Reflections

The How’s & Why’s

Last Sunday I spent time with my grandchildren, as I do every Sunday. My 2 year old grandaughter has entered the “why” phase of her development, engaging in rather lengthy conversations (for a 2 year old) where every “answer” prompts another “why?”… Personally, I love this phase, as I have spent a lifetime learning “why’s” and am always eager to share what I’ve learned. So I was happy to indulge her curiosity, remembering fondly her mother’s “why” time, and even much of mine…

My daughter, overhearing our conversation, thought to apologize. I laughed, telling her what I just told you, and she had a curious response. She pointed out that my grandson (now 7) never really went through that phase…

That got me thinking… (uh oh!)

And I realized that they are two very different kinds of people, my grandchildren. (Duh!) But, seriously, I think they may represent very different groups of people currently living in our society – the How’s and the Why’s…

How people are thinkers, builders, problem-solvers and creators; they want to know how things work, and then they use that information to create new things and ways of doing things. I’ve often said my grandson has an “engineering” bias, fascinated as he is by discovering how things work, and resistant to imaginative play. He wants to build things. And when I try to play make-believe with him, he always calls me out on fantasy projections, telling me how “that’s not real!” When I encourage him to pretend, the best he can do is take known facts and cobble them together into outlandish possibilities. Like he explained how he would build a time machine, not in terms of how it would actually traverse time or when he would travel to, but in terms of the door, the shape of the vessel, the materials needed, the types and numbers of dials and buttons. All very precise, while still being pure imagination…

He also happens to be exceptional at math, science, music and karate (having won first place at his tournament this week). And yes, that is a shameless plug…

My grandaughter, however, spends much of her awake time in imaginative play, happily conversing with her stuffed animals or the friends that only she can see. She also shares a love of nature with me (and her mother) that her brother does not feel in the same way. (The first time we took them on a walk through the forest to see the fairy houses, my grandaughter was entranced while my grandson was bored, except for when we got wondering if trolls were “real” or not.)

Why people seek purpose, meaning, understanding. They tend to be naturally empathic, as if carrying within themselves some basic concept of unity. (The first time she “met” a tree in person, she ran up to hug it with her baby arms. She also talks quite coherently now to plants and animals, with absolutely no fear of any animal she’s ever seen.) They look for ways to bridge problems and obstacles, seeking through similarity, metaphor and analogy another way around or over. They are the “big picture” people.

A couple decades ago, I would have classified them as left and right-brain biased, and I wouldn’t have been “wrong.” But those descriptions no longer seem adequate, as both children are exceptional problem-solvers (requiring both creativity and critical thinking), but each approaches those “problems” differently; my grandson wants to “fix” them, while my grandaughter wants to “understand” them. But together, they are pure genius! My grandaughter (the instigator) comes up with a purely “imaginative” goal, and my grandson immediately applies himself to creating the means to achieve it…

I suppose there are also Who and Which people, as well. The Who’s would be the community builders, the networkers, the connectors, figuring out who should be paired with whom to get the most productive results. And the Which’s then would be the decision makers, the organizers, the “leaders” if you will; their ability to rapidly compare and contrast multiple scenarios on the fly makes them ideal for that role…

And I think the When’s and Where’s are accounted for by the actual environment in which all of us have gathered. This is, after all, a 3 dimensional world of Time and Space…

Not sure why any of this is significant right now, except that it relates to a conversation I once had with my “teachers” about the different factors at play in “reality,” and their function in creating it. And since we clearly need a new perspective on reality (and by “we” I mean “all of me”), perhaps it’s time to revisit these concepts.

Hmm… Maybe my grandaughter will know why it’s important, and my grandson can figure out how to use this information. I’ll have to ask them this weekend… ;D

Advertisements
Standard
Poetry

And so the rains came…

finally…

heavy and constant…

on a dark and gloomy day.

My mind rejoices at the welcome weather,

while my heart yearns to curl up in shadow

and wile away the day.

Seeking fantasy…

or memory…

or something new entirely.

On a day when tears can easily hide

disguised…

by all that water in the skies.

Standard
Reflections

Wordy, wordy… the Message in the Medium…

I use too many words to express how I feel, to say what I mean, to get my point across…  If you follow me at all regularly, you know this.  I often meander way off track to get to where I’m going, taking the scenic path through unnecessary landscapes, just to prolong the journey.  I know this about myself.  I’ve heard it all my life.  It’s one of the reasons I’d never make it as a published writer, because I refuse to let those extra words go, and I will not allow my message to be biased by arbitrary (even if well-reasoned) word count limits…

So to be told by someone that I “sure take a round about way to make a simple statement” shouldn’t “hurt,” right?  But it does…  It feels like a rebuke.  Because it is one.  It also happens to be true!

My response?  Immediately shut up while silently going on the defensive…

[But I love words!  I want to use them…]

[So what?  No one is requiring you to hear me out…  I’m just making conversation, after all.]

[Sorry… My bad…]

And then I retire with my cup of coffee to mull it over…  And over…  And over again… [Just to be sure, you understand…?*]…

(* note where the comma is placed; it’s important.)

And then I ask myself, “what does it matter?”  If this is who I am (and I like that), what difference does it make?  People are free to walk away any time.  Why should this even bother me?

But it does…  Which tells me something more than mere words is happening here; some truth is trying to reveal itself to me.  So let’s chew on this some more…

Why do I need so many words to express my self?  [Oh, is there an extra space there, dividing the word “myself”?  ;)]  Why can’t I be content just saying what I mean?  Why does almost every direct statement feel incomplete?

Is it just my ego revelling in the sound of my own voice?  Is it my insecurity attempting to hold someone’s attention, now that they’re finally listening to me?  Or is there something more going on with Me? [Yes, that capital “M” was intended; it’s not a typo.]

The truth is all those “extra” words serve a purpose in the end.  They provide background, context, for what the words are “supposed” to mean, at this time, in this place… all relative, you see…?  They provide history (how I got to the point I’m trying to make), and connotative context (how and why I feel about what I’m about to say).  But mostly, all those extra syllables are there to illustrate the complexity and design behind simple statements, to show how Truth cuts through dimensional barriers, existing every where, every time, simultaneously, without contradiction.  That fact never ceases to create a sense of awe and wonder in me, and it is the closest thing (I’ve ever experienced) to the feeling known as “faith.”

I, personally, have never “trusted” an outsider to “take care of me.”  I’ve never believed that any human, god or cosmic plan existed with my best interests at heart, even in the best of times.  I’ve always waited for the other shoe to drop – the expectation, the exhortation, the exploitation…  It always comes…  Eventually.

And maybe that’s just the way life is done – an exchange of energy essential to keep things moving along.  Too much flowing in one direction creates an imbalance, requires correction.  Nature abhors a vacuum, right?

So… who’s to say all these extra words are not necessary after all?  If only in the way they hold the space, preventing any lesser truth (or greater falsehood) from sneaking in behind to fill the void.  So much left unsaid when word counts start to matter.  So much left open to interpret, outside my purposeful intent.  Yes, indeed, there are times for that.  But that’s what poetry is for…

And when carefully constructed poetry (or random intuitive ramblings) draw forth too literal responses (“what a lovely picture you paint with your words!”), however well-meaning and sincere…  Well, let’s just chalk that up to the Failed column, with so many other wasted words, because [clearly!] you didn’t get my point at all…

*** deep sigh ***

Words are easy… Communication is not.

Standard
Reflections

Dual Perspective…

One foot in one timeline, the other in an’Other, seeing the world(s) we live in from two (radically different) perspectives.  This brings a whole new definition to dual perspective for me, as each takes turns chiding and overriding the other’s assessment of things…

One a teenager in 1991 Colorado, the other a middle aged adult in 2018 New York, they are driven by different needs, goals, obsessions and desires.  But both are strong and vocal.  Both see the “truth” of their time.  And neither is giving up ground…

What is the point of this interaction?  This intense distraction?  To learn from each other, no doubt, but to learn what?  Exactly?  Because the experience, itself, is disorienting and frustrating, leading to unnecessary trip-ups and stupid mistakes, often leading to real consequences in both time lines.  And the dream…?

A dream of one timeline “draining” and absorbing the other?  To what end, and with what consequence?  Does one cease to exist altogether?  Or do both?  Or are they simply crippled in their own times, unable to act with any reasonable force, torn apart by wavering beliefs and uncertain decisions?

Hmm…

What happens when reality itself becomes two faced?  When perspective becomes nothing more than that – perspective?  When duality itself becomes unified, inseparably bound and unable to tear itself apart, to examine its component parts?  When neither “side” holds sway over the other, and cannot convince the Other to see things differently?

Dual perspective… a lesson in transcending dichotomy?  A blueprint for peace in both timelines?

Hmm…

Standard
Poetry, Reflections, Visions

“Convergence…” (From the Book of Other)

I offer this post to Sha’Tara, in explanation, as an example of, the kinds of entries I might discover in the Book of Other.  I found it in my draft folder here, where there are currently some 22 unpublished posts.  It was “dated” June of last year, a useful bit of information made possible by the medium itself…

But, like so many such entries, I don’t “remember” writing it, though I clearly recognize it as “mine.”  The word choice, metaphors, the rhythym itself, all sound like “me,” but the memory of writing it is gone.  The tone, itself – light-hearted and whimsical – sounds like a different “me” entirely, which it most likely was.  I was clearly reaching out across the timelines, attempting to communicate with my Others, and I was describing the same Center Space as in my previous post.  The Crossroads is another frequent metaphor for describing the place, one favored by a different version of self…

And it is encounters like this that explain why the “powers that be” chose to label me schizophrenic in the first place. Lol!  And perhaps they were not wrong, after all…

 

Standing at the crossroads

waiting…

not expecting or anticipating…

but waiting nonetheless.

And here they come, like happy children

skipping down the paths toward me…

ideas…

thoughts and feelings gathering here…

to be incorporated into the family tree.

They come in waves, and crowded rushes

and some arrive individually…

all related…

and connected to the Whole that is Me.

Are they merely thoughts and feelings?

Transitory and epheme?

Or something more compelling?

Real…

Comprising parts of me…?

The cells of my body

speaking to me…

of individuality…

of interconnectivity and healing…

Much work left to do here,

before we are free to leave.

Gathering the missing pieces

memories…

of things not yet in play…

Converging in this place of peace…

Emerging in every breath I take.

And so I speak, and pay no heed

to whether or not

anyone else is even listening.

Standard
Reflections

Notes to “self” (including all Other selves choosing to read them as well)…

Crawling forward on bloody hands and bruised knees, I fall inward through the door to Center Space again.  It is all I can do to just breathe once more, safely reaching this Timeless haven…

“Whew!  That was a rough trip ’round this time,” I vocalize aloud.

I understand the necessity for going out there, and the limitations imposed by doing so, but sometimes…  I don’t know…  sometimes it’s good just to get home again…

I peer out the windows at the other loops visible from here, checking in on what might be happening in places where my consciousness has not been, then settle in to rest a while, recuperate, and consider what this latest effort has taught me.

From here I can see it All, but I can do nothing to affect it.  I must leave this sanctuary and travel the loops of Time, if I would act at all.  But out there I am so limited (and vulnerable), restricted to what lies before and behind me, in rigid order, with real consequences.  Useful for short jaunts, but always heavy with the risk of getting lost, of forgetting this Timeless place where experience can be transfigured into Knowledge.  Had it not been for the whales guiding me with their Song, I might not have made it back this time at all…

So…  what did I learn on my latest adventure into the trenches of 21st century America?

Reaching for my journal, I begin to write…

I think the Paradoxes I encountered this time around really threw me off balance, for I could not reconcile them out there.  That, in itself, was unusual, but the consequences of not being able to were devastating to both my psyche and my soul…

There was the web, for example.  It was the trees who taught me of the “underlying” community, the root structure that supports Life and Otherhood.  And perhaps it was their long sleep, leaving me without the wisdom they had so easily shared, that left me vulnerable and unaware of the changes taking place.  But as the roots awaken, and the sap begins to flow, two things have become clear to me, though explanation still escapes my troubled heart…

First, the web beneath my feet feels stronger than it ever has, but the world I interact with seems shakier and less certain than ever before.  If the web is strengthening, should we not be seeing positive results in the world around us?  Or has it truly all been for naught?  Must we accept that Life cannot survive all the damage we have done, or are my senses merely reeling under the assault of evil so blatantly exposed abroad?

Second, the non-human beings entwined in the web seem to be connecting on a deeper, more productive level.  Will they do away with predation as a way of life?  I think probably not, as sacrifice has always been a choice that some will make, and what lesson can be learned if no one/thing accepts said sacrifice?

But what is worth noting is that the boundaries between non-human species seem to be fading.  They are much more willing to accept, support, and live together in peaceful communities.  A living example for humans to follow, or a necessary survival instinct?  I do not know…

Also worth noting is the willingness of non-human beings to interact with humanity these days.  Are they reaching out in an effort to save themselves, or are they merely demonstrating what is possible when we choose to work together?  I admit struggling to “understand” their speech, but there is no mistaking their support, their generosity, and their courage in reaching out to those of us responsible for so much destruction in their world…

I also had the good fortune this time around to meet some non-humans who chose to wear human forms.  The Fey, in particular, nature spirits of many kinds, have chosen to live among us humans, as humans!  It’s fascinating to meet them, for they remember some of what they are within, especially when they are young.  To encounter them, to see that familiar spark in ancient eyes looking out from such young faces, to feel the joy of Life restricted by a very human body in a depressingly human society… well, it was both awe-inspiring and debilitating at the same time.  To want to protect them, while not wanting to interfere with their purpose here was quite the conundrum for me…

It’s almost as if all of the Earth’s true beings were reaching out to help us humans in our time of crisis, and yet we still have not made significant progress toward joining them!  Which is not to deny the work and effort of many individual people out there.  There are many doing their part to rectify things.  But none of it seems to be enough…

Laying down my journal, I allow my thoughts to drift, pondering these observations and their significance.  Lazily I let my eyes wander, looking out the windows, and wondering what my Others may be experiencing out there.  I consider heading out again, but in a totally different direction, needing to experience something a little less oppressive than where (or when) I’ve been…

“Not yet, I think,” I answer myself.  “I need to recover first.  I lost too much on this last venture, I hurt too much to want to rush back out again.  I think I’d rather read a while, catch up on others’ stories, and see what I can learn…”

And so, reaching for the journal once more, I flip back through the pages to see what entries I might have missed…

 

Standard
Poetry, Reflections, Visions

Tangled threads…

Sitting at the Loom of Fate,

weaving a destiny I choose to create,

I notice…

Old threads are coming loose, fraying,

unravelling the past I built.

I reach over, hoping to minimize the loss

but the holes are already forming

the damage done by time, man or moth.

Or all of the above…

So I refocus on today, and what’s ahead,

the pattern sweet and true,

only to discover knots in both the red thread and the blue.

Sighing deeply, frustration raging,

I calm my spirit, and focus my mind.

“I can fix this,” I tell myself,

“just take it one thread at a time.”

And so begins the process of detangling tiny threads,

ever so gently teasing the knots apart,

so as not to weaken them.

But my eyes grow tired with the task,

and my hands begin to cramp…

I wonder if I can weave them in,

without ruining the final product.

“That would be cheating,” I tell myself,

“and lazy, too…

“Is that how you want the future to remember you?”

So I sit back to take a break

and another thought occurs…

“What happens if I just walk away?

“Right now, without delay?

“Will anyone notice?  Does anyone care,

“if I never finish weaving my own fate?”

With the past unravelling,

and the future unwoven,

now might be the perfect time to quit.

Let obscurity claim my name,

and simply clean my slate.

And I will never have existed,

apart from All-That-Is;

I will not have lived or died

or suffered, endured, triumphed or lost.

Ever…

once the remnants have dissolved.

Hmm…

So tempting is that thought…

I turn back to my tangled threads

as I contemplate the cost…

Standard