A Sense of Wonder

December 7, 2012 / still a dreamer / 2 Comments

Some might also call this a sense of awe. Today, as I’m sure you’re aware, one of the most commonly used word to describe what someone really likes is awesome. I use it myself. But nowadays everything is awesome. When everything is awesome, then really, nothing is awesome.

But semantics aside, how wonderful is it to find that sense of awe, of true wonder, much like a child. It’s a gift. I stumbled across it just the other morning. I was sitting by the front windows journaling and I happened to look up to see a flutter of chickadees and a male cardinal hopping about the porch railing and in and out of an adjacent yew. The chickadees were puffed up to keep warm and quite busy with whatever they were doing.

Without moving, I just watched them, yes, in awe, of their singular beauty. I became aware that I was smiling and just sending that reverential feeling to them. And then they stopped, cardinal included, and looked directly at me. I don’t know quite what a bird can perceive through glass, but I have no doubt that it was my energy that spoke to them. And for brief moments we all seemed as one, just being, time suspended. Now that … was truly awesome. Then time and motion resumed, them hopping, me watching.

I believe we have far too few moments like this in our lives. We are too busy, too fractured, too distracted, but the moments are there, waiting. Ask any child. And all it takes is being still, stopping and looking. Really looking.

Learning History Backwards

December 2, 2012December 2, 2012 / still a dreamer

History seems determined to find me. I haven’t been looking for history, but somehow I am bring coaxed into looking at periods in time of which I know little or nothing, most recently British colonial rule in Kenya in the 50’s. I know. How did that happen? (Well, one look at the photo, and you may know.)

Like the experience of many others in a time past – and perhaps still the present – history was taught in such a way that it was guaranteed to, at the very least, leave no lasting impression, and at the worst, develop in one a real distaste for it. The latter would be me. I dutifully swallowed the dry rattle of names, dates, places and events and dutifully coughed them back up for tests. Not until I got to college and had a brilliant professor who made history truly come alive did I suddenly realize the fascination of history. And by then it seemed too late; I had such a fragile and spotty framework of knowledge on which to hang any new historical insights.

But history seems to be hunting me down through books and/or movies as of late … Afghanistan before and after the Taliban took over through The Kite Runner; the deep South during the Civil Rights movement in The Help; the Civil War period in Oklahoma in what I’m reading now, Paradise, medieval times in Britain in The Last Templar and so on. History isn’t the subject; it’s the backdrop, but it’s impossible to not be drawn into the history of the time period when reading the book or watching the movie.

Most recently it’s The First Grader, a movie set in Kenya in 2003. It’s based on the true story of an 84 year old villager, Maruge, who, when primary education was made available to all, wanted to learn to read. The story is absolutely inspiring. There he sat, having fought repeatedly for his right to do so, with six year olds, five to a desk, learning the alphabet. His rapport with Jane Obinchu, the instructor, and the children is a testament to the spirit of those who believe in something enough to pursue that dream and love doing it in spite of all odds.

What was far more difficult to watch, shown in sporadic flashbacks, was what happened to Maruge in the early 50’s when he was sentenced to a prison camp under British colonial rule. The Mau Mau tribe, whom Maruge had joined, had risen up against the corrupt British but were defeated and captured. To force him to renounce his vow of loyalty, his captors forced him to watch the execution of his wife and children, (this was not shown onscreen), and tortured him brutally. It was hard to not wake up the following morning flooded with sadness as to what has gone so wrong in human beings that they can treat others as they did.

But in the long run, that does not change my recommendation to see this incredibly rich and touching movie. The First Grader was filmed in Kenya, and all the children are actual attendees of one of the schools in the Kenyan bush. Their glowing faces just light up the screen. One little girl named Agnes, seemed mildly deformed and had a severe limp like Maruge. She told him she wanted to go to school so she could be a doctor … and then she could make him better. The children have almost as much impact as Maruge himself. It’s hard not to smile when thinking about this movie, in spite of the reflection of such a terrible time in history.

Maruge became the oldest recorded person in the world to ever attend first grade and drew his own bit of celebrity for his devotion to education. So much so, that he was flown to New York to speak at the UN. Should you watch The First Grader, be sure to watch the short documentary and you will see the real Maruge, Jane Obinchu and others. You will also see how the director worked with the children who had never seen a television or movie. You may be inspired.

Farewell to A Book

November 23, 2012November 23, 2012 / still a dreamer / 2 Comments

Putting a book away when it has offered such insight and wisdom can be quite difficult for me. When the author has brought information that is new, or even what we may know, but framed in a completely different way, it is a gift. Especially when we are being reminded throughout of the magnificence of our spirit … who wants to let that go?

In Wishes Fulfilled by Wayne Dyer, I found a reframing of things I have been learning in a different and practical way … simple tools to practice regularly to help me change some of my thinking that would result in my being happier, lighter in the world and more able to manifest my dreams. His referencing some of the renowned spiritual teachers who have walked the planet, some of whom still do, has brought home the universality of direction we all could take if we open our hearts and minds.

As with so many things, incorporating his suggestions into everyday life is something to not just keep in mind, but practice. It’s a way of changing our concepts of ourselves and all for the better. If you are seeking to manifest your dreams, which may be as basic as having improved health, you might enjoy Wishes Fulfilled, available through Hay House, its publisher, or Amazon. (The price is the same at either location, and at Hay House you will support a smaller company dedicated to growth of all kinds.)

So Dr. Dyer will go in a particular bookcase in my home and join other books that have offered their wisdom to me. On the final page of Wishes Fulfilled, he summarizes the concepts he’s shared, and then quotes the following from Rumi, the 13th Century Persian poet, which is a great reflection of this book’s direction:

You were born with potential.
You were born with goodness and trust.
You were born with ideals and dreams.
You were born with greatness.
You were born with wings.
You are not meant for crawling, so don’t.
You have wings.
Learn to use them and fly.
– Rumi

Baby Loves Black

November 15, 2012 / still a dreamer / 4 Comments

I wouldn’t say my Mom was a fashionista. She wouldn’t have said it either, even if that word had existed back then. She was a conservative dresser in the time I knew her, that is, growing up my whole life. When I was a child, she wore simple clothes for the most part – straight skirts, (now known as pencil skirts), quasi-fitted short sleeve sweaters or printed or solid blouses, shorts in the summer. I remember her in wedgies in the warmer weather and medium high heels the rest of the time. Always on the simple side. In her daily dress, my Mom was not an adventurous soul.

And then … she had her evening/party clothes. An entirely different woman appeared. My Mom had the most fabulous skirts, tops and dresses for when she went out, and they were almost exclusively black. She wore black taffeta flared skirts, black silk tops and she had a gorgeous pair of black (real) velvet pumps. She positively glowed. To this day I can vividly remember one of her shirts … it was black crepe with cap sleeves, solid in the back, and in the front, there were chevron stripes of sequins, about 1/2″ apart, in alternating pale colors – gold, silver, aqua, pale rose and green. Even as a child, I wanted that shirt.

I believe those fabulous evening clothes – and possibly how happy and confident my Mom seemed in them – inspired my own love of black clothing. I’m typing this blog in a favorite combination – black jeans and a black sweatshirt over a black long-sleeved polo-type shirt. Garnet earrings are the only color at the moment, but then … I’m home. I love wearing black and honestly, I could wear it all the time, but it somehow seems a good idea to vary my wardrobe colors. Still, it’s a lifelong attraction.

Pan back in time when I was 6 or 7 years old. In school we were given these horizontal booklets each year; we filled them out with photos of ourselves, “My Best Friend”, “My Pet” and some of our favorite things. I may still have that book; my Mom saved a lot of our school stuff. On one of the pages, they asked you to fill in your favorite color. Undoubtedly inspired by my Mom’s fabulous evening clothes, I happily wrote “black.”

And that’s when they called home.

Lending A Hand, Lending A Shoulder

November 5, 2012November 9, 2012 / still a dreamer / 4 Comments

One of the things I observe and which warms my heart during and in the wake of cataclysmic events such as Hurricane Sandy, is the outpouring of support for those stricken with misfortune – our neighbors, our family and friends, and for total strangers. It seems there’s a little something everyone can do, and the more we hear, the more we come to know just how worse off many have it than ourselves.

We all can lend a hand and if needed, a shoulder, to someone in need. What makes me crazy is the media – do they focus on all the good people are doing for one another? No, instead they feature the fist fight at the local gas line. I can only say, shame on them. Show us the good stuff.

This country has come together again and again – to stand with one another in the face of tragedy right here – 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, and other events, making us proud to be Americans. Even in the face of an election and across party lines – really, in the face of such sadness as the destruction we’ve just witnessed and lived through – who cares? It’s then that people care most about what counts … each other.

It’s sad that it sometimes takes tragedy for so many to put aside their differences, but in the end we do. We’re at our best and most human.

Today I had to make a call as one of my bills never arrived. The first question the representative asked, seeing where I lived, is how was I doing in the wake of the hurricane. Our humanness is what binds us and makes the world so much smaller. She was from a country whose capital was almost completely underwater in August due to excessive rains and flooding. We commiserated briefly before discussing the business at hand, and the world became yet smaller.

There are so many ways to help. Are you a writer or illustrator? You can help out and be helped in your craft as many authors, editors, agents are offering their time and expertise for a fee which will be donated to help victims of Hurricane Sandy. Read more here.