.
Different is a dangerous idea. Not just looking different but acting or thinking differently. We don't acknowledge that being different makes us unique and beautiful. The thing we forget is that the people we look up to, the movie stars and models, the hero's - they are unique. They don't all look the same, act the same, or think the same. Imagine if they did. Everyone would be identical and we would look up to a clone of just one person from long ago. The world would be terribly boring and everyone would be the same.
The worst part of all of this- we are never good enough. Never thin enough. Never successful enough. Never rich enough.
Never enough of anything.
I offer no quick solutions. No overnight miracles or magic pills that make everything better. I simply offer this: The answer to all of your problems, to everything you want in life that would require you to feel loved, happy and complete - is you.
At some point you will come to a time in your life where you have to make a decision. You will want something to be different or better. You have to make the decision to either carry on each remaining day believing these warped patterns that have been passed down carelessly for so many years, or to change them.
You will need to stop assessing yourself every second of every day and accept yourself here and now. The mental mind beatings will need to end. In their place you should put thoughts of kindness, patience and love.
When you think about it, what have you got to lose by being nice to yourself? Nothing at all. Kindness will not come along and thwart you or beat you down. It is here to lift you up, to enlighten you to yourself. Because the truth of the matter is simple. You are special. You are not meant to be anyone else. There is no one like you and there is no one - no one - that can take your place. At the end of the day the only person you have to impress is yourself. The only opinion that matters is your own. Do what makes you happy for you and everything else will follow.
What do you feel like you never have enough of?
Related Posts
I Know How It Feels To Scream
The Kindness Chronicles: An Overview of Your Home
All Over Again
To Be The Best
At some point you will come to a time in your life where you have to make a decision. You will want something to be different or better. You have to make the decision to either carry on each remaining day believing these warped patterns that have been passed down carelessly for so many years, or to change them.
You will need to stop assessing yourself every second of every day and accept yourself here and now. The mental mind beatings will need to end. In their place you should put thoughts of kindness, patience and love.
When you think about it, what have you got to lose by being nice to yourself? Nothing at all. Kindness will not come along and thwart you or beat you down. It is here to lift you up, to enlighten you to yourself. Because the truth of the matter is simple. You are special. You are not meant to be anyone else. There is no one like you and there is no one - no one - that can take your place. At the end of the day the only person you have to impress is yourself. The only opinion that matters is your own. Do what makes you happy for you and everything else will follow.
What do you feel like you never have enough of?
Related Posts
I Know How It Feels To Scream
The Kindness Chronicles: An Overview of Your Home
All Over Again
To Be The Best
Friday, June 10, 2011
Inspiring Words
I was cleaning out my old yoga class files of things I read to my students and came across more poems and quotes, more things to make you think. That was always my goal: To have them enter class with what they already knew and to leave with a seed of an idea of something more.
Here are some seeds for you today.
A brief candle; both ends burning
An endless mile; a bus wheel turning
A friend to share the lonesome times
A handshake and a sip of wine
So say it loud and let it ring
We are all a part of everything...
-Charlie Daniels
Think Different
Here's to the crazy ones.
The misfits. The rebels.
The trouble-makers.
The round pegs in the square holes.
The ones who see things differently.
They're not fond of rules,
and they have no respect for the status-quo.
You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify, or vilify them.
But the only thing you can't do is ignore them.
Because they change things.
They push the human race forward.
And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius.
Because the people who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world,
are the ones who do.
-Apple
"My will shall shape the future. Whether I fail or succeed shall be no man's doing but my own. I am the force; I can clear any obstacle before me or I can be lost in the maze. My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny." - Elaine Maxwell
"How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because some day in life you will have been all of those things." - George Washington Carver
Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts,
the depth where neither sin nor desire can reach,
the person that each one is in God's eyes.
If only they could see themselves as they really are.
If only we could see each other that way,
there would be no reason for war, for hatred, for cruelty...
I suppose the big problem would be that we would fall down and worship each other.
- Thomas Merton
"Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?" - Abraham Lincoln
"Courage is fear that said its prayers." - Dorothy Bernard
"Out beyond ideas of wrong doing and right doing, there is a field. I will meet you there." - Rumi
"Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it." - Mark Twain
"When we feel stuck, going nowhere - even starting to slip backward - we may actually be backing up to get a running start." - Dan Millman
Loss - Autobiography in Five Chapters taken from The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying
1. I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost...I am hopeless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
2. I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place.
But it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
3. I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it there.
I still fall in...it's a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
4. I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
5. I walk down another street.
A Man of Words and Not of Deeds
A man of words and not of deeds
Is like a garden full of weeds;
And when the weeds begin to grow,
It's like a garden full of snow;
And when the snow begins to fall,
It's like a bird upon the wall;
And when the bird away does fly,
It's like an eagle in the sky;
And when the sky begins to roar,
It's like a lion at the door;
And when the door begins to crack,
It's like a stick across your back;
And when your back begins to smart,
It's like a penknife in your heart;
And when your heart begins to bleed,
You're dead, and dead, and dead indeed.
Do you have any words that inspire you?
Related Posts
The Invitation
Breaking Free from the Broken Record
A Single Sentence
Here are some seeds for you today.
A brief candle; both ends burning
An endless mile; a bus wheel turning
A friend to share the lonesome times
A handshake and a sip of wine
So say it loud and let it ring
We are all a part of everything...
-Charlie Daniels
Think Different
Here's to the crazy ones.
The misfits. The rebels.
The trouble-makers.
The round pegs in the square holes.
The ones who see things differently.
They're not fond of rules,
and they have no respect for the status-quo.
You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify, or vilify them.
But the only thing you can't do is ignore them.
Because they change things.
They push the human race forward.
And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius.
Because the people who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world,
are the ones who do.
-Apple
"My will shall shape the future. Whether I fail or succeed shall be no man's doing but my own. I am the force; I can clear any obstacle before me or I can be lost in the maze. My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny." - Elaine Maxwell
"How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because some day in life you will have been all of those things." - George Washington Carver
Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts,
the depth where neither sin nor desire can reach,
the person that each one is in God's eyes.
If only they could see themselves as they really are.
If only we could see each other that way,
there would be no reason for war, for hatred, for cruelty...
I suppose the big problem would be that we would fall down and worship each other.
- Thomas Merton
"Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?" - Abraham Lincoln
"Courage is fear that said its prayers." - Dorothy Bernard
"Out beyond ideas of wrong doing and right doing, there is a field. I will meet you there." - Rumi
"Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it." - Mark Twain
"When we feel stuck, going nowhere - even starting to slip backward - we may actually be backing up to get a running start." - Dan Millman
Loss - Autobiography in Five Chapters taken from The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying
1. I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost...I am hopeless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
2. I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place.
But it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
3. I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it there.
I still fall in...it's a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
4. I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
5. I walk down another street.
A Man of Words and Not of Deeds
A man of words and not of deeds
Is like a garden full of weeds;
And when the weeds begin to grow,
It's like a garden full of snow;
And when the snow begins to fall,
It's like a bird upon the wall;
And when the bird away does fly,
It's like an eagle in the sky;
And when the sky begins to roar,
It's like a lion at the door;
And when the door begins to crack,
It's like a stick across your back;
And when your back begins to smart,
It's like a penknife in your heart;
And when your heart begins to bleed,
You're dead, and dead, and dead indeed.
Do you have any words that inspire you?
Related Posts
The Invitation
Breaking Free from the Broken Record
A Single Sentence
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
GamesEyeView for all my Gaming Friends
I recall, fondly, the first time I discovered a video game system. Nintendo (NES) was foreign and beautiful, and although I could never kill anything in real life, I was very bent on knocking off every single duck that I possibly could in one of the first games, Duck Hunt. I didn't actually own this system but my friend Tracy did and I loved it. I would dream about how many ducks had it coming for them and then have at it the next time I had the opportunity!
Many, many years later I discovered Super Nintendo. It had been out forever but somehow I had missed it. I instantly fell in love with Mario and it became my own personal mission to save the princess, even if I didn't really care for her that much.
Then, the best system (in my mind) came out - Nintendo 64. I spend an entire summer beating Extreme G, Super Mario, and Mario Kart. An entire summer. I didn't just beat them, either. I killed them. I got all the secret stars and all the coins and everything I needed so I could race on tracks backwards and go to super top secret levels. I won the coolest skull motorcycle there was and then started all over from the beginning to do it again. I loved it, still do. Nintendo will always have a place in my heart and my house.
Now, to my importante news. My very talented gaming friend, Matt, has an AWESOME website for all game systems (PlayStation, Nintendo, Xbox, etc.) and he has a ton of info on pretty much every game, ever. He has interviews, movie reviews, everything your little gaming heart can dream of. If you're a gamer at all you'll love it. Love. It.
Check it out here:
GamesEyeView -First in Entertainment
His lovely wife, (my very dear friend/kidnapping cohort) Jess, also writes for him occasionally. She is also an excellent cook/baker/food lady and I'm trying to convince her to open a business so I can write about her too... and be her doorlady, with which I will then request my salary to be paid in dessert of my choice. She already knows what it will be.
Goodnight gamers. Have fun!
Related Posts
Falling Down Stairs and Kidnapping Friends
Ban This!
Many, many years later I discovered Super Nintendo. It had been out forever but somehow I had missed it. I instantly fell in love with Mario and it became my own personal mission to save the princess, even if I didn't really care for her that much.
Then, the best system (in my mind) came out - Nintendo 64. I spend an entire summer beating Extreme G, Super Mario, and Mario Kart. An entire summer. I didn't just beat them, either. I killed them. I got all the secret stars and all the coins and everything I needed so I could race on tracks backwards and go to super top secret levels. I won the coolest skull motorcycle there was and then started all over from the beginning to do it again. I loved it, still do. Nintendo will always have a place in my heart and my house.
Now, to my importante news. My very talented gaming friend, Matt, has an AWESOME website for all game systems (PlayStation, Nintendo, Xbox, etc.) and he has a ton of info on pretty much every game, ever. He has interviews, movie reviews, everything your little gaming heart can dream of. If you're a gamer at all you'll love it. Love. It.
Check it out here:
GamesEyeView -First in Entertainment
His lovely wife, (my very dear friend/kidnapping cohort) Jess, also writes for him occasionally. She is also an excellent cook/baker/food lady and I'm trying to convince her to open a business so I can write about her too... and be her doorlady, with which I will then request my salary to be paid in dessert of my choice. She already knows what it will be.
Goodnight gamers. Have fun!
Related Posts
Falling Down Stairs and Kidnapping Friends
Ban This!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
The ABC's of NYC
Last weekend I went to New York City for the very first time. I've been wanting to go for a while now, and the right time/right place theory happened to pop into play for me.
It all started with a Waldorf Astoria hotel card I found years ago, one of the electric key card types. It was beautiful and elegant and seeing the card alone made me know I had to visit the world famous hotel sometime in my life. Very often the things that make me want to go someplace are small and inconsequential to most people, but stand out considerably to me. This is how most vacation locations are chosen.
From what I'm told, normally one night at the Waldorf will set you back considerably and since I am not secretly Paris Hilton, that was never really an option for me. In fact, I never stay at nice hotels. I don't do the hostel scene, but I do as close to that as possible most everywhere I go. Not this time though. Whether it be due to the economy or other circumstances, the prices now are in the more affordable range, (actually very affordable considering where you're staying) so I decided it was time to spend a weekend there.
The Waldorf is an amazing place. There is so much packed in there that on more than one occasion I got lost exploring it's vast hallways and floors. The Silver Corridor, in particular, was my favorite. A long hall filled with chandeliers and mirrors. There's also a museum section on the lobby floor, where you could see the history of the Waldorf, and on the night we checked in they were filming a movie at one of the restaurants.
Forget all of that though. What I loved were the pillows. Yes, the pillows. They were like magical fluff clouds from heaven. I don't know where one would purchase such pillows, but if I did I would have bought a dozen of them already and have created a pillow sanctuary in my home.
Justin and I did all of the touristy type things while we were there. We went to Times Square where we met a gentleman named Toast who wanted to sell us tickets to a comedy show. We were already planning on going so it was an easy sell, but the conversation with him all in itself was worth the purchase. I had never received so many compliments and threats in one conversation. Not real threats, but ones that included things such as "If you don't buy these tickets right now I'm going to bite your fine ass." Actually, he said some things along with that, that were far more inappropriate, which is why I can't even write it here. I was simultaneously flattered and terrified.
We went to Bloomingdale's, SoHo, NoHo, China Town, and Ground Zero. Ground Zero is much larger in real life and it hits home a little harder. We walked Central Park, attempted to go walk the Statue of Liberty, but opted for viewing it from a distance since the line was extra-specially long on our Memorial Day Weekend. We rode the Subway, took some cab rides, and talked to a lot of strangers who had moved to NY from various parts of Europe. Like our coach guy, Martin, who was from Ireland and a nice street vendor who was from Spain and was studying law at NYU. Even Ziggy, our hotel waiter, who was from Germany and told us all about NY and what it was like to work at the hotel.
We went to Rockefeller and the Empire State building, and of course, Grand Central. Almost everywhere we were, I could see something that had been in a movie somewhere. What I didn't see, however, and was very much on the lookout for, were women in ridiculously tall high heels like in the HBO show, Sex and the City. I saw all of one woman who was rocking that style. Everyone else - flats. I knew that couldn't be real! We also went to this newer store called Limelight Marketplace. It's an old church renovated into a unique type of shopping plaza filled with one-of-a-kind stores, where the stained glass stands out amongst the the lights and goods. It was beautiful!
Mostly we walked and saw so much that I was pretty sure I would never be able to walk again. I am a very determined traveler and by that I mean that I want to see everything (EVERYTHING) and I will find a way to do so, somehow. In my world, there is no A or B option. There is a C, D, W, X, and Y as well. I'll find a way to make it all work.
We dug into the local cuisine as well. I don't limit myself to what I should and should not eat when I travel. Food is half the fun, it's part of experiencing the culture. It's one thing to get something you could at home, but it's a whole other thing to try authentic NYC pizza or have a freshly made macaron from the Macaron Cafe. Food is as much a part of the place as the place itself and there's no room for regrets in my travel book, so I go for it. Plus, where am I going to find a spinach salad for breakfast? Nowhere, so no need to kill myself trying. A healthy and happy life is all about balance.
Anyway, at one point when we were in a cab, we passed a building that appeared to be covered in umbrellas. Umbrella's that were calling my name for a closer look. We get to China Town, head into a little restaurant, and sit down. This entire time I've been plotting how to convince Justin to go back to where we just came from, especially since I don't really know where it was. In addition to that, some of it looked a little sketchy. That doesn't bother me though. I tend to insanely believe that somewhere deep down my martial arts skills from high school will come back out, when needed, and I will be able to Walker Texas Ranger just about anyone if I really have to.
I pose the idea to him and I get a "no way" answer. We're both tired and again, I don't actually know where it is except for one sign I saw. I'm not a quitter though. I am equal parts stubborn and patient, and that combination alone means trouble. Also, I will regret it immensely if I don't go back so I then proceed to Google everything having to do with street art and umbrellas hanging from the side of a building in NYC. I find a lot of weird things, but stumble upon a picture of one of the graffiti paintings I saw and wham! I know where we need to go...mostly, anyway. I then give him The Look. You know, the one that says "pretty, pretty please" while I'm batting my eyelashes, as well as "I'm going to go with or without you, so you might as well just agree." That look. Eventually we hop in a cab and head back to the location that I've narrowed down and we find the umbrellas. I think I missed my calling as an investigator. Oh well. This moment made me as happy as I would have been had I received a pony all the countless times I asked for one as a child.
There were probably about two dozen or so umbrellas hanging from balconies. They were mostly all colors, with different shapes and patterns spray painted on them. Lovely, just lovely and unique and artistic. I took as many pictures as possible, although I don't really think any of them did it true justice.
After that we continued on down the sidewalk where I saw different chalk drawings on the cement, a fenced in weedy area where there were metal sculptures of a man, women, and a couple, and Nora the Explorer dolls in a tree. Interesting? Yes. Awesome? Absolutely. We kept going and came upon all kinds of graffiti art and more cement chalk art and the one picture I found on Google, which is apparently popular already. I honestly don't know anything about Alphabet City, but to me it's a magical place where artists go to showcase their work. I loved it.
For those of you interested in going, I highly recommend checking it out. Who knows what will be there when you go!
It all started with a Waldorf Astoria hotel card I found years ago, one of the electric key card types. It was beautiful and elegant and seeing the card alone made me know I had to visit the world famous hotel sometime in my life. Very often the things that make me want to go someplace are small and inconsequential to most people, but stand out considerably to me. This is how most vacation locations are chosen.
From what I'm told, normally one night at the Waldorf will set you back considerably and since I am not secretly Paris Hilton, that was never really an option for me. In fact, I never stay at nice hotels. I don't do the hostel scene, but I do as close to that as possible most everywhere I go. Not this time though. Whether it be due to the economy or other circumstances, the prices now are in the more affordable range, (actually very affordable considering where you're staying) so I decided it was time to spend a weekend there.
The Waldorf is an amazing place. There is so much packed in there that on more than one occasion I got lost exploring it's vast hallways and floors. The Silver Corridor, in particular, was my favorite. A long hall filled with chandeliers and mirrors. There's also a museum section on the lobby floor, where you could see the history of the Waldorf, and on the night we checked in they were filming a movie at one of the restaurants.
Forget all of that though. What I loved were the pillows. Yes, the pillows. They were like magical fluff clouds from heaven. I don't know where one would purchase such pillows, but if I did I would have bought a dozen of them already and have created a pillow sanctuary in my home.
Justin and I did all of the touristy type things while we were there. We went to Times Square where we met a gentleman named Toast who wanted to sell us tickets to a comedy show. We were already planning on going so it was an easy sell, but the conversation with him all in itself was worth the purchase. I had never received so many compliments and threats in one conversation. Not real threats, but ones that included things such as "If you don't buy these tickets right now I'm going to bite your fine ass." Actually, he said some things along with that, that were far more inappropriate, which is why I can't even write it here. I was simultaneously flattered and terrified.
We went to Bloomingdale's, SoHo, NoHo, China Town, and Ground Zero. Ground Zero is much larger in real life and it hits home a little harder. We walked Central Park, attempted to go walk the Statue of Liberty, but opted for viewing it from a distance since the line was extra-specially long on our Memorial Day Weekend. We rode the Subway, took some cab rides, and talked to a lot of strangers who had moved to NY from various parts of Europe. Like our coach guy, Martin, who was from Ireland and a nice street vendor who was from Spain and was studying law at NYU. Even Ziggy, our hotel waiter, who was from Germany and told us all about NY and what it was like to work at the hotel.
 |
| View from the Top of the Rock Photo Credit: Melia Metikos 2011 |
Mostly we walked and saw so much that I was pretty sure I would never be able to walk again. I am a very determined traveler and by that I mean that I want to see everything (EVERYTHING) and I will find a way to do so, somehow. In my world, there is no A or B option. There is a C, D, W, X, and Y as well. I'll find a way to make it all work.
We dug into the local cuisine as well. I don't limit myself to what I should and should not eat when I travel. Food is half the fun, it's part of experiencing the culture. It's one thing to get something you could at home, but it's a whole other thing to try authentic NYC pizza or have a freshly made macaron from the Macaron Cafe. Food is as much a part of the place as the place itself and there's no room for regrets in my travel book, so I go for it. Plus, where am I going to find a spinach salad for breakfast? Nowhere, so no need to kill myself trying. A healthy and happy life is all about balance.
Anyway, at one point when we were in a cab, we passed a building that appeared to be covered in umbrellas. Umbrella's that were calling my name for a closer look. We get to China Town, head into a little restaurant, and sit down. This entire time I've been plotting how to convince Justin to go back to where we just came from, especially since I don't really know where it was. In addition to that, some of it looked a little sketchy. That doesn't bother me though. I tend to insanely believe that somewhere deep down my martial arts skills from high school will come back out, when needed, and I will be able to Walker Texas Ranger just about anyone if I really have to.
I pose the idea to him and I get a "no way" answer. We're both tired and again, I don't actually know where it is except for one sign I saw. I'm not a quitter though. I am equal parts stubborn and patient, and that combination alone means trouble. Also, I will regret it immensely if I don't go back so I then proceed to Google everything having to do with street art and umbrellas hanging from the side of a building in NYC. I find a lot of weird things, but stumble upon a picture of one of the graffiti paintings I saw and wham! I know where we need to go...mostly, anyway. I then give him The Look. You know, the one that says "pretty, pretty please" while I'm batting my eyelashes, as well as "I'm going to go with or without you, so you might as well just agree." That look. Eventually we hop in a cab and head back to the location that I've narrowed down and we find the umbrellas. I think I missed my calling as an investigator. Oh well. This moment made me as happy as I would have been had I received a pony all the countless times I asked for one as a child.
 |
| Photo Credit: Melia Metikos 2011 |
After that we continued on down the sidewalk where I saw different chalk drawings on the cement, a fenced in weedy area where there were metal sculptures of a man, women, and a couple, and Nora the Explorer dolls in a tree. Interesting? Yes. Awesome? Absolutely. We kept going and came upon all kinds of graffiti art and more cement chalk art and the one picture I found on Google, which is apparently popular already. I honestly don't know anything about Alphabet City, but to me it's a magical place where artists go to showcase their work. I loved it.
For those of you interested in going, I highly recommend checking it out. Who knows what will be there when you go!
 |
| The graffiti that lead me to my umbrellas. Photo Credit: Melia Metikos 2011 |
Do you have a favorite place in NYC? Or a city you dream of visiting?
Related Posts
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
I Know How it Feels to Scream
This will tie into an upcoming Kindness blog.
I Know How It Feels To Scream
I Know How It Feels To Scream
I know how it feels to scream
Yet silently be suffering
To all the world, appear unseen
I know how it feels to scream
I remember darker days
A colder me that lost my way
When shadows hung on everyday
I remember darker days
I recall my rusted wheel
I couldn’t move, I couldn’t heal
I very often couldn’t feel
I recall my rusted wheel
I’ve been in the gap of life
When I no longer cared to fight
When giving up was pure delight
I’ve been in the gap of life
I thought all I knew was fake
So every time I tried, I’d break
With every crack, I dug my grave
I thought all I knew was fake
I prayed for light and brighter days
I asked for shelter from my pain
I asked for lessons, and they came
I prayed for light and brighter days
I broke free from being lost
I suffered for a selfish cause
When asked for more, I paid the cost
But I broke free from being lost
I know what I see is real
The things I cant explain, I feel
The things I cannot change will heal
I know what I see is real
I’m still waiting for my heart
To grow and beat and mend it’s part
To once again know where it starts
I’m still waiting for my heart
I’m not giving up my fight
I’m stronger after each dark night
I’ve found my reason, know it’s right
I’m not giving up my fight
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