Great Feelings

Great feelings begin with acceptance of others
Give to ones that need sun to shine for them
Find a moon to cast a shadow across the land
Prepare a pool to catch tears for the one who is lonely
Follow the Jasmine scent of the night breeze
Find the lover who waits
Receive warmth by the crackling, hissing fire
Longing with heart to share and weep wisely
Walk through cool morning dew where the feet are chilled
Sweet juices flowing over the face in sticky joy
Watch the sky fill with sunlight
A gentle ocean comes to greet the sky
Above the clouds are chasing clouds
A bird flies over where sweet song
Awakens the morning man
To great feelings
To great feelings!
Great feelings
Begin with
Acceptance of others

Closure - an inside job

At the age of six years old I watched as an ambulance left the driveway below my window, taking my Mom to the hospital. I wasn’t too worried because the last time she went there she came home with a little brother for me. He was barely two years old, but what do six year olds know; Mom could have been having another baby, but she wasn’t.

She spent thirteen weeks, equal to three months and one week, on the psychiatric ward having shock treatments and God knows what else. I stared in unbelief the day we brought her home as she kept repeating to my Dad, “Take me back to the hospital; I’m not ready to come home.” He drove on, smiled, and sometimes laughed, and I wondered how he could be that way. I remember begging him to please take her back… and began to cry when he laughed at me too.

I knew things would never be the same because she was never the same. The bouncing, bubbly Mom I once had was gone. Instead a “mean woman” came to live with us and I began to hide and isolate from everyone. Long hours out in the yard proved to be the best hiding place, as no one bothered to come find me. I wandered from house to house, meeting other children’s’ Moms, just so I could feel loved the way I used to. Pretty soon those Moms were talking to my Mom and begging her to just let me stay another hour at their houses. Seems everyone wanted a little girl except the people at my house. They were busy being angry and throwing things.

When my Mom died it’s as if all of these issues came back to haunt me. What had happened to her to so change her spirit? Why did she almost hound me to stay close by, yet pushed me away? The answers I finally figured out took 40 years to come forth and I can promise you that I’ve been able to forgive her every unkind word and act. What was left was closure for me from me: an inside job. It would take learning about my own mental health issues and how empathy from others would and could help me mend. Though I might not ever be 100 percent, I will try and not let anyone deter me from seeking my goal; welcoming the empathy that supports my inner healing… and eventual closure.

then this

“The idea is to admit and accept that you're experiencing mental distress and that something needs to change. It is better to try and focus on solutions rather than letting the problem(s) overwhelm us.”

Three weeks before Christmas

Three weeks before Christmas, I stood at the road,
Surveying the house lights and checking the load.

Most strands lit up brightly, one hung down too far.
I stepped in the road, was struck down by a car.

The driver was nice and he wore a red suit.
I glanced in his car and saw tons of loot.

He had everything, from mixers to trolleys,
And bags full of toys, including small dollies.

The stars that I saw, when he hit me, were fading.
I thought of the task of my house light upgrading.

He had me sit down while he went to work.
The strand hung too far, he fixed with a jerk.

From a bag he retrieved in the back of his car,
He presented the most brilliantly lit golden star.

On the top of the house he moved like an adder.
I looked all around, but where was his ladder?

He danced and he pranced as he sang out with laud.
Dumbfounded I sat there and could only applaud.

In the blink of an eye he stood on the ground.
The leaves were all dry, but he made not a sound.

It was then that I noticed the white beard and hair.
My eyes must have widened, he laughed at my stare.

This couldn't be 'him', he didn't exist,
But I just had to ask; I couldn't resist.

I turned to say something and found he was gone.
Had I merely passed out right here on the lawn?

Later that evening my family came out.
I flipped on the switch and heard a great shout!

The tiny lights twinkled with nothing to mar.
The biggest surprise was the golden lit star.

The years pass by quickly, and the star's always bright.
There's no cord connected, no batteries for light.

Yet every December the cheers always jar,
And I think of the “'dream” when hit by that car.

The words he exclaimed when he left with his load
"Merry Christmas to you, and stay out of the road"

Finally

I'm going home! Finally away from this cold spot. Finally away from the wrong type of vacation. Finally to begin thinking about where my life is headed. Finally I can get on with the things I want to do. Finally just me and the people that appreciate my life. Finally, love for me from me. Finally I'm going home!

Leaning

Like a football cheer from childhood: “lean left, lean right, stand up sit down, fight, fight, fight.” Just like the house in the photo: no matter where I stood to take the photo, it was always leaning; although the house was perfectly level. I fought, fought, fought to find a level area to take the shot, but no such luck. Once I got home I decided that I kind of liked the looks of the house leaning; so maybe my own leanings on the struggles I deal with are an illusion. Maybe they’re not crooked or leaning. Maybe they’re normal for what I go through. Maybe I have trained my perspective to see them as imperfect, or as less than perfect. Maybe I just haven’t found the level ground that says, “It’s okay to lean.” Does anyone understand what I’ve written? If so would you explain it to me?

~photo from Greencastle, Pa., by dcrelief

Heart of Time ~ a collaborative blog

Heart of Time: part one written by dcrelief

In this world where time is considered a commodity for chores, attending events, and working incessantly, I’m concerned that too few consider that the “inner being” needs our time first. The “heart of time” no longer runs our life for happiness, but makes as its goal ‘other world-centered agendas’. Yes, there are some very worthy causes to support, yet when did it become necessary to overlook our health to make sure the world gets its? Do we really want to run on, to and fro, not stopping to contemplate why we’re sad at the end of the day? Where is the block of time wherein the heart sings to us? After searching I came across a few who are taking care of themselves. In their healing and on-going recovery, from mental distress, their “heart of time” has let them know they possess gifts to pass on. In this collaborative blog, I share with you, my co-blog writer: “Klahanie, a man challenging his inner critic”; indeed his own heart of time. Enjoy.

Heart of time: part two written by Klahanie

Life is about priorities. We can get so wrapped up in material and day-to-day 'priorities', that we can forget the most important priority of all: Our emotional priority, our mental health wellbeing. So we put it off to one side. We choose to ignore the 'warning signs' that try to let us know, that something is wrong in our lives. No, instead we stress ourselves out; after all, we have to compete in the 'rat race'.
We can dismiss the warning signs that will unbalance our mental health stability. We can ignore our lingering concerns because our material, our day-to-day priorities take precedent. We do so at a cost that goes beyond any financial value. It is time for us to slow down, forget that driving force that tells you: 'I've gotta' keep up with the Jones's'. Your health, both physical and mental, is vastly more important than this bizarre competition that impels us to ignore the 'song in our hearts'.
Dcrelief knows the value of taking care of herself. She has witnessed others' who understand this same ideal. I do the best I can, the nagging ache of my mental health concerns will, never again, be 'filed under forgotten'. Now, I ask you to kindly think about yourself, take time out to cherish the wonders of the world you may have been too busy to notice. Now is your chance to be kind to yourself and pass that kindness on.

Note: Read more from Klahanie:
www.klahanie.blogspot.com

It's old; it's damaged, but still rocks

The story of my life lately is much like the title of my blog. I am old, I am damaged, but I truly believe I still rock! My vacation to the north country has proven to be most difficult. I am challenged daily on so many things it is like juggling balls. I am in contact with friends to help me keep positive and that helps greatly. (Thanks you guys!) And yes, this is the very red rocking chair that I sit in and watch snowflakes, children playing, glorious looking sunsets and clouds… oh and lots of rain recently. I will continue to challenge my own discomfort.
I hope you are watching things that give you enjoyment; maybe you’re rekindling an old hobby. Either way, take good care of you. Most warmly, dcrelief

Sunbathing Birds

In a small adventure in Greencastle, Pennsylvania, I came upon this very tall tree. I’m not a photographer, mind you; I only tote a digital around and snap away. My camera was on point and ready to snap when a couple of birds flew to the limbs and perched. Hmm, birds in three different sizes kept coming to this tree, until pretty soon the tree looked to be sprouting new leaves. But I promise you there were no leaves on it at all.

The sun so bright lit up the birds’ bellies and they are bright and light too. Their sweet songs and chirps created a symphony of sound I wished I could translate. What were they saying? They remained in the tree’s highest limbs closest to the warmth of the sun. So it was I came to photograph the sunbathing birds.

Candles in the wind go out...

Candles in the wind go out…

Not to compete with Sir Elton John’s song, “Candle in the wind;” his song, speaking of a life lost to confusion. He admired the life that eventually blew itself out. Then he rewrote the song to show respect for the loss of another one. When is the wind strong enough to blow out the candle?

Recently I’ve been reading about other lives and their desires to continue living. They have a ‘driving force’ that propels them through the world they travel. They speak of recovery from various dilemmas and events that took some or all of their life away. Yet this ‘driving force,’ this motivational person, place or thing, took them to a level of wanting to continue to exist. The person, place or thing, ‘saved’ their life; like a surrounding wall protecting the flame of their candle in the wind.

So I wondered in my own way of wondering, which is flawed at best, but still it’s my own: what is my ‘driving force’ to continue existence? What keeps my candle glowing? What gives me shelter from the wind? …

My little computer cursor has been blinking for five minutes now, until I finally typed this sentence. I’m searching in my mind for an answer and I have none. Have I no ‘driving force’?

The wind has always found me. The wind has always blown out my candle. Then one day I just decided I’d only light my candle when indoors. Then when it got blown out it was because it was at the bottom of the wick. With that spent, I’d simply get another candle to light. So maybe my ‘driving force’ is simply to have a lighted candle? Maybe the realization that I can blow it out just as well as the wind gives me control? I don’t have any real answers today, but I bought a new box of candles.

Portals of Earth

When I found this rather curious ruin I wondered where the place was. It’s called “Glen of the Downs”, Wicklow. I think it’s a rather enchanting ruin looking out to the trees and meadow below it. The arched windows remind me of portals; stepping over and through to the outside and the adventure waiting there. A place of real existence in the land of Ireland calls me and I long to answer the voice.

Go through these portals of earth and where will you arrive? It almost appears as a place that time has passed over. Winding dirt roads, tall hedgerows, and the sweet stillness of silence greet each of us who transport ourselves to a time of peace. Shall we ever return? Why, lest we break the secrecy of this wonderland and lose the so long sought green freshness of pure life. I would remain for as long as possible, if not forever.

Words

Words on a page are the same as a pencil sketch; limited in their scope of being understood, or worse, misinterpreted. One must use adjectives, more words, to view shadows and highlights, just as more pencil or charcoal enhances, or defines the sketch.

In my case I have always used photos to do what I've not had the capability of doing with words. I am not a word-usage descriptive, accomplished writer. I am a wordy artist. And as I sat writing away on a recent children's story I realized how inadequate I truly am at mastering adult composition; mastering the adult mindset. The children's stories always come easy because I still remember what it's like to be a child. My nieces and nephews tell me they enjoy my stories because: "Aunt D, it's like you're a child writing about a child." Yet my child-like ways have hurt me within this internet sphere of "meeting other adults and thinking they want to play."

If I am confused it is only because I live in a world few live in. I have a disability that extends to mental, emotional and physical arenas. I have done nothing to become this way. I took some prescribed medications given for 4 years and those were the disabling bullets that took the life I knew but cannot get back. Things will never be the same... and some days it’s not all bad. During those years of medicated torment I saw things you could not in your wildest imagination see or conceive. I saw, felt, touched, heard, and acknowledged a world of existence you have no idea is even there and eventually I arrived at a place so full of light and peace; I wanted to stay but purpose had me return to this place, where now, only my subconscious remembers what it is I returned to do.

In regal beauty... the red Gerber...bathes

An awe-inspiring flower did touch my heart one day
And though its beauty yielded radiance, I had no words to say.
I watched the petals form and fan in no short span of time.
While gradually I felt its power that swayed this regal rhyme.

A sprinkling of the rain fell softly and hung.
Round beads as golden glass on the petals they clung.
My eyes filled with wonder and small human tears.
This beauty before me was tender and dear.

A bath from on high caused the glistening and shine.
It prompted my memory to also be thine.
Put all of my trust in the lord of the lathe.
And seek my own duty… as the red Gerber… bathes.

Night Fishing

I knocked on the door of a kindly old fellow
And asked him the way to Deerfield Park
He smiled rather slowly and answered,
“Lady you’ll get lost out in the dark.”

Funny but the sun was sinking fast now
As I looked around I could barely see
He nodded the white-haired head slowly,
“Lady, do you see that tree?”

A low hanging limb reached the ground
Where rows of colored roots crossed the land
He turned and walked off without a sound
“Lady, take you time, the scene is grand.”

So I walked to the tree in a gentle wind
Night birds sang out in searching lark
A chillness in my shoulders and thought I heard
“Lady you’ll get lost out in the dark.”

I knocked on the door of a kindly old fellow
Got lost while camping at Deerfield Park
With a hot cup of coffee the evening mellowed
“Lady can you stay for just one night?”

I watched as the full moon climbed across the sky
Illuminating every tree in sight
Night birds picked a path on which to fly
“Lady grab the net, I got a bite.”

Challenge

There’s a pain within me burning and I try not to let it show
I’m dealing with a substitute of what I used to know
A real emotional trauma caused closeness to slip away
Yet here I sit with years gone by and want to find my way

I’m challenging my every thought to put behind a certain death
That took a choice without my voice, threatening life’s dear breath
So day by day I visit those who help me feel the pain
In hopes that I will finally live to find the thoughts that bring me gain

Its one step here and one step there as pieces of my life returns
The progress of the heart and mind are a like a flame that burns
And I will know the love that’s left and give it time to grow
The love I would have had if I had challenged long ago

Alistair Cookie: in my small world!

Hello, “Alistair Cookie” here! I invite you into my small world of small things and hope you’ll leave with the understanding that I am a narrator of great and marvelous things… that I am exploring… in my small world.

Now, let’s just take a look into my computer and observe the files I have under “tiny moments of happiness.” Oops I seemed to have misplaced my keyboard. Oh no, no bother, this is my small television! I wanted to be near the computer! I suppose we’ll continue without the computer since I don’t walk, and am actually quite ingeniously, balancing myself at this console.

So there! Our first topic for narration: finding balance and keeping it. Amazingly I have not pitched a small fit to be near the computer. I am learning to be content with the surroundings I find myself placed in. That is growth for most and a remarkable feat for those who’ve not learned how to move their feet in a walking motion; alas, some still crawl.

So there! Our second topic for narration: motivation and what gets you there. Often I feel motivated by the sweet smell of cookies basking in the glorious oven. Their aroma wets my small appetite and I crawl, yes, crawl to find the satisfaction I crave. Oh… but crawling and groveling may sound so pitiful to many of you: you always have the option to cry out and solicit help. In the end it is going to depend upon how badly you want a cookie, or whatever it is you’re seeking.

So there! Our third and final topic for narration: how badly do you want what you want? When “Fluffy” my beloved cat got in the way of my cookie goal, I accidentally grabbed his tail to propel me toward the path to the kitchen. I use the term “accidentally” loosely, as I was truly sorry later for thinking his tail might actually assist me in getting closer to the kitchen… and the coveted cookies. Later as I sat on the floor munching a cookie, I sought to share with Fluffy who seemed more interested in my toes covered in cat food from an earlier balancing, motivation thing; I realized how much Fluffy means.

So there! I might want something and really put out the cat, put out the screaming, and end up off-balance… and oh dear… I hope you get it. This is “Alistair Cookie” saying: good day! (Mom! Where’s my computer?)

Alistair Cookie: the great outdoors!

Hello again: Alistair Cookie here!

Not to be confused with a man I greatly admire:
[Alistair Cooke KBE, Order of the British Empire (November 20, 1908-March 30, 2004) was a British-born American journalist, broadcaster and presenter.

Though we are both gifted narrators, I hope you note the difference in the spelling of our names. If I interpret correctly he was a cook, whereas I am an eater of cookies, which someone else cooks! Delightful; however today I want to narrate my harrowing experience with the great outdoors.

Where to begin? I was sitting at the large glass door, looking out when I spied a most attractive bird splashing in our outside tubby. Oh to be there and ask if the water was warm enough. Quite suddenly the glass door opened and one of my bigger, little friends, bounced in to retrieve more juice… leaving the door opened!

The freshness of the air caught me by surprise and I leaped for the pathway to liberty. Crawling hard and fast, I picked up tiny stones with my fingers and ouch, it was terrible but I thought not to wail and draw attention to my flight into the yard.

Onto the grass and a softness comparable to my coveted blankie, greeted me; I felt right at home for a while. In my peripheral vision something akin to the buzzing of Mum’s dryer circled my head; a tiny something with little hands and legs, smaller than mine. Oh joy, I thought as I tried to narrate with him about the great outdoors, and to shake his tiny hand, whereupon he landed and bit me! Nasty and vile pain, I could not help but scream at the top of my small developed lungs: “uh…wowwwww!”

I, Alistair Cookie, will not let the small things get to me today, nor allow trouble to be thought, ‘hanging outside my door’. I shall go and find positive creatures to narrate to and rediscover the joy of sky and land. But first, I need to go wash off the cookie crumbs.

To Our Blog

I wanted to blog and blog all day long.
While Yanni was playing I could not go wrong.
The keyboard would beckon and I’d start again,
With just one more post before the day’s end.

My treasure of photos and drawings by far
Assist in my joy to share without mar
I logged on and logged off so many times
To line up the stories and create the rhymes

I did not take typing, but taught myself how.
But still I am managing to get it all now.
There’s one single finger I seem to pick on.
When that one gets tired then that’s when I’m gone.

Its fun doing this who knew it could be.
I’m happy just writing and writing for me.
Mistakes have been made as I live in a fog.
There’s no time for that, let’s return to our blog…
To our blog… to our blog!

Living Fragile

Sometimes when life seems so fragile
A beginning feeling of peace arrives
From a source within and without
We bow our head
Acknowledge kindness
Receive the gift that helps us heal

We wrap the peace around our bodies
Longing for immediate relief
And find instead temporary solace
We bend our knees
Capture completeness
And let it work through all our days

Discover being fragile is not a curse
For peace will come and peace will go
From everything we are to what we will become
We praise the Creator
Everlasting love
Relieves our fear of living fragile

Fear of connecting

I can’t say it is ‘all my own doing’ when I fear a connection that might allow a closer or better friendship. There are times when the past failures or moments I’ve been taken advantage of, resurface. It seems to a repeating issue with me: leave before I truly connect or attach to this or that person, place or thing.

It was connecting that brought me to the blogging world. I wanted my brain and heart to connect. I wanted my heart to tell of things that bothered me or excited me, or upset me… and I wanted my brain to interpret those feelings into words. At the time resolution of any thing I thought was not an issue. Just put the dang stuff on paper and be done. I hadn’t yet realized that blogging was more than laying ink to page. It involved search engines and chances of the entire world having a peek at my zaniness. Though I was uncomfortable when I discovered that… it didn’t really seem as important as my realization that I could actually express myself. So my original intent of connecting heart and brain was succeeding.

I had never thought to define my connection as “talent” and it was a surprise to hear in comments that people liked what I wrote and how I wrote it. My first reaction was to shut down my blog site and run… so I did. I have actually shut down this site twice out of fear. I’ve come to believe that everyone can have a public place and still be respected. So I keep this site open, type away on my stuff, and occasionally bang out ugly things that give me relief.

I still panic sometimes, thinking that I’ve become overbearing, and that reminds me of other people I’ve had to fight. Or I become timid; afraid that the next person is going to be hurt by my actions or words. I am a mixed bag of ouch!

As I usually pick a photo, drawing or sketch to go with my posts, I wondered what would reflect this one. So it was that I picked the cable because that is the connection that brings you here, or takes me “there’. No matter what connections I work on, or the connections you work on… we are words on a wire. For those of you who fear connecting with me: you do not have to leave a message… try leaving a smiley face. Fight your own fear.