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Thursday, March 18, 2021

 

Arbor Lights

Enthusiasm in ancient Greece meant “Filled with God.” 

I love that.

We heard something from our President the other day that we haven’t heard for a long time. That was optimism. 

Those concepts, enthusiasm, and optimism have been sadly lacking in our beautiful world for a time. 

With the coming of spring, though, comes hope and new life, and I see the joy of living springing forth from sticks that looked dead during the winter.

It’s incredible, isn’t it, how after being dormant during a cold spell, they can spring to life?

“We can take a lesson from plants. Hope is coming. 

The Magnolia tree is laden with flowers. The evergreen Clematis on the arbor has more buds and flowers than leaves. How do they do it? Life wants to live, and so do we. And we want to live beyond survival level. We want to live abundantly. 

I do not want to diminish the suffering people have endured or the worry plaguing them; I want to look ahead to a brighter day.  

I think we’re like passengers on a just landed jet plane who breathe a sigh of relief when they safely reach  their destination. I bet even people who feel quite comfortable flying are a bit relieved to have wheels on the ground.

It’s time, though, don’t you think, for us to be “Filled with God” and to remember that child within us who longed for a secret adventure.

Remember when we were kids and we laughed for no reason? 

Those who are filled with that enthusiasm–filled with God–do not harm people, animals, nor soil their bed, which is mother earth.  

I visited the farm store the other day and stopped to look at baby chicks. I’ve been wondering if I wanted to begin again with chicklets. I have two hens that are laying sporadically. They came to live with us as adults, so I don’t know their age, and elderly hens stop laying eventually. 

I asked if they would be getting Americanas, now called Easter egg chickens because they lay beautiful seafoam green or blue eggs. Chickadee, my Margaretta drinking, french-fries eating chicken was an Americana.

Friday, said the farm store lady said. The chicks would be coming in on Friday—that’s tomorrow. The chicks will be three days old. I wonder if I can be as lucky as I was last time when I got three little pullets. Roosters annoy the neighbors and don’t give any eggs. They might provide us with more chickens, though.

I’m debating. We’ll see tomorrow. 

Babies give us the belief that the Universe will continue.


Friday, March 12, 2021

Words, Words All over the Place


Whoops, I dropped some into my coffee.

 

Have you ever had someone ask you a question, and you tried to answer, but about two sentences in, their attention wandered off, and you were left feeling that you were the stupidest person on the planet?

You think, well, I’m not emoting enough. I should be more dramatic. I don’t have the right words. I’m boring.

No! The person is self-centered.

Last night my daughter told me of such an experience she had with an elderly lady. I reassured her that while it might be excusable with an old person, it’s not justifiable with someone will all their facilities. My daughter is a precise person and not overly talkative.

I’ve had such an experience, and that was after I had listened to them tell the same story about five times.

Although I fear for my words on paper sometimes, for I want my writing to be fun or exciting, or informative, and know they can fall short. Still, I keep keeping on.

You keep on keeping on, too—whatever your calling is.

Keep doing it, for you’ll get better with the doing of it. That’s what practice does for a person.

But don’t keep doing the same old stuff.

If a pianist kept practicing the same piece with the same errors repeatedly, he would perfect it with mistakes. I suspect soon, he would think it sounded good with the mistakes.

I recently read about conversation. Few people correctly judge when a conversation should end. You know sometimes you are rolling, and you are sorry you had to end the visit. You are often wondering how to end a phone call or, say, at a dinner party. You like them. You’ve just run dry.

It’s a tricky business being a human being.

Funny too.

Sometimes you want to ask a person about a particular belief system, and they open up and bombard you with more information than you wanted to know. Or want to beat you up with their belief system.

It makes us leery about asking. Still, you want to know what they think and why they think the way they do.

I remember reading about ancient Egypt. According to one source, they were quite allowing when a new person wandered into the village. They would ask, “Who’s your god?”

They felt there was room for many and genuinely accepted another person’s point of view. They didn’t have to embrace it as their own, but it was interesting to them what the other person thought.

Imagine.

 


For a chuckle check out the pics on my Pinterest site, the board is, “The Art of Animal Stacking."

https://www.pinterest.com/jewelld747/the-art-of-animal-stacking/


 

Thursday, March 4, 2021

What is it with Groups?


 Okay, guys, what’a think of this?

Allen Francis M.D, a psychiatrist, makes a case for the idea that while insanity in individuals is somewhat rare, it appears to be the rule in groups and nations.

Last night my daughter and I observed how groups begin with lofty ideals, maybe even a mission statement, but if they don’t follow it. They can become abusive and cruel—like a cult series daughter was watching on television. This group (TV show) would tell their participants to “Push through. To face their fears.” If a participant questioned the procedure, the answer was that they weren’t pushing through or facing their fears. We know that facing fears and pushing through is a standard therapeutic technique, but cutting off dialogue and placing the control solely on the leaders can be detrimental. In this scenario, the fault always lies with the participant, not the group.

I have noticed how groups push down the individual. Think of medical breakthroughs. I remember reading–long ago–how MRI creators were severely criticized before MRI imaging was accepted by the medical community. Now, look at it. It is used regularly. When a new concept threatens the established system, it is ridiculed or severely debunked.

Yet those individuals that make up the group are nice people. We could talk to them one on one. Most aren’t crazy.

When we moved from California to Oregon, my daughter saw a ferret for the first time and thought they were the cutest things. She ended up having ferrets for 25 years. One day we visited a Ferret group in the park. We found a group, while loving ferrets, instead of celebrating them, wanted to control ferret’s owners. They wanted to keep the owners of ferrets under some jurisdiction and legislate who could own a breeding pair. (A couple of breeding ferrets is costly, and un-bred females must be spayed, for their continual estrous will wear out their body). Yes, people need to be educated in the care of most animals., but let’s get reasonable. 

Think of Home Owners associations—the controllers rise to the top.

(Leaders inspire. Controllers, well, control.)

We’ve been involved in start-up schools and see how they can, not always, but often, fall short of the tenants they set up initially. While having a humane and inventive idea, the members soon fall into their own bias and belief systems and bring in the same method they were trying to avoid. (Or become so weird you can’t stand them.) 

Nine-tenths of people are afraid of public speaking. Why is that? If we talked to each individual specifically, it would be easy, yet a group scares us. 

A group can make or break us. They can ridicule us, embarrass us, or kill us if it reaches massive proportions.

Yet those individuals that make up the group are nice people. We could talk to them one on one. They aren’t crazy people. 

Back to the man I was quoting at the beginning of this commentary, Dr. Allen Francis, a psychiatrist. His book is twilight of american sanity (with no caps). He also wrote the criteria for Narcissistic Personality Disorder that first appeared in DSMIII, and is still used in DSM-5, the most recent edition. He began writing his book on social insanity long before any thought that Trump would enter the pages.

He says that Trump isn’t insane. Society is.

He hates it, he says, when a psychiatric diagnosis is so carelessly used to mislabel as mental illness every conceivable example of bad behavior. 

“Most mass murderers are not mentally ill,” he says. “Most terrorists are not mentally ill. Most dictatorial rulers are not mentally ill. Trump’s boorish manners, vulgar speech, and abusive actions make him a national embarrassment and the worst possible role model. He diminishes America, reducing its’s greatness. But none of this makes him mentally ill.”

But what does that say about us? 

Why would we elect someone so manifestly unfit and unprepared to determine mankind’s future? 

“Trump is a symptom of a world in distress,” says Francis.

Calling Trump crazy allows us to avoid confronting the craziness in our society. 

Trump has scared so many people that dystopian classics have jumped to the best sellers list. Orwell’s 1984, Huxley’s Brave New World, Sinclair’ Lewis’s, It Can’t Happen Here, Margaret Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale, Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. 

I would say that Trump brought out the worst in us. He gave us permission to be fanatical, racist, and misogynistic. 

“It is an inherent part of human nature to create inaccurate explanations that comfort us in the face of life’s uncertainties,” says Francis. Trump won power because he promised quick, phony cures for the following real problems burdening a significant segment of our population who felt left out of the American dream.

Thank Heavens for the Unites States Constitution (based on Greek views, by the way) that we adhere to and that politicians are honor-bound to withhold. It gives us a framework of sanity. It gives us checks and balances (supposedly).

Have you noticed how stirred and unsettled we have felt during the last four years? 

Don’t you feel a peacefulness settling over you now? 

If each generation looked to that seventh generation as the Native Americans did. Then the next seventh and the next, the goodness of the world would rise exponentially. 

The world will probably continue until I leave for the happy hunting grounds, but I want it to continue beyond. I want it for my children and grandchildren and their children and yours.

This past week my naturalist doctor said, “If having me leave would save the world, I’d be the first to volunteer.”

That’s dedication.

We’re good people. Let’s leave the earth that housed us for other good people who are coming up behind us.

We don’t see things as they are; we see things as we are.”

—Talmud

Two neighbors went to their Rabbi, each complaining about the other. One neighbor gave his story, and the Rabbi said, “You’re right.”

The other neighbor gave his story and the Rabbi said, “You’re right.”

The Rabbi’s wife called from the other room, “Both guys can’t be right.”

Responded the Rabbi: “You’re right.”

–From Seven Brief Lessons on Physics by Carlo Rovelli

This book has its own page

New cover. formerly called “Hello Beautiful.”

Friday, February 26, 2021

Do You Like Quotes?

 


Imagine keeping the water in this pool from sloshing.

I’ve had so many quotes rumbling through my head that I couldn’t think of a blog to write, so I’m writing about quotes. I’ve spent the last couple of days chasing down pithy sayings of wise people who have gone before us; well, some are alive today. Guess you don’t have to be dead to be quoted.

I suppose many of us like quotes, for they are the best of what some illustrious folks have said. They are short, to the point, offer advice, are funny, inspirational, or pertinent to the human condition. They point to our funny bones, our hearts, or our foibles. The ones that endure are Universal and timeless. 

How many times have I included this particular quote by Zig Zigler? 

“Some say that motivation doesn’t last. Neither does bathing, that’s why we do it daily.”

I’ve lost count, but I like to be reminded that we need a steady stream of positive thoughts, feelings, and experiences flowing into us regularly. This is to combat the mud of negativity that splatters us.

So, why am I collecting quotes?

Glad you asked.

I’m putting together a little notebook called Chirp.

Here is the introduction:

I love little notebooks—such as this one—that are bound and have lined pages and pretty covers. I fill them with social media information, passwords, addresses, blog data—all things computer.

Pretty notebooks are fun to use and more interesting than a simple spiral notebook—which I use daily to keep a running tab on what I’m doing. However, I love buying and using the distinctive bound ones, for they are unique and look classy on my desk.

And think of this, you can write your own book on these pages.

Since I forget passwords and thus write in new ones, and then addresses change, I’ve filled so many of those books that I have a boneyard of them.

But can I part with them? No. Even if they get shabby, I still love them. Therefore, I need a steady supply.

I long to make a travel book like those you see in artists’ studios with sketches and commentary. So far, none on mine slightly resembles what I envision. I have placed little sprigs of pressed wildflowers in a booklet my daughter gave me. That journal is like Dr. Henry Jones’s journal (Indiana Jones father) with a leather cover and non-slick pages.

You will find quotes, like breadcrumbs, scattered among the pages in Chirp. It will be bound as a paperback edition.

Pick up some crumbs and write until the cows come home or the muse has flown out the window. Perhaps she was a bird. You know what they say, that birds are messengers.

I hope Chirp can be that for you.  

To joy and inspiration. 

Jo

Want a sneak preview?

I have four in mind—you know we need a choice or a group. Here are the first two covers, front, and back. The pages are lined, quotes are sprinkled.  

                                            Back                                                        Front

These are not actual size.

I’ll write something you can clamp your teeth into on the next blog.

Tuesday, February 16, 2021

 

To write, to compose, to draw, to paint, to crochet, to knit, to build rockets, that plugs us in, at least for a short time, to the garden we were expelled from.

You know what I mean—the garden represents our connection with our divine nature. When we follow our divine nature, our calling, we are ego less and defenseless for a little while—what a reprieve. The air in that space is so pure it makes us heady with the belief that we can live forever.

And you know what?

We can point others to their calling as well.

Steven Pressfield called me. I’m calling you. Pass it on.

I know many want to write, and I received comments from people who wanted to blog, so I wrote a little book titled, Grab a Pen and Kick-Ass. Not that I can tell writers how to write, but I list ten books that can. My intent was to motivate them to do it. Maybe I was writing it for myself.

We have a job to perform, and that is to do the thing that means the most to us. Some call it their calling. 

Remember the movie You Can’t Take it with You? The grandfather swooped people into his house and let them work on whatever they chose. The old men were making firecrackers in the basement. The mother was writing a novel and had written herself into a monastery and couldn’t get out. The little man that grandfather rescued from being an accountant was making toys. All didn’t go perfectly—otherwise, it would have been a utopia and not a story, but the idea is there. Do your thing.

Singers sing, and painters paint, babies giggle, and children play, and kitty cats sleep on your desk because they are happy to be with you.

My buddy, Obi.

I talk about this subject of doing your own thing a lot because if everyone had a dream and followed it, whether they were successful or not in terms of acclaim or finances, they would still be doing what they came here to do. 

They might get frustrated, for perfecting one’s projects can require patience–who wants that? And it requires perseverance and determination. Darn, and I wanted it to be easy.

It is still worth the doing.

And think about it, we would have those moments of transcendence where we touch the garden.

For fun:

Watch this baby laugh hysterically at ripping paper.

https://video.search.yahoo.com/yhs/search?fr=yhs-trp-001&ei=UTF-8&hsimp=yhs-001&hspart=trp&p=baby+giggles+at+ripping+paper&type=Y21_F163_204855_012321#id=1&vid=257177932224a1914d6790ce7176233e&action=click

Saturday, February 13, 2021

Saturday Morning's Stream of Consciousness

I’m just going to begin writing. I’m frustrated. I’m not going to think about posting this, for I’m in a quandary about what to think. We’re in a pandemic. The government is undergoing a second impeachment trial on the ex-president. We’ve had people storming the Capital, and claiming to lynch the Vice President. We watch this in wonder. How in the world did we get to this place? 

We can hardly talk to each other anymore, for we might offend someone’s sensibilities because we’re on opposite sides. And why in the hell are we so polarized anyway? Extremism has happened. 

I had decided not to talk about the virus anymore, for I believed it gave energy to it, but I see people want to talk about it. It’s on our minds, it’s in our hearts, it’s in our faces if we venture out of our houses. It’s our concern right now, and we need relief from it. 

People are home with their kids, trying to home-school, getting their jobs done, and feeling overwhelmed. In times before the last Presidential campaign, I heard that Russia—hey, I want to be friends with Russia–and you don’t blame an entire country for the ills of a few. Still, I heard that they were dinking with our media to keep us off-kilter. Keep people off-kilter, and it’s easy to plant a belief. We are open and susceptible. Like how in the world did insurrectionists believe they could hang a Vice President for doing his job? Or resort to such violence anyway?

I had to write. I know you know all this, but we have few people to talk to about our concerns. We want to reach out and place a suave on wounded hearts, but we’re home, behind masks. 

We’re all in this together. Not one in the world is exempt from this virus scare except maybe some lucky aborigines who never heard of Covid19. However, they probably have their own concerns.

A little old lady at the eye doctor’s office, she had her temperature taken, she was feet away from anyone else, she had on two masks. See how frightened people are.

On January 7, a 34-year-old man admitted to a hospital in Bhutan’s Capital, Thimphu, with preexisting liver and kidney problems died of COVID-19. His was the country’s first death from the coronavirus. (And he was a tourist.) Not the first death that day, that week, or that month: the very first coronavirus death since the pandemic began. How did this poor underdeveloped country do it—A Coronavirus success story.

What to do? What to say? I’m just a person sitting in front of my computer typing my heart-felt best. And there you are, doing your heart-felt best. And I wonder what you and I can do to make a difference.

I have written before about beliefs, and probably will again. A belief is so firmly held that it’s like chipping cement to change it. We argue, not over who gets the biggest piece of cake, but over ideologies, which are thoughts. Of course, behind that belief is that something will be taken from us, or we will be forced to do something we do not want to do. That’s imprisonment, so I understand why we tenaciously hold our position. We want to be free.

Sometimes a belief does not serve the person, or they hold onto a theory such as when people thought the earth was the center of the solar system that to change their minds means to lose face. But to change in the face of new evidence is smart. And to allow change means that we have grown. That change ought to be celebrated, not, “Haha, I told you so.”

Most of us want to live and let live, but there comes a time when you realize you are being manipulated or lied to, and it boils the blood to watch injustice.

We have a strong sense of individualism in this country. We’re pioneers, adventurers, explorers, investigators, and inventors. We love doing what we do. Why then is there so much turmoil?

I’ve been taking care of business, being frustrated with my slow computer and a website that was giving me trouble. So today, I’m turning to the page and to you. 

I wanted to write, so I’m doing it. 

Perhaps I am writing “Morning Pages,” words for myself alone. 

I know the world is filled with words, and I wonder if it needs mine. Yet, my job is to write. It’s the job I have chosen for myself. I believe (ah-ha, see a belief) that writing is a transformational experience. I try to explain that to people in a little eBook, Grab a Pen and Kick-Ass, for that reason. I enjoyed doing it. It was directing people toward the pen and the page, not to teach them how to write; I list ten books that will do that, but because I believe writing is healing. 

In the March issue of Life Extension, I just saw that Matthew McConaughey has journaled since he was fifteen. How cool is that?!

Before I leave the subject of Beliefs, and I have written about them before, and probably will again, I have noticed how literal people are. You mention a myth, and many people do not see the symbolism, but instead run off to the gruesome, the diabolical, and the horrendous things people have done in the past.

My second daughter and I are writing a book in the form of letters. This is an excellent activity during these times. We are Elizabeth and Josephine, young archeologists in the 1920’s. Elizabeth discovered a gold coin, and we learned that there are three coins that together form a map to a treasure. The problem is finding the coins. One place Josephine will soon go is to the Yucatan. I have personally stood atop the pyramid, in the Holy of holies, that little room at the top of the Temple of Kukulkan in Chichen Itza. In our story, I go to find a clue or a coin I don’t know which. My point is my daughter asked me my interpretation of a frieze present at Chichen Itza of a Jaguar holding what has been interpreted as a heart. Curls come from his mouth appear to be flowing over the object in his hand (paw). To me, those curls look like his breath is flowing over the object in his paw, rather like God breathing life into Adam. The “Scholars” say that Jaguar is eating the heart. 

What do you think?

Well crap. When I visited Chichen Itza, I saw a frieze of the victor of the ball game. The Mayans built a ball court larger than a football field. (A whisper at one end of the court can be heard at the other end.) The victor of the game is represented as headless, with vegetation coming out of his neck. The guide said they decapitated the victor to ensure the crops. Well, that would really make a warrior want to win. My interpretation is that it is symbolic. The vegetation coming from his head indicated that they would have abundant crops. Did that mean they cut off his head? I prefer not. So argue with me. It’s a matter of interpretation. 

You see, I see, we all see, but we see different. Why is that? Our upbringing? Our genetics? Our past injuries served to form who we are. Some believed they could storm the Capital and threaten the Vice President. Some believe in throwing a tantrum if they don’t get their own way. Some believe that democracy should prevail and are endeavoring to make that happen. Some are afraid of losing their jobs or are in danger of their lives or those of their family, or the repercussions of going against the party line.

We need a Mr. Smith as in the movie Mr. Smith goes to Washington, starring Jimmy Stewart.

My telephone just rang. A certified caller from Georgia., I know someone in Georgia, so I answered it. It was Judy, the niece of my old friend June whom I have mentioned before. She is 97, and Judy took her from Eugene, Oregon, to Georgia, where she could place her in a memory care facility and look after her. 

June is on her way out. 

What an illustrious life she has had. An artist by choice, trade, and talent. I can foresee the celebration now. She will sashay into the group waiting for her on the other side– chocolate in one hand and wine in the other, saying, “Whoopie, what a ride.”

And now:

So, how was your morning?

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