SYNCHRONICITY

The library held silence, like miniature snow globes hold fake winter snowstorms. People moved through vast book shelves that extended from ceiling to floor with hundreds upon hundreds of books.  Joseph lounged at a wooden table, which faced the main entryway into the building and stared at his book, some mystery or other, though his eyes flitted from page to door every few seconds.

A woman with short brunette hair and skinny pants that hugged every curve, with a long grey-green shoulder bag that slapped her left thigh, walked in.  Joseph caught the glint of her movement, and his eyes fastened on her.  His spine stiffened straight, and his book lulled, half-hazard, in his hands.  The woman dropped two books in the return book chute and sauntered off to the historical section.

Joseph tracked her with his eyes until she disappeared then with discreet and deliberate movement pushed his metal chair back and stood.  He maneuvered down a parallel aisle, scanning each intersection of shelving, and located her two rows from the end in a desolate part of the library, where scholars and hard-core researchers only dared to frequent.

She stood, with her shoulders somewhat hunched and her hip slanted out, as her left foot rested on tiptoe.  She perused a large black book and hummed a tune under her breath.  He remained quiet at the end of the row, studying her, and fingered something in his right jacket pocket.

"Excuse me.  Can I help you find something?"

Joseph swiveled round to where a young boy of seventeen stared at him, with arched eyebrows and an open expression on his face.

"No thanks," Joseph said and turned his back to the boy.  He moved into the row where the woman still lingered, uninterrupted, and picked up a book at random.  "I've found what I'm looking for," he said and flashed his inquirer a grin laden with white teeth.

The boy's eyes squinted and glanced toward the woman at the far end and then back to Joseph.  "Well, let me know if you need any help."

"Sure will," Joseph said.  He shifted his feet under the boy's gaze and bored his nose further into the book he held.

The boy resumed his delivery of the returned books residing on his library cart, and Joseph set his eyes on the woman again, though she no longer stood where he left her.  He cursed and slammed the book back into its slot.

No revision here

What is a day but a day filled with moments, several, hundreds, thousands.  Moments to feel and taste and experience and hide from and fight and revel in.  I wipe my desk with a cloth, a colorful cloth with flowers and circles, and seek my moment, to feel it and wonder if this is the moment where something comes to me to write.  And it does like the rising of the sun in the morning, to bask me in words and feeling and memory and desire of what could possibly be.  I move into it and sit and write to you and no one at the same time.  Because, really, it doesn't matter who I write to just as long as I write.  It doesn't even necessarily matter if I make sense or wrench truth from my soul or anything just as long as I pull and let go and see what needs to be seen. 

And so I write, whether halting or flowing, I write.

Giant's Hammering Nails

Miss Lily woke with sunlight in her eyes and rain drops on her fingertips.  Bladed grass grazed her temples and a lump of dirt lodged itself between her second and third rib on her backside.  She sputtered a moment with the rain filling her mouth as she tried to breath, and she rolled on to her side and coughed.  The grass was a light green, fresh and new with spring, and a small, black beetle scurried up one grass blade toward the sunlight that shimmered in the rain.  She coughed again and then breath came sweet and with ease and she wondered why she laid on this grass with the sun-rain coming down.

She last remembered her home, with the windows wide open where a rustling breeze had blown in and stirred her papers on her desk.  She had been writing a story for her sister who laid still in bed.  A story about a girl who had long yellow pigtails and ate butterflies with toothpicks and liked to call angels fart-mouths.  The little girl wore purple and brown with pink polka-dots and had a dog named Larry.

The rain stopped now and the sun shone brighter and more heat radiated from its rays.  She rolled on her back and closed her eyes.  For some reason she wasn't eager to rise, to find out why she laid on spring grass with beetles walking. 

Miss Mary, her sister, wore a frown and played no more.  No, Miss Mary didn't have a chance of coming home or laying on grass with beetles.  But Miss Lily could lay here for her and sing tiny songs like fairies and pretend she had wings and could fly.  Fly, fly, fly away from here.


"Miss Lily, where are you?"

She opened her eyes and laid still like a fallen stick.  She knew the voice that called her, a kind voice from an evil woman.  The woman who hurt Miss Mary and wanted to hurt her.  Is that why she laid here, out of the house, far into the woods in a hidden meadow?

"Lily!  You show yourself right now!"  The woman shrieked and screamed, guttural like a wild wolf.

Miss Lily shivered and curled into a ball like the rollie-pollies her and Miss Mary liked to find in the dirt.  I could be a rollie-pollie, she thought.  I could scamper away on all my legs and live in the dirt and be free.  Miss Mary would want me to be free.

"Rollie-Pollie, Rollie-Pollie, I am you, you are me, we are free.  Rollie-Pollie, Rollie-Pollie, I am you, you are me, we are free," she said under her breath with her lips against the ground, again and again.

The evil woman's footsteps came louder and louder like giant's hammering nails and then she stood above her with hands on hips and cheeks red from movement.

"Lily, where are you?"

Miss Lily stayed ever so quiet.  She held her breath and knew the woman would see her at any moment, had to, for she laid at her feet, inches from the woman's boots.

But she didn't see her. 

The woman left, huffy and puffy, with hands still on her hips, shaking her head and yelling.  Why hadn't she seen her?  She was right here, in the bright sun.

She stared at her own hands which weren't hands any longer.  Rollie-Pollie she was and would be and so she was free.

A little joy, a little love, and a light heart

Sometimes I wonder what the hell I am doing.  Where am I going?

I'm sure most of us do.  I don't receive an answer, one I can put in my back pocket and take to the bank.  I receive more of a shrug of the shoulders and a mmmmm feeling and then I move on with what's in front of me.  For some reason I'm somewhat satisfied with the shrug and mmmmm feeling, at least for most of my days, and then I have days where my life settles deep and hard down into my bones and it feels like I could suffocate if I breathed too much.  Is this it?  Is this where the train stopped and I got off because I don't remember agreeing to this.  Can I trade my ticket in for another one, maybe one with a bit more financial security and a lot more free time?  Do those type of tickets even exist?

And then without much thought, I shrug and have the mmmmm feeling and move on with what's in front of me, somewhat content, with a little joy and a little love and a light heart. 

The outcomes of my life are not my main focus but the steps in between the outcomes are, where I show up on a daily basis and experience my life.  Regardless of monetary wealth or my ability to give myself all my "wants" I get exactly what I need at any given moment. 

Like last night, there is something sweet about popping popcorn and snuggling up on the couch with my boys and watching a movie, especially after a full day of being productive, taking care of life even though it didn't feel like it was taking care of me in the way I wanted.  My perception of what is can delude me at times into believing there's a conspiracy and it's all about me - I'm going to get the shaft and it will never get different.  I have found my delusions are never accurate. 

My delusions are filled with fear.  This fear manifests into various forms of destructive thought and action.  If I act upon deluded thoughts, I have the profound potential to completely change the overall structure and well-being of my entire existence and usually not for the best.

While doing some reading the other day I came across a quote, "pain is inevitable but suffering is not."  This tells me I will experience difficult and painful things in my life but the suffering because of it is optional.  I can choose how I want to respond to situations and difficulties today.  Difficult and painful situations are facts.  My suffering is an extension of delusion because suffering is not based on fact but a distorted form of it with various embellishments.  Suffering is not just feeling my feelings but a theatrical presentation of my feelings.

Take for example, the uncomfortable financial situation my family and I find ourselves in.  There's a part of me that wants to wallow in this, literally saturate myself with the unfairness of it all. 

Wallowing in my perceived unfairness, as if I'm so unique and better than others I should never experience anything uncomfortable or painful, doesn't get me anywhere.  I compound my difficulty by adding dramatic "woe is me" attitude to it.  By not wallowing in it, accepting it as a fact - yes, I have no money except for bills, food, and gas - I free myself from suffering.  This doesn't mean I won't have feelings - sadness, fear, anger, frustration, etc.  My suffering stems not from the feelings themselves but what I choose to do with the feelings when they come.

I begin by remembering where I'm at, physically in this moment.  I look at my hands before me and see where they lay and then I try to feel what they are feeling.  What are they touching?  What does that feel like against my fingertips, my palms?  Is it hot, cold, warm, smooth, textured?  This helps me to come back to my body.  My body is literally in this moment.  My mind, when emblazoned with fear, is not here.  It is in the future consumed with the fear of what's to come or what's not to come.

When I can feel what my body is doing right now I can bring my mind in alignment with my body.  Once my mind is here, I have to act quick because it wants to jump out ahead of me again and get lost in the future.  I ask myself basic questions.  Do I have shelter today?  Not tomorrow, only today.  Do I have food today?  Do I have gas in my car today?  What do I have in my life today?  Oh, well let's see, I have shelter, food, gas in my car, love in my life, friends and family, my house is warm, my telephone works.  Can I go out and buy new clothes?  No, but do I have clothes to wear?  Why yes, I do.

This helps me to be here in this moment and cultivate gratitude.  Do I want things to be different?  Sure I do.  But it's not different in this moment.  It is what it is and I have my basic needs met.  Are there things I can do to help my situation?  Sure, I have a list of things, and I'm working on them.  But in the meantime, while I work on things to help my situation, I practice staying with my body and having gratitude for this moment, that all my basic needs are met and I have love in my life today.

So I shrug my shoulders and have the mmmmm feeling and move on with what's in front of me, somewhat content, with a little joy and a little love and a light heart.

All with a little courtesy

Frequently, I hear my two small boys tell me all kinds of reasons why they need to punch each other or trip each other or take each others toys.  It's always the other one's fault and there was no discussing it because the other one should have known.  Mind reading is what I assume they are talking about.

I used to think similarly.  It was always your fault and if you loved me enough or liked me enough or even just knew me for more than three seconds you should know what I need, think, and feel.  I never communicated any of this with anyone because, obviously, it wasn't needed because you were a mind reader or at least you should be and if you weren't, there was something lacking in you, not me.

I've learned otherwise, gratefully.

I have found regardless of how much fault is yours, I have my own which is where my responsibility lies, the only thing I can truly change, and you are not a mind reader because neither am I.  If I want you to know my needs, thoughts, and feelings, I have to communicate them to you.  Imagine.

Another thing I've learned, which is extremely beneficial, is it is helpful if I communicate with courtesy.  I have a much easier time of it.

For example, both children come to me with alligator tears and loud explanations on why it's brothers fault.  I listen and then ask simple questions.  They don't like my simple questions because they want to tell me their sad stories with all the right dramatics and convince me of their unfortunate lot in life.  I'm more about getting the facts of the situation and setting the emotions to the side for the moment.  Emotions are important - they need to be felt and known, but they can also be misleading, primarily because they are personal to the person feeling them, they are bias by nature.  Emotions will never give me the full picture.  I need the facts, to be informed, how else can I make an informed decision?

The boys do give me the facts, haltingly of course, because they already know what they've done and know the truth.  They just don't want to see it because they want what they want.  And then we talk about what could have been done differently, mostly communicating with one another with courtesy, of course.  I remind them they are learning and they'll get it, it just takes practice.  I even admit I am still learning, practicing how to "play well with others" because sometimes I don't want to.  Because, sometimes, I just want what I want too.  We smile and laugh about it and move on, practicing our new tools we picked up which we'll set down later to pick up again.

For me to communicate with others, especially with courtesy, I have to set aside what I "want" and be willing to listen, to weigh and consider, to respect the interchange of two people having a discussion.  I have to be honest with myself, which is a whole other topic for another day, and know what I need not just what I want.  I've learned I don't have the right to be mad when someone doesn't accommodate my request, if I've made one.  Their answer is only information after all.  I always have other choices to look at, a plan B to implement.  Where I can get stuck is in not wanting to look at my other choices because the other choices are uncomfortable or scary and it would be easier if the other person would just change or do it differently, so I wouldn't have to.

I figured out several years ago, gratefully with the help of some good friends, I had nothing to lose by trying new communication skills, so I tried them, and low and behold they worked.  I used to try and convince others of my plans for their lives or how they needed to present themselves to me in my life, and I always had a heck of a time with it.  I wanted good relationships with others, to be understood, to be listened to, to be loved by someone I loved, to be honored.  I rarely, if ever, received such blessings.  And why would I?  I wasn't willing to give the same back.  I really didn't want to understand anyone else, but I sure wanted them to understand me.  I really didn't want to listen to someone else or to honor them, but I sure wanted what I obviously couldn't give.

And love?  Did I ever really love anyone?

I did to the extent that I could, but I could never move deeper or stick with it because I was too busy squeezing the life out of it with my death grip because I was certain they would leave me for some reason or another.

My answer was the opposite of what my fear told me.

I needed to give what I so desperately wanted, and I needed to give it without demand.  And the first person I had to begin with was me.  I had to honor myself, to love myself - truly love myself - and then I could give something worth giving.  A paradox of sorts and one where there is a fine line between self-respect and self-indulgence and yet the answer is there if I'm honest.  Honesty is not an easy word or an easy concept to live by, but it's real and it's worth it.

If I create an environment within myself where I can grow and love and be myself, I can take that out into the world and give it to others.  I can communicate with courtesy because I'm not consumed with fear: fear of what you think of me, fear of what might happen, fear of never being loved, fear of being inadequate, fear of being unlovable.  To grow and love and be myself requires me to be honest with myself, to know myself as I am and be accepting of that and be willing to move toward what I could and can always be.

My boys still battle things out sometimes but in the middle I've heard them work it out, communicate with courtesy, mend their own damage, and move on with one another with laughter and joy.  Their ability to communicate with each other began with me communicating with them which began with someone communicating with me, all with a little courtesy.