The Beginning, Not the End

The Executioner's Song

“Help me,” she whispered into the sooty, black air, “Help me!”

Her legs lay as bloody pulp.

He watched helplessly, too far away to stop her jumping, and rushes to where she will never rise again. He leans over her and cradles her upper body in his arms, wiping the pouring sweat from her face, listening to her gentle gasps for breath. His eyes brim and overflow with tears as he holds her knowing shock is beginning to claim her inexorably.

Her hands flutter at her sides. She motions with them of her need and whispers with her weak and broken voice, “Take them off. Please, just take them off.”

Sobbing now, he knows what she means; he knows what she has always wanted but was afraid to try to do. He lays her softly back down, tearing off his own jacket to fold it so it will cushion her head.

His hands move to the red ribbons of the Red Shoes. They are already torn and broken, the blood seeping around the bony shards poking from her flesh. With the deepest of sadness he loosens the bits of ribbon and carefully slips off each of the damnable Red Shoes.

As he has done his entire lifetime with her, he unconsciously wraps the tattered ribbon around the pair of slippers to hold them together as a pair. He moves to look closely at her face again and to show her he has done as she has asked.

Her Farewell

She takes the slippers from his hands and rests them between her breasts as if they are a child who will suckle. She folds both her hands over the Red Shoes. Her eyes flicker. He panics for a moment until she opens them again; unlikely as it is there is a deep and mysterious satisfaction in her eyes and a beatific smile takes her lips.

She sighs and reaches one icy hand to his face and cups his cheek, pulling him to her for the last kiss.

Imprinting Of A Fairy Tale

As long as I have memory, that scene and most every detail of the 136 minute movie, “The Red Shoes” with Moira Shearer wil remain burned into my life -- imprinted so deeply I no longer realise they are there. But they are.

The original story was written in 1845 by Hans Christian Anderson and, having never actually remembered reading it, I just did (you can find it here) . It seems like a warning for all little girls to be in church every Sunday actually.

Yet, when made into this powerful movie, the theme changed to a backstage look at the fascinating world of ballet. Moira Shearer plays a lovely, yet somewhat fierce looking ballerina, who is given no choice by her dominant and single-minded impresario, Lermontov and gives up everything in her life, especially a romantic involvement, in favour of her illustrious career.

So she dances. The red shoes become her symbol of success from a special ballet that is written for her. Yet, the shoes enchant her life just as deeply as those in the original story and her career is blessed on every side.

Her love life does not exist for want of time to nurture it and as her success grows her heart grows increasingly sad and cold from the pressure of practicing and performing for her ballet director and Master.

Her Last Choice

One day her love comes to her and asks her to choose between him and the Red Shoes. Of course she does not know how to take the Red Shoes off. So he leaves her standing in her dressing room, about to dance a special performance.

She hears the curtain call by the stage manager and trembles. She looks slightly mad, enhanced by her stage makeup. She glances in the mirror of her dressing table, straightens her hair, pinches her cheeks to add colour and then walks slowly out of her dressing room.

She turns to walk to the Green Room to await her curtain call but stops and slowly turns the opposite direction. She begins to run toward the tall French doors leading out to a luxurious balcony. She runs right to the edge of the railing and stands still, listening for something.

She hears it in the distance and carefully climbs onto the top of the stone railing, balancing there carefully and waiting. Waiting for her executioner, as the little girl in the fairy tale finally did.

There poised on the railing, her hands raise above her head as if to dive into a lovely pool of refreshing water. She raises up on her tip toes, still encased in the controlling Red Shoes and watches her timing as the train begins to pass under the balcony. She leaps in perfect harmony with the train’s approach and lands precisely under the engine, yet between the rails, all except her legs.

Not a Simple Film

Many books have been written about the hidden meanings in this film and for me it remains my dilemma. But who can help me take off these shoes? Or will I have to dance forever until I find the executioner for release?

She Says - He Says

She Says

You are so far away
I wish you were closer...
You don't know enough of how much
But you can't

He Says

It is as if I am being given a peep
Into a beautiful room
And the door is slammed shut

She Says

Just come inside first.

He Says

I suppose in a way
This is a new world
We have to find a way
To live in it

She Says

I must fix this somehow

He Says

It’s ok
Just be you

She Says

It is not enough!
I so need to rest in a safe place...
I need to run away and find something lost

I want to be comfortable
With a mystery that I cannot see
I desire to share more of me with ... another
I desire to be cared for
And be needed

To give what I can
With what I have and am....
Not materially
But out of a heart so bursting with this ...
Drive

He Says

That’s poetic

She smiles and says

Thank you...
It has been a long time since I wrote anything ...
Just so much struggle lately

Someday ...

Some days I feel like Cinderella in a amazingly beautiful fairy tale, but I remember that most fairy tales don't always have a "happily ever after." Perhaps today is different.

I have a special friend who shared this film with me today and she said it reminded her of me. Now isn't that something?!!

Hugs....

Looking for Something

She groaned, "Oh my lord,
why am I so stupid sometimes?"

"Oh," said he, "you are not, my lady!
You are only like me.
You expect the best from people --
and you keep on believing."

"Perhaps, then," she said,
"that is why I like you....
you seem to understand."

He said, "It is the way we are, my lady."

She wonders inside her heart
how "they" might be "we".
Words touch her....

Hopeful.
Optimistic.
Unrealistic.
Silly.
So very vulnerable!

"But there must be something I am missing?
Why do I always keep searching
for something", she sighs?

"You ARE searching....
Yes, this is true,
but perhaps not for what,
but for who.
Because it just might work this time",
he grins and holds her as she weeps.

'Maybe," she says.
"Yes," he says.

"It just might work,"
they say spontaneously
and together.

He touches her cheek and whispers,
"Yes, it just may work, my lady.
It just may work."

Pulling Back the Covers Just A Little

When I was a very little girl, perhaps five or six years old, I went to bed one night and as I turned over I looked around my room and there standing at the end of my bed was a big white ghost!

I was so afraid. What do you do when you are only little and a BIG ghost is in your room?!!! I stopped moving. I tried to stop breathing...thinking this big bad thing could not seem me if I didn’t move or make any noise.

My eyes would have been as big as saucers as they remained fixed on this phantasm right in front of me. Staring at it, hoping it couldn’t see me. The feelings remain strangely close still.

I slowly, ever so slowly, did what any little kid does when confronted by a ghost at the foot of their bed....I pulled the covers over my head and flattened my body to, hopefully blend into the mattress so well I would be “invisible”. And I lay there for a child’s eons, which was probably only a couple of minutes in real time.

Then I very silently lowered the sheet to see if the ghost had moved. No! Still there and the covers pulled instantly back again making sure that everything was smooth and ghost-proof with none of my fingers showing, of course.

Escape Plan

I could hear my breathing as I tried to hear if the ghost moved. No sound. Then I knew what to do. My heart was beating so VERY hard. I smoothly scooted to the very edge of the mattress. This was always my contingency plan anyway, having imagine ghosts entering my room for ages and having worked out several exit strategies. Reaching the very edge of the mattress, I slipped off the bed, ensuring I stayed fully covered by the protective sheet and rolled so carefully under the bed.

I sighed a sigh of relief as I lay there on the hard, cold wooden floor. Waiting for the ghost to realise I was no longer there and so he should go away. (Wonders why ghosts are always male to her?) Another eon passed. I was sure those were ghost shoes I could see.

NOW what could I do? Well there was my secret weapon...the most powerful weapon I knew of. Could I use it? There was really no choice for a little girl really. I screwed up my face, cupped my hands to both sides of my little mouth and shouted at the very top of my voice, “DADDY, HELP ME!!! THERE IS A BIG GHOST AT THE END OF MY BED!!!”

To the Rescue

And it was only a moment, or so it seemed, that he was there. And I will always remember peeking out from under the bed after he climbed the fourteen, uncarpeted, grey stairs to my room and watching him hesitate at the door way to see the ghost there. He began to wave his arms and tell the ghost to go away and leave his daughter alone.

I was so excited and so proud of how brave he was. And I climbed out from under the bed and ran to him and jumped into his big strong arms and let him comfort me. And I cried and he wiped away the tears and told me that no ghost would ever come in my room again because that naughty ghost would tell all his friends.

And he put be back into my bed and covered me up and tucked me in perfectly and kissed me and sat with me. And I fell asleep.

Ghosts of Today

He was right, you know, but sometimes ghosts find me in the new places I roam to as a grown up. And they stand at the end of my bed and whisper to me that my Daddy is gone and can no longer protect me. And I wonder what my contingency plan can be.

And do you know what? My Daddy, who is watching me from Heaven, always knows when this happens and he always sends someone to chase away the ghosts.

Sometimes it is my brother and sometimes it is someone who cares to love me -- but they are always fearless and so strong and they comfort me when I am afraid and tell me everything will be alright and tuck me in perfectly so I can sleep again.

I wonder if everyone has a ghost that stands at the end of their bed? Do you?

Remember When it Rained?

Remember ?

When I was in Uni, I found an apartment to share with a lady. She had put the most delightful ad in the paper. It said:

“Looking for roommate
to share two-bedroom apartment.
Must love dogs, horses and God.
Not necessarily in that order.”

I couldn’t wait to call her and we hit it right off and I soon moved in. Well, all I had was a couple of suitcases, a milk crate, a little lamp, a mat and loads of books. In fact, all through my time in Uni, I did not have a bed!

A Sister!

After I found this wonderful apartment (on the third floor of a modern building with a huge swimming pool in the middle of the complex – that was thankfully open 24-hours a day for me), I thought I was the most fortunate woman ever. The lady, Susanna Furbay, and I got along like real sisters (neither of us had a sister, so we just made it up as we went along as to what that meant.)

She was the only woman I have ever known who could actually burn water, so I did all the cooking! She was a genius at rearranging our few pieces of furniture and in arranging grand parties for everyone we could think of – so they would bring us food. What a life it was!

Busy Life!

I worked a full-time job in the University hospital radiology department from 2PM to 10PM, Wednesdays through Sundays and every holiday shift. I also worked three nights (Thursday, Friday and Saturday after 10 PM) singing torch songs with my wonderful guitarist, Jerry Gerard. We entertained regularly at two different piano bars.

All the time left, I was either in the music lounge listening to classical music, struggling to learn Chinese calligraphy or trying to finish my studies (yes I did study somehow in between all the other things I did) or sleeping. I was tired often!

Anyway, I slept on my too-thin mat on the floor, surrounded by my books lined up alphabetically in specialty areas all around the walls. My little lamp sat on the milk crate beside my mat. After I would turn off the light, I would listen to the guitar music.

Personal Serenade

You see, the man who lived under us (his name was Hank), had his bedroom right under mine. And every night he would play his guitar (and very well) and I would fall asleep listening to him play.

Well every night, except any night when it was raining.

When It Rained

I had the most amazing habit (would do it still if I could get by with it) of going for long walks in the rain. The harder it rained the better for me. I just loved the feeling of the rain drops pelting my skin and soaking through all my clothes, until I could feel the silkiness of my skin against the fabric of my clothes and the Goosebumps that would rise when the wind blew hard against me.

I would walk until I was completely exhausted; all the while reviewing the day or some studies, think about life and cabbages and kings. When I could walk no longer, I would stumble back home and up the three, seemingly longer and steeper flights of stairs.

I would quietly open the door and head for the bathroom, strip off all my clothes, dry off, pull on my, what now seemed to be, toasty nightshirt and crawl into my little make-shift bed. I would almost instantly fall into a deep and restful sleep. I loved it. But I always missed my personal serenade.

Stalker or Sentinel?

I never knew that every night when I went walking in the rain, the guitar music stopped. Why you ask? Well it stopped because Hank always listened for my movements. And he had learned of my habit of walking in the rain.

Any time it was raining, he would listen closely for the sounds of my getting up and leaving. Every time I went out, he would follow me. Quietly and quickly he would dress and would silently and stealthily walk down the steps and out the big wooden doors into the driving rain. Walking far enough back I never even knew he was there.

Then one night, the rain and wind was so strong that I slipped and fell. As I lay there trying to recover, he was beside me, holding me and telling me it was all going to be alright.

He helped me home and confessed how he always walked with me because he was concerned for my safety. Needless to say, we became great and lasting friends. And it was always easier to walk together in the rain from then on.

Unseen & Unappreciated Friends

Sometimes we have friends who are walking with us that we never see -- and if we do think we see them -- we may never realise how very special and protective and loving they are – how understanding they are of us, just watching and listening from afar. How they are watching and helping in ways we can never understand or fully appreciate.

This seems strikingly true of the virtual world. Real friends (even some who can become real world friends) are there if you only open your eyes to them. When you find them, you must cherish them because you may one day stumble and fall and they will be there to help when you are hurting and afraid and confused and have no idea what to do or say or which way to turn.

Friends like that are just too valuable!

Thank you my secret friends for your watchfulness over me – as sentinels you stand with me even though I rarely see you. I will never be able to appreciate each one of you enough. However, this very poor, carte blanche expression of my heart-felt gratefulness is my humble tribute to your care and love.

Please accept this Sheridanne special, too-long, 90-second hug until I can find a way to do better.

The Hammer, the Nail and the Rose

The Rose
Lyrics by Bette Midler

Some say love, it is a river
That drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
That leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger
An endless aching need.

I say love, it is a flower
And you, it's only seed.
It's the heart, afraid of breaking
That never learns to dance.
It's the dream, afraid of waking
That never takes the chance.

It's the one who won't be taken
Who cannot seem to give.
And the soul, afraid of dying
That never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely
And the road has been too long
And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snow
Lies the seed
That with the sun's love, in the spring
Becomes the rose


Being patient and being passive is actually not the same thing -- although from the outside they may look rather the same. You can wait your whole life for good fortune or even love to come your way, but there comes a time when you must take action. And any action always has a reaction or consequence. Any action you take can result in failure.

It is your choice to act, to wait, to walk away or run and hide. However, if you don’t act, you will never know the potential for success and personal joy from that success. The worst that can happen is that you will learn a new lesson to help you along to future wisdom. If you do not try you miss opportunities (like the “million dollar idea” you have every day) to grow and learn. The worst part of it is that these opportunities may not come again.

Be Bold

Being bold is the opposite of being passive. When you are bold, YOU and YOU alone choose your destination. You set your own course (especially recognising there are risks, consequences and the potential for loss or failure). Once you choose to be bold, you also can choose to “take it back”, to reverse directions or course correct your path if you see it is not taking you where you thought it would -- or where YOU wanted to go.

To be bold means you act – not with ruthless aggression or even anger or passive withdrawal -- but with determined and healthy energy. When you are bold, you reach out toward what you know you want and you move toward this goal – because you really do know it will not magically appear, no matter how long you wait or how much you wish for or want it.

Personal Application

For me, this means that the foreignness of boldness in all matters of friendship – especially in matters of the heart -- must be reconsidered. I have watched the passing of many dear friends and many more I have simply lost through my own fear or passivity or inertia. It is easy to write this, yet it will take the same boldness and courage I have in my business life to now redirect these energies -- or to at least work on a better balance.

So, just for today, just for this hour I am going to choose to act, not react – to be the hammer not the nail. Because, well just listen to the words of the song The Rose again....

How Close ?

I am as close as the ridges on your hands
As close as the spaces between your eyelashes
As close as your heart is to it's next beat
….
Feel me there?
Smile.
Yes I know
Wonderful!

The end…

More About True Love

It was a busy morning, about 8:30, when an elderly gentleman in his 80's arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He said he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am. I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him. I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound.

On exam, it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound. While taking care of his wound, I asked him if he had another doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife.

I inquired as to her health. He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer's Disease. As we talked, I asked if she would be upset if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.

I was surprised, and asked him, 'And you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?'

He smiled as he patted my hand and said, 'She doesn't know me, but I still know who she is.' I had to hold back tears as he left, I had goose bumps on my arm, and thought, 'That is the kind of love I want in my life.'

True love is neither physical, nor romantic. True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be. The happiest people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the best of everything they have.

I hope you share this with someone you care about. I just did. 'Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain.'

True Love Takes Many Forms

Could you love someone from "Hello"? Is there such a thing AS love at first sight. Is love real or just an illusion? Is present love, present laughter? Do we only love what we can see or can we see someone differently because we love them? And is love blind or does it see deeper and more true than our eves ever can? All good questions. How can we know? Do we need to know or just enjoy?

The Story of Benjamin & Emily

When Benjamin was born he was a perfect child. Every finger, every toe, his eyes and nose, his ears and chin – a beautiful poster child baby – good enough for a Gerber Baby Food jar! Everyone loved Benjamin and they loved holding him and cuddling with him. He had a most wonderful temperament as well; and for a first child it was rather unusual to find him not only competent and independent and resourceful, he also had a warm and engaging sense of humour.

Yes, everyone loved Benjamin. He was a good student and went on to university and then was called to do his duty for his country, which he was proud and eager to do. When he returned home, he moved to live near his parents and care for them as they grew older.

Benjamin’s Accident

One evening as Benjamin worked late at his office, a terrible raging fire broke out and as he struggled to save the life of the night duty guard, Benjamin was badly burned on the upper half of his body.

In fact the burns were so extensive they could do little to repair the horrendous damage to the skin of his face, neck and chest. His hair was burned off in large patches and his nose was nearly gone. They did their best to patch up what they could for him, but the significance of the damage drove him to live increasingly alone from contact with others.

All he ever wished for was that he could be like he was before rather than so ugly that people would stare at him everywhere he went. Only his parents saw him and it broke their hearts to see him so lonely.

The place where he lived was a wonderful, but small, farm where he could continue to manage his garden and ride his two favourite horses. Everything he needed for his life was delivered to his front gate so no one would ever see him.

Benjamin Meets Emily

One day his parents brought a very beautiful woman with them when they were visiting Benjamin. He was mortified and at first was very angry at them that they would do this, but he soon came to understand that she was blind from a serious accident and therefore he could feel safe from her gaze.

He relaxed and they all shared a meal together. Benjamin watched Emily as she gracefully managed her food, almost as if she could see every morsel. He was simply mesmerised by her beauty and her gentleness. That day they had a wonderful visit and Benjamin realised how much he missed the company of good friends and in particular someone special in his life.

For six months they courted and Benjamin’s parents were so grateful for Emily because every day their son began to return more to his normal, confident self as Emily grew closer to him.

Emily’s Accident

Emily it seemed had not only been injured and lost her sight but also her parents and her only relative, her older sister were all killed in the same accident, so Emily knew what deep loneliness and sadness was. Emily had been a gifted oil painter and photographer, so all she loved in the world was taken from her the day of the accident. All she wanted was to have her sight back.

One day Benjamin came to his parents and told them that he was going to marry Emily if they would give him their blessing. They agreed and the wedding was fairy tale beautiful.

They were the most amazing couple -- always together --walking arm in arm. But Benjamin still stayed on their property and only spent time with his parents because he did not want Emily to ever know how grotesque he was and he feared someone might tell her if every they were out in the rest of the world.

Occasionally, she would take her small, delicate hand and gently touch his face and his neck and down his chest, wondering what the strange marks were that were so different from her skin. But she never asked anyone and when she asked Benjamin, he would only say he hoped she would never see him.

Emily’s Second Accident

One day, Emily was walking through the kitchen and there was a little patch of water on the floor. She slipped and fell and landed on her head. When Benjamin came in the house he found her unconscious and rushed her to the hospital.

She was alright from her fall and didn’t even have to stay overnight in the hospital. However, the specialist who attended her in the hospital asked about the cause of her blindness and over the course of the next few months did many tests to discover that her blindness might be reversed and he shared this with Emily and Benjamin separately.

What True Love Actually Is

When the doctor asked Benjamin what he thought he should do for Emily, Benjamin told the doctor he wanted more than anything else for Emily to have her sight back. When he told Emily, she thought about it and said she did not want the operation – no matter what the possibilities were, because she would never want to risk what she and Benjamin had together.

I do not know who said, “Love is blind,” but they were right. And that is what true love is you know, being with someone who loves you for who you are inside rather than what you are on the outside! Isn’t that neat?

Listen to This....

VHIL: Learning from the Virtual You

Lies of the Heart

If you don't know this movie, then the beauty of some lies will never mean a thing to you. But the sweetness of this film of the truth of the heart winning out over all -- is one of my favourites.

Devious Truth & White Lies

“What is truth”,
he asked the Man standing in front of him;
a gentle person condemned to death
by the politics of the day.
Nothing he could do would save the Man
and he never got his answer.

So...
What is TRUTH?
How do we know it when we see it?
What does it feel like?
Is it rational or irrational?
Is it situational or sensational?
Can we measure it or weigh it?

Does EVERYBODY but Mork, of Mork and Mindy, lie?

"Do you like my new gown, honey",
She asks, all hopeful and fragile?
It is appalling to me;
To her a work of art and effort.
What do I say?
"It is interesting." Is that a lie?
"It is colourful."
Hopefully it is at least that.
Or that will definitely be a lie.
Is it of good form or workmanship?
"You always take such care about how you are dressed."

Inflection.
Sarcasm.
Cynicism.
Tone.
Colour/Viaz in a voice.

I love your gown.
I LOVE your gown.
I love YOUR gown.
I love your GOWN.

Can I know in truth?
Can I stand in truth?
Or Swear in truth?
Will I live in truth?
Or die in lies?

Do you know?
Can you tell?
Really?
How?

Maybe I want you to know.
Maybe I don’t.

Motive plays in truth.
LOVE my gown (because then you love me)

Can we take the truth?
Or are lies more comforting?
Even when we know they are lies.

Omission?
Commission?

Sometimes telling the whole truth,
Is not all the truth, but enough.
Sometimes telling the whole truth,
Is meant to damage and/or confuse.
Sometimes telling some of the truth,
Confuses or diverts or delays truth.
Sometimes it is just lying.

Recognition?
Heartbreak or hope?

Does the daisy lie or tell truth?
He loves me,
he loves me not,
he loves me…
Please do not tell me.
Soon enough I will know.
Not soon enough I will be ready.
He COULD love me, you know.
Couldn’t he?

Dreams?
Illusions?

And what of my dreams?
Dashed by truth?
You are too short.
Or too ugly.
Or you have a bum leg.
You are not smart enough.
Or then again, you are too smart.
Too qualified.
Too unqualified.

Gossip?
Grapevine?

The method of propagation.
The strength of deceit.
The weakness of truth.
Around corners and under bushes.
The whispers flow like the
Inevitable strength of omnipotent waters.
Non can stay its hands.
As they strangle truth
Almost to death.

Yet…
Like Tinkerbelle
We long to rescue.
To save.
To bring life.
And hope and good.
And we do believe and trust,
That truth CAN overcome deceit.

But we must always wait for truth,
To overcome deceit, it seems.

Moving On....

Remember Ally McBeale? She was my favourite TV character. One of the things she discovered from her therapist was that she needed a song. A life song, her personal theme song. I think this is true for me too, so I try to have a good one in my mind each day. Sometimes I wake up with one roaring around, sometimes it is “a same old song” for days and sometimes it is a new song each day for weeks.

I am unsure what MY life song is but it might be the one my litle brother just sent me this week as I went out to participate in a real world debate on “People versus Automation”.

The song? “I Like the Way You Move!” This song is so amazing I can’t sit down when I am lisetning to it. I played it in the warm up time before the debate and the other speakers decided to just leave seeing my energy.

The Version

The version of the song I have selected is purposeful because it takes this very hot song (yes little brother) and combines it with some fancy footwork that is guaranteed to bring a smile to your face. And isn’t that just what we all need?

And for those of us who have come into the virtual world looking for fun, fun, fun – we can all too often see the fun fading into the minutia of the real world, when the virtual world is to be so far removed you no longer think of death and taxes or bathroom/toilet tissue!

Some would have us drive to work in a car, fasten our seat belt, in bumper-to-bumper traffic, find a parking space, park, get out, lock the car and walk into our nine to five jobs and then reverse the routine to reach home, open the door and call out, “Honey, I’m home!”

Have the little woman hand you a martini, your slippers and the paper – have your three course meat and potatoes dinner ready for you and … well you GET the picture.

Fun & Joy

GAAAAAAA – the virtual world was not to be like that. I can see why some would turn to something like WoW (World of Warcraft for the uninitiated) rather than a social network like the virtual world I inhabit.

I don’t want to worry about punching a time clock with a “sim-owner” who doesn’t even remember to thank me, yet benefits from my dozens and dozens of ideas to make things better. I don’t want to “drive” to work in traffic either – I want to fly above the clouds on my winged Pegasus – what a delight to have the wind in my hair as I watch the sun rise over and over, as I play it again just for my personal delight!

I want to live in realms that are more about people than things; lands that are concerned with nurturing, not disciplining. A world where people are supported and encouraged and affirmed; rather than broken down, collared and dominated.

Together We Can Work It Out !

We can build a world like that! We can move in our own special way to bring great things to others. We can support those who are tired of the silly politics, and wars and rumours of wars! We can build a world of tranquility where every experience adds -- not detracts -- from our lives and those around us! What a joy that will be and we are so near to doing this right now.

Our world will be one of retreat and peace and healing. And we can move and move and move….and enjoy our own special dance to our own special music.

Together….let's work it out!!

How Could This Be So Difficult?

How does someone rule a Queen? They don't! It is all about love really.
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I Have Not Felt Such Longing
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I have not felt such longing before.
Your very absence makes me angry
That anything in the world can keep us apart.

I am weary of respecting job or time or responsibilities.
My God! I have seen jobs dissolved, time disappear
And responsibilities carried to the grave.
There is always someone else to work or care for,
But no one else to love.

Do you not understand? There is only love!
Must I be madly in love only in my fantasies?
Does ever reality return home for her children,
To collect the mail or answer a wrong number?
It’s always a wrong number when you are in love.

Love cannot look back for such will never come again.
All else has another chance:
A child, a job, a parent, a friend.
Only love must respect the moment.
And when it is ignored or qualified or compromised,
Then it is never the same again.
It is only the passing of time,
However comfortably and well.

Arthur C Clarke - Disturbance in the Force

Today one of my favourite authors passed away.

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Arthur C. Clarke, British-born science fiction author, has died in hospital in Sri Lanka at the age of 90. Clarke had been in and out of hospital since his 90th birthday in December and had breathing difficulties, his aide Rohan de Silva said.

"Sir Arthur passed away a short while ago at the Apollo Hospital," Mr de Silva said.
During a career that spanned some seven decades, Clarke wrote more than 80 books and hundreds of short stories and articles.

But he is perhaps best-known as the author of 2001: A Space Odyssey, which director Stanley Kubrick made into a film in 1968.

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Isn't it strange that today, writing was the topic of my last two blog articles.

The first book I ever wrote, at the tender and oh-so-confident age of 14, was SF. Then I realised I was too young to understand life much anyway and didn't have enough of a clue about hard science to fill a thimble. I still have that "book" somewhere though. (it was awful!)

After seeing 2001 - A Space Odyssey, several times and having read the book, I endeavoured to read many of Mr. Clarke's books and articles. He was prolific and a future thinker, always thinking ahead of most in the world.

He was 90. I hope when I am that age, I will have written just one novel that he would have picked up and considered reading.

For me, today there is a disturbance in the force of writing.

Writing Is Sooooo Easy !

If you write, everyone thinks what you do is easy. You sit and think and read and then you tap some keys and viola! Writing.

I love writing, no matter how difficult it is! It is better than chocolate!

A Write to Life

I have a soft and often worn, white T-Shirt. On the front, written in large black letters are the words: "So many books, so little time!" I spend my life writing. And I wonder why and how it happens and for me this is especially difficult when my Muse has gone.

I miss my Muse and dedicate this to him, and all those who write beside me and hope it is part of my legacy too.

A Write to Life

We write.
We write to speak
when we have no "official voice".
We write to wrestle
with our own flesh and blood
and humanity and spirituality.

We write to ease our pain,
to dance with letters
when no human can fill that need.

We write from ordinary hope
to extraordinary hope
and experiences.

We write when we are alone
and when we are in crowds.
We write at first waking
and as we stumble into our beds weary.
Our dreams are filled with the ink
on the pages of our dreams.

We ache to “speak” to another,
to connect in a society
where wires or wireless
are more common that hugs,
whether they are like
the French touching cheeks in “air hugs”
or the 90-second,
too-long, Sheridanne hugs
that are meant to relax you
and result in giggles.

We write in a desperate effort
To travel the space from me to you
– that is the key
no matter how close
or far the distance is.

Does a tree
falling in an empty forest
make a sound?

You bet it does.

And so our writing matters
if we only write
in invisible letters
on the backs of our loved ones
or in sky writing puffs
of vapour in the sky.

We hide our writing sometimes
and sometimes we buy billboards
to expose others to our thoughts
as if we are opening our own bright blue raincoats
so others will recognise our bits hang there.

We write to live
and we write because
we will not always live.

We dream of a legacy where
a small corner of our Moleskine notes
is found in the back
of our auctioned off, old, ratty desk
and know our words may change the future
if we have chosen our words well.

Writing to live
and living to write –
some of us know this
and it terrorises us
and it inspires us
and it depresses us
and it enlivens us.

The writing life
– who can top it?
– Should it be topped?
– Can it be topped? ‘

No.

It exists
to humble those of us
who are obsessed by it.

Dreaming Primer

Time to prime our dreams for the reality of a new dream. Hope you enjoy....Take care with love, S

Sleeping Images

What would a dream look like do you think?
From the inside of your sleeping brain?
How do you put it down in words?
Can you draw it in images?
Or capture it on film or digitise it?

What music would it sound like?
Is there a voice?
Is it deep or so light you barely hear it?
Will it be on the harpsichord?
Can I hear a lute or drum?

A colour green or yellow?
Is the stone grey or dusty white?
Are the roads black with rain?
Could the fields be blanketed in snow?
Are her lips cherry red?
Are his eyes the most green of blues?

Do you taste the apricots?
Now or after?
Is it chocolate or melted butter?
Could it be a pomelo?
Or tomatoes?
An oyster -- with salt?

Will she be here?
Will he hear her here?
Will her footfall part the grass?
Will he glide above it?
Will they dance there?
Or simply stand and stare there?

Where will you be…
In my dream?
Will you still be there?
Or will you have gone…
To leave a fading sepia memory?

Sleeping Images

What would a dream look like do you think?
From the inside of your sleeping brain?
How do you put it down in words?
Can you draw it in images?
Or capture it on film or digitise it?

What music would it sound like?
Is there a voice?
Is it deep or so light you barely hear it?
Will it be on the harpsichord?
Can I hear a lute or drum?

A colour green or yellow?
Is the stone grey or dusty white?
Are the roads black with rain?
Could the fields be blanketed in snow?
Are her lips cherry red?
Are his eyes the most green or blues?

Do you taste the apricots?
Now or after?
Is it chocolate or melted butter?
Could it be a pomelo?
Or tomatoes?
An oyster -- with salt?

Will she be here?
Will he hear her here?
Will her footfall part the grass?
Will he glide above it?
Will they dance there?
Or simply stand and stare there?

Where will you be…
In my dream?
Will you still be there?
Or will you have gone…
To leave a fading sepia memory?

RESONANCE

The word RESONANCE comes from two Latin words meaning “echo” and “to resound”. It essentially refers to the quality or state of being resonant, a sound produced by sympathetic vibrations.

It occurs from the sounds we make everyday, for instance. The ringing quality of the human voice when produced in such a way that the vibration of the vocal cords is accompanied by sympathetic vibrations in the air spaces in the head, chest and throat.

If you ever took voice lessons, one of the challenges is to “feel” the sound within your body.

If you have ever felt love in your heart, somewhere the things you say are no longer sounding alone as they vibrate against and with another’s heart sound.

In medicine, the word is used to refer to the sound of the pumping of blood through the heart.

Does medicine still look for the soul or the deeper pain of the heart? It is something on my mind so often….how can my heart continue to beat when it is crushed so vigorously or when it is growing to be happy. Can it be crushed or does it just feel that way? Is it allowed to be happy?

Using the word resonance in the world of physics, you would be referring to the vibration that occurs when an object or system is made to oscillate at its natural frequency.

Oh to remember what it is to move naturally in a world of devices and contrivances and fear and dangers.

In chemistry, we use the word to mean the moment electrons from one atom of a molecule move to another atom of the same molecule to form a stable structure called a "resonance hybrid".

This is where two different and solitary hearts and souls join for split seconds or lifetime partnerships -- whether like lead and gold melding together to form the stronger of the two as one new one hyper element -- or where two hearts touch and bond, clinging together to be some new entity for however the moment or eternity lasts.

When the term is used in the world of physics, it means the increased probability of a nuclear reaction when the energy of an incident particle or proton is around a certain value appropriate to the energy of the compound.

Just like when two unlike and unlikely people meet and start banal chat only to discover the stirring of one incident particle appealing to the other. There could be a nuclear reaction perhaps?

===================================

A new resonance reality is creeping into my heart, created from the way I see a new heart before me. This heart is:

Complicated
Intricate
Delicate
Strong
Well-Defined
Artistic
Romantic

A heart of strong and huge contrast in a world where so little of what exists seems real or layered and exciting…or something. But another wounded heart -- perhaps too closely like mine.

====================================

Especially in the real world.
Reality in the unreality of the virtual world
Seems sometimes more real than reality…
How could this be?

Thank you, I say with tears in my eyes, flowing freely with joy mixed and mingled in resonance with my overarching fear.

====================================

Now I force my hands to stop
For the moment
Bricking up the hole
Somehow left open still

Slowly,

Knowing/hoping
The tomb of my heart
That would protect me
From the gashes
That will slowly bleed me dry
Will allow some drying
And healing sunshine in
As he looks at me.

As the dancing and collars
Continue to spin around me.

I may regret the past
And the many mistakes I have made…
I tremble so often and too much in the present,

But it is the future
That sometimes paralises me
With misplaced hope.

Yet place it one more time again,
I must.

Have mercy on me….

Complicated Woman

They say I am difficult....or that I attract drama....well it could just be that I am only a complicated woman. (/me grins and winks)

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from Real Street by Mark Sholtez

==========================

Give her what she wants don’t mean that
She still won’t be difficult
Over and over is never enough
It’s never black and white, day and night, give and take
Nothing to hide behind, no rules that you can bide by

Took in every word don’t mean you
Understand a thing you heard
Always forever could mean you’ll never
It’s better day and night, black and white, give and take
It don’t come easily. I know it definitely

But she’ll get inside your head
And move some things around in there
And she’ll know she’s got you hypnotized
When all you do is smile

Oh listen to me man
There’s no reason for us to pretend
No way we’re ever gonna understand
The complicated woman

Don’t know there’s a problem could be
All of what the problem is
There’s no prevention for her intention
It’s never give and take, day and night, black and white
You’ll be the last to know
That’s just the way that love goes

But she’ll get inside your head
And move some things around in there
And she’ll know she’s got you hypnotised
Fallin’ from the sky
When all you do is smile

Oh listen to me man
There’s no reason for us to pretend
No way we’re ever gonna understand
The complicated woman

Smile ‘cause you’re blinded by
The way she loved ya
Every other Tuesday at nine
But I’m sure you’ll find
That it’s been some time

Oh listen to me man
There’s no reason for us to pretend
No way we’re ever gonna understand the complicated woman
Oh listen to me man
There’s no reason for us to pretend
No way we’re ever gonna understand
The complicated woman

What is it?

Is life a game or a play or a poem or just a gift?

Sometimes it is all of those things blended together at once to me; at other times it is just one of those, but it is all I have -- this life (first or virtual).

Carla just lost her Dad and will likely lose her Mom soon, too. And she is trying to make lists now to be sure she doesn't forget anything while she sits a bit numb trying to look normal and competent. She wants to go home and take her two boys and be supported by her dear husband, but the costs are so high for them to fly together and they were, thankfully home just less than a year ago. So she will go alone and walk alone and she will survive this with others of her large and warm family.

Recently she grew concerned when I did not waken as usual -- at like 3AM -- to start my day, and did not answer my phone (had left it in another room). She sent me an email to me finally and I called her right away to thank her for her concern and to let her know I was simply exhausted. Our conversation was a rare one (nowadays everyone seems too busy for family, even for our meals together in the evening); and it was a very precious one because, for me it was the first time in ages I realised she would miss me as much as I would miss her if we weren't friends. And the big thought for me was: this is life and I will lose it one day.

All we have are those we love and who love us and ... how precious is that! And if we are wise we will make lists, and bustle about ticking things off. We will kiss and hug those we love as if we may never see them again -- each time.

For me, I will try to build into the lives of others and leave my legacy of words in their keeping. And perhaps, just perhaps some will miss me. Many won't remember me. But in this way I will have had a rich life from those who have touched me with their ideas and their energy and their faith and their love.

You know who you are!

Friends Forever

To Carla

You will not see this, Carla, because you don't even know about this part of my life. But I am so blessed by who you are in my life. And I will always be grateful for your wonderful and undeserved friendship.

I hold you so tightly now as you face the loss of your father and perhaps your mom too.

You are my hero and I wish I could be stronger for you now, but all I have to give you now is a Sheridanne long hug, my sincere tears of sympathy and all the love I have ever had for a true friend.

True Friends

“A friend,” said John Milton, “is a person with whom I may be myself.” When I first heard that I got all choked up inside because in any world whether real or virtual there are few we find like that in our lifetimes.

My Dad used to tell me (who was reasonably popular in all my endeavours) that I would be rich if I had just five, real, true friends in my lifetime. Funny, he was so old to me when he shared that his wisdom seemed to be discounted by the number of wrinkles he had on his face.

Now that I have a couple of well-earned wrinkles (just a very few, very tiny laugh lines mind you) around my eyes….I can see how he was right. Wish he was still around for me to tell him thank you for sharing his wisdom with such a contrary daughter.

Carla

Today, my best friend, Carla, returned to the house after taking the boys to school to tell me her Dad had passed away last night (too late to wake the rest of the household). I was in the middle of five virtual conversations at the time. I sent quick messages to everyone and just closed them all down without waiting for a reply.

Real life ALWAYS comes first.

I went downstairs to hug her and just be with her in the kitchen as she lovingly, and like always, chose to make breakfast for us. I made the toast.

As I buttered each warm piece of the toasted rye bread, I thought of how difficult things have been for me lately in the virtual world and how sad it has been for me to lose friends I thought of as close family. Yet, here in our kitchen stood one of the best friends I have EVER had in my ENTIRE life and we hadn’t shared much in weeks -- as we both rushed around with out respective duties.

We live in Sydney and her family is almost all still living in Jamaica, so going home for her has been pretty much not even considered. Her Dad had had his stroke about five months ago and her Mom just had a stroke a few weeks ago and has been back in the hospital for the last week trying to stabilise. I am hoping she will go home, but we will see.

In the meantime it got me to thinking of how close I felt and had grown to a few specific people in the virtual world too; and how amazingly grateful we can be for good and authentic friendships wherever we find them.

My Dad never lived to imagine a virtual world, but if he had he would likely have to change his maxim to say something like: “If you can find five special friends in both the real world and in the virtual world in your lifetime, you are doubly blessed.”

In my profile one of the words I live by says: Live today as if you knew it was the last day of the rest of your life. If you do that, you will probably want to call or write or IM or hug a friend wherever you may find one. Because, you may never get another chance to do this – life just passes too quickly.

A Meal

All hills and gullies
Mounds and little mountains
You rise up early
In the night
In dreams so real
That sleep and waking
Meet, dissolve and blur

A sacrament you are
Made of salt
And tasting not unlike
cinnamon or soda water
As I pull you to me.

A meal you are
A meal you make of me.

We devour one the other
As though we were
some hungry giants
having fasted
all the winter
hungry now for spring

I see no end
To this stored-up appetite
This emptiness
That only loving
Up and down a lifetime
Will fill up

But I have wished too much
Or just enough
To bring you here
Almost to the final step


One meter gone
Or one mile away
You are
Just out of reach now
Or too near
To make perspective work

Right to Privacy, Peace & Ownership In A Virtual World

Do you ever feel like someone is watching you, recording every word you say or “borrowing” your great ideas? Well in the real world there are lots of ways you are protected from these kinds of things happening. It all falls under your human rights. In the Western World, human rights are insisted upon and in other parts of the world, they are dreamed about.

Wars have been fought throughout the ages about personal rights. Kings and rulers have either tried to be repressive or balanced in their rule, but all know that there is a limit to caging a person and trying to rob them of these rights. Viktor Frankl wrote about this specific issue in his book, Man’s Search for Meaning.

In a virtual world many of these issues can be explored in a “contained” way, but the effect on individuals can be enormous when rights and basic privileges are removed or withdrawn. A virtual world is a dynamic and powerful social experiment with many times, real world consequences and effects.

Ao, if you live or visit a virtual world remember this. It’s a tremendous privilege to live and have fun in a virtual world. Those of you who live in one, remember when you joined? There was wonder and awe and FUN?

Well some realms and lands in some virtual worlds have grown to be less fun. In fact, in some lands and realms, personal rights are being abused regularly. To help ensure we all remain safe and within the Terms of Service Agreement of a particular virtual world (that most of us would have simply clicked on and not read) here are some critical points to always keep in mind.

Terms of Service Agreements guarantee all residents in a virtual world with the right to privacy. There are three forms of disclosure that violate the Terms of Service of the virtual world I inhabit sometimes. To violate these may mean you receive a warning, a ban or suspension from the virtual world altogether.

The three types of disclosure that are not allowed in my virtual world are:

Right to Privacy

Disclosure: First Life This form of disclosure is defined as sharing personal information about a fellow Resident -- including gender, religion, age, marital status, race, sexual preference, and real-world location -– beyond what is provided by in their First Life page of their Resident profile. Disclosure of something that no reasonable person would believe ("Daniel Linden is from Mars") isn't a violation.

Remote Monitoring

Disclosure: Remote Monitoring Remotely monitoring inworld conversations without the knowledge or consent of all parties involved is a violation of the Terms of Service. If you feel recording a conversation is necessary, we recommend that you post a clearly visible sign in the recording location so that all Residents who enter can see it. Please note: the abuse team will need to determine if sufficient information was provided to the Residents who are being recorded. We recommend that you proceed with caution, provide documentation on your efforts to inform all parties they are being monitored, and find a secure area before recording begins.

Cutting & Pasting & Distributing Attributable "Conversations"

Disclosure: Sharing or posting a conversation inworld or in the virtual world Forums without consent of all involved Residents is a violation of the Terms of Service. Please note: this does not include posting of chat to MySpace, or external websites; those things might be illegal in real life, but those laws must be enforced by the proper real life enforcement agencies. "Conversation" means text that originally came from the virtual world chat or the virtual world instant messages. If it's totally unattributed, then it isn't considered disclosure.
Additionally, Residents will not be punished for sharing or posting a comment such as "Bob Resident said, 'You're the greatest

Intellectual Property Ownership

In my virtual world, subject to certain licenses in the terms of service, you retain the intellectual property rights you may have in your content, including copyrights. "Intellectual property rights" are completely separate to the rights of ownership of data -- the bits and bytes that reside on our servers. In order for us to provide the service of the virtual world at a reasonable cost, we must retain the right to own what we physically own or control -- the server infrastructure, including the data on it.

But ownership of bits and bytes of data does NOT by itself give the owner of the virtual world the right to publish or distribute your copyrighted material.

An Example

Think of the analogy of hosted email services, like the webmail services provided by many Internet portals. If you write an email on those services, you own the copyright to the content of that email. If you attach your copyrighted image to your email, you still own the copyright to that image.

In providing the service of sending that email, the service provider hosts data that represents that email and the attached image. The service provider owns the server infrastructure, including the data on it, and stores that data for your email and attachment in the "Sent" mail folder. But they can and will delete that data anytime they need to, for service and scalability reasons.

The email service is more valuable to the extent they can store more of your content, but for cost reasons they cannot guarantee that nothing will ever happen to that data. However, regardless of what happens to that data, under most terms of service for webmail that I've seen, you will still own the copyright to the content represented by that data.

It Is Meant To Be Fun!

Because of the creative tools and the un-real-worldly tools and capabilities of a virtual world, many violations of personal rights to privacy and monitoring of lives can take place. Many of us who inhabit these virtual worlds also know of realms that have become more like a “police state” where emphasis is put on spying on everyone around, territorialism, competition (even to the killing of races or individuals for sport). Again, as a social experiment, a virtual world will show the same flaws as the real world but six times more impactful and six times more quickly.

To quote a friend, SL should be “Fun! Fun! Fun! Let’s get back to our real purpose of being in a virtual world.

The Killing of Sheri

If you are reading this, you may be in danger too.

Many will be now that this has happened to Sheri. Many have already perished before her.

I hope what Antony speaks of Caesar is not true -- that the perceived evil someone does is oft remembered long after they are interred – that the good they do is soon forgotten.

But there will be a few who remember and wonder at the inconsistencies in the stories that swirled around Sheri.

How could Sheri have worked so hard, so many hours, met all requirements she was given, volunteered and supported others, encouraged, befriended, wrote and stood willing to add to the kingdom? Does it make sense she would have wished anyone evil or would have been busy planning mischief for the land she loved so very, very much?

Brutus

My Brutus was someone I watched over and protected in another realm. I gave him honour and helped him. I performed the ceremony to wed him to his beloved. I was one of only two people, other than him to attend the birth of their little girl. I introduced him to new worlds and supported him always (would today but he continues to work to drive me from other lands for some reason I cannot even fathom). I hid his secret identities, even on the day of my wedding when my Queen was furious at me for his attendance.

But he has honour and power now. I have only my friends – well my real friends.

Strange, I have heard that this "Brutus" now thinks I hate him and would wish or do him harm. Perhaps I should, but I cannot. I do not have time nor the energy for hate or harm, I never have had -- only grief and pain as I cannot imagine his knife to my heart.

He Who May Not Be Named

I started this blog because of one man who touched my heart and who grew to be my muse. Someone who helped inspire me and ignite my writing as no one else ever has. We courted. We grew to be colleagues even in the real world. We partnered in the virtual world in one of the most heavily attended weddings in this virtual world. We never had time for a honeymoon though.

And then there was the tragedy of his banishment and mine too. The painful and public lynching of him with no evidence – not one shred of the promised damning evidence – was a tragedy on the same level as Julius Caesar.

Like a broken and collared slave I could only re-enter the world he and I so loved if I was seen to not cause any trouble or drama. I was never to see “he who may not be named” or speak with him. In fact this blog and his blog was regularly monitored to ensure we did not “speak” with one another even here.

Sadly, I took these restrictions on, hoping somehow I could clear his name and he would be restored to a kingdom he had worked so hard for and loved so dearly. But he would no longer speak with me for he saw my choice of the kingdom over him as unforgivable. He defriended me, muted me and made me remove every remembrance of him.

I sat in shock until I was finally found by a wonderful man who became my role-play husband and who has grown to become a good friend in real life. He has given me so much over the months while I worked to heal. The kingdom has stayed in various stages of completion and together we worked tirelessly to help see things come together, including offering significant sums of real world money as well as untold numbers of hours of work.

But “the one who may not be named” somehow always seemed to stay somewhere in the King’s shadow or in his mind. Sightings and new identities filled so many waking hours for the King, it was disconcerting. What was it about “the one who cannot be named” that was so dangerous? What did “the one who may not be named” know that was such a worry?

Yes, I really missed this wonderful man ("the one who may not be named”), we really did enjoy playing (and not that kind of play either! Pay attention, we never even had a honeymoon.). But he returned to his real life, his family, work and his horse, not even completing work he had promised to me that was so important to the re-editing of my book.

The Final Blow

When I was pressed to the wall and knew there was little hope I sent “the one who may not be named” an email to say I could fight no longer. That most of all I was wrong for leaving him -- for having betrayed him for this land. Instead of hating me or telling me “I told you so!” he simply picked up his shied to stand over my broken body and picked up his sword (pen) to protect me from the final blow. And when he relaxed but for one moment, without cause or even the courtesy of a reason, I was finally killed.

((Note: When I am strong enough again to there will be a series of articles on privacy and the right to peace and a real life when you are engaged in a virtual world. One thing Sheri has been recently reminded of is how this virtual world is a game and for fun. Yet it can strangely become more than a 9-5 job with KPIs and reports and meetings all. All that is missing is the married, barefoot and pregnant, cooking dinner every night after work and ensuring there is sufficient toilet paper in the house!))

Dancing As Fast As I Can

If there is one movie that is embedded in my heart, it is the original “Red Shoes” with Moirra Sheraer.

I even found and bought a huge, framed poster of the Red Shoes that has hung on my wall most of my life.

After I saw the movie, I insisted my Mom paint my ballet slippers red! The only paint she could find to stick to the leather well enough was bright red nail polish.

Those red slippers eventually found their way to the back of my Daddy’s desk drawer, where they stayed my entire life.

Every so often, I would sneak into his office and pull the drawer open as far as it would go without falling out and find those small ballet slippers. I would pick them up and inspect them for the magic they have always held for me. The smell of the fine leather never seemed to leave them.

I would think of how lovely I could dance because of them.

I don’t know when I put the “shoes” on in my Virtual World, but it would seem that I do not know how to be free of them now, so I will continue to dance until I can dance no more.

How does this happen?

Hanging On Yet

I am here and wonder lately
if I am dying quickly now
without the will
to keep fighting.

The thought and memory
of your bleeding shoulder
makes me sort of smile
(you will understand this,
no one else ever can).

I think it is regret
for the loss of the mind
that touched my mind
that so flattens my heart now.

The chasing, the wonder
of new things and places
of life through the eyes
of another who could actually "see"
the green flashes that I miss so much.

Chorky says hello and
that he misses you too.

Oh yes, some will nail me
to a St Andrews cross
for this post today,
when it is only you
who can do that
and make a difference.

Hanging on my my handcuffs.

A Book By Its Cover

Sometimes the most important people in our lives seem to be the most unlikely. If we are wise we will learn from them, because all too soon they leave us and no one can ever replace them in our lives. Like my Muse who has inspired me yet again. Thank you friend.

Sid & the Gummy Bears

I dreamed last night, for the first time in so long I can’t even remember the last time I could recall a dream. Some things have happened since the last post here, including the real world pulling me to itself with fearsome meat hooks. But for those who spend too much time in the virtual world, I have good news for you, returning to the real world is much like it is with riding a bicycle, you really don’t forget how…and because of the virtual world “exercises” some of your intuitions are heightened in ways you don’t expect (there must be SOME commercial gain from all those hours playing with this grown-up pinball machine!).

And in my dream last night as all things in dreams are it was a bit jumbled but part of it was very vivid. It was about Sid Abraham (who has gone to Glory many years ago). He was sitting in a booth in a diner that I used to frequent in my university days and it was a great surprise to see him there. He was, as always, surrounded by an assortment of food and a near mountain of papers on the seat and on the table before him. I was so surprised because I realised the minute that I saw him that I had been remiss in spending any time with him or even calling him or writing a little note to him for a long time.

He knew I felt embarrassed by this (we all know this don’t we when we bump into someone we have ignored with our friendship and they know we know too) and did what Sid always did, he made sure he sent me that almost undetectable message that it did not matter between REAL friends how often you saw them or wrote to them. He sort of got up from his seat, which was quite difficult with all the things surrounding him – he intended to give me one of his warm embracing hugs.

I could see he was older and shorter and more tired, as old age seems to do to many (is it most or all) people, so I rushed to him instead and paid little mind to the paper mounds and the left over plates of assorted food stuffs and hugged him first. So warm his hugs. Unlike anyone I have ever known, but closest to my Mom’s hugs that were so precious to me.

I pushed some of the papers aside on the bench seat opposite him and just looked at his jolly, round face and relaxed for the first time in ages. We caught up as they say. I went up to the cashier to pay for his meal as a surprise for him and when I turned around, he was gone.

His papers were gone but the dishes remained, including one sitting on the seat next to where he had been sitting. I sat down in his empty place and felt the warmth from his body so recently here, found several blank white intex cards and just tried to see things once more from his perspective and found a silver bowl there on the seat.

Creativity & Politics

I remember Sid so well. I remember how he introduced me to a new approach to creativity and invited me to attend my first of many CPSI (Creative Problem Solving Institute) Gatherings in Buffalo New York (the creativity studies centre of the world, it seems). There, I met some of the most wonderful people and challenged the limitations I had "sensibly" put on my own thinking.

And he helped me apply my natural intuition and creativity to the new dangers of the corporate environment I had so recently entered. I was severely unprepared for the posturing, positioning and politics that surrounded me and promised to end my very privileged career too soon. (and this actually resulted in a life time of study of corporate politics, although as some of you would know, it is still a struggle, because knowing all about it and being able to manoeuvre through the murky waters is never the same!)

Archetype

Sid also introduced me to Jungian psychology in an out-of-book (not to be confused with out-of-body, though close) experience. I ended up studying the topic of archetypes and eventually worked with financial institutions and other large corporates helping them identify and understand their archetype in their world and how it related to deeply embedded behaviour patterns in their customer relationships with them (and how improve and better leverage those relationships) -- well that was always the hope anyway.

It was wonderful; and I even got to work with one of the leaders of this specialty field, Gil Rapaille. I don’t even know if he is still around, but I sucked his brain till it hurt my lips -- just to learn everything he would share with me – which was mountains of understanding and insight.

Mom

Then there was what I learned from Sid about my Mom. My Mom was a troubled woman and she took those troubles out on me. But, by the grace of God alone, I grew up wildly optimistic and hopeful in my little dark world. And no one in my family could understand it and Mom could not squash it out of me either -- although she truly tried -- which used to anger her more than she usually was – which was a lot.

One very cold and dreary February morning, with the Buffalo snow drifted to waist-level over night, I awoke to my Saturday and took the last straw from my Mom and, like a child, bolted from the house running away from the heated words I feared I would say to her.

The next day I was back at work and went straight to Sid’s office and closed the door and like Yoda behind a desk, Sid listened as he always did to my frustration at not understanding yet ANOTHER thing about my life.

I poured out my heart to him, confessing as if this was side by side in one of those movie sets where you’re in a Roman Catholic Church in one of those little rooms with the peep hole door so you can confess to the priest in the other little room that shares the peep hole door, and get to share your deepest darkest sins of the week and then are awarded a "hale Mary".

Sid did what he did best, he listened quietly and purposefully, intently and with love.

Now that is the true value of a good friend to me. He listened. I spoke, then cried, shouted a little and cried some more with utter frustration at WHY my Mom hated me so much (the reason I ran away will remain masked for the time being, but it was her attempt with her trusty broad sword to break my ribs as she ground my heart to mince, for the umpteenth time).

Spent from the telling of my tale I stopped talking and dabbed my eyes with Kleenex, kindly convenient in Sid’s office and blew my noise (not so lady like but effective) and sat back in the uncomfortable chair and waited.

Sid, you see, never launched into his analysis until he had pondered it for a bit (if you ever have a ponderer in your life, keep them!!). He moved some things around on his desk and pulled a white index card from his breast pocket, and began to write on it. He would look up occasionally at me and reach over to the silver bowl on his desk and offer me a gummy bear and then take one himself.

It seemed to take forever for him to get to a point of sharing what he was thinking and I knew all my eagerness or agitation for a solution would not help his process…so I thought about how this man has stayed for over 30 years in this mammoth financial institution, rising from a lowly teller (which when he joined the bank would have been a lowly job indeed and one with no computers!!)

He looked jolly. He moved through the halls more like a snail (do not remind me of the salt please). He knew everyone. Everyone knew him and there was not one office anywhere where he was not welcomed with open and hopeful arms. His hair was thinning and he wore dark-rimmed glasses and was far too heavy for his height and reminded me (honestly) of a happy garden gnome). He was also the only man I ever met in a corporate setting who always wore short-sleeved shirts and rarely a jacket (required anytime you left your office, regardless of your gender).

But he epitomised wisdom! So I waited. No one quite understood how (me) the new “Turk” in the bank has such favour with someone in such demand, but we were friends from the first time he confronted me about avoiding him as trivial in the bank (a painful realisation and the first heavy lesson he taught me – that appearances ARE deceiving in a corporate setting too).

Sid's Wisdom

He looked up at me. Pushed a little away from his desk. Smoothed out the completely smooth index card on his desk and I could hear the dryness of his large hands on the paper. And he began to unlock yet another of my life’s mysteries.

“Your Mom does not hate you, she hates herself.” A paradigm shift of such magnitude, I barely knew where to fit it in my thinking. He continued to tell me of my four choices to deal better with her:

1. I could do as I always did, try not to argue with her and store my anger up until I exploded over and over from her teasing of my weak spots.
2. I could try to ignore her and keep running away.
3. I could argue with her and reason with her for all I was worth.
4. I could just love her with, what is known as, AGAPE love – the love that passes understanding and that is unconditional (the one you hear about at most weddings nowadays. You know the…love is patient, love is kind, is not puffed up stuff)

This was the parsing of a problem by the great Sid. Carefully organised and structured the clarity of his messages and his analysis Stirling.

It changed my life and relationship with my Mom for the rest of her life in regard to me. I chose number four. It escalated her anger toward me for a long time….but she also stopped trying to tease me to anger. (And before she died, I knew it was the right choice too.)

I moved from Buffalo to Australia and left Sid behind although we remained the closest of distant friends until one day his diabetes took him home to be with the Lord.

Silver Bowl

I closed my eyes for just a moment in that dreamed-up diner and imagined the scent of Old Spice (do they still make that?) and remembered how Sid always wore that after-shave cologne.

My hands moved out to rest on the seat on each side of my body and my left one ran into that silver bowl.

I slowly opened my eyes and gently gathered it to my lap and peered down into it. Gummy bears; red and yellow and green ones still resting there for Sid, who was not allowed to eat them ever -- but loved them so much. Sid was a man who taught me so much and gave me hope and love and left me with a love for gummy bears and creativity. I miss him.

Thank you Turner for your words of wisdom and hopefully you will see that I too can write you secret messages to let you know how much you mean to me….you are my new Sid, sans the Gummy bears, the glasses and gnome shape…the wisdom pours from you and inspires me. Thank you so much for “seeing” me.

An Unexpected Birthday Present

Wow. A friend who also has a blog has given me a present: he has stirred me up to write again. Thank you Gorthaur and it makes me miss Turner even more and more as my Muse (where are you?)

Anyway I am going to put some of Gorthaur’s words here and some of my ideas in response. (I was going to answer him in his blog, but my answer got too long), so hopefully this will make sense:

Gorthaur said:

“To my mind there are two types of evil or "shadow." There is personal evil, and there is the collective evil. The "idea" of the collective shadow (or pure evil), for most is an objective reality. Unlike the personal "shadow" which always has hope for redemption often suggested by personal moral effort, the collective shadow leaves one with the idea that no one can stand against it. Many find refuge from the despair this pure evil causes thru their faith and obedience to value systems of their religion or ideologies. Historically this is the way to combat evil.”

I reply:

There is the concept of “sin” and there is the concept of “sins” in the Bible, which is what you have written about here. "Sin" is what entered into the world in the Garden of Eden when Satan tempted Adam through tempting Eve, to wonder if they didn’t actually know more than God did – the attitude and desire to do what is right in your own eyes.

Sin

"Sin" is universal and is no more possible to resist than “Don’t think of a pink elephant” is. As for the condition each one of us lives within in relation to sin, Romans 7 and 8 is the passage we “live” our everydays in as far as every person I have ever met or read about.

Sins

Then there are “sins”. Sins are personal choices that we make moment-by-moment to allow, as one writer puts it, "God to sit in the driver’s seat of my life" or whether I take that place for myself.

Most people worry about the “evil incarnate” – you know the guy (why a guy?) in the red suit with little pointy horns on his forehead, a long tail with an arrow at the end and a pitchfork? Well, the Bible talks about this evil one as an “angel of light”, one that was so beautiful and entrancing that his power was about that concept more than "evil" – to be attractive and therefore tempting -- not to be fearsome and easy to recognise.

It is why we get surprised when we discover we have not resisted evil. (See Bedazzled with Elizabeth Hurley and Brendan Fraser for the amazingly best illustration of this – and Elizabeth plays a very convincingly irresistible "evil" – well for the men at least! Personally, I would be after Brendan in a heartbeat, but that is a different story.)

Gorthaur said:

“Evil has been spiritual and intellectual concerns in human existence since the earliest times. In those olden days, during daylight hours, evil was generally perceived as non-existent. Yet, when the sun disappeared, evil lurked in the menacing shadows. Evil has always been associated with darkness. Much of mythology is permeated with ideas associated with the symbolic and sometimes literal ideas of ‘evil in the darkness.’”

I reply:

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. And the earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep; and the Spirit of God was moving over the surface of the waters. Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light.” Genesis 1:1-3

The first improvement God made when He created everything was to separate the light from the darkness.

Let’s face it, if I am going to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I am going to put my fluffy slippers on BEFORE I walk on a floor in the darkness, knowing all those evil creepy crawlies have been running free because it is dark (just flick your lights on in the kitchen in the middle of the night!). Also, men jump out at you in dark alleys and from behind bushes and tend to hurt you. Darkness hides all kinds of evil intentions. Then there is what you do under the cover (and covers) of darkness when you are all alone sometimes (sorry to digress).

So I believe "darkness" is both a symbolic and a literal paradigm for where evil can lurk.

Note I said "CAN"; the greater evil is what we think should STAY in darkness and somehow peeks out and hits us in the face when we don’t expect it, such as what happened on a wonderfully clear day in New York one September 11th or in a school with children and guns.

Gorthaur said:

"To deny evil is foolhardy. Each of us has experienced evil, directly or vicariously - even through impersonal images of the media or fairy tale. Yet some think or teach that evil is not a permanent condition of the human condition. Since St. Augustine, there has existed the idea that evil is nothing but the absence of good. The ultimate conclusion of this idea is that evil can be eradicate by 'good works.' Many religious teachings rests on this concept."

I reply:

Actually, I think it is "evil's" intent and prime activity and key victory to have us think evil doesn't exist. Evil would have us convinced that all is relative and situational and that it is only our thinking that makes it so.

Take away -- for evil's sake -- all parameters. Create confusion about right and wrong. Soften wrong to be -- not only appealing -- but rational, understandable and excuseable. What a victory for evil - to deny it and foist responsibility on anyone or anything else!

And, I am sure there is rejoicing by all evil forces when they survey the numerous bums waving in the air with heads buried in the sand, ostrich style, when it comes to the concept of evil.

Trading Stamps Evil

But in this paragraph, Gorthaur, you have also hit on something I really think is evil. The church of today that has somehow gotten off on the idea of trading stamps.

Trading stamps is an old marketing concept that can be blamed for the many loyalty cards you have stuffing your wallet today. The purpose was to tap into our natural tendency toward self-serving greed and accumulation (creating stacks of money or in this case paper stamps or holes punched in a card). The stated purpose was loyalty, but the hidden purpose was to make you buy more stuff.

Anyway, when you bought groceries (typically) you got an equivalent number of trading stamps (that you had to lick and stick in little paper books). If you got enough books filled with stamps you could get a new toaster -- or in the case of the church today, you can (they will tell you) go to heaven (which is NOT the case at all - an entirely different concept is in place for the Heaven-bound, known as GRACE).

You get trading stamps in the church by serving tea and cookies after the service or the elder's meetings or by visiting the sick in hospitals or by darning socks (does anyone know what darning socks is about?) or you can crawl through glass on your knees carrying a cross in some cultures.

Or you can, of course, pay for new stuff for the church (or the pastor, his wife or kids) through well-documented and noted donations, offerings and tithes (does anyone know what a tithe was supposed to be?) that are then taken as a tax deduction.

Control Them

I think this idea comes from the hope that somehow you can control people (truly, truly an evil idea!). The best way to do this is to beat down their self-esteem and destroy the possibility of a support system with other human beings (See Hitler 101 or "The Wave", if you don’t know who Hitler is) and to ensure they are never really sure they are good enough! (smacking her lips with the deliciousness of this super duper idea)

As to where evil comes from, well God created us with the choice to follow Him or follow “what is best in our own eyes” sense of directions. He did NOT create us to be automatons (or robots) that just obey.

Why did He create us in the first place and give us this freedom? Because God wanted to love us and be loved in return. Can you imagine how sad God is to know that we don’t even have time for Him most days?

My Birthday

Today is my birthday and this is my gift to me: to remember who He is in my life and to thank Him for giving me the freedom to choose to follow Him or not. Sort of like religious freedom gone wild -- or where there is clear separation of the “church” from the “state”.

You see, if you tell me I must do some thing, I will not want to do it. If you, on the other hand, tell me not to do something, you can be sure I will want to and will likely do it.

However, if you tell me I am free to choose, after giving me clear parameters and laying out benefits and consequences for my choices -- then my choices are what is known as informed choice. God gives us INFORMED CHOICE to follow evil or Good.

It is like a TOS statement (Terms of Service) in the virtual world, most of us agree to them, yet never read them. We quote them as if they are law, yet many we quote don't even exisit and those that exist are common sense and easy to follow. Interesting how the virtual world parallels the real world even in this way. Neat huh?!!!

Happy Birthday to me!