I have spent my summer "stuck" in a Boston suburb. It doesn't really matter which one, though does it, because it is New England. Ever changing. Home of the scrod, cod and the Cape. It is New England, the "If you don't like the weather then walk a mile or wait a minute" life. It is New England, funny accents, ridiculous colloquialisms and ever changing scenery. It is a constant flow of transformation, a constant state of flux, given to the unexpected. It is a place you learn early not to lean against, but instead to ride with the tide. So it is that I spent two months in my beloved weather changing, tide ebbing and flowing, transformational New England home fidgeting, anxious, and pushing back at the very nature I have learned to flow with. Frustrated, angry, disappointed and down right pissed off at the circumstances that kept me from leaving Greater Boston for the much more subtle southern clime of Metropolitan Atlanta, I stepped around one road block after another, battle-scarred, bruised and tired. I kicked. I screamed. I hollered. I did that of course, until it hit me. Are you stuck, really? Or is this some place you really want to be. Honestly, what is your true intention?
I am not a transplant, you see. I am a New England girl to my heart of hearts. I don't often admit
that. It kind of seemed strange growing up for a black girl like me, but truth be told, I just am a bona fide New Englander. Chalk it up to my Irish bloodline that focuses on the beauty in the nature of things, but I totally
dig the way the seasons change here. Summer is truly summer: a welcomed respite from the frigid winter and wet spring. Fall is
truly fall. Spring may come late or early, but it is clearly punctuated
by the fragrant colors of hyacinth and lilacs - definitely lilacs. The
way the crocus push up their soft little heads through that hard black frozen
earth always amazes me in the same way that whips of yellow forsythia
blossoming against plumes of white snow flakes always takes my breath
away. We New Englanders are hearty, steadfast, ready for any storm,
prepared to hunker down with a hearty bowl of stew in front of the wood burning
stove. After all, winter blizzards are a reason to talk about the weather, nothing
more.
Because I am a writer, my discussions inevitably wind their way around to New England weather. Like the way the fog rolling in brings with it the taste of salt on your lips, or how the cool air feels
on your bared skin and the sharp odor of fish riles against your nostrils.
Immediately, it conjures images of low white picket fences, sentinels guarding soft
green lawns aproned before clapboard cottages grayed by the ocean
breezes and mottled and battered by the harshest winters. It recalls
summer oceans, teeming with crabs and bluefish, steaming husks of corn
and lobsters crawling and clawing for life in large boiling pots. It brings to life the rocking fishing trawlers,
noisy engines breathing smoke, nets astern, the leather-skinned muscled crew headed out to
sea in the purple-gray dawn, the glimmer of first light beckoning
gulls, terns and herons. It is all so very simple in all its complexity.
So it was that I stopped railing against the tides after a while. Took note of the fact that all of the bitching and complaining wasn't going to get me anywhere any sooner. That the time I spent fussing, arguing, being disappointed, would be better spent resting, cooking, reading, watching movies and walking the puppies to the favorite spots along the river, the lake, the beaches and take in all of this New England I love so much. I got ice cream cones just because, downed my weight in mussels and clams, took in the vast array of cultural culinary delights, sushi, dolmas, curry, channa, bacalao and of course, lobster and tended to the garden. Daily I picked kale, basil, green beans, lettuce, chard and sorrel. I made salads, and juiced and learned about green lemonade from a cousin. I spent time with friends, wrote poems, and met new people on Facebook. I helped a few folks with their writing projects even as I worked on mine and looked for new jobs to do. I took time to stroll through fields, pick its bounty, cook it, serve it, photograph it and post it on Facebook! I slept in the evening breeze as the sea air wafted in through my window and covered my down quilt with a salty cool. I collected shells, rocks and sea glass. I talked to strangers over cups of coffee in every shop I could stop in.
Every time I thought about pushing against the tide, the tide would push me back until I stopped fighting and remembered to go with the flow. See, it isn't really that we learn something new about ourselves in these lessons that keep tripping us up and challenging us in life. It is that we relearn what we already know and then appropriately use it for our highest good. Riding the tide is as easy as grabbing a boogie board and jumping right on in. Catch the biggest wave and ride it as far as the flow will take you. It may be a short ride, a rough one, a long or smooth one. Who knows? You just have to get in and see where it takes you. You have to let go of what you expect it to be and just let it be. Just go with the flow!
I have to admit there were things I missed by not rushing off to Atlanta. An overnight at the Aquarium complete with dinner, jazz, cocktails and breakfast in the morning, a night-long spa day at Jeju, a panel discussion about what it means to be who I am in the skin I'm in, and a little more time with my awesome new roommate. I also missed spending summer watching movies and hanging with my really cool eight-year-old goddaughter. It is all good though. Things have this way of balancing out.
Fall is moving in early in New England and hard as it is, I am headed back to the warm south I so love. I will watch the movies with the godchild when they come out on video. My roommate and I will move into our new house where I will create wonderful dinners with jazz and cocktails and who knows, maybe breakfast in the morning. I will catch up with friends and laugh during night-long sessions at Jeju. I will lovingly tell them how black earth gives way to small, but strong and hearty crocus and that forsythia yellows briefly herald the coming spring. And I will remember that gulls, terns and herons innately know what each of us should already know: no matter what the situation seems to be, if we are in darkness, we got there from the Light and it will always eventually be Light again. All we have to do is go with the flow and we'll see it. At least, that's how we do it here in New England.
Robin G. White is an award-winning author and publisher who works with first time authors to ensure their economic empowerment through education and publishing. She is the author of several books including the award-winning Resurrection: A Collection of Work, Reflections of a Life Well Spent, First Breath and the forthcoming, Omphaloskepsis Guided Writing Journal and Omphaloskepsis Daily Affirmations in addition to several others. In 2014, she will open a writing and spiritual retreat center, The Guilbault Young Center for Manifestation as a way to provide creatives and spiritualists a place to develop the work they are ordained to do. She is the co-founder of We Can, We Care her family's organization that supports the creation of orphanages and schools on the continent of Africa. She is the founder of OneDayOneDollar.org a non-profit organization that enlists creatives of all stripes in the fight against extreme poverty through artists' performance and grant-making to community-based grassroots organizations that serve children in the areas of education, shelter and food justice. She values her work in service to others.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Saturday, April 6, 2013
METANOIA
“With everything that has happened to you, you can either feel sorry for
yourself or treat what has happened as a gift. Everything is either an
opportunity to grow or an obstacle to keep you from growing. You get to
choose.”
~ Wayne W. Dyer.
It is a crisp Spring morning in April and the world is still waking. The sun is up, the woodpeckers are busy as are the chirruping squirrels and the honking geese. I coax the pups outside with me and sit on the steps and enjoy the view of the distant river teeming with life as I quell the complex conversations of my busy mind. This is my life. A dichotomy of calm serenity and constant swells of anxiety, nervousness and just plain old feeling awkward. I am at times such an odd duck in my own feathers so easily ruffled that I seldom know what is real, what is good, what is OK and what is not. I live increasingly in a world in my head that I sometimes honestly don't know what to say, how to interact or just how to play well with others. I think at some level I have always been this way. It is what the Buddhists would call my "monkey mind" that place of uncontrolled, spiraling out of control thought and confusion. My response is to nestle in protected solitude with my oddities and eccentricities in a narrowing exclusion of others. It is both unnerving and comforting. This too is the real me, the one who is at constant battle with the outgoing, gregarious, affable being who inhabits the real world and who walks among the living. I am fighting my inner recluse and it feels sometimes like a losing battle. The more I set out into brave new worlds, the more I want to retreat from them and the ways these experiences change and shape me. I am resisting the vulnerability of transformation.
It isn't easy for any of us who are starting over again after the myriad hardships that befall us in a lifetime. We search for new meaning as we pick up and begin marching down unchartered pathways only to find ourselves at the juxtaposition of what we once knew as our lives and what we are meandering into as new territories. At each turn there are bright beautiful experiences that excite and entice and hold promise, new people to get to know, new problems to solve, new opportunities to embrace and for each one we try, there are old heartaches and remnants of pain not yet gone threatening the landscape we hope to explore. How do we navigate these new places in our lives, wear these new clothes over indelibly inked experiences? Let's face it: some things you just can't shake off, and others you can't erase without help. Even the most astute of us who venture into therapy, counseling or even self-help know that sometimes the only way the old painful stuff surfaces is when it bumps up against someone else's old painful stuff at the new job, the new living situation, the new friendship, partnership, relationship. Sometimes you just don't know until you know. Sometimes when you do know, it's because you've found out the hard way and blown the new job, the new place, the new friendship, partnership or relationship because the hidden stuff unexpectedly surfaced. Part of self awareness is knowing that this may happen and that can be half the battle won.
Despite being semi reclusive I have set my intention to walk through open doors. It is both a freeing and exhilarating process while being one which could be marked with great trepidation. Let's face it, change and the risk that comes with it are not easy undertakings. Yet, I have learned and embraced the knowledge that everything happens for our Highest Good despite what appearances may seem. It is truly my faith which keeps me moving forward. I know unequivocally that something good will come out of whatever I experience. Even the most painful experiences hold promise. This understanding helps me break free from the painful stuff I have encountered over my lifetime, some of the uglier lessons of which I unwittingly and often unconsciously still embrace. Every moment is a life lesson, granted some of them I would rather not have, but they become necessary pieces of the painting of my life. While I may long for the unmarred or at least less disturbed canvases of my youth, the reality is my life is a series of paintings some lovely some not so much, each one more detailed than the last. It is this one I am in that I am working on with forethought, intention, clarity and a better working relationship with my Co-creator. Through this experience, I have become increasingly self aware and am making the self corrections necessary to create the beautiful life I seek. As I observe others I am grateful to learn from their shared experiences.
One of my friends spoke recently about her desire to slow down in a developing attraction in her life. She exhibited a self awareness that can only be appreciated. She knew where her triggers were and where she might be vulnerable and volatile. Another friend was taking months to house hunt, not just because she couldn't find the "right" place, but because she really wanted to understand the communities where she was seeking to live. She wanted to understand how she would move in and through these places; what she might find when she got there, not just logistically, but in ways which were fulfilling and meaningful. One recent conversation revealed a friend's inner turmoil, "If they only knew," she responded when someone commented on her calm and peaceful demeanor. She is keenly aware of her inner chaos and conflict and how it might impact and inform the world around her. So she chooses calm and works through the issues that surface in other less volatile ways. I admire these women for the work they have done around acting with intention and in choosing the lives they wish to lead in the ways they wish to lead them. Their conscious choices and deliberate actions have reduced the crazy making that happens for a lot of us who often fly by the seat of our pants. That isn't to say that what they choose is not a difficult path or that they don't have challenges. It just means that their challenges don't manifest the dilemmas some of us create in our lives. And let's be clear; we do create them.
I am an unfinished masterpiece. I am highly aware of the rich brush strokes my Creator has given me. I know there are a lot of details left to fill in and when I am completed I hope that many will gaze upon the Master's brilliance in awe and wonder. In the meantime though, I continue to figure out how to move with intention in my own life, how to become the person I so long to be and better integrate those parts of me that feel crazy and sane, difficult and easy, curious and knowledgeable, vulnerable and open, awkward and confident. I pray I haven't missed too many opportunities to relieve me from my self-imposed retreat. I am learning how to be gentler with me and as one of my friends often says, "How to teach others to treat me." I'm not easy, but I'm not that difficult either. Like many of us of a certain age, I have war wounds, battle scars and occasional minefields that can really mess up the lovely picture I create for myself if I let them. The key is in understanding that they are there and that they have potential to be something other than what I would choose. I fully believe in the possibility of a beautiful life because of the war wounds rather than despite them.
The pups are snoring softly now; full of fresh morning air and breakfast we will take the walk to the river. I will laugh at the busy beaver, wave to the rowers, giggle at the gaggle of geese, greet the joggers and dog walkers we pass and continue in my quiet contemplation. I'd really like to get this right. So, I continue to fight that desire to go in and close the doors behind me while watching the world from across a windowsill. I stand in this place of open and reflective vulnerability, take risks and hopefully learn from my missteps. I will work on my self judgments and remember that we are all masterpieces in various states of completion and that being unfinished simply means I am still alive in a life worth living. Mostly, I will continue as I walk through open doors and quiet my monkey mind to be in awe of each of these vast experiences, take in from them whatever they bring: joy, peace, love, happiness, lessons and embrace it all joyfully. Change, they say is constant. I say, it is growth and it is all good.
Robin G. White is the author of two published collections of poetry, the award-winning, Resurrection: A Collection of Work and Reflections of a Life Well Spent and one collection of erotica, First Breath. She has authored The Omphaloskepsis Guided Writing Journal, an eBook, When Love Departs: Writings of Transition, is completing her first collection of short fiction, Intersections, and her memoir, One of These Things Is Not Like the Others, a collection of love poems, Bois Like Gyrls, a healing collection of transformational poetry, Metanoia and is editing a family collection of writings about Faith Hope and Love called, These Three Things. In addition she is the pseudonymous author of seven children's books. Her work is widely anthologized. She is educator and a speaker on the power of faith and transformational living. She resides in the Greater Boston area.
It is a crisp Spring morning in April and the world is still waking. The sun is up, the woodpeckers are busy as are the chirruping squirrels and the honking geese. I coax the pups outside with me and sit on the steps and enjoy the view of the distant river teeming with life as I quell the complex conversations of my busy mind. This is my life. A dichotomy of calm serenity and constant swells of anxiety, nervousness and just plain old feeling awkward. I am at times such an odd duck in my own feathers so easily ruffled that I seldom know what is real, what is good, what is OK and what is not. I live increasingly in a world in my head that I sometimes honestly don't know what to say, how to interact or just how to play well with others. I think at some level I have always been this way. It is what the Buddhists would call my "monkey mind" that place of uncontrolled, spiraling out of control thought and confusion. My response is to nestle in protected solitude with my oddities and eccentricities in a narrowing exclusion of others. It is both unnerving and comforting. This too is the real me, the one who is at constant battle with the outgoing, gregarious, affable being who inhabits the real world and who walks among the living. I am fighting my inner recluse and it feels sometimes like a losing battle. The more I set out into brave new worlds, the more I want to retreat from them and the ways these experiences change and shape me. I am resisting the vulnerability of transformation.
It isn't easy for any of us who are starting over again after the myriad hardships that befall us in a lifetime. We search for new meaning as we pick up and begin marching down unchartered pathways only to find ourselves at the juxtaposition of what we once knew as our lives and what we are meandering into as new territories. At each turn there are bright beautiful experiences that excite and entice and hold promise, new people to get to know, new problems to solve, new opportunities to embrace and for each one we try, there are old heartaches and remnants of pain not yet gone threatening the landscape we hope to explore. How do we navigate these new places in our lives, wear these new clothes over indelibly inked experiences? Let's face it: some things you just can't shake off, and others you can't erase without help. Even the most astute of us who venture into therapy, counseling or even self-help know that sometimes the only way the old painful stuff surfaces is when it bumps up against someone else's old painful stuff at the new job, the new living situation, the new friendship, partnership, relationship. Sometimes you just don't know until you know. Sometimes when you do know, it's because you've found out the hard way and blown the new job, the new place, the new friendship, partnership or relationship because the hidden stuff unexpectedly surfaced. Part of self awareness is knowing that this may happen and that can be half the battle won.
Despite being semi reclusive I have set my intention to walk through open doors. It is both a freeing and exhilarating process while being one which could be marked with great trepidation. Let's face it, change and the risk that comes with it are not easy undertakings. Yet, I have learned and embraced the knowledge that everything happens for our Highest Good despite what appearances may seem. It is truly my faith which keeps me moving forward. I know unequivocally that something good will come out of whatever I experience. Even the most painful experiences hold promise. This understanding helps me break free from the painful stuff I have encountered over my lifetime, some of the uglier lessons of which I unwittingly and often unconsciously still embrace. Every moment is a life lesson, granted some of them I would rather not have, but they become necessary pieces of the painting of my life. While I may long for the unmarred or at least less disturbed canvases of my youth, the reality is my life is a series of paintings some lovely some not so much, each one more detailed than the last. It is this one I am in that I am working on with forethought, intention, clarity and a better working relationship with my Co-creator. Through this experience, I have become increasingly self aware and am making the self corrections necessary to create the beautiful life I seek. As I observe others I am grateful to learn from their shared experiences.
One of my friends spoke recently about her desire to slow down in a developing attraction in her life. She exhibited a self awareness that can only be appreciated. She knew where her triggers were and where she might be vulnerable and volatile. Another friend was taking months to house hunt, not just because she couldn't find the "right" place, but because she really wanted to understand the communities where she was seeking to live. She wanted to understand how she would move in and through these places; what she might find when she got there, not just logistically, but in ways which were fulfilling and meaningful. One recent conversation revealed a friend's inner turmoil, "If they only knew," she responded when someone commented on her calm and peaceful demeanor. She is keenly aware of her inner chaos and conflict and how it might impact and inform the world around her. So she chooses calm and works through the issues that surface in other less volatile ways. I admire these women for the work they have done around acting with intention and in choosing the lives they wish to lead in the ways they wish to lead them. Their conscious choices and deliberate actions have reduced the crazy making that happens for a lot of us who often fly by the seat of our pants. That isn't to say that what they choose is not a difficult path or that they don't have challenges. It just means that their challenges don't manifest the dilemmas some of us create in our lives. And let's be clear; we do create them.
I am an unfinished masterpiece. I am highly aware of the rich brush strokes my Creator has given me. I know there are a lot of details left to fill in and when I am completed I hope that many will gaze upon the Master's brilliance in awe and wonder. In the meantime though, I continue to figure out how to move with intention in my own life, how to become the person I so long to be and better integrate those parts of me that feel crazy and sane, difficult and easy, curious and knowledgeable, vulnerable and open, awkward and confident. I pray I haven't missed too many opportunities to relieve me from my self-imposed retreat. I am learning how to be gentler with me and as one of my friends often says, "How to teach others to treat me." I'm not easy, but I'm not that difficult either. Like many of us of a certain age, I have war wounds, battle scars and occasional minefields that can really mess up the lovely picture I create for myself if I let them. The key is in understanding that they are there and that they have potential to be something other than what I would choose. I fully believe in the possibility of a beautiful life because of the war wounds rather than despite them.
The pups are snoring softly now; full of fresh morning air and breakfast we will take the walk to the river. I will laugh at the busy beaver, wave to the rowers, giggle at the gaggle of geese, greet the joggers and dog walkers we pass and continue in my quiet contemplation. I'd really like to get this right. So, I continue to fight that desire to go in and close the doors behind me while watching the world from across a windowsill. I stand in this place of open and reflective vulnerability, take risks and hopefully learn from my missteps. I will work on my self judgments and remember that we are all masterpieces in various states of completion and that being unfinished simply means I am still alive in a life worth living. Mostly, I will continue as I walk through open doors and quiet my monkey mind to be in awe of each of these vast experiences, take in from them whatever they bring: joy, peace, love, happiness, lessons and embrace it all joyfully. Change, they say is constant. I say, it is growth and it is all good.
Robin G. White is the author of two published collections of poetry, the award-winning, Resurrection: A Collection of Work and Reflections of a Life Well Spent and one collection of erotica, First Breath. She has authored The Omphaloskepsis Guided Writing Journal, an eBook, When Love Departs: Writings of Transition, is completing her first collection of short fiction, Intersections, and her memoir, One of These Things Is Not Like the Others, a collection of love poems, Bois Like Gyrls, a healing collection of transformational poetry, Metanoia and is editing a family collection of writings about Faith Hope and Love called, These Three Things. In addition she is the pseudonymous author of seven children's books. Her work is widely anthologized. She is educator and a speaker on the power of faith and transformational living. She resides in the Greater Boston area.
Friday, November 23, 2012
BLEAK FRIDAY
I have never really been one to participate in the day known as Black Friday. I think it has more to do with the drunken satiation of being overly fed and indulged from a Thanksgiving feast of food, friends and family than any aversion to crowds, noise, shoving, pushing and the occasional outbreak of buggy rage at the local Wal-Mart. Well, there is all of that too. Yet as I sit here thinking about what all of this means and look longingly at the circulars brandishing slashed prices for the latest electronics, I can't help but think about who the people are who stand in these long lines waiting in frigid weather for their chance at an electronics lottery.
I have known quite a few BF shoppers. Most people I know who go, do so out of necessity more than anything else. I was the recipient of one excursion several years back when my significant other stood for hours in line to purchase two very necessary laptops for our growing businesses. Hers had died and I had given mine back to my former employer. Now, I was anchored to my desktop computer daily monitoring our businesses and out of the loop if I left it. The laptops offered us a modicum of freedom. Mostly though, the folks I know who attend BF are friends picking up a needed item here or there and relatives who are raising several often small children and who stand in line for hours to purchase the latest toys, electronics and more often clothes, shoes and the greatest of necessities of the brutal northern winters - coats.
I understand all of this of course. Who doesn't love a good bargain? And while for many of us, standing out in the cold for hours after stuffing ourselves full of turkey, pumpkin pie and football is just one more ritual in an otherwise long list of holiday pastimes, for others this shoving, pushing, grabbing and buggy bumping is done out of necessity to provide for our families. Our Black Friday shopping is less about want in America, it is increasingly more about need. Being allotted one day a year to fill this need in one of the most debasing manners I can imagine - the run-and-grab-free-for-all, to me is appalling.
Before you think that I am down on Black Friday entirely or am out to demean BF shoppers, please understand that nothing could be further from the truth. I am angry that our country of capitalist consumerism has descended into this bleak abyss of a Friday feeding frenzy to fight over a few scraps that corporations and manufacturers have trotted out for our freakish sideshow. For example, Wal-Mart cheerfully announced on Facebook on at 2 AM on this Black Friday that there would be 50-inch flat screens on sale at 5 AM at each store for only $299. There would be a minimum of 10 such TVs at each store. 10.
Think about this. 10 TVs for the masses of people already in the store shopping, those who read it on Facebook and decided to go into the lion's den in hopes of facing the lion. Who would get the TVs? The mom and dad who had been scrimping and saving all year to purchase a nice TV for the den so the family could have some time together? Or the single mom wanting to pick up a new TV for her brood to watch safely at home while she is working her second job? Or maybe the teen who has worked really hard this year and wants to make his first real purchase for his family, which has never been able to buy a new TV?
OK. I know I am laying it on pretty thick, but in reality those are the people who are in the lines. And they have been standing outside waiting while you and I were safely ensconced in the comfort of our homes watching the Patriots stomp the Jets. And for everyone who got the TVs, there were dozens more at each store who didn't. In fact, the comments following the Facebook announcement were that some stores had already sold out of the TVs at 2 AM although they were not supposed to go on sale until 5. Those families were having a Bleak Friday.
I think we should find a different way of doing this. Everyone purchase a lottery ticket to try to win an opportunity to buy the TV. $5. Give the lottery money to a local charity that feeds and shelters the homeless. Stop making people stand in line hoping for something that is beyond hope. Can you imagine the signs?
Everyone gets only one lottery ticket. And you must be over the age of 16 to purchase one. The money goes to charity. 10 lucky winners walk to the checkout aisle with their purchases. No one gets hit with a buggy. No one pulls out a shotgun. Everyone walks away feeling like they had a good shot (hopefully). And in the meantime, with a little bit of sanity we can get on with buying the coats, tights, jeans, clothing and gifts we need for ourselves and those we love. And not feel so bleak about the Friday after the day we give thanks for all that we have. I'm just saying.
Robin "Bobbie!" White is the award-winning author of several books of poetry and short fiction. She lives in Boston.
I have known quite a few BF shoppers. Most people I know who go, do so out of necessity more than anything else. I was the recipient of one excursion several years back when my significant other stood for hours in line to purchase two very necessary laptops for our growing businesses. Hers had died and I had given mine back to my former employer. Now, I was anchored to my desktop computer daily monitoring our businesses and out of the loop if I left it. The laptops offered us a modicum of freedom. Mostly though, the folks I know who attend BF are friends picking up a needed item here or there and relatives who are raising several often small children and who stand in line for hours to purchase the latest toys, electronics and more often clothes, shoes and the greatest of necessities of the brutal northern winters - coats.
I understand all of this of course. Who doesn't love a good bargain? And while for many of us, standing out in the cold for hours after stuffing ourselves full of turkey, pumpkin pie and football is just one more ritual in an otherwise long list of holiday pastimes, for others this shoving, pushing, grabbing and buggy bumping is done out of necessity to provide for our families. Our Black Friday shopping is less about want in America, it is increasingly more about need. Being allotted one day a year to fill this need in one of the most debasing manners I can imagine - the run-and-grab-free-for-all, to me is appalling.
Before you think that I am down on Black Friday entirely or am out to demean BF shoppers, please understand that nothing could be further from the truth. I am angry that our country of capitalist consumerism has descended into this bleak abyss of a Friday feeding frenzy to fight over a few scraps that corporations and manufacturers have trotted out for our freakish sideshow. For example, Wal-Mart cheerfully announced on Facebook on at 2 AM on this Black Friday that there would be 50-inch flat screens on sale at 5 AM at each store for only $299. There would be a minimum of 10 such TVs at each store. 10.
Think about this. 10 TVs for the masses of people already in the store shopping, those who read it on Facebook and decided to go into the lion's den in hopes of facing the lion. Who would get the TVs? The mom and dad who had been scrimping and saving all year to purchase a nice TV for the den so the family could have some time together? Or the single mom wanting to pick up a new TV for her brood to watch safely at home while she is working her second job? Or maybe the teen who has worked really hard this year and wants to make his first real purchase for his family, which has never been able to buy a new TV?
OK. I know I am laying it on pretty thick, but in reality those are the people who are in the lines. And they have been standing outside waiting while you and I were safely ensconced in the comfort of our homes watching the Patriots stomp the Jets. And for everyone who got the TVs, there were dozens more at each store who didn't. In fact, the comments following the Facebook announcement were that some stores had already sold out of the TVs at 2 AM although they were not supposed to go on sale until 5. Those families were having a Bleak Friday.
I think we should find a different way of doing this. Everyone purchase a lottery ticket to try to win an opportunity to buy the TV. $5. Give the lottery money to a local charity that feeds and shelters the homeless. Stop making people stand in line hoping for something that is beyond hope. Can you imagine the signs?
"All major appliance sales will now be conducted by lottery.
Everyone has an equal chance to buy a ___________________.
Fill in the name of your favorite electronic appliance here).
All proceeds will support the homeless."
Everyone gets only one lottery ticket. And you must be over the age of 16 to purchase one. The money goes to charity. 10 lucky winners walk to the checkout aisle with their purchases. No one gets hit with a buggy. No one pulls out a shotgun. Everyone walks away feeling like they had a good shot (hopefully). And in the meantime, with a little bit of sanity we can get on with buying the coats, tights, jeans, clothing and gifts we need for ourselves and those we love. And not feel so bleak about the Friday after the day we give thanks for all that we have. I'm just saying.
Robin "Bobbie!" White is the award-winning author of several books of poetry and short fiction. She lives in Boston.
Friday, November 2, 2012
LAUGH AND THE WORLD LAUGHS WITH YOU...
AND YET ANOTHER LEARNING MOMENT...
So today officially was that day. You know the one. The one where everything that can go wrong eventually does. The one where you think, this can't really be happening. Thoughts become things in my world and at some point today as I rushed out of the house to take my roommate to work, per her request, I thought, "Should I lock this door? What happens if I can't get back in?" Ask a question, get an answer.
My roommate had a quick meeting and didn't have time to find a place to park the car and get there on time. As it was, she was already leaving later than planned so she made an offer, which I gratefully accepted. Take her to the meeting, sit in the car until she was done, drive her to work and keep the car for the day. Are you kidding me? That was a no-brainer. I had errands to run, laundry to do. I could run by and see my mom and take her treats while my laundry was washing! Wow. Multi-tasking in a major way! Woohoo.
The caveat was that we had to leave right away. I was on the phone with my web master going over details for my new website and how we were going to marry several of the sites and which ones those should be. I had a billion details and things that needed doing, like changing out illustrations in one of the books, contacting an author about her bio and spending time working on my novel for NaNoWriMo. Clearly a full day, but one I would gladly forfeit an hour to help my roommate in exchange for use of the car.
So, when she said, we have to go right now, I took her at her word and remembered I was wearing my slippers, put on some shoes and grabbed a light sweater out of habit to put over my pajama shirt that went with my pajama pants, both of which I was wearing. I got in the car and headed to downtown Boston. Now to be honest, my pajamas are an old pair of sweatpants and an old long-sleeved shirt. Both are ratty and stained, thin and you know - comfy. I lounge around the house in them, yes, but wear them out, NO. But, hey, it was only for a minute and I wouldn't get out of the car and although I didn't have on a bra, I wasn't going commando either! So, hey, I was OK.
Everything went smoothly. She was a little late for her meeting - traffic was heavy. Hey. It's Friday. I got her back to her office and promised to be available to pick her up around 7 PM. I called my sister who was at work so she couldn't hang out. The brakes sounded a little funky so I opted not to go down to Fall River to see my brother, but hey, I could go home, potty, shower, grab my laundry, laptop and some Fig Newtons and have a good day. Do some laundry, get my writing done, grab some coffee and take the Newtons to see Mom. You know, enjoy having a car in the city for a day. Cool.
I parked the car by the back door of the house thinking I would carry the laundry out that way so it would be easier. I walked to the front door, put the key in the lock; it wouldn't budge. Not one speck. OK. It has been a little stuck before, no problem, just jiggle gently, lift a little, turn the door handle, push harder, twist it with all of my might, bang near the lock to unstick it. Nothing at all worked. By now, 20 minutes had gone by and I was in the front hall doing the potty dance in my pajamas, with my crazy hair and sore fingers. One roommate was at work where I had dropped her off, the other was out at an appointment with a friend. The landlord, who lives in New Hampshire had been by earlier and by now was safely ensconced somewhere north of the border. It is Friday afternoon, ya know.
I am going to spare you the details of this day except to say this. It was nuts. I drove back to the roommate's office to get the back door key only to have the same issue with that lock. A small front window was unlocked and while I could open it, I could only imagine the 911 call from my roommate describing what the neighbors would see of my big behind wedged securely in said window frame as I attempted unsuccessfully to climb through it in my ripped up jammies. Yeah, no, that wasn't happening. And the smaller roommate who had texted to say she was on her way, called an hour later to say, her friend who was driving her now had her own emergency and she wasn't coming.
So the melt down began. It had been several hours at this point. I was still in my pajamas and the wiggle became a full on disco display of dancing maneuvers as I tried to figure out what to do next. I called my roommate to let her know what was happening. I had to drive back to get her so she could fit her tiny frame in through the window and let us in. I told her fine, I would do that, but only after I stopped at the Starbucks to use the bathroom. I barely made it. And I mean barely. By the time I left, my other roommate text to say she had gotten out of her friends car, taken two buses home and had climbed in through the window. She was home. I could finally get in.
It had been nearly five hours since I had left home. And I was now home safe and sound. So, the moral of the story might be that thing our moms said about wearing clean underwear when we go out, but it's not. You see there is more. I am a bit of a recluse these days. Going out takes a lot of effort. I have been working on my writing projects, searching for a new job and cooking for my lovely family - my two roommates. I am still recovering from some pretty intense life transitions and have added a few more, so I am a little sore in spots (read depressed). I am working through it all just the same and I keep it moving forward. I have a great support system. And that is the lesson today.
I finally went back out and picked up my roommate a few hours after I had come home and passed out from the stress of the day. We were sitting at the kitchen table talking, eating sharing. I was clearly still a little frazzled when my roommate Celenia looked at me and started cracking up laughing. Sadie and I just stared. Sadie finally asked, "What's so funny?"
Celenia pointed at me and said, "You had the worst day," and started roaring with laughter. I looked at her and thought about my hurt feelings, the melt down I had because I couldn't get back into my safe little cocoon, the running back and forth, the frustration, the embarrassment of being uncombed, unwashed and in my pajamas and I looked at my roommate with the tears streaming down her face from her uncontrollable laughter, and I thought, You know what? This was all pretty damn funny!
We take things in life too damn seriously sometimes. I know I do. I cry and give in to the pain and heartbreak, the sorrow and fear when really, I need to smile at the joy that I am still here. Yes. There have been transitions, yes there have been times when I am ass out vulnerable and unsure, there are a lot of times when I have missed the mark, and have been under-dressed in life, but you know what, I am still here. I have so much more than most I know. I have friends and family and a whole bunch of tightly woven safety nets to catch me when I fall. I am so grateful. And yes, I need to exercise that humility muscle a little more often and I'm pretty sure if I give it some thought, that muscle is somewhere in the vicinity of my funny bone.
Listen, I wasn't out in the world waist deep in flood waters. I wasn't without electricity thrust into a makeshift shelter in my pajamas and I wasn't cold, starving or without funds. I was in my roommates car for Pete's sake, with a bunch of options the worst of which was to go to Starbucks and get a friggin' cup of coffee. It wasn't the end of the world and in the scheme of things, it was no where near it. In fact, it was and still is pretty darn funny. And at the moment all of it is making me smile. And knowing my two roommates, we will regale our family and friends with this tale time and time again. It is one of those defining moments when you know you have tremendously loving connections and things really are OK. I can hear it now over coffee and pie during the holidays, "And then she had to come all the way back and get me, but you know Bobbie!, she just had to stop at Starbucks first!" Insert raucous laughter here.
So today officially was that day. You know the one. The one where everything that can go wrong eventually does. The one where you think, this can't really be happening. Thoughts become things in my world and at some point today as I rushed out of the house to take my roommate to work, per her request, I thought, "Should I lock this door? What happens if I can't get back in?" Ask a question, get an answer.
My roommate had a quick meeting and didn't have time to find a place to park the car and get there on time. As it was, she was already leaving later than planned so she made an offer, which I gratefully accepted. Take her to the meeting, sit in the car until she was done, drive her to work and keep the car for the day. Are you kidding me? That was a no-brainer. I had errands to run, laundry to do. I could run by and see my mom and take her treats while my laundry was washing! Wow. Multi-tasking in a major way! Woohoo.
The caveat was that we had to leave right away. I was on the phone with my web master going over details for my new website and how we were going to marry several of the sites and which ones those should be. I had a billion details and things that needed doing, like changing out illustrations in one of the books, contacting an author about her bio and spending time working on my novel for NaNoWriMo. Clearly a full day, but one I would gladly forfeit an hour to help my roommate in exchange for use of the car.
So, when she said, we have to go right now, I took her at her word and remembered I was wearing my slippers, put on some shoes and grabbed a light sweater out of habit to put over my pajama shirt that went with my pajama pants, both of which I was wearing. I got in the car and headed to downtown Boston. Now to be honest, my pajamas are an old pair of sweatpants and an old long-sleeved shirt. Both are ratty and stained, thin and you know - comfy. I lounge around the house in them, yes, but wear them out, NO. But, hey, it was only for a minute and I wouldn't get out of the car and although I didn't have on a bra, I wasn't going commando either! So, hey, I was OK.
Everything went smoothly. She was a little late for her meeting - traffic was heavy. Hey. It's Friday. I got her back to her office and promised to be available to pick her up around 7 PM. I called my sister who was at work so she couldn't hang out. The brakes sounded a little funky so I opted not to go down to Fall River to see my brother, but hey, I could go home, potty, shower, grab my laundry, laptop and some Fig Newtons and have a good day. Do some laundry, get my writing done, grab some coffee and take the Newtons to see Mom. You know, enjoy having a car in the city for a day. Cool.
I parked the car by the back door of the house thinking I would carry the laundry out that way so it would be easier. I walked to the front door, put the key in the lock; it wouldn't budge. Not one speck. OK. It has been a little stuck before, no problem, just jiggle gently, lift a little, turn the door handle, push harder, twist it with all of my might, bang near the lock to unstick it. Nothing at all worked. By now, 20 minutes had gone by and I was in the front hall doing the potty dance in my pajamas, with my crazy hair and sore fingers. One roommate was at work where I had dropped her off, the other was out at an appointment with a friend. The landlord, who lives in New Hampshire had been by earlier and by now was safely ensconced somewhere north of the border. It is Friday afternoon, ya know.
I am going to spare you the details of this day except to say this. It was nuts. I drove back to the roommate's office to get the back door key only to have the same issue with that lock. A small front window was unlocked and while I could open it, I could only imagine the 911 call from my roommate describing what the neighbors would see of my big behind wedged securely in said window frame as I attempted unsuccessfully to climb through it in my ripped up jammies. Yeah, no, that wasn't happening. And the smaller roommate who had texted to say she was on her way, called an hour later to say, her friend who was driving her now had her own emergency and she wasn't coming.
So the melt down began. It had been several hours at this point. I was still in my pajamas and the wiggle became a full on disco display of dancing maneuvers as I tried to figure out what to do next. I called my roommate to let her know what was happening. I had to drive back to get her so she could fit her tiny frame in through the window and let us in. I told her fine, I would do that, but only after I stopped at the Starbucks to use the bathroom. I barely made it. And I mean barely. By the time I left, my other roommate text to say she had gotten out of her friends car, taken two buses home and had climbed in through the window. She was home. I could finally get in.
It had been nearly five hours since I had left home. And I was now home safe and sound. So, the moral of the story might be that thing our moms said about wearing clean underwear when we go out, but it's not. You see there is more. I am a bit of a recluse these days. Going out takes a lot of effort. I have been working on my writing projects, searching for a new job and cooking for my lovely family - my two roommates. I am still recovering from some pretty intense life transitions and have added a few more, so I am a little sore in spots (read depressed). I am working through it all just the same and I keep it moving forward. I have a great support system. And that is the lesson today.
I finally went back out and picked up my roommate a few hours after I had come home and passed out from the stress of the day. We were sitting at the kitchen table talking, eating sharing. I was clearly still a little frazzled when my roommate Celenia looked at me and started cracking up laughing. Sadie and I just stared. Sadie finally asked, "What's so funny?"
Celenia pointed at me and said, "You had the worst day," and started roaring with laughter. I looked at her and thought about my hurt feelings, the melt down I had because I couldn't get back into my safe little cocoon, the running back and forth, the frustration, the embarrassment of being uncombed, unwashed and in my pajamas and I looked at my roommate with the tears streaming down her face from her uncontrollable laughter, and I thought, You know what? This was all pretty damn funny!
We take things in life too damn seriously sometimes. I know I do. I cry and give in to the pain and heartbreak, the sorrow and fear when really, I need to smile at the joy that I am still here. Yes. There have been transitions, yes there have been times when I am ass out vulnerable and unsure, there are a lot of times when I have missed the mark, and have been under-dressed in life, but you know what, I am still here. I have so much more than most I know. I have friends and family and a whole bunch of tightly woven safety nets to catch me when I fall. I am so grateful. And yes, I need to exercise that humility muscle a little more often and I'm pretty sure if I give it some thought, that muscle is somewhere in the vicinity of my funny bone.
Listen, I wasn't out in the world waist deep in flood waters. I wasn't without electricity thrust into a makeshift shelter in my pajamas and I wasn't cold, starving or without funds. I was in my roommates car for Pete's sake, with a bunch of options the worst of which was to go to Starbucks and get a friggin' cup of coffee. It wasn't the end of the world and in the scheme of things, it was no where near it. In fact, it was and still is pretty darn funny. And at the moment all of it is making me smile. And knowing my two roommates, we will regale our family and friends with this tale time and time again. It is one of those defining moments when you know you have tremendously loving connections and things really are OK. I can hear it now over coffee and pie during the holidays, "And then she had to come all the way back and get me, but you know Bobbie!, she just had to stop at Starbucks first!" Insert raucous laughter here.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
FEELING KINDA RED WHITE AND BLUE
I was watching the speeches of the DNC on my laptop this week. Often in the wee hours of the morning, I go to YouTube and catch what I missed from the previous day. It means I am a little late behind the news sometimes, but I get to weed out all of the objectional graphics and frivolity that passes for news these days.
So, I pulled up YouTube and saw young Olympian Gabby Douglas recite the Pledge of Allegiance (nice) and Wynton Marsalis trumpet the National Anthem. And that's when I noticed them as the camera panned the crowd. The countless veterans standing at attention, right hand held horizontal to the left eye in salute of the flag. I looked a their faces and saw the strain and wondered what memories this conjured, what recollections this held of lost friends, comrades in arms, old chums.
Earlier this week I had been moved by a similar display in a tiny town in the North Carolina mountains. Hendersonville has that Americana charm that reminds us of a partially fictitious yesteryear for which so many of us long, a simpler time when we moved under the power of our own steam, when we greeted neighbor by neighbor, face to face, eye to eye with pleasantry and gallantry. I fell in love immediately with this sleepy little hamlet all dolled up for its annual apple festival. It was full of pageantry and local color and everyone for that day belonged - everyone, young, old, black, white, latino, native american, gay and straight belonged. I fell in love so much so that I have vowed to go back and see the place again with its purple mountains majesty surrounding it in every direction.
But what struck me most that day was the people lining the street for the annual parade. High school bands, choirs, dance groups, Shriners, Democrats, Republicans, Tea Baggers, local businesses, youth groups, women's groups, men's groups, groups for breast cancer awareness, hospice and HIV/AIDS awareness all marched side by side. And then one of the ladies seated on the ground in front of me said, "Here they come. Here's our guys, just what we've all been waiting for." She and everyone around and across the street from her scrambled to stand up and began clapping and cheering. It took a minute for the wagon to make it's way into my view. The veterans, men and women who had served our country, all ages, most of them in cars or on a trolley because they couldn't make it down the long 16 blocks independently.
I watched them as the crowd roared to its feet and cheered them on, many of us simply saying, "Thank you." I looked at the few lone soldiers who strolled the parade route along with their wives and children by their sides. I wondered too what losses they have suffered in the name of freedom and apple pie. I thought about the families in the crowd whose sons and daughters, mothers, fathers, husbands and wives are still over there or who will never make it home. I thought about the men in my family - fathers, uncles, brothers, nephews who served and whose lives have been and still are haunted by what they witnessed and still so many years later will not speak of. I thought of my brother who works in Boston with homeless vets many of them battling addictions acquired to fight the demons in their heads. And I think of the fellow who sat down with Mitt Romney while he stumped in New England and asked why Romney is against his husband receiving the benefits he should receive as the spouse of a veteran. He wondered why Romney was against civil rights. And yes, I shed a tear.
I am a person of peace. I do not like war and although I do understand the rationale behind it, it still seems wrong. Yet, I am so grateful to the people who risk their lives in service to their country and who put everything on the line and ask for nothing in return. Let's face it, most of us don't think about the freedoms we have and how we get them. We are content to live our lives and shout about anything we don't like, fight for anything we don't want, maybe - just maybe sign a petition online when someone posts it on Facebook. But when it comes down to it, we don't really think about the bloodshed and the horror we tune out on the nightly news or the fact that someone's brother down the street may be fighting in that bloody battle over oil or land or religion that ultimately will protect our freedoms to scream at the convention idiots on our 120 inch 1080 DLP flat-screens with 7:1 surround sound from the comfort of our theater rooms.
And I am as guilty as the next person. So yes, I got a little verklempt when I saw the beautiful young African American gymnast put her hand across her chest, and a bit teary eyed when the myriad voices joined as one with the sax in singing the national anthem, and yes I proudly stood in my bedroom at my desk saluting the soldiers and saying, "Thank you," just as I had done this past Monday, Labor Day when those men and women went by. This country with all of its problems still yet to be worked out remains one of the freest places in the world, where so much is possible. And I will stand with any man or woman who marches to defend our right to be as right or wrong as any of us sees fit. It is a good country, one for which there is still great hope.
So shortly, I will watch my president accept the nomination of the Democratic Party for another term. And I will hope and pray that this good country will elect this man for four more years. I'm feeling a little red white and blue tonight and full of hope and faith. And a whole lot of Love.
Robin G. White is the author of Reflections of A Life Well Spent (Sunset Pointe Press) and the 2001 Resurrections: A Collection of Work (Kings Crossing Publishing). Her books, First Breath (Sunset Pointe Press) and Omphaloskepsis Guided Writing Journal (Sunset Pointe Press) will be released in the Fall of 2013.
www.store.robingwhite.com
So, I pulled up YouTube and saw young Olympian Gabby Douglas recite the Pledge of Allegiance (nice) and Wynton Marsalis trumpet the National Anthem. And that's when I noticed them as the camera panned the crowd. The countless veterans standing at attention, right hand held horizontal to the left eye in salute of the flag. I looked a their faces and saw the strain and wondered what memories this conjured, what recollections this held of lost friends, comrades in arms, old chums.
Earlier this week I had been moved by a similar display in a tiny town in the North Carolina mountains. Hendersonville has that Americana charm that reminds us of a partially fictitious yesteryear for which so many of us long, a simpler time when we moved under the power of our own steam, when we greeted neighbor by neighbor, face to face, eye to eye with pleasantry and gallantry. I fell in love immediately with this sleepy little hamlet all dolled up for its annual apple festival. It was full of pageantry and local color and everyone for that day belonged - everyone, young, old, black, white, latino, native american, gay and straight belonged. I fell in love so much so that I have vowed to go back and see the place again with its purple mountains majesty surrounding it in every direction.
But what struck me most that day was the people lining the street for the annual parade. High school bands, choirs, dance groups, Shriners, Democrats, Republicans, Tea Baggers, local businesses, youth groups, women's groups, men's groups, groups for breast cancer awareness, hospice and HIV/AIDS awareness all marched side by side. And then one of the ladies seated on the ground in front of me said, "Here they come. Here's our guys, just what we've all been waiting for." She and everyone around and across the street from her scrambled to stand up and began clapping and cheering. It took a minute for the wagon to make it's way into my view. The veterans, men and women who had served our country, all ages, most of them in cars or on a trolley because they couldn't make it down the long 16 blocks independently.
I watched them as the crowd roared to its feet and cheered them on, many of us simply saying, "Thank you." I looked at the few lone soldiers who strolled the parade route along with their wives and children by their sides. I wondered too what losses they have suffered in the name of freedom and apple pie. I thought about the families in the crowd whose sons and daughters, mothers, fathers, husbands and wives are still over there or who will never make it home. I thought about the men in my family - fathers, uncles, brothers, nephews who served and whose lives have been and still are haunted by what they witnessed and still so many years later will not speak of. I thought of my brother who works in Boston with homeless vets many of them battling addictions acquired to fight the demons in their heads. And I think of the fellow who sat down with Mitt Romney while he stumped in New England and asked why Romney is against his husband receiving the benefits he should receive as the spouse of a veteran. He wondered why Romney was against civil rights. And yes, I shed a tear.
I am a person of peace. I do not like war and although I do understand the rationale behind it, it still seems wrong. Yet, I am so grateful to the people who risk their lives in service to their country and who put everything on the line and ask for nothing in return. Let's face it, most of us don't think about the freedoms we have and how we get them. We are content to live our lives and shout about anything we don't like, fight for anything we don't want, maybe - just maybe sign a petition online when someone posts it on Facebook. But when it comes down to it, we don't really think about the bloodshed and the horror we tune out on the nightly news or the fact that someone's brother down the street may be fighting in that bloody battle over oil or land or religion that ultimately will protect our freedoms to scream at the convention idiots on our 120 inch 1080 DLP flat-screens with 7:1 surround sound from the comfort of our theater rooms.
And I am as guilty as the next person. So yes, I got a little verklempt when I saw the beautiful young African American gymnast put her hand across her chest, and a bit teary eyed when the myriad voices joined as one with the sax in singing the national anthem, and yes I proudly stood in my bedroom at my desk saluting the soldiers and saying, "Thank you," just as I had done this past Monday, Labor Day when those men and women went by. This country with all of its problems still yet to be worked out remains one of the freest places in the world, where so much is possible. And I will stand with any man or woman who marches to defend our right to be as right or wrong as any of us sees fit. It is a good country, one for which there is still great hope.
So shortly, I will watch my president accept the nomination of the Democratic Party for another term. And I will hope and pray that this good country will elect this man for four more years. I'm feeling a little red white and blue tonight and full of hope and faith. And a whole lot of Love.
Robin G. White is the author of Reflections of A Life Well Spent (Sunset Pointe Press) and the 2001 Resurrections: A Collection of Work (Kings Crossing Publishing). Her books, First Breath (Sunset Pointe Press) and Omphaloskepsis Guided Writing Journal (Sunset Pointe Press) will be released in the Fall of 2013.
www.store.robingwhite.com
Thursday, September 15, 2011
BLANK CANVASS
The day we moved into our new home was crazy. We had decided at the last minute to pack up a U-Haul (no lesbian jokes please), grab some of the nephews and move in. It was haphazard and it happened in the middle of the night the day after Christmas. When we did finally get moved in we were dwarfed by the size of it all. Our furniture looked like dollhouse furniture against the ten and twenty-foot ceilings. We couldn't believe the size of it: seven bedrooms, eight bathrooms, sauna, steam room, gym, game room, movie theater and the biggest most beautiful pool I had ever seen outside of a resort. All of this on the 18th hole of the golf course with breath-taking views of the lake and the well-manicured nature. Our last name could have been Jefferson 'cause we knew we had moved on up.
Six years later I was packing a U-Haul with my stuff, my memories, and my kid and headed to Florida to start all over from scratch. It should have been the worst time in my life, but that would come later. The Universe has a way of putting things in perspective. To say I was devastated by the circumstances of the end of my relationship would be an understatement by any account. In an instant all that I knew of as my life was gone. My love, my identity, my business, my home, my finances, my stability, my future - everything gone gone gone. I didn't know what I was going to do or how I was going to do it. I got a job. I quit the job. I started a business. I stopped doing the business. I prayed. And then I prayed some more. You find out what you are truly made of when all of the trimmings (or trappings) fall away.
Prayer opened the door to new understanding. Where others saw loss, I saw gain. I knew I had an opportunity unlike any other. I could either dwell on all that I had lost or focus on all I had in front of me. My life hadn't been destroyed. I had been given the most remarkable of gifts: a blank canvass. I had a chance to truly and completely paint the picture I wanted my life to be. What an unimaginable present! I had no idea where to start. When I heard a voice saying, "Just start somewhere!" I realized I was going to need some help with this one, so I turned to God.
I've always been a person who prayed. As a child the rote memorization of my Catholic prayers offered comfort of some sort. As a Baptist seminarian learning to pray I often felt inadequate in my prayer life. But I have always known that I could talk to God and intuitively knew that God talked to me. So that's what I did. I talked to God and I have to say, I've had some great conversations with God over the past couple of years. I pray and God listens to me. I meditate and I listen to God. It is a pretty good system we have worked out. I asked what I should do and I listened in the quiet for the answer. I got it and I have been writing ever since. I love the picture I have been co-creating with God's help. It has been amazing.
In a time when everything I valued disappeared I could have called out in anguish and anger. And yes, I had my moments, but I dug deep and found the Faith I knew had always been there. And in taking the time I needed to be still and look inward, I found me there waiting patiently for my own arrival. It was as though the God in me said, "I knew you'd show up. Here's a brush; now, let's get started." Me and God have been creating the most beautiful life I could ever know filled with wonder and awe and abundance beyond measure. I have been blessed in ways I couldn't even begin to express. I have abundance in ways that have nothing to do with a big house or a fast car. I have more joy and more love than I have ever known! And yes, all of the goodies that come with it.
Last month I was given a gift and had the privilege of attending a Unity retreat hosted by Unity Center for Practical Spirituality. The retreat was held on a lovely resort-like campus in West Cornwall, CT. We were fed deeply satisfying spiritual, intellectual and creative food. The setting was remarkable. I was surrounded by beautiful nature, mountains, rivers, and some of the most loving, gifted, intelligent people you could ever meet. One of whom I met there was me. Fully cloaked in who I have been ordained to be I unveiled this picture God and I have been creating and it was marvelous. One of the best works ever! I liked it so much I decided it should be a part of my permanent collection. I am keeping it out where everyone can see it. I hope you like it as much as I do. I am expanding on the vision of this original painting, adding some color and depth here and there. It IS a work in progress you know.
And if you think that first canvas was fire... HA! Wait until you see what God is creating in me now. Stay tuned. It really is AMAZING!
Six years later I was packing a U-Haul with my stuff, my memories, and my kid and headed to Florida to start all over from scratch. It should have been the worst time in my life, but that would come later. The Universe has a way of putting things in perspective. To say I was devastated by the circumstances of the end of my relationship would be an understatement by any account. In an instant all that I knew of as my life was gone. My love, my identity, my business, my home, my finances, my stability, my future - everything gone gone gone. I didn't know what I was going to do or how I was going to do it. I got a job. I quit the job. I started a business. I stopped doing the business. I prayed. And then I prayed some more. You find out what you are truly made of when all of the trimmings (or trappings) fall away.
Prayer opened the door to new understanding. Where others saw loss, I saw gain. I knew I had an opportunity unlike any other. I could either dwell on all that I had lost or focus on all I had in front of me. My life hadn't been destroyed. I had been given the most remarkable of gifts: a blank canvass. I had a chance to truly and completely paint the picture I wanted my life to be. What an unimaginable present! I had no idea where to start. When I heard a voice saying, "Just start somewhere!" I realized I was going to need some help with this one, so I turned to God.
I've always been a person who prayed. As a child the rote memorization of my Catholic prayers offered comfort of some sort. As a Baptist seminarian learning to pray I often felt inadequate in my prayer life. But I have always known that I could talk to God and intuitively knew that God talked to me. So that's what I did. I talked to God and I have to say, I've had some great conversations with God over the past couple of years. I pray and God listens to me. I meditate and I listen to God. It is a pretty good system we have worked out. I asked what I should do and I listened in the quiet for the answer. I got it and I have been writing ever since. I love the picture I have been co-creating with God's help. It has been amazing.
In a time when everything I valued disappeared I could have called out in anguish and anger. And yes, I had my moments, but I dug deep and found the Faith I knew had always been there. And in taking the time I needed to be still and look inward, I found me there waiting patiently for my own arrival. It was as though the God in me said, "I knew you'd show up. Here's a brush; now, let's get started." Me and God have been creating the most beautiful life I could ever know filled with wonder and awe and abundance beyond measure. I have been blessed in ways I couldn't even begin to express. I have abundance in ways that have nothing to do with a big house or a fast car. I have more joy and more love than I have ever known! And yes, all of the goodies that come with it.
Last month I was given a gift and had the privilege of attending a Unity retreat hosted by Unity Center for Practical Spirituality. The retreat was held on a lovely resort-like campus in West Cornwall, CT. We were fed deeply satisfying spiritual, intellectual and creative food. The setting was remarkable. I was surrounded by beautiful nature, mountains, rivers, and some of the most loving, gifted, intelligent people you could ever meet. One of whom I met there was me. Fully cloaked in who I have been ordained to be I unveiled this picture God and I have been creating and it was marvelous. One of the best works ever! I liked it so much I decided it should be a part of my permanent collection. I am keeping it out where everyone can see it. I hope you like it as much as I do. I am expanding on the vision of this original painting, adding some color and depth here and there. It IS a work in progress you know.
And if you think that first canvas was fire... HA! Wait until you see what God is creating in me now. Stay tuned. It really is AMAZING!
Monday, August 15, 2011
WE ARE THE POETS
It's an ordinary Monday morning here in Boston and I am sitting in my room sifting through the overnight onslaught of emails and Facebook postings which now decorate my life. This is communication? Last week I had the privilege of attending the National Poetry Slam in Cambridge. I felt alive and wonderful as I sat listening to poet after poet share his, her, or their (team) efforts. I was out nearly every day sometimes reading at the side events, judging one slam and sitting with friends over coffee or pizza discussing how wonderful it is to be in a world of poets if only for just a minute.
And that is exactly what it was. Just a minute. A momentary wrinkle in time when all the world seemed filled with poetry and even the bad poetry - Chimps and Bononos - were worthy of our discussions. In person! As I strolled up Mass Ave in Cambridge and smiled at the bodies moving along the sidewalk, lanyards hung around each neck decreeing "I am a fellow poet and lover of all things poetry" I couldn't help but feel like the world had changed in an instant. That I had somehow been transported into a place where I was a part of the "in" crowd. That all of those years of writing and twisting words into their inevitability had somehow accessed me to the vortex of my parallel life and finally, finally I was living it. Ah. The bliss! I AM the holder of the golden ticket!
Then on Saturday and Sunday it happened. My fellow nerds went home to the places where they hold nerdiness in high regard among their fellow nerds - all five of them. We are that few. We are small in number. We write in quiet corners hugging laptops to our bosom along with artfully decorated marble notebooks and colorful purple pens. We smuggle words to each other; laugh brashly at jokes only we understand; whisper sonnets when a simple word would do. We are the poets holding court for another year. Praying we won't be discovered and stepping to the mic in cities around the world hoping to be heard. We are poets writing illegible passions onto paper and stashing them in the folds of Facebook longing for another poet nerd to respond in kind. We are poets. Setting the world ablaze with our words, and telling it off.
We are the poets and we are not alone.
Robin G. White is an award-winning poet, author and publisher. You can read more about her at www.robingwhite.com.
And that is exactly what it was. Just a minute. A momentary wrinkle in time when all the world seemed filled with poetry and even the bad poetry - Chimps and Bononos - were worthy of our discussions. In person! As I strolled up Mass Ave in Cambridge and smiled at the bodies moving along the sidewalk, lanyards hung around each neck decreeing "I am a fellow poet and lover of all things poetry" I couldn't help but feel like the world had changed in an instant. That I had somehow been transported into a place where I was a part of the "in" crowd. That all of those years of writing and twisting words into their inevitability had somehow accessed me to the vortex of my parallel life and finally, finally I was living it. Ah. The bliss! I AM the holder of the golden ticket!
Then on Saturday and Sunday it happened. My fellow nerds went home to the places where they hold nerdiness in high regard among their fellow nerds - all five of them. We are that few. We are small in number. We write in quiet corners hugging laptops to our bosom along with artfully decorated marble notebooks and colorful purple pens. We smuggle words to each other; laugh brashly at jokes only we understand; whisper sonnets when a simple word would do. We are the poets holding court for another year. Praying we won't be discovered and stepping to the mic in cities around the world hoping to be heard. We are poets writing illegible passions onto paper and stashing them in the folds of Facebook longing for another poet nerd to respond in kind. We are poets. Setting the world ablaze with our words, and telling it off.
We are the poets and we are not alone.
Robin G. White is an award-winning poet, author and publisher. You can read more about her at www.robingwhite.com.
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