From Lady Sheridanne

Five Years to Sheriwood

2011-10-26T21:43:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, for that is the start of all stories, great or not so great, in the real world, I choose to explore the new fad of Web 2.0. My research took in most of the offerings five years ago and there were not as many as today. One I peeked into was Second Life. It was getting unbelievable press five years ago - TV, news, magazines, newspapers. Everyone was checking out this strange virtual world and so I dove in.

Newbies were very ugly in those days compared to now, but I did my best and met some others who were here for research. It was amazing to meet people from all over the world with common interests and then something gripped me. It was the ability to reach out to others.

Dancing to the Elves

I met someone in a dance place that exists today (Phatt Cats) and he had the loveliest Elf ears. He brought me to a land many have visited. There I quickly became one of their administrators

I was able to take time to do the things I do in the real world here. I taught classes. I did wedding ceremonies; and unlike the real world, I learned EVERYTHING I could about weapons of the day

In our land this was medieval but there was a lovely component of Elves there. I arranged their tournaments that are still head. I wrote procedures. I helped with barding. It was a great time and I always love learning.

Commonwealth & Meeting Aule

One day one of my students, who I still know, asked me to come see a new land. He knew my passion was Tolkien and the land I was admin in was definitely NOT Tolkien. In those days the Tolkien enthusiasts were beginning to "self identify" by wandering to places of hope for Elves and so I came to a land called Commonwealth.

It was so inspiring for me. Nearly the first day I met Aule who was fiddling around in the library there. He gave me a little desk to sit and write at and mostly just chat away with him

My father died. I was devastated! Lost! Those in my home sim, where I worked so hard as admin had no time for me. I ended up in the fresh new sim called Valimar in my deep grief. I built my first formal rose garden and dedicated it to my father and to JRR Tolkien. Many came and sat there and rested

The land where I was admin would not permit conflict of interest. They intended to "rule all the world" it seemed and after serving them tirelessly for over a year and building their traffic, and having my wonderful wedding to Turner there (a marriage that attracted 75 people to a land that would only hold 50. We crashed so many times that day, but all my friends from Valimar came to join my land). But the competition was so fierce with my home sim, they banned me for disloyalty. I of course went to Valimar but was so hurt.

Valimar

Manwe watched me from the start and he had asked me to be the optimistic, ever seeing Spring, Vana and so I began to teach classes in Valimar and manage their events and administer the sim.

The builders attracted to this challenge of Tolkien's imagination, have never again been gathered together and Valimar rose up out of the pixels. It was breathtaking and once finished in a fit of Manwe’s temper it was destroyed and then rebuilt

My Turner, my partner and I were always busy there. One day my Turner (who btw was Sauron) got into a RL argument with Manwe. It escalated beyond belief and Turner and I found ourselves banned!

I remember the pain of that day so well It was my third huge loss, and Aule, as always came to me and he held me until the pain went away and reminded me to not lose my vision for Tolkien.

The Park Bench

But I was so tired by then. There was a park bench. One made of twisted branches and rough planks that sat in a sim called ElvenGlen. It was part of Elf Circle, the place where I learned to use weapons initially. I sat on that park bench day after day. I didn't talk with anyone. When I came in world it was all I would do -- just sit on this silly park bench. Many passed by. Many knew me.

One day the owner of the quarter sim came and sat on the park bench with me. He shared that he was giving up his land. He was very tired and sad, but financially it was very difficult for him. I LOVED that special place. I told him I would pay for it for him, but he left and handed the land to me. Now what was *I* going to do with a quarter of a sim?

So I continued to come in and sit on that park bench. One day Bon/Vana came. She had been Nieliqui, Vana's daughter in Valimar with me. She started sitting quietly on the park bench with me. Then Elder Valla. Then another called Karenna. One by one, people who knew my vision began to come to that park bench offering their allegiance--not to ME--but to a vision I hold in my heart to honour Tolkien. Then Vala came and I knew there was hope.

The Planning Began

We set up this big stone table with cocoa and tea and lots of things to eat and every day we would meet and discuss the works of Tolkien, and plan. We planned every brick. We choose colours and shapes and prototyped builds and scripts. We spoke of music to inspire and ways to help others get hooked on Tolkien.

The owner of the sim (not the 1/4 parcel) told me about a way to get a sim. And best of all it would be at a discount. Sims are expensive and my friend introduced me to a character called Vander. He was going to have 50 Sims, build the biggest empire in SL he said. He was pleasant and delightful and he wanted me to be with his group because one thing was sure, I could love his people and help him grow and for my work, he offered me two Sims.

Passport Plus Three

So I went there and began working in his four Sims. It was amazing and busy and so much learning. One day I came to the Sims and found I could not enter...that it was closed to everyone. Banned from my own sim, again! However, I knew that Vander did not own the Sims but rented them. Being a bit cleverer than most imagined I was, I had made friends with the owner.

The Sims we had built were unexpectedly beautiful. Bon did much of the work there and I'm not sure they will ever be matched. So I took over the tier for four Sims (the tier btw, because it was rented, was twice what a normal sim was). I was quickly having to skip meals to pay for them, but it was worth it as I began to plan for the new Tolkien lands. Sadly the costs overwhelmed me and three of the Sims had to go. It hurt me so much. Nevertheless, I clung to Passport, the last of the four Sims with all my might.

One day, Bon and I were in Elf Circle. She was showing me this amazing tree house she had built (the one in the Forest today actually) and Manwe came near and told me how sad he was I lost the Sims. We discussed it and I somehow hoped he would want to help. Silly me.

But he did tell me something that surprised me that day. He told me that I was the most difficult woman he knew, but that he admired me like no other because of my passion for the vision that he could NOT carry.

Loss of Passport

He was Manwe. He watched me always he said and could not imagine I could still remain optimistic. One day I could no longer afford Passport and my heart was sad and Manwe came and offered me the role of Vaire – he had “sold” the role of Vana to another for their support of his new empire.

Bon and the others were growing eager to be building OUR dream. We still had the quarter of a sim and by now they had planned EVERYTHING and they just wanted to see the vision live. So I bought two Sims from Manwe's group, at a premium as well (the tier was also twice a normal tier) but in the end I thought it WOULD be worth it once the Forest and City arose out of the flat land that was delivered.

Bon and Valla and Vala and a few others raced around like silly chickens getting things packed up from the ElvenGlen land. We learned to respect and fear each other sometimes but we never fought. We just knew we were stubborn for our own ideas. So we discussed every detail around the stone table and in our Sheriwood group working site. It was an amazing time.

If you have not looked at the tribute board for awhile, I commend the paintings on the end near the City. It holds some of the early paintings of how we started. It was and remains one of the most amazing experiences of my real or virtual life.

The Tribute Board

Like any dream we cannot hope to dream in isolation. The Tribute board also holds the images of nine wonderful people and I promised I would also details these and I will add four new portraits to the Tribute board soon...
The names on the existing Tribute Board are: in order from top left to right and top row to the third row:

1. Valla, one of what we called the Three Graces, she is the most wonderful at creating and maintaining our databases and she mothers everyone, especially the shy ones still today.
2. Bon is another of the Tree Graces with me, who built the Forest and Pass, whose imagination is driven to use the limitations within this virtual world to make REALISTIC places live with simple prims!
3. Vala, our Finwe, who we rarely see, who spent a minimum of eight hours a day for every day for over a year planning and building the most mathematically-precise land in this entire world.
4. Forest, who is our Irmo and also rarely seen, built the small, intimate old Elven village in the City, with is different perspective a perfect contrast for Vala's perfection and purity.
5. Trinity & Allellia, two lovely people who helped with our events initially, but had other things draw them away very early on
6. Rill Oyen, who was my Orome when I was Vana in the old Valimar. He KNEW how to do events as no other ever has since. He got partnered and could not help like he could before. He took on the challenge of managing all the legal and business aspects of the Sheriwood Foundation, which was both expensive and tedious and remains so to this day.
7. Ries Kurka, who was passionate to be part of this, but had a bit of an unexpected temper and left.
8. Crabbi Babii, who remains close today, but as a special angel in the background and mostly on SKYPE these days.
9. Jeb Hennesy -- one I met many ages ago, who helped by donating our equipment for our hospital and birthing ward. His expertise with ancient medical equipment is still unmatched in SL

That is the nine. Some of them have even paid a tier or two along the way. I could add a dozen new names, but those on that board have been with me and this vision for the long haul and no image would go there without time in service. Two of my driving values are loyalty and trust.

Additions to Tribute Board

To this board I will soon be adding four more images as soon s I get proper paintings of them:

1. Anaire – who has came quietly to the Forest and just as quietly was rightfully handed the role of Keeper of the Keys of the Guides. She has served more time than most and continues to still today. Her journal is a delight and her sense of direction and humour are a blessing.
2. Vanwen – who is a builder and scripter and has a most delightful twist of humour. Who can wield a sword with the best of them and who also became the leader of the Rangers naturally?
3. Aule – this man has ALWAYS been with me. And like a second skin, I sometimes do not acknowledge him enough. He has heard my disappointments, held me while I cried and wanted to quit, more than anyone would ever expect. He has refused to hear a negative word from me and always loves me unconditionally; and is always there to help me when I am lost or confused or just tired!
4. Nerdanel is quiet and manages the hard things and leads and inspires others to do the things they think are not possible for them. She came to us under protest and stayed.

With tears flowing down my cheeks, I must say this place exists for and because of each individual who loves Tolkien and our vision, but some have had to be here to hold my hand when I thought of just giving up. So if your image is not there, do not be concerned.

To conclude, the work from the vision that I guard against all who might wish to deteriorate or compromise it, is not easy. It was never supposed to be easy, but to see so many individuals joining our group and to know they respect what we have built; that they want to LIVE these first seven chapters of JRR Tolkien’s mighty and foundational work with us. That they appreciate The Silmarillion. This is the joy of the struggles.

To imagine that one day JRR may walk in here and recognise where he is and who he is talking with...that is the vision we all hope for here. I am unable to fully express my gratitude to you, except by saying, "Thank you!"

Origin of Dwarves

2011-05-22T20:16:00.000-07:00

">Aule and the Dwarves

(As told by Valier Yavanna)

This is a story about the need to be patient and also of the forgiveness and love of Iluvatar for our efforts.

My beloved Aule loves to tinker. From the day we stepped into this strange and beautiful world, he was focused on building all sorts of amazing contraptions. One day, I found his workshop door closed. I would never invade his privacy and left him to tinker in peace, yet he was in there many days.

I paced and prayed and wondered what would possess him so. I also wondered if he had slipped out when I had not noticed but then I would hear banging and his normal laughter, so knew was fine.

It was the very early time of the world’s history, so I also was busily singing seeds into existence and left him in peace. One day, I was chilled with delight to see Iluvatar appear in the courtyard where I was working. He looked at me with His loving eyes and stomped, for it could only be thought of as stomping, he stomped right past me. He stood for only a moment before the rough hewn door of Aule's workshop and pushed the door open. He walked in and closed the door with a great bang behind Him before I could even glimpse what Aule was building.

Suddenly voices were raised behind that thick door and I could hear Aule and Iluvatar arguing! I had never experienced this before and felt deeply grieved in my heart. I stood and appealed to Iluvatar in my mind, asking for Him to be patient with my beloved Aule. But the shouting continued and the sound of Aule's hammer striking something. The door even seemed to expand and contract with all the emotion behind the door. Then it grew quiet.

I continued my prayer and waited. In a short while that seemed more like an eternity to me, the door opened. Iluvatar walked out, His face a bit red and shiny, but He smiled at me in a strange way and then was gone.

I was unsure what to do and stood transfixed at the door of Aule's workshop waiting for some direction. Aule's voice, ever so quiet spoke to me and bid me to enter his workshop. As I walked in, there around his feet like a cloud stood seven very strange creatures. They clung to him as if for dear life.

I looked into Aule's eyes and saw something I had never seen there before, fear and.... regret. I walked to him and moved the creatures to the side, as I enfolded him in my arms. He was shaking and his face wet with tears. I held him and waited.

This is what he shared with me. He had grown tired of waiting for Iluvatar to create children. You see Aule loves teaching even more than creating things with his hand it seems sometimes to me. And so in his impatience, Aule had worked tirelessly to craft, with many elements and devices, the seven creatures encircling his feet, and now mine. He found behind the closed door of his workshop a way even to animate them so they SEEMED to live, yet they did not actually. For life belongs to Iluvatar to grant and Him only.

He was revelling in delight at his creation and would have been teaching them from that moment, but that is the moment when Iluvatar arrived. And behind the closed door of that workshop, Iluvatar confronted Aule with his betrayal.

You see beautiful First Children, Iluvatar had and has a plan. He understands the value of perfect timing, because He created time and perfection. Yet because Iluvatar entrusted many special tasks to His Valar and Maiar, He also trusted them to follow His time table, as He trusted them to sing the harmonious tunes He had taught each of them.

When Iluvatar confronted Aule He was about to destroy the creatures. The stubby little awkward-looking creatures... Aule begged Iluvatar to forgive him for not trusting Him. Aule offered to take his own hammer and smash the work of his hand into dust to make up for his lack of trust of Iluvatar.

Iluvatar, Aule told me, stood and looked at him and Iluvatar's eyes filled with compassion and love for Aule, for it seemed, according to Aule, that Iluvatar could "feel" the love that Aule had for these seven creatures and took pity on him and the seven.

Iluvatar told Aule to drop his hammer and wait. The Dwarves understood that they were about to be destroyed and clung to Aule for they already loved him.

Iluvatar then said to Aule: "Thy offer I accepted even as it was being made. Doest thou not see that these things have now a life of their own and speak with their own voices? Else they would not have flinched from thy blow, nor from any command of thy will.” For I grant them life, not just the ability to move at will.

Then Aule cast down his hammer and was glad that Iluvatar had compassion on his creation. But Iluvatar spoke again: "Even as I gave being to the thoughts of the Ainur at the beginning of the World, so now I have taken up thy desire and give to it a place therein; but in no other way will I amend your creation. Your hands have made these creatures in such a way that they will find special work.”

For Aule sensed they would come in the days of the power of Melkor, he made them strong to endure. They are “stone-hard, stubborn, fast in friendship and in enmity, and they suffer toil and hunger and hurt of body more hardily than all other speaking peoples; and they live long, far beyond the span of the race called Men, yet Dwarves are not eternal.”

Iluvatar, continued, “They shall sleep now in the darkness under stone, and shall not come forth until the First born have awakened upon Earth. And until that time thou and they shall wait, though long it seem. But when the time comes *I* will awaken them, and they shall be to thee as children.”

And then Aule took these Seven Fathers of the Dwarves, and laid them to rest in far-sundered places; and then returned to be with me. A wiser Valar to be sure.

That, dear ones, is how Dwarves came into being. I only wish Aule had been here to share, but it still hurts his heart.

(Quotes from JRR Tolkien, The Silmarillion, Chapter 4)

How A Sim Is Lost to LL

2010-09-26T20:24:00.000-07:00

A public service message to all of those in my virtual world:

First off, Lindenlabs would never ever discuss any information about another Avatar account and surely not about finances with anyone.

But if Lindenlabs was not being paid tier and they were going to close a sim, this is what would happen.

1. Lindenlab would try to cash the tier payment. Most pay by credit card or Paypal, so LL will simply try to source the cash fee.

2. If there is no money to access the OWNER of the sim only would receive an email informing them that the tier is not there yet for LL to collect and that this needs to be fixed.

3. If there is no response and if the money is not available to them a second time, LL will send another email to the OWNER of the sim only, informing this a second time that LL has not been paid and that they will try in another couple of days.

4. LL will then try again. If the money is not there for them to take, they will block the OWNER’s account.

5. They send a third email telling the OWNER that their account is delinquent and that they need to get the account fixed before LL will reactivate the OWNER’s account.

6. At that moment, the OWNER is able to go into their account only by going to www.secondlife.com but will not be permitted to go in-world. And this is the only way the OWNER can fix the problem and will need to there establish new payment arrangements for LL to access the money. (by adding a new credit card, by changing their PayPal account or by putting Lindens into their account to cover the amount of tier owing.

7. If that is not solved within 2 months, then a Linden will come to the sim and warn the sim manager (in the case they are not OWNER) that the sim is going offline.

8. And then it will disappear to dust. The sim is gone.

9. The ONLY concession the manager or resident can get from LL after that point is by sending a ticket for Linden to reopen the sim for a couple of hours so the manager or resident can take their prims

10. If LL opens the sim under these conditions, they will give you a couple of hours or a day at the most to take whatever you wish and then the sim will disappear forever.

11. Finally, LL does NOT offer the manager/resident the option to buy the sim (even at an increased price)

12. LL will just flatten it and sell it again to the next buyer.

13. They do not care because the sim is resold empty in the Lindenlabs land shop. So it is 2 months and the sim is gone.

Tortoise and the Hare-The Moody Blues

2010-07-31T10:18:00.000-07:00

How can it be that the tortoise wins the race, when it always looks like the hare should? In reality the hare is the "histrionic" entity and the tortoise is the "perfectionist" entity. Somewhere in-between the two is another animal, perhaps a dog that is ideal.

Dogs are lovely; they are cute and they can be slow or fast, emotional or rational. I'm not an taxonomist (one who classified species) by any means, however, I sense things and believe we fall somewhere in between the hare and the tortoise when we are most healthy – physically and emotionally (especially emotionally, because we are deeply affected physically when we are not emotionally healthy).

The Hare

Think of the hare, the easiest one in the Aesop’s Fable to identify. Rushing around, looking for all the world like the potential winner. Adorable and soft and fluffy and almost irresistible!

People love standing next to the hare – if they can EVER be found to be standing still -- listening to him/her, following their desirable lead. The politically active, the one in the know, the one TO know. Always with an opinion, always seen more right than not. Active, fit, healthy in mind and body.

In reality the hare is prideful and unaware of the world around them because they SEE themselves so out-in-front they miss the realities of life. They wear blinders to block out the reality they somehow sense is all around them and would defeat them if they would only stop long enough to realise reality. They are stressed beyond measure trying to stay out in front, too.

The Tortoise

The tortoise has always been the winner, but in some ways could the tortoise win only because of the hare’s lack of focus on where the bloody finish line is? The tortoise-perfectionist checks everything? Every footfall? Every word? Every commitment? No wonder they are perceived to be so slow.

Their progress depends more on time than on activity. And their progress depends on making “perfect” decisions (and receiving approval), when reality is full of so many decisions. Progress is more by accident than design, as when they are confused they keep their heads in most of the time trying to reason it all out before they take their next step.

Yet the tortoise wins, not by purposing to win, but by plodding along afraid to turn to the right or left or experience anything other than what seems perfect at the time.

The Canine

So let’s look at the canine, the dog, the puppy. Eager, random and quick sometimes; slow, specific and particular at other times. And always with a smile, enthusiasm and hope in the heart.

They see a goal, a finish line and consider it, not for a treat or praise, but to see if it is worthy of pursuing before one paw goes in motion. Once decided, they look around them and inspect their pathway, smelling out the best way to pursue their goal. Until they are certain, they wait. Then begin after they are happy with their choices.

Speed is not always their strategy, because they seem able to sense danger and are wary of something that seems unfamiliar and that might deter them from their goal. They may wander in big circles, seeming to waste energy, yet they use their nose and nous to scope out danger and fun along their pathway.

Another thing that commends the canine is that they are not always interested in winning, but in having fun and enjoying every minute. Even their sleep can be delightful to watch as they sometimes yip in their sleep, pursuing either hare or tortoise down rabbit holes and into hollow tree trunks to “round them up” for some fun, against both the hare’s and the tortoise’s better judgement.

Virtual or Real

In our virtual life, it seems the differences and realities of real life are also, not surprisingly, dramatised into bigger-than-life challenges sometimes, so it is easier to observe yourself and others and see the behaviours more clearly.

I mean, think about it, sometimes you just sit back and watch things unfold so smoothly and you can SEE dangers and clear pathways in a more reliable and more focused way in the virtual world -- just because it is right there before you!

I think, no, I hope I have been mostly a canine in my life, but fear I’ve tried on both tortoise and hare too often. How about you?

Pain & Misery

2010-07-25T12:18:00.000-07:00

I still love the man I married once upon a time, when I was only nineteen and running away from all the bad stuff that my short life had thrown at me. Of course I still love him, although I do not like some of the things that happened, yet love is not something you just turn off and on...well perhaps something is wrong with me ‘cause I’ve just never figured out how to stop those feelings.

Why would I still care about him? Because I always will and now his life, you see, has taken many strange and painful turns. He’s faced more pain than I could ever imagine with serious health challenges and he remains my friend. Recently, he and I were talking about a mutual friend who had lost their brother and he said a most profound thing,

“Pain is inevitable; misery’s a choice.”

So pure. He hung up the phone. I hung up the phone. Yet somehow my hand stayed on the receiver as I was gripped with the pure simplicity of these six words! Of course we ALL know this. We are not foolish, yet how easy it is to forget this simple, simple statement.

I keep a yellowing index card right here, taped to the books that are holding up my laptop. I keep it there so I can see it every moment I am sitting here “living” my other life. It says, “It’s YOUR choice!” And no matter how often I read that card, many times I slip into a helpless misery or surrender to circumstances.

The virtual world I inhabit at first seemed simple and pretty and fun and crowded with music and beauty. Yet, as in all life, there are dark things that look like they are safe and places that are beautiful, like a Pandoraian paradise, filled with the most vicious of creatures.

Then there are the politically astute and those who are pretenders who do so much damage with words, whispers and doctored “quiet messages” no one hears but those favoured ones read. This world of many layers is a world where damage can begin and never be controllable because of the wildfire nature of unchecked suspicion and the candy like addiction to casual rumour.

How tragic a virtual life can be when hearts behind the screen are disregarded in an all out determination to simply win at all costs.

• Friendship
• Sincerity
• Communication
• Integrity
• Humility
• Compassion
• Grace
• and Love.

When these are forgotten, joy turns to chaos; fun to work; love to suspicion and pain to misery.

How to guard against it? Thankfully, in the virtual world, you can truly rise above it and fly away; on the worst of days you can log off and step away from this machine that now links us together with others and take time to stop multi-tasking long enough to think things back into reasonable perspective.

In the real world it takes a different, but similar, strategy. Nevertheless, sometimes in the virtual world the pain is so real it is a struggle to guard against a nagging misery. That’s where friends come in.

Until you meet real friends
True friends,
Friends who appear before you to embrace you
As warmly as in that other world.
Friends who stay with you through
The Dickensonian “best of times and worst of times”.
Friends, just like those gold ones your Mom/Mum told you were out there.
Friends who accept you with sympathy, empathy and grace.
Even special friends who hold you
Through the pain to keep the misery far from you.

No matter what world you inhabit, one thing is certain – you can’t do it alone. Whoever wrote, “No man is an island”, was right!

DEVIOUS TRUTH & WHITE LIES

2010-07-22T02:29:00.000-07:00

“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.

The Great Song

2010-03-26T23:21:00.000-07:00

Told by Aule to the Noldor

========================================================
Nerdanel asks, “My lord Aule, do you know any stories that will strengthen our hearts?”

AULE shifts the drum pattern again... a twinkle in his eye and a quirky smile on his face and he laughs out loud, “oh, heavens.......there was a part of the Great Song.... near the beginning. Wait, you know what I am talking about? The Great Song? Ainulinalë, in Quenya?

Ah.... then I shan't pay attention to the teaching, but the stor. As I said, then, there was a part near the beginning of the Great Song where it seemed that the music simply became a driving rhythm and that all of us, Valar and Maiar, and even the heart of The One, seemed to hold the great theme in suspension... like the glow of a distant light that is still beneath the horizon... pregnant with anticipation. And while this one note hung in space... the rhythm....

AULE plays a simple pattern on the drums... ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪

And the melody had paused, but the song became... simply .... how to say this... "a will to become"? The rhythm, however, didn't stay the same. We built it by pieces from the root up..... ♪ ♪ ♫ ♪ making each line more complex than the last... ♫♪r♫♫♪r and... while is was exciting as it built... my people... the Maia who I loved... each began to riff, improvise and whirl wildly with the unfolding tattoo....♫....♪♫å♪♫...

They were not always in time. Sometimes it was a battle, I think, which meter would be the one that prevailed. But that battle was only a variation against a variation of the driving pulse that under grid the Great Song.... .♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♪

Then the song, of course, went far beyond that...in time... but that one moment, we understood something - that each different drummer -- whether he played a tabor or a kettle or pattered with light feet or clapped their hands -- truly was playing both what was in their own hearts AND what The One had given them to play.

AULE pauses speaking as the drum he plays talks.... ♪ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♪...

Your feet... your hands.... you heart.... your lips..... have their own song to proclaim. And that song may not harmonize with every other song around you... but, in a short time.... the songs and beats unite creating, in variation against variation, deeper harmony. And back then, when the Great Song was the wild whirling of the unformed world... we each simply played what we had and let our ears guide us to harmony... .♫ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♫....

AULE laughs.

I suppose that is the end of that story.....but I have to remind myself.... whenever I see to Elves or two Fae at odds....they are only singing the songs they have... and that harmony will result when they hear each other.

You Fill My Eyes

2009-12-02T12:04:00.001-08:00

You fill my eyes
You hold my hear
I look at you
And every childhood dream comes true.
Every longing of my life is fulfilled

There is no room for cynicism or doubt.
Caution has flown away
As if it was never my constant companion.

I want you!
Not like a dying dove seeing no hope of rescue
But like a strong and mighty falcon in sudden sunlight
When she is better suited for the clouds.

I have known beauty before
A child, just new to the world
A rose so red and fragrant
The morning palate of wild colour with the sudden sun
The freezing fog covering the night

I cannot remember when such beauty as yours
So strong, yet fragile all at once
So possessed me to this reckless madness.

I want to embrace you like moss does river rocks
To kiss you more longingly than the fig vines
as they twist to find the sun.

I want time to wait in my impatient stupor of love
I fear to speak your name
And yet cannot stop speaking it.
Some wisdom or pain or vision fills me with warmth.

I know this is a transforming love
Because my heart is gone
Torn first in two
And then pieced together by your hand
And held there
In your grasp alone for all time and beyond.

This is not romance, sudden or long,
It is far beyond the fleeting wonder of my hope.
With an icy chill I fear, as once I never knew how
That my rapturous feelings will only seem
The wild love of a passing passion.

And like a transfigured saint,
Who longs to stay right here forever
I dare not tell you my heart
Lest I frighten you like a skittish doe at dawn.

Time has passed
I have cursed my cowardice so long
As to wonder if what I felt has really happened at all!

Finally I feel content, knowing
That I can still feel what I seem to have always felt
No matter how timidly I pursue my dream.

I ask if I may come to you still
Fearing you will say no
Now, it is enough to have loved you
All in an instant
Filling my emptiness with all of you

Knowing that somewhere
you walk on this earth
And that I will somehow find you
In another instant
In another world
In another time
A time that endures forever.

Or that is the dream, I still dream....

His Piano - Her Heart

2009-06-12T06:22:00.001-07:00

His beloved piano.
She would watch him
Sitting for hours
Frustration melting
His fingers dancing over the black and white keys
Slowly his heart settling
Resolving
Determined for another day

His piano -- his most special possession
His other love gave it to him.
Wherever he lived the piano was the first object he put down

Now it was Nerdanel that was his beloved.
He would watch her as he played
He would speak with her as he played
She would sing to him as he played
Always he was happiest when he played

They built a quiet place
Hidden from drama and darkness
Fear and frustration
Each laid down something precious for the other.
She a fresh baked bread
And a bed to dream upon.
And he carefully sat down his piano.

They played side by side for hours.
No one knew.

When they were tired they would play.
When they were sad they would play.
When they were afraid of tomorrow they would play.
Side by side they would play.
A melody so well balanced and intricate with emotion.
His left thigh touching her right thigh.
The sixth sense of proximity reminding them of their love
Still they played and played on.
Side by side they would play.

The music streaming from their fingers
As tension disappeared like fading moisture on a rock in the sun
Individually they concentrated on their part of the music...
They barely looked at the other unless their hands touched
Then a quick look to acknowledge the other
A furtive smile before resuming with just one beat of change.

They played on
Side by side they would play.
Then one day he was gone.

The piano sat in their room
Quiet now
Each day she woke
Her eyes travelling to the piano first
She feared to touch it
Diamond-like motes of dust settled onto the surfaces

She resisted touching it,
Somehow unsure if it would play music without him to draw it

One day she could resist no longer
She sat there
The stool feeling as supportive as ever
Her hands folded one in the other one
Palms and fingers curled up
And that was all she could do that day
She sat there for hours
Thinking as hard as she could of each moment
Each Song
Each hope and dream they played
Believing he would somehow materialise

But he did not.
And she got up
And walked away.

She did this for weeks.
Sitting there
Day after day
Every morning
Every afternoon
Every evening
Till so late she had to sleep.

Holding her hands in her lap
Remembering his gentle touch and soothing words and his music
So numb and lost.

One morning she sat there.
She folded her hands in her lap
And waited for him once more.

Her fingers moved
And rested on the keys.
She began unconsciously to play his favourite song.
Then she played her favourite.
Then she played their favourite.
She listened as she played these shared favourite tunes.

Hoping in the playing he would be drawn back.
Play as she might and watch as she would
He did not appear...
She played on and on into the night
Into the next day, possessed with hope.
Playing till her fingertips passed blisters into bloody.
She played.

Then she stopped.
Her hands bleeding.
The keys covered in her blood and sweat.
A tear formed in her eye.
It rolled quietly and hopelessly
Very full and pregnant this tear
It fell in slow motion
Onto the white key near her exhausted right index finger
Where it landed, a little white spot shown through the blood.

Another tear rolled unstoppable from her eye
Hit another white key and a new white spot was seen.
Tears began to flow swiftly from her eyes.
She drew her hands, still bleeding, to her face
To bury her shame from herself for her disappointment.

And the tears flowed.
They flowed longer than the music had.
The keys showed white again
And then the piano began to fade.

She sat up slowly
Her eyes wide with the insistent tears that continued to flow
And watched
As the piano turned into a pale phantom.

She could not move, only watch.
Each part faded like the dusk fades into blackest night.
Her tears grew more heavy.
Her heart began to hurt
And she knew her heart was fading too.

It stands there still, that piano
Or the white wispy form of it
A phantom, weary from the patter of tears and hope.

Every day she wakes to stare at the piano.
Every day it greets her as this pale phantom.
Every day she wakes to touch the space between her breasts.
Every day her heart greets her as a pale phantom.
Now hope fades with each passing moment....
Until only death can bring her peace...
And she no longer plays his music or her music or their music.
She only stares at the fading piano.

For Nerdanel from Feanor 7 May-09

2009-06-09T00:43:00.000-07:00

They looked at each other, and saw heaven in the depths of each other’s lightened eyes
they stared at each other for a moment, sighed feeling a pressing in their hearts, and then closed their eyes
their eyes were drowning in a bitter sweet confusion, afraid to open again.
They were beautiful,
too beautiful,
but incomplete
...
they had velvet dreams living in the limbo of fear and desire
they looked at each other, and feared the worse....
that they would tumble on madness, ...
that they would fall hopelessly in love...
their hands touched, felt the warmth, the Elven scent of roses
skin on skin,
it was the beginning of something they could not understand
....
they knew that if they let their bodies feel one another,
they would never be strong enough to walk away.
They were living under the fake lights,...
for ages...!
performing and playing characters,
they almost forgot who they were
sometimes the people around them brought enough rejoicing...
sometimes it was just too cold on the set, and inside of them...
then their eyes met one another...
then their eyes met one another...
and danced a crying Elven tango....
even when the two elves did not understand their senses,
defying them, and winning...
The words their mouths wanted to say, were hurting....
suffocated and imprisoned,
like a cursed warrior after the war.
: ....
they looked at each other,...
then looked down...
they were beautiful....
too beautiful
: ....
their beauty was like a sharp knife cutting the veils in pieces,...
and revealing the sun...
the freezing cold would be finally over...
if they let the sun touch them whole
no masks
no fear
no shame
The people around them knew it all along....
it was meant to be pure and ravishing ...
it was meant to be the dawn of a new world...
if they let their eyes dive into one another....
a little bit closer....
and wipe the tears from their eyes with the flowing feathers....
and their crying love ...
forsake the siege within...
: ....
The words their mouths wanted to say....
were coming to life...
that night had to be the night of forgiveness....
for their useless hurt and wasted time....
that moment had to be the beginning of forever...
when they reached out their hands, ...
with no fear ...
the two hearts collided...
absolving the familiar matter....
forming a single one.
....
the restrained sighs would be replaced by moans of endless pleasure
the clear words their mouths wanted to say all along....
were now
released for the first time
"Gen melin! Gen melin!"
"I love you! I love you!"
....
Wiping away the tears from their faces,...
and breathing deeply...
: breathing each other....
no more hurt.
"Hush now don´t cry my angel!"
"Nelladell nîn."
: "Angel of mine."
....
whispers "for you , my beloved Nerdanel !"

Dont Believe Everything You Read Or Then Again....

2009-01-23T19:59:00.001-08:00

A man went into a diner one morning (they didn’t have cafes in those days, nor latte either) looking through a pile of magazines he found in the seat beside him, he found something like a TIME magazine with a feature story of how bad the economy was with tips to survive the storm.

He went home and called his parents to warn them, sold his home and car, moved in with his parents who passed away from the fear of living through another depression.

He hunkered down into his job, told everyone there of the depression on the way, made no suggestions at work and only did what was required of him and nothing more, for fear of losing his job.

Lost his job because he did not meet his agreed performance targets (we have always had those in one way or another). Got depressed and spent his time wandering around the town spreading the news of the terrible economic situation with his friends and all who would listen to him.

The town went into an economic downturn and most lost their jobs. The gas stations closed cause most people didn’t drive their cars if they had them, stores closed. It was an awful time.

Then one day months later, the man went back to that same diner, with enough money to buy a cup of coffee. He spoke with the waitress (they were allowed to call them waitresses in those days because politically correctness was not invented yet), asked her for a pot of coffee and took extra cream and sugar while she was there (and hid them in his jacket pockets).

He asked if there was anything to read. She said there was a stack of magazines he could look through. He found the one he had read that fateful morning and began to carefully review the article again.

The waitress came with his coffee and looked over his shoulder and said, “Yes, it is amazing how people actually survived the Great Depression back in the 30s.

Someone died and left all these old magazines to me and it seems people enjoy reading about how hard it really was in those days. Anyway, is there anything else I can get you with your coffee?”

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

There are days when being possessed by the need to write seems crazy or hopeless, when words come like extracting the proverbial wisdom teeth, when there is no reward, even a thank you, let alone pay for what you write.

But the pen remains mightier than the sword, mightier than the banks and mightier than our fears.

Think right now of the most difficult thing you have lived through. Remember how you felt as you faced this "challenge" (everyone calls it that thinking it will take the sting out of reality and well, I shouldn't be all that different in naming it)?

You never thought you would make it...but you did. You've come a long way and you are still here and tomorrow, as another character from another great book once said, "Tomorrow is another day..." and the hard things, well we can always think about them tomorrow.

The virtual world I live in, allows me to consider more positive alternatives and to fulfil dreams that sometimes the real world is not able to give me. So I enjoy the hope I can find, the posibilities. I hope you do too.

Of Hobos & the Value of Gifts

2009-01-01T17:47:00.000-08:00

For me it sometimes takes three hits to get my attention.

Today, someone wrote me an email and asked me to start the New Year off with something new for my blog. As you will notice it has been a long time. My heart has been heavy and my Muse was destroyed to dust in front of my eyes, never to enter my virtual world again. Such a great loss I was not sure how to move in any direction, so choose to just stand still and let the dust cover me.

Second, something a new friend and told me recently I thought I would write again. He said that I live in the past....this stung me and seemed unfair. I am a writer, a journalist, a chronicler and editorialist who uses the past to stand on as a foundational step for seeing things today. But I try to take feedback like that the he offered as serious as important. So stopped to think about what he might be meaning and if this was actually a good or bad thing.

My conclusion is that I am better for a past of challenge and pain, than if I had had a lovely, protected, safe and pretty past...so I thank God/the gods for their constant and consistent hand in my life and that things have not been easy. I also am grateful that I remember these things in the hopes of not making the same silly mistakes again.

Third, as I went for my race walk this morning, I thought about a blog segment I have been meaning to write for a long time and having watched a video yesterday that had my mind moving in that direction, today was the day. Oh the move was called, Hearts in Atlantis. So here goes.

Of Hobos & the Value of Gifts

When I was about six years old, my Daddy took me on a long trip (only 70 miles in reality) to visit my Grandma Harris. I loved her and every summer I spent at her house for weeks on end.

Daddy and I would prepare for the trip for days, and Mommy would help me pack and eliminate the many extraneous things I would sneak into my little brown and tan suitcase with the brass clasps that would pop open with a special little noise when you pulled aside the little round lever.

We would work together to pack a lunch and lots of koolaid in a thermos (and a fresh bottle of Pepto Bismal for my car sickness). Daddy and I would pile into the car and set out on our next adventure.

The Stranger

As we rounded a bend, there stood a man on the side of the road with his fist out and his thumb pointed in the direction we were going. I thought this was rather strange. Then my Daddy slowed down, stopped the car and began to back up. I thought this was a great adventure and was suddenly alert to something we had NEVER done before.

A man’s face appeared at the window and my Daddy spoke with him. His voice was so deep I thought it was magic. I had been laying on the front seat with my head resting on my Daddy’s leg and now set up properly in the passenger’s seat as any grown up would. Daddy turned to me and said it was alright and that we would be giving this gentleman a ride almost all the way to Grandma’s house. How wonderful!

The man opened the door and I scooted over and he sat beside me on the front seat. He was not dressed very well, there was a strange smell about him that was musty. His clothing seemed not to match in anyway and everything was frayed and tattered, yet somehow clean. His skin was all dark looking and sort of looked like snake skin to me...with a pattern in it with his wrinkles. He had very deep wrinkles, especially when he smiled.

Boring Grown-Up Talk

He was pleasant as he spoke easily with my Daddy about stuff that was not of interest to me, so I began to count the telephone poles to see if I could beat my record and keep track of where we were as we travelled.

There were four little cities we would travel through that I came to memorise for one coming after the other: Crestline, Bucyrus, Upper Sandusky and then Carey. I had taken this trip many times in my young life and knew that when you got to the tree that the Chippewa Indians had bent into a special pointing shape (by taking a young tree and bending it and tying it with heavy ropes), we were almost at Grandma’s.

Now What

As we turned another bend, my Daddy stopped the car and the man turned to me and said he was thankful to spend time with me; that he thought I was a sweet little girl (everyone my entire life seems to think I am “sweet” and someday I will understand what they mean by that) and that he had a gift for me.

He put his old, tanned, gnarled hand in his pocket and pulled out a match box. I knew I was not allowed to have matches and thought this was not a very good gift for a little girl, but knew to say thank you anyway.

He placed the little “Red Head” match box in my hand and said, “Open it and see what is inside.” When I slid the little inner box out, there were a bunch of sort of purple beads. I looked at my Daddy, hoping he would tell me what this was and how grateful I was supposed to be for something like this.

My Daddy looked at the man and smiled. “Tell her what that is, my friend” he said.

“In this little match box are magical seeds. You remember the story of Jack in the Beanstalk, don’t you? Well these are also very special seeds that some (Native American) Indians gave to me. They will produce a crop of corn for popping. You do like pop corn don’t you?”

Well, of course I liked pop corn, especially in the big aluminium bowl that Mommy used to put it in and drizzle the butter and salt all over, then shake it up into the air to miss it well. But now I would have special pop corn that I grew myself.

The Precious Gift

I looked again at the seeds and closed the box carefully; hoping not to lose any and knowing Daddy would tell me how to plant them so they all grew into great bunches of popped corn.

The man left the car and closed the door and wandered away down a little lane way. My Daddy turned to me and asked me if I knew what that man was? And I said no, he was just a man.

He said, “That man is a hobo and he has no home and no family and no friends and no possessions but what he has on right now. So the gift of that popcorn is very precious indeed, because it represented all he has in the world.”

We planted those seeds in the spring. The popcorn from those seeds was the best tasting in the world. We harvested the seeds and replanted every year of my life while I was living at home.

The most important thing for me, however wasn’t how tasty the popcorn was. Instead, I thought of that man the rest of my life every time someone gave me a gift, thinking about the fact that it has nothing to do with the grandness of the gift itself, but the value of the heart of the giver. That Hobo had a most generous heart.

Best Wishes to You for 2009

The holidays have passed now and I can only hope you got something as valuable as magic popcorn to think about for this New Year.

The Beginning, Not the End

2008-10-16T22:10:00.001-07:00

The Executioner's Song

2008-10-16T22:02:00.000-07:00

“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

2008-09-27T17:04:00.000-07:00

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 ...

2008-08-17T04:13:00.001-07:00

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

2008-07-15T21:53:00.001-07:00

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

2008-07-13T18:48:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-06-22T16:28:00.001-07:00

Remember ?

2008-06-22T16:18:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-11T22:52:00.001-07:00

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 ?

2008-05-28T23:10:00.001-07:00

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

2008-05-28T17:33:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-26T23:09:00.001-07:00

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

2008-05-26T22:01:00.000-07:00

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....

2008-05-19T16:46:00.000-07:00

VHIL: Learning from the Virtual You

Lies of the Heart

2008-04-28T19:47:00.001-07:00

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

2008-04-28T18:48:00.000-07:00

“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....

2008-04-25T03:27:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-03-24T15:04:00.001-07:00

How does someone rule a Queen? They don't! It is all about love really.
=============================
I Have Not Felt Such Longing
=============================

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

2008-03-18T17:05:00.000-07:00

Today one of my favourite authors passed away.

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

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.

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

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 !

2008-03-18T12:04:00.001-07:00

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

2008-03-18T11:42:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-12T15:08:00.001-07:00

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

Sleeping Images

2008-03-07T18:46:00.001-08:00

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

2008-03-07T18:46:00.000-08:00

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

2008-03-03T11:41:00.000-08:00

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

2008-03-02T23:49:00.001-08:00

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)

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

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?

2008-02-25T09:59:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-24T23:38:00.001-08:00

To Carla

2008-02-24T15:39:00.001-08:00

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

2008-02-24T15:19:00.000-08:00

“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

2008-02-22T02:11:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-14T11:07:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-11T13:43:00.001-08:00

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

2008-01-28T10:55:00.001-08:00

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

2008-01-28T10:07:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-24T11:35:00.001-08:00

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

2008-01-24T10:32:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-03T11:17:00.000-08:00

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!

Just Believe

2007-12-23T13:36:00.001-08:00

Christmas time this year, and I feel so very, very homesick.

This clip is dedicated to those I have loved in this world that are gone now and those I love still that are here for me (what treasure I have!).

The magic of Christmas is so special. It heals us and brings us new hope for every tomorrow.

Enjoy the love and forgiveness and the renewal of the holidays for all they offer you.

My First Christmas

2007-12-23T12:46:00.000-08:00

Christmas memories are remarkable for me. Seems like Christmas was/is the turning point for the entire year – I still mark every one of my years by December 25th instead of January 4 (my birthday!!).

And special memories of Christmas bubble up now and again reminding me of wonderful “sugar plum” love and sometimes even disappointment. So this year I’m choosing to share with you one of those memories from my favourite Christmases and hope it will stir up your own best memories, too.

The first Christmas I can remember would be when I was five. We had moved to a new house. My brother was only a year old. The house had a big living room with 10-foot ceilings (that seemed to be twice that high to me) and right by the front door there was a wonderful floor to ceiling window where we always put the Christmas tree.

The Tree

I remember the beautiful, tall, green, live, pine tree decorated with lots of pretty Christmas balls and some lights that looked like little glass candles in plastic holders. The glass part was yellow, blue, red and green and the contrasting plastic holders were mostly two toned green and yellow or green and red. The candle portion, once heated up would produce unending bubbles inside the glass tube and make little glass clinking noises once in a while. They were featured every year of my memory on our trees (I even bought then for myself after I grew up left home).

Christmas carols would play all the time. So pretty.

Under the tree Mom would arrange a white sheet (so it looked like snow) and put down special, big wooden bowls with fresh oranges and mandarins and mixed nuts (especially my favourite English walnuts). And boxes of home made and carefully decorated Christmas cookies – more than you could ever eat! And hard candy with little Christmas trees and wreaths on them.

The Doll of my Dreams

I had seen -- and desperately wanted -- this wonderful, tall-as-me, walking doll so badly. I think as I look back it was a difficult year for money what with the move and a new brother and all. But I was five and there was nothing more important for me than that doll with the frilly, white, long dress and the little pink bows all over it. I can still see her lovely hands and little fingernails and her beautiful eyes that would close if you laid her down for a nap.

Meaning of Christmas

Then right after dinner the day before Christmas, Mommy came to me and said we needed to go into Daddy’s office. Now I knew this is where all the Christmas presents were “hidden”. And I wasn’t supposed to go in there at all.

Well actually I had wandered in there a few times anyway and could see all the enticing boxes up high covered in bags. But they were up so high I couldn’t actually see anything. But I knew my dolly was there because it was the biggest box ever.

So I was really happy because I thought she was going to give it to me now instead of having to wait till Christmas morning!!

Strangely, she brought the newspaper with her and sat down on Daddy’s office chair. She had me come look at a picture on the front page of the paper.

There was an image of a burnt down house. With a mommy and daddy and little girl standing outside in the falling snow. Mommy explained that this family had lost everything in a fire that very morning and would have no Christmas at all.

That made me feel real sad as I peered at every detail of that picture.

She looked at me and she looked up at the boxes. Then she got up from the chair and reached up real tall and brought down the very big box in the bag. She looked at me again. She said nothing but slowly pulled the bag off.

And there she was, my dolly! The most wonderful dolly I had ever seen. All I wanted to do was to touch her, to hold her, to brush her hair, to smell her skin, to give her a big kiss.

But Mommy put her hand on my shoulder and pushed me a little away (I would have slobbered on that box to be sure!).

She asked me to turn and look in her eyes. There were little tears there – I will never be able to forget.

And she said, “Sweetie, we must do something for this poor family and I want you to give the little girl your dolly. You would like to do that wouldn’t you or that little girl will have no Christmas at all.”

Well I did NOT want to give her my dolly. I had wanted that dolly more than anything in the world.

Mommy said, “What if it had been us, wouldn’t it be nice if some little girl wanted to give her dolly to you?”

Well, yes, I thought. That would be good.

I looked down at my dolly’s beautiful face and just wanted to touch her once.

Yet, as I thought of that other little girl, with nothing but cinders and dark boards surrounding her, I couldn’t resist. I reached out to the box with my dolly in it and pushed it to Mommy. I asked her to take my dolly to the little girl. And I have known all my life that this is and was what Christmas is supposed to be, always.

Holiday Wishes for You

I hope your Christmas and holidays are the best ever and they are crowded with family and friends, good food and time to remember all the moments of precious love you have ever had in your life. And I hope that by the time you get through New Years that the only memories that remain are the good ones for the past year.

With love from Lady Sheridanne Kelley

Don't Give Up!!

2007-12-21T11:18:00.001-08:00

Sometimes you just have to take stock of who you are and what is actually happening around you to find the secret to tomorrow. Hope you enjoyed that...I know I am.

/me smiles and smiles and smiles

Towanda !!!

2007-12-21T10:52:00.000-08:00

Henry David Theroux said most men live lives of quiet desperation. In other words they are not only bored with their lives to the point of screaming, they remain silent. Perhaps they remain silent because they have convinced themselves that like a tree falling in the woods with no one there to hear it, there really is no sound and no one will hear them scream out for mercy.

But we all know the truth of that. Just this week I posted a segment about the series of virtual disappointments Lady Sheridanne has been going through (RL & VL (real life and virtual life).

She didn’t get through them alone though….others held her hand, her head, hugged her, danced with her, gave her a massage, rushed her off to get several lattes and many explained their own victories as examples of how “hope happens” and can’t be lost.

It was a time where Lady Sheridanne could not be strong or frisky or hopeful or optimistic or positive for anyone else, let alone for herself. Lady Sheridanne is exhausted from the last four months of events and has no more strength left.

Old Friends and New

And without intending to she turned to old and new friends just for a hug or a word from them. And they came.

- The man who brought her first to Avilion, enchanting her with his Elven magic and charm to hold her and to strengthen her from his new found strengths.

- The lady who taught her about being an Ancient, who said something to the effect, that this too will pass and really doesn’t matter much in the universal scheme of things and gently threw her long, red, dread locks over her shoulder and hugged me.

- The man who made the music box that I played until the neighbors must have complained and who held me like no other in my home, came and helped me say good bye (and hopefully has found a way to save my music box for my new home).

- The man who has held her the most, through the most difficult times for the longest friendship she has ever had in her virtual life -- a great (yet lost love), came and held her and listened to her fears for the upteenth time -- and still cares

- The gentle lady who never misses a day sending me encouraging words in many ways reminded me to look to my friends over and over, repeating the lesson as if I was a slow learner (and I am) offered me more hugs than I deserve.

- My first sword teacher came and hugged me and told me how well I had learned my lessons with him and how there were more things to learn from these past events.

- And my wonderful role play husband and special, dear friend came when all the furniture was gone danced with me and held me and let me just weep and say good bye. He let me be so angry and frightened and weak and never once told me to “Buck up.” A unique gift to be sure.

That tears and raging for a bit help is self evident to us all. And those who know me, know I rarely allow myself to ever get angry at injustice at myself (although for others you must be prepared to hold me back).

Compost Treasure

For me, the culmination of these months of exhausting difficulties and personal loss became like a huge pile of compost. And the useless scraps that are tossed into that pile must be nurtured too (tears and hugs from friends do this in real life -- I know) and then, when ready the compost can be spread out in all the right places to bring forth the most lovely and healthy of blossoms (I am the Queen of Flowers and the Spring for a reason, you know).

Most of all, being so weak I could barely stand -- taught me new things about friends I sometimes rush past as I try not to be hurt again by anyone.

But I am back now -- although I never really left, I just went into neutral as I took time to remind myself that my contribution to this world and that world is unique. No one else can make it but me. And if I stop, although there are a gazillion other people out there, no one can give what I give from what I’ve learned and know and from what I have become.

Honey and More Honey

An new friend started a blog recently and I pulled off this quote by Antonio Machado that he used. It is actually what began the hard healing of my heart.

"Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt -- marvellous error!
That I had a beehive here inside my heart.
And the golden bees were making white combs
And sweet honey from my old failures."

But most of all a friend, lying in a stable manger offered me the final set of building blocks to begin preparing the compost. (Thank you as always for being my Muse).
===========================================================
How to be the strong one (TBS)

1. Keep a sense of humour
2. Remember, that its not your life - its someone elses
3. Have faith in something, even if its only yourself
4. Expect pain
5. Sacrifice yourself if it helps. Otherwise, play for keeps
6. Stay heads down even if everyone is going crazy.
7. Kiss away tears
8. Grab the back of the wrist, not the front. You won't get cut
9. Be willing to fight the crowd
10 What they're saying about the people they love, is really about themselves
11. Protect all children but teach them and play with them more
12. Make lists, even things that are soulbound.
13. Plan the work
14. Work the plan
15. Pain is weakness leaving the body
16. Lance Armstrong Rocks

"There is no limit to what a man can achieve as long as he doesn't care who get's the credit". - Bob Woodruff. (Coca Cola Corporation).
==========================================================

I mixed in too many illustrations you are thinking…well you are right, but they symbolise the many, many gifts I have received. You see, although I absolutely refuse to open my Christmas presents early, this year I was tricked into, not only receiving the presents early, I was tricked into opening and using them early too.

Many have helped me during this time and I have not mentioned you all, but you know I am grateful anyway and I owe you a long, Lady Sheridanne, special hug. The one that makes you relax and results in giggles. Remember?

So I am humbled and I am healing and I am strong again, but wiser hopefully and thanks to each one of you for your patience and your love for me. Thank you and happy holidays (whatever they mean for you). For me….well this has already been a most memorable holiday!

Remember When?

2007-12-14T15:49:00.003-08:00

What a lovely and sweet film and what a joy to be reminded of all the toys and wonder and magic. There were many grown-up reminders too.

Tis the Season

2007-12-14T13:22:00.000-08:00

Tis the season to be jolly, to share fun with people, to make a decision between buying a real tree or once more pull out the artificial tree with the pretty fibre-optic lights embedded in the branches, saving you time in decorating. And deciding between cooking a traditional Christmas dinner or remembering that it will likely be over 35 degrees C (100 degrees F) with bush fires raging rather than snow to shovel.

This year it promises to be a strange Christmas in the virtual world. Last year as I wandered through the pixelated virtual world I entered (over a year ago), I found it so much fun. It was filled with leaving secret gifts with friends and singing Christmas Carols with lots of strangers who became friends, passing out platters of warm cookies and milk and tea and coffee and going ice skating and skiing in the only place that had snow and ice last year.

But this year, snow and ice are all the rage in the virtual world. But what is different this year is that I am losing my home in the realm I have lived in for almost all the time I have been in the virtual world. What a sad Christmas present.

I have also resigned my responsibilities in my home realm. Worst of all, my friends there no longer even feel free or comfortable to speak with me. Heartbreakingly, some even believe lies that have followed me, unjustly for ages (that I have foolishly ignored thinking I would be cleared and vindicated of these suspicions). I love my home realm so much, and learned to work under many challenges there to help make it safer and more fun for residents and visitors alike. But it doesn’t matter now. I made enemies too and they have worked their hardest to hurt me, so I wish them a satisfied Christmas.

Where Did The FUN Go?

But for me, where are the people to trust or have fun with? I haven't written or recited a poem at a poetry reading for ages or sparred with my sword or pulled out my bow for anything more than an accessory. No teaching, no building...what is happening to my life in the virtual world?

So many of the people I care about have left the virtual world or been banned from one Sim (realm) or another! I am not sure what to do for Christmas in the virtual world (Christmas was so lovely there last year).

So I purpose(d) to throw a big Christmas party – oh no, forgive me, to be politically correct, I must call it a tree-lighting party. But it is likely few, if any, will show up anyway -- as just getting permission to have the party has been very controversial. So I am just wrestling with what to do.

For me personally and virtually, it has been a year of loss since August starting with the loss of my virtual, very frisky and creative husband/partner. Then my real life Dad, died and I couldn’t even go home to be with the family. Then my resignation from my responsibilities in my virtual home realm. Now, controversy over my role play husband in another virtual realm and many betrayals of my trust. For me, right now, there seems to be only a very few friends left I can trust.

Daddy, Iago & the Ruler

Actually, my Dad told me once that if you lived your life and had five real friendships you were a rich person. I was nineteen when he imparted this bit of “foolish” wisdom to me. I thought it was the silliest thing I had ever heard. I mean I was involved in lots of activities and a cheerleader too. What could he know of real life?

But over the years, I noticed, as we all do (if we are growing wiser), that for every year I grew older, my Dad grew wiser in my understanding. He was right…five good friends would be an immeasurable treasure in either the virtual world or the real world!

And Iago was also right. Iago, my most wonderful love in the virtual world, lost forever because of intrigue, politics and amazing lies. He told me to trust no one – NO ONE -- in the virtual world, because anyone can create an alternate identity. That person can be appealing and kind and seem to care about you. You can grow to trust them and pour your heart out to them and they only exist to betray you and grind you into the dust. How can you live in the virtual world knowing this?

And the ruler of my home realm was also right when he told me he thought I was burned out and needed to take a break and go find some fun and live more in the virtual realm as well as the real realm. (Thank you for that, m'Lord.)

Wake-up Call

This morning in real life, I slept in till 5:04 AM. The latest I have slept in since first entering my virtual home realm (where I averaged easily six hours a day seven days a week) for almost a year. I found it so strange to be awake and find the sun just peeping over the bay (I would rise extra early to get my hours in, usually before 3 AM when it is very dark out). I forgot how pretty the sunrise was.

I was very tired you see because yesterday I enjoyed going Christmas shopping with the two loves of my real life (the 13-year old and the 7-year old) and taking them to see the sweet and recommendable movie, “Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium”, with Dustin Hoffman.

It was lovely. I hope to write a blog segment around one of the lines in the movie: "Your life is an occasion, so rise to it!" What a great idea. Perhaps this is the introduction.

He Said, She Said, Part II - The Arms of the Angels

2007-12-11T02:55:00.001-08:00

He said,

"There is a fine line between love and illusion
A fine place to penetrate
The gap between actor and act
The lens between wishes and fact.

She said,

"Yes, the line between love and illusion
is almost as fine as
the gossamer wings of a butterfly
or a faery...
easy to penetrate
but impossible to repair.

"Is our act authentic or merely pretend?
Where is the truth of the illusion?

"Do our wishes not sometimes
even colour the facts,
if they are strong enough
for us to look through?

"Perhaps!"

Why?

2007-12-09T16:29:00.001-08:00

Sharing is so dangerous...Like a snail moving in the world, unaware of others and how they see them. Perhaps, we are all snails to someone at times....and some have boxes of salt. Do we stay inside our shells and hide, or keep trying to play the game, that is the question.

Meme - 8 Facts about THE Lady

2007-12-09T15:39:00.000-08:00

The "one who cannot be named", tapped me. I thought it might be interesting to presume I am “the Lady”. So I also read up on Meme and this IS supposed to be some kind of art form . So, here as challenged, are eight facts about the Lady. (now you will have to wonder whether these facts are about THE Lady or her Alt (alter ego in this case).

WORDS

1. I belonged to a book club when I was four and wrote my first book when 14 (it was meticulously hand-printed on lined paper, bound between two pieces of silver, spray-painted thin boards of plywood and held together by my favourite turquiose blue kniting yarn (and now I am a dinky-di (authentic) international author (published by McGraw Hill). Last year on a trip home to my little (now six-foot tall) brother’s house, I found one of my favourite, childhood picture books, filled with amazing four-coloured plates of unique flora and fauna around the world. As I carefully opened the cover and began to turn the heavy pages, just the scent of the ink brought back memories of the many hours I spent devouring them. The images of animals and plants instantly reminded me of my child-like and naive determination to see every one of them.

Here a fig tree with roots above the ground so large you can stand hidden with them (and I have).
Here a temple on stilts in the water (where I walked).
Sculpted formal gardens (where I sat smelling the sage, rosemary and thyme and made my own pen and ink drawings).
A rubber tree scored with special marks to drip its white, viscuous liquid into a bucket (that I rubbed gently between my fingers).
Oh yes, and the spider that trapped water around it’s abdomen and could last forever like that until an unsuspecting person or animal played with them to find, if bitten, they face eternity in under 45 minutes (they live not far from my garden now)

So many memories in the book and a life devoted to seeing each of these images for real. And I have you know. Travelled that is. The only one with a passport from a family that never travelled more than 71 (to where Grandma lived and university was) miles -- except for grave exceptions. And written and written and written.

Life Goals

2. I wanted to be a ballerina first, but at three was stricken by Scarlet Feaver and gave that up as I barely crawled unknowlingly from the brink of personal extinction. Next, I wanted to be a doctor, but was told by everyone I couldn’t be, because only men were doctors, so I decided I would be nothing and got married. Which as it turns out was almost the same thing. That ended (no kids) and my hope of true, deep, lasting, profound love ended too (Extra! Extra! Read all about it in a forthcoming blog segment here: “Mysteries of Attraction”). Alone, and having not worked in the real world, I took receptionists jobs hoping to be “discovered” and remarried to a kind, intelligent, man of faith who was thoughtful, very honest and had enough money to give me time to write, but that hasn’t happened either. (Although, in one year I must confess, I received proposals from seven very wonderful men, but declined them all – what a cheeky woman!) From receptionist, I was promoted to editorial assistant in a medical publishing company and was promoted again to be their promotions director (direct marketing when it was just mail) and realised that writing (even compelling commercial writing) was what I loved to do the most – it is almost as satisfying to me as that “s” word.

Motivators

3. I have five constant motivators in my life since I was about 16 and first wrote them down. They change priority as I slip through life but today are in this order:

A. To write.
B. To speak (public speaking and facilitation of workshops).
C. To travel (give me a ticket to some place new and I am there).
D. To share my joy (I have had so much I can dole it out by the buckets).
E. To make enough money (for my own needs and to have enough to share with those I love – I do not hoard money and intend to work until I drop dead at my keyboard.).

Strong & Solitary

4. I have never had anyone to actually lean on or depend upon. I took care of my family -- still help take care of my brother -- and have always been the strong, independent one, the glue, the peacemaker, the healer, the “bringer of Christmas”; and the one who is tireless in supporting those who are sad and lonely. Somehow giving keeps me from noticing that I still hope for someone to help me.

Blended Family

5. I live in a very large home with eight bedrooms and a lovely back yard – now with grass so lush from all the rains and the heat of the promised summer and I love pottering around pulling weeds and trying to make grapevines obey me. I have a wonderful family that lives with me. The Mom is my very bestest friend ever. And I have a few good friends, but none like Carla, who demonstrates unconditional love to me in the most humbling and constant manner I am ashamed to even write about it here. She has a supportive husband (Paul) and they have two boys. David “discovered” me and introduced me to the family and for that I will always be grateful. He was seven at the time and is now 13 (with a newly discovered moustache). Finally, Matthew who was 13 months old and is now a grown-up seven. He loves me with an innocence I had not expected but truly am amazed by (hope it lasts just a little longer). As a special kind of family we share everything -- plus the boys fix things, climb up on ladders and kill spiders for me anytime I need that done too.

Slick

6. I met my life mentor when I was about 30 years old and thought I knew it all. He calls me Slick – and only one other person in the world does. But Fred has helped me keep many things in perspective over the years and has believed in me when no one else has. I only wish he didn’t still live in California and I was so far away. You can read more about him in another forthcoming article on this blog called, of all things, “Slick.”

Geneology

7. In my geneology I am actually descended from people from Switzerland, who somehow travelled through England (my great grandmother served the Queen as an actual lady-in-waiting), some settled in the USA, and somehow through a series of adventures has me clearly in the family line of Wild Bill Cody! So you take your pick am I more like Buffalo Bill or a Lady in waiting…/me smiles.

Private

8. I rarely share personal things with anyone, well not really important things about myself because I feel like a little snail who has extended herself out of her shell once too often to be greeted by a salt shaker. (you would have to have snails in your garden to appreciate the metaphor).

This was difficult! (And BTW (by the way): this is just a new form of chain letter, you understand, but no money is involved, unless you want to send some to fund my writing, of course). I tend to obfuscate my actual identity in fluff (and probably still did more than I realise. But I have enough critics (the good kind) who will tell me if I did). So now it is over to eight others to take the challenge of the MEME (feel free to email me your reply, if you don’t have a blog site yet).

1. Valla
2. Rill
3. Juniper
4. Gorthaur
5. Rijani
6. Shane
7. Jip

8. Iago

Hold On

2007-12-05T17:32:00.000-08:00

Fasten your seat belt and put on your crash helmet. Someone sent me a very provocative email about a Fortune 500 Leadership conference they just attended and I answer it (personally) but wanted to share some of what I said with you as this person hit some very important hot buttons.

Leadership

I have written extensively on the topic of leadership for my industry, yet the principles I write about are not industry specific nor are they new, but obvious and practical -- by any other words: common sense.

In several of the workshops I facilitate, we consider a quote from Dostoevsky's, Brothers Karamazov, that roughly says: "All human beings are drawn to and can be manipulated by three great desires: a miracle, a mystery and for authority."

For all the fads of bottom up, upside down, circular whirling, team, etc., management -- people do still want structure (not necessarily a dictator, although if you read "The Six Styles of Leadership" in my weekly industry column, you will find that even dictatorial leadership is indeed needed sometimes).

Spock or Freud Started It – You Pick!

Remember Dr. Benjamin Spock (a follower of Freud, for a while it would seem)? He became controversial, then popular when he proposed the theory that children should not be disciplined (because it repressed creatively for their lifetimes). And of course who of us likes to be disciplined? Everyone can relate to this idea.

Yet children, teens, young adults and adults (and household pets) all long for some "reference points" in all their lives. Chaos and anarchy appeal to few and are feared by most all; yet out of each of these states (chaos and anarchy), structure begins to form spontaneously reardless of the "amount" of freedom anyway! Someone always struggles to the front of the line and decks (knocks out) the guy in their way.

Since Spock first proposed these ideas (later withdrawing the theory himself), these same concepts have invaded our schools, our business institutions and our government. Where responsibility is shifted or completely ameliorated into what is known as the "soft" approach to dealing with people. This "soft" approach should, according to the experts, result in good behaviour rather than undesired behaviour (Yet the principles of progress demonstrate that things do not build to better but deteriorate over time where there is no structure and appropriate leadership).

Example

If someone wants me to travel to London or Chicago or Atlanta or Amsterdam to speak to a group of their colleagues about leadership, I ask for parameters and clarification of the engagement, including:

· Who is making the booking? Are they actually able to assemble the level of executives and leaders the message is appropriate for; and are they able to pay the fee?
· Where will the event take place -- on some one's back veranda or in the City Civic Centre and what is the exact address?
· Where will I stay -- in a nice hotel or in the Travel Lodge? Do I have a per diem?
· What topics should be covered in particular? What are the hot spots for the attendees?
. What should not be mentioned? (There are always pitfalls that must be avoided.)
· What day and time is the speech or workshop scheduled for? How long do I have to deliver the message and how early will someone be there for me to rehearse?

All these questions give structure and a way to make the decision to come or not --the word is guidelines. But the guidelines do not dictate how to fulfil the desire. No one else will write or deliver my speech for me. The leader however demonstrates leadership by giving me clear parameters of how to satisfy the requirement. And to do this without threat.

The group of Fortune 500 leaders in the aforementioned workshop came up with a perfect definition of leadership. It is: "to have your employees do what you want them to do, even if you are not there."

Ted Turner's Quote

Ted Turner (who I almost went to work for years ago at one of those key junctures of my life) once said, "If you want to know if you are a leader, turn around and see if others are following you!"

In the many teams I have led, I can proudly say people would follow me out the window of a ten-story building – but I would demonstrate the technique first; they would follow BECAUSE they trust me and believe in my vision (and know I must have a reason for such idiotic behaviour!).

It does not mean I am always right. There is wisdom in many counsellors (you must select counsellors with the utmost care of course), but at the end of the day, a leader is the one that is responsible. So why the struggle today surrounding leadership (and the accompany vision painting)? Could it be Spock-related? Perhaps. I think so.

Heart Disease

It is the intention of the heart that counts in leaders and followers. What I find in businesses today is that employees have become THE identified enemy (and in a similar fashion in educational institutions, government and families).

Employees, for instance, do take up to 60% or more of our operating budget, so let's kill them all and get machines to do the work. The customer be damned! Who needs customers anyway when we have everything automated nowadays?

Wait did I just say that?

Yes I did.

Is America Lost?

Funnily enough I was born in America, the land of the free and the home of the brave. THE leading country in our world today. Yet, (in my opinion) internal deterioration and fraying of the edges of OUR vision is beginning to show around the world at a time when LEADERSHIP is needed (And I am not a politician nor do I believe in what I am seeing with the blatant commercialisation of politics in America).

When I come home for a visit, having lived overseas for about 18 years, I am saddened to experience what (my friends tell me) is wrong with America, first hand. Where did the "heart" of America go?!!! And how long can/will/should the United States of America maintain its world leadership position at this rate? Who will take the responsibility to make it all better or all go away?

Well the sad news is that it is up to you and me and to those who notice what is going wrong to begin to take stock and take action to make it all better because it will NOT go away! (Wow. I think I should be a speechwriter for some politician.)

The person who wrote me talked about weakness coming through “homogony” and this is a great word (similarity of origin or common descent) as to what is happening. When what we really need is to bring what is DIFFERENT (not the same, not to aim for conformity) together around ONE vision in a way that actually works (shades of The Day the Earth Stood Still).

Blame the Church

Funny, my friend brought up the church (small "c") as part of the problem and he is right (IMHO). The rigidity found in most churches today is brought about to repress questions and creativity and (most of all) personal responsibility (When I was three, Mommy didn't give me a chocolate bar when I wanted it, so I have a perfect excuse for misbehaving today. (Do they teach Freud in the church?)).

FYI: The Bible does NOT support this! The sad fact is that in my experience I have met few people who have actually READ the entire Bible (unless they were forced to (and therefore resisted it as drudgery) and many grew to hate the church and all it represented because of this forced march).

There are even fewer who (if they use the Bible as their template for behaviour) seek to use the principles for their own edification rather than trying to make others conform to their personal interpretation of what is actually there. (Matthew 7:1-5, if you don't have access to a Bible, this is about first take the log out of your own eye before you talk with another about the speck in theirs) and for other purposes than the stated one in Scripture (Matthew 28:18-20 and Acts 1:8 – to share the Good News). And no, I am not a pastor or "religious", but a student of what the Bible says).

Dying for What is Right

Recently, I quoted Patrick Henry, "Give me liberty or give me death," in a discussion about being discriminated against in a new realm, and I still mean it (RL - real life and VL - virtual life or any life!). I am, after all, recognised as the troublesome “drama queen” there (responsible for -- of all things -- passion and role play - a powerful, drama- and incendiary-rich combination, isn’t it?)

Think of me (and I say this with humility and respect for what these two characters stood for) as sort of a Joan of Arc or Braveheart. Foolishly, it seems to most, I must fight for what I see is right for the freedom of those around me who are hurting.

My morning writer said, “rigidity crushes creativity. In dying realms there is safety in knowing that homogeny (conformity to one way of thinking or acting) exists. The result of homogeny is sameness and loss of individuality. Ultimately, Inquisitions and Witch burnings occur from such rigidity."

I have (and perhaps continue to) personally experienced the inquisition (and have many scars and burns to prove it). I have certainly been pilloried and keel hauled a few times so far; even burned at the stake twice (by being banned from a beloved land). Yet, I still stand and hold up the banner of sensitivity and common sense for as long as I have breath. Someone must -- and I have enough ego to think what I do counts for something (anything)!

How’s that for DRAAAAAMA?

If you are my friend, just help hold me or at least hold my hand as I go up the scaffold – please. And do not think I am mad or foolish. I would hope instead to be as wise as a dove and as clever as a fox or for that matter, as clever as Br'er Rabbit in Uncle Remus tales of “Br’er Rabbit”.

Hope Lost

2007-12-03T10:13:00.000-08:00

I had flown and waited in various airports for over 18 hours. My friend Allen picked me up when I arrived. We hardly spoke. I could barely speak anyway, having cried most of the trip in the dry, plane air. His hug didn’t registered as he threw my one suitcase into the trunk of the car and sat me in the seat next to him. He held my hand the entire way there.

Nearly an hour of driving and we were there. We entered the building, cool and quiet and smelling of pending death. Allen held me tightly to keep me from falling as we walked to the ICU (intensive care unit). Clearing my identity with the officials in white he gently led to the door of her room.

It was so quiet and seemed foggy. Allen let go of me and said he would wait for me outside. I stepped tentatively across the threshold into the sound of competitive machines pumping and beeping and chiming in some sub-syncopation. I took a deep breath and looked at the large bed standing so lonely in the middle of the large room.

I couldn’t look at the person laying there, knowing the moment I did, I would have to deal with the reality that I had only imagined during the almost 30 hours since my journey began to reach here.

So with my eyes averted, I walked to the far side of the room and pretended to look out the window, knowing she did not know I was here. She was in a deep, drug-induced coma.

I turned back and took my first look.

I can still feel the grip on my heart -- even today. She was so still. I moved closer to her, right up to leaning on the bed rail so I wouldn’t fall over from grief. Every place a needle or tube or monitor pad could be placed it was. There were bruises all over her arms and neck. There was a tube in her nose pumping sustaining substances into her; and a big tube taped carelessly to her face and in her mouth to breathe for her. Worst of all, her eyes were covered with pads and tape as if she was already leaving this world.

I knew people in comas could hear you, sense you and could react to you and I gripped my heart so hard to hold onto the tidal wave of emotions of pending loss so I would not betray my fear of no hope to her.

I reached my hand out to the only island of skin I could find that wasn’t pierced by some needle or covered with a bruise and rested my hand there and crooned to her of my love and that everything would be alright now, because I would make sure it was and that she was not alone. I would not leave her until I took her back to her little unit.

No response. Not even a twitch. I watched. No finger moved. The monitors remained stable. Nothing. She hadn’t heard me. I moved my face closer to hers and spoke again. But she did not seem to have a way to acknowledge me. I was too late…

To be continued….

Reality of the Real

Sometimes when we spend so much time in a virtual world, we can forget to keep a balance with real life. Think of the minutes, hours, days you have missed with family, loved ones and friends. Time is of course linear and it seems finite. So we can’t go back and redeem the time the locusts have eaten away, but we can look around us today -- right now in fact and before it is too late.

Yet, in the virtual world we can and do make real, deep and lasting friends with real people, just as we might if we were depending on letters written by hand on paper sent to us from afar by someone we have never hugged. And it is the hearts of people that we must always keep in mind.

A friend sent me a very wonderful email this morning and I need to share just a few of her precious words with you. This precious friend lives over 10K miles away and is as dear to me as someone who lives next door, yet we have only met in the virtual world. We are both concerned with the trouble in our virtual world lately and here is how she sees things…

“I think the virtual world is the most unstable place I have ever encountered. People throw themselves at you (as if in love) for almost no reason and leave you just as quickly the same way.

“And the pain is far worse than RL (real life) because, when something goes wrong, you lose everything... your whole life on your sim (simulated land or realm you live in). In RL we can at least retreat and lie low in the safety of our homes and maintain the rest of our life when things go wrong.

“In the virtual world you are left with “virtually” nothing. But then, in RL, I don't think people would behave as badly as they do in the virtual world either. Somehow, being without the other aspects of our being... our body language, our facial expressions, our tones of voice... suddenly we are subhuman and not real beings at all.

“Everyday we need to remember that we are real, we feel and we can be hurt. Not many in the virtual world remember that I think. To some, it is no more than a game.”

We Never Know, Do We?

2007-11-28T17:02:00.001-08:00

Our lives touch others for the decisions we make and that is all we can hope for. That somewhere along the way our choices support or inspire others to keep trying.

Double Blessings

2007-11-28T16:20:00.000-08:00

A little rest, a little folding of the hands is how William Shakespeare put it. Where do we go when the world piles up on us real life and/or virtual life?

The first time I started my own business I moved my desk right up beside my bed. That way, in the middle of the night if I remembered something I had to do, I could just lean over and work on it from my bed.

I was working way too many hours, So, one day I walked to my favourite bookstore, the Oxford Book Shop in Peachtree Battle Shopping Centre. It was the largest bookstore in the South East USA at the time (long before Borders decided to destroy all small bookstores with their mega-monopolies), boasting over one hundred thousand titles. And we computerised those titles from microfiche when I was there (what a task that was).

Nevertheless, I knew the store inside and out because as much as I enjoyed my work, I love books more. I also knew all the staff, so as I checked out the night manager was there and I asked him of the possibility of some part-time work. He gave me an application and I went home and filled it out for night work.

And viola, I had a part-time job of six hours on Saturdays and four hours three nights a week. This, I knew would be a vacation for me. To be surrounded by books (a generous lending plan and a 35% discount on purchases!) and there was even a wonderful coffee shop upstairs with the science and technical section.

Tilted Picture

What’s wrong with this picture? Well just that for all of it I hoped it would be more like a holiday, it didn’t take me long to be nominated as night and weekend manager. That meant my hours extended and I stayed late and closed the store and was in early every weekend to ensure the store was ready for shoppers.

I lived closest to the shop, so I was constantly being called out for any and every situation around, including a massive fire we had one very early morning that ended up being my challenge to manage. What fun that was!

Pattern Observed

Why am I telling you this, because it happens to me all the time. I even entered the virtual world thinking I would have a “holiday” and in less than two months I was on my way to more and more responsibility.

Someone in the virtual world recently told me I should relax and just go with the flow of the rushing river instead of fighting so hard to fix things and help others. It reminded me of something I’ve always believed from a poem from e e cummings:

“to be nobody-but-yourself -- in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else -- means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.”

My Way Alone

Everyone else seems to be going in the other direction around me as I stop to help others along their path. I choose to walk the other way, to try not to bump into people along the way, to miss the mass marketing opportunities, the mob mentality, to walk alone if need be, etc. And every occasionally someone stops and turns around and begins to walk with me. Sometimes they walk with me for a long time, sometimes just until they bump into the first person who tells them they are walking in the wrong direction.

Personal Inventory

But it got me to questioning: What is wrong with me? I am competent, I am gentle and respectfully opinionated and I am right more times than I am wrong (you only need to be right 51% of the time to stay on top you know). I am moral, optimistic, have a strong personal code of ethics. I'm a creative and highly intuitive person who is humbled by the wonder of her life. Most of all, I care deeply for others, and usually at my own sacrifice. I have, and continue to live both lives this way.

And when I die, I know that like Frank Sinatra, I will have done it my way and even though that has isolated me from many people (except on superficial levels) for my own survival and protection, some will have been faithful friends and some have even loved me (and many I do not know love me still).

I like walking this way. And I know there are many who do turn and walk with me sometimes and that encourages me too. You see I live a blessed double-life.

A Secret

2007-11-26T19:20:00.001-08:00

When you were a child did you ever create a secret language or a secret code that only you and your special friend shared? Well I did.

It allowed you to say something forbidden right in front of Mom and Dad. For instance, that you didn’t like your lima beans, you were going to play sick tomorrow or that you were not going to clean your room. And even though you always cleaned your room and eventually ate those sandy lima beans and went to school unless you were really sick -- you always felt powerful if only for a moment.

Fire Walk

2007-11-24T09:30:00.000-08:00

I remember when Anthony Robbins was a nobody! I found his book Unlimited Power in one of those airport bookstores on a bottom shelf as I reached over to pick up a gum wrapper I had dropped.

It had a reference to "Peak Personal Achievement" (which I thought was a book by the author of Peak Performance, that I really enjoyed). I opened it and looked through the contents, noted the chapter names and then one quote at the beginning on a page all by itself entitled, Success, by Ralph Waldo Emerson, as follows:

“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to fine the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.”

I bought the book

I want to be successful just like you do or are (or were perhaps, or thought you were). After I finished I conceived a my “fire walk”. A fire walk is doing something you are scared to death of doing or that you know is way too hard for you to do.

Where the term comes from is you can go do Anthony Robbins four or five day course and at the end to graduate you must do a dinky-di ("authentic" in Australian) fire walk across hot coals. But as Tony (I of course call him Tony, now that I did my fire walk) explains, it is not walking the hot coals that is the point, but achieving your own personal victory over your own reluctance.

Fear of Small Craft

Well no one ever knew this and I will deny it if you say it is true, even today, but once I had to take a flight in a small 20-seater plane in Texas, and I could barely stay on board it caused me such angst, because the plane was just too small! So for me, as I was on my way for my second holiday in Australia I pre-booked (and paid for) a flight over the Tanami Desert Wildlife Sanctuary and nearby uranium mines in a “light plane”.

Several days into the tour and we are in Alice Springs (A Town Like Alice is the movie that explains most of this town quite well, if you’re a movie buff). And we’ve toured a bit already to get to the little out-back airport.

We file in to the corrigated steel building. I move reluctantly (having last minute second thoughts) and therefore am the last one out of the air conditioned tour bus. We are marched quickly passed a tiny, insignificant plane just for torture sake alone and I note with some trepidation that this thing could not fly as it is a toy and is likely just the model.

Nemesis in Kaki

Everyone is told to pair off and those who brought or hired friends, stand in a Noah’s-like queue (we don’t stand in lines in Australia only queues). I am alone milling about thinking my solitary status will grant me a reprieve when through the doors bursts a very enthusiastic woman of major proportions announcing she can hardly wait to get on the plane because she LUUUVES flying in the smaller-the-plane-the-better planes.

I look around for some good excuse (hoping to find a crutch or a fainting spell nearby) when she makes a bee line for me and gives me a great and hearty pat on the back.

“Hi, you don’t look so good. Are you afraid of flying in this little plane? It is a piece of cake.”

I about puke on her foot (perhaps a puking green excuse will get me out of it) but I didn’t have lunch yet, unfortunately, so only bile reminds me that I better just not worry about such a detail as puking.

She, who loves to fly in small planes, thinks we are at the front of the queue, but we are at the end. Two by two all those on the bus go off and come back white knuckled and white faced with just a little sweat still on their upper lip.

My stomach is churning and I am trying to act brave (whistle a little tune if you are afraid) and wishing this woman would just rush off to catch a mali fowl when the last in line are next. We march to the plane – I hoping not having a will will still mean they cart my body home to my parents.

A 16-Year Old Wonder

A teenager is sent to shepherd us to the plane, and climbs in as well to, I imagine dust the seats or something. He grabs a hat on the dash board of the plane and puts it on his head to announce, with some pride, that he (HE) will be our captain for this flight. This is too much.

Then, you have to literally climb in, ducking down and crawling to a seat. Once inside there is only the pilot’s seat (filled with said teen, complete with acne), your seat and a little seat in the back. She-who-has-no-fear grabs the seat in the back so she can, she tells me, lean out (I am not kidding) the back window once we are flying.

I turn to focus on the “technology” of this miniature anti-natural wonder and note with some concern that one of the dials has a great big crack right across the face (thinking I remembers something about vacuums in these dials being necessary, and thinking this plane will be down for maintenance now.

Take Off Straight Up

But I am wrong. The flight attendant/pilot says, “Buckle up and hold on,” and fires up the loud engines so they cannot hear you scream and proceeds with no more ado to make a short run down the bitumen (we do not have asphalt in Australia) runway and take off almost straight up.

The wind is high and the wings bounce as if they might break loose and I am trying not to keep my eyes closed so I can focus on the dial readings, just in case he fails to see one falling or something.

I sneak a peek out the window and find myself transfixed by what I see. Such surprising beauty!

I grab my camera and begin to snap shots and would have stood up and leaned out the window if I could have. Lucky I have my very powerful telephoto lens with me.

The entire flight I can hear nothing but the screaming of the wind and the engines as I just keep taking photos and hoping the flight will not end soon. The animals, the patterns on the earth – simply unexpectantly awesome.

Shot after shot. We are buffeted about mercilessly and my only discomfort is my annoyance that some of my shots will not be in focus! The landing is outlandish as a cross wind drifts the tiny little craft to the side and we stop as abruptly as we took off and before I realise how wonderful and how little fear I actually had.

And In the Back?

I look around to the back seat and what do I find….Miss I-love-flying-in-small-crafts, has not only puked in her little puky-bag and now holds it in her lap with paralised hands, she is also as green as a Brisi green tree frog and she can barely speak with her eyes fixed so wide open I wonder if she might have Addison’s disease.

Firewalk Over!

I am, however, victorious and do not have time to gloat. I bounce off the plane to assure the others on the tour that not only did I survive, but I thrived (the mantra you are to say when you do good in positive thinking circles).

That was my firewalk – doing something way too scary for me and way too hard for me. And I lived and I loved it. Sometimes the hardest and scariest things you have to do bring you the greatest joy. It is just climbing into your fear and feeling it and then finding out where the beauty and joy is within the fear.

I need to remember that lesson. Because sometimes fears become so big to me they can’t even be real. As they say, realisation is greater than expectation and for all of us that is true. Good luck out there and just do it!

He Said, She Said. The Truth.

2007-11-20T13:05:00.000-08:00

I hate arguing and hate the thought of trying to defend myself and those who actually know me understand this. I grew up in an abusive family and am well trained to never argue or talk back; to only listen and apologise – to promise never to do that again….whatever “that” is. So for me writing is the way I can express my concerns.

I’m not sure this makes sense in a virtual world where you can be suspect just because of the way you “assemble” the looks of your AV or the way you can spell or cast a phrase or the speed at which you cast that phrase.

In my virtual world I have many good friends and after my dad passed away (RL real life) and the departnering with the “cursed one” epic (VW virtual world) of my life, I began to isolate myself. And one of my dear friends, in fact my first real friend in a new land, came to me and asked me to be gentle on myself now and not to enter into any serious-looking relationships, but to take time to heal and to recover and to have some fun.

So I enjoyed the grand Faire and I enjoyed spending time with old friends and new people. I helped with old and new tasks, I built a memorial garden and went about the work I was given with focus and peace. It was pretty neat actually for someone who had been averaging way too many hours on the virtual world. I even began to get some rest and to have dreams.

Mistaken Identity

Then I met someone from my past (who I thought was the “long lost true love of my virtual life” -- If you're in world check my Picks.). I was so excited I forgot my friend’s warning about no new relationships for awhile. And now I am living with a new whirlwind sweeping around me, threatening to drown me and causing me grief and pain.

Yet this new person-of-mistaken-identity (who I did confess my mistaking of his identity to the moment I realised it, as well as sharing this realisation immediately with our leader, in the event he would take action of his own consideration) was being very kind and seemed so sincere and so supportive. And it was wonderful to relax and enjoy time together with someone who seemed to want to take care of things with me for awhile.

It soon became apparent, however, that he wanted every moment of my virtual time in world. If he didn’t get it he insisted on knowing who I was with and what I was doing. Even if I was in a “family role play” he would pull me away wanting to have me to himself alone.

Once as I was leasing a property to someone, he even tracked me down and came to confront, and then threaten the person, which to me seemed like an unreasonable action and certainly one I had not asked him to take. He refused to listen and I had to take action to protect the other person. To others the man-of-mistaken-identity now accuses that by this action it proves I was harbouring and protecting the “cursed one” from him by banning him from this place.

Peaceful Withdrawal

Like a gentle coitus interruptus, this man-of-mistaken-identity offered many times to “leave me in peace at just my word”. He would, he promised, “disappear without a trace never to bother me again”, the same awful and confusing threat the “cursed one” made to control me too.

Strange how many times the man-of-mistaken-identity made that promise and yet now it seems others are aware of his perspective that I wronged him. It hurts because I have, as I habitually do, tried not to hurt him and to handle this privately, at my own expense.

He now accuses me of abuse and cohorting with the identified enemy – the “cursed one” What has this man-of-mistaken-identity been seeking all this time? He accuses me of unfaithfulness (which is not true, but not relevant because we were only role play husband and wife in one realm - not in the VW or RW)!

Why should it matter so to anyone what is happening in the private lives of two virtual entities? Is this still what I inherit from the past epic with the “cursed one”?

Carrying Our Words

A great deal of cutting and pasting of words out of context seems to be going on (see earlier Blog segment on “Carrying Our Words”), as he sent our private words to those he argues his case with. Others send me his words to accuse me or vindicate me, as they see fit.

It is too hard to read them for fear they will not be accurate (having lost my great love over “doctored” I.M.s (internal private and confidential messages in the virtual world)) and they were part of our private conversations. It is like wire-tapping and then playing someone's phone conversations!

To my regret, I did send one conversation to only one person, asking for complete confidentiality, as I asked him to help me know how to better deal rightly with the man-of-mistaken-identity. And this has been used against me, even though no one should ever have known about it except this one person and myself!

Every Word Kept

I can, having had training in this way, pull every word uttered to me in private and open conversation from this man-of-mistaken-identity -- and did last night pull up all the (private) conversations in the thought that I would try to vindicate myself with the same weapon that seems to be being used against me.

There were 532 pages of private conversations since 22 October, when the man-of-mistaken-identity first entered my new realm life! And 36 pages of SKYPE chat! And that is after deleting the “more private” conversations.

But how could I choose a representative conversation or two to demonstrate what it felt like to me to feel possessed and stalked by someone who believed they loved me and couldn’t be in world without being right beside me at all times? Every conversation, might contain words, but the increasing intensity could not be felt. The conversations would all, therefore, be out of context.

600 Pages of Evidence?

Tell me who would read almost 600 pages to feel the discomfort and eventual fear for his safety and for my own? No one! This is a game not a trial!

And then the questions from the inquisitors,

“How did he abuse you?”

Answer, “He never abused me, he overwhelmed me and suffocated me.”

“Who is this person? Is he an alt of the ‘cursed one’?”

Answer to this frequently-asked-of-me question: “No.”

“Why do you comment on the ‘cursed one’s’ blog site?”

Answer: “I comment on many blog sites and did not realise my out of world, occasional comments would be of relevance.”

Over and over questions from this person and that person. Is it any wonder I don’t want to go in world?

In my other realm something like this would NEVER happen publicly but would be handled discretely behinnd the scenes -- even if not always the way anyone would like. Yet, no one but the specific parties would be involved. It would not be subjected to a public pillorying by people who neither have all the facts or seem to consider there are many facets to any situation. (Although I must commend at least three people for trying to search out facts rather than base their conclusions on opinions.)

More Pain & Loss

The fact remains, the man-of-mistaken-identity was lovely when he wasn’t pushing and stalking and insisting on possessing me -- especially when I was still in such a fragile state.

He has a right to his view of this situation as unfair and/or wrong. I know I began to grow desperate and more strong with my communications with him as time went by. He offered to step away in peace, yet, as many of his statements, they do not seem to be fulfilled in actions.

I found reading through so many of our earlier conversations heart-breaking. I did care for him a great deal. But needed time, as my dear friend told me all along. Yet had this man-of-mistaken-identity not taken such increasingly strong action with me and then such drastic and conclusive action secretly, he is certainly someone I could have grown content with.

Yet all my begging for his indulgence of my hesitation fell on dead ears, if ever so enthusiastic and eager ears. Ears so determined to convince me "right now" was the only "when". Those I turned to for wisdom and support and advice also tried to help, and for that I am grateful that they cared enough to try.

Bottom line: I am weary of the unnecessary drama caused by this. There is always my side, his side and the truth. No one but God can know the pure truth. I was fearful of his love and devotion. He was convinced I was "the one" and could not wait. The truth is it does take two to tango and two to tangle. But now, I just want to get on with my virtual life….!

What's Good For Me?

2007-11-17T09:42:00.001-08:00

Searching and hoping and looking and needing and never knowing. Who knows where the answer is?

French Kissing

2007-11-15T09:50:00.000-08:00

You know what I’m finding? If I get a little more sleep, I can remember my dreams! And last night I had a dream for the first time since I last reported one to you. And this one was, as so often happens, strange and curious and filled with lessons.

I was with a man who could only speak French (I always love that accent) and we were walking along together and he put his arm around me and I was fine with that and we went see a movie and he reached over and gently pulled me toward him in the dark to kiss me.

He put his tongue in my mouth (remember when before you experienced good French kissing and it sounded so very yukkie?) and his tongue was narrow rather than wide and he kissed me and kissed me and it was wonderful, until I kissed him back. That was a mistake, because two things happened…one his cultural upbringing and education went into over drive (as did his hormones) and the clarity of his communications began to blur for me as I realised and feared the “translation” to my kissing him back. (Needless to say I woke up abruptly!)

And I thought what a perfect example that is for the dialogue we engage in with others in the real world and the virtual world.

9 Reasons Communications Succeed

I spoke of the seven reasons communications fail in an earlier blog article and now wonder why they succeed. Hummm

1. Clear understanding of definitions
2. Appreciation for cultural differences
3. Interest in the topic
4. Appropriating necessary time
5. Organising communication
6. Word choice
7. Listening
8. Emotional content
9. Listening

Definitions

Clear understanding of definitions seems rather basic, but yesterday (for example) in my virtual world I was late to a discussion group and when I arrived there was no clue as to what the topic was, so I listened. Finally I asked and was told it was “the meaning of life”. I listened more and just couldn’t engage until I took a moment to look up the word “meaning” in the dictionary, because that seemed to be where the discussion was stalled. Once the meaning of the word was clear, the discussion could actually go further in that direction.

Culture

When you think about it, the little story about the French kisser brings clarity to the understand and appreciation of cultural difference. If you ever go to Japan, for instance, and you are an American, you will easily realise there is a spacial difference to communication (in America the distance between two people speaking averages around a meter or three feet, that distance closes between Japanese to about one foot because of their cultural difference). This can be offputting because an American may see this closeness as threatening or may simply prepare for a French kiss.

Interest

Interest in the topic is rather clear as well. If you want to talk about the Democratic Party activities of an upcoming election with me you will find I have other interests as I would if you wanted to speak of Euclidean mathematical theories or for that matter maths in general.

Time

Both in my real life and my virtual life I am too guilty of not stopping long enough to actually have an indepth conversation. You must stop and make time to listen and comment and listen and discuss and listen, etc., otherwise you never hear the end fo the story (Lady Sheridanne writes this down on an index card and pastes it up on her desk to remind herself).

Organisation

Someone recently said they enjoyed reading my blog because I organised my writing and thinking in a logical way that flowed. Well that is what we need to do when we talk with people. How many times have you been in a conversation with someone, get all excited about something (like going to a romantic sky box for a little French kissing) only to find out they left out the most important fact early in their conversation, (that you are not the object of their affection – someone else is)? Well perhaps you can think of a better explanation, I am still thinking about that kiss frankly.

Words

The thirteen-year old in my life who hopes to be an author and writer like me, takes great pains to scour the dictionary to find the most fancy-dancy, obscure, difficult to pronounce and spell words for really simple stuff. If communication is what you hope to achieve, then communicate. If you want to impress someone with your erudition, then erudite alone….

Listening

Two ears and one mouth – the mathematical ratio is pretty trustworthy. We learn heaps about talking and writing, but almost nothing about listening. One of the courses I have written and facilitate is on customer service. Nothing is more important to customers feeling good about you than when they think you are listening -- so I have a vareity of exercises and information in the course about listening. Most are amazed at how poor they are at listening. This is related to time and word choice….well actually to all of the above and the two below.

Emotion

Thirty-seven percent of our message person-to-person comes through the tone of our voice, our pitch and inflection….so how we say things helps us communicate better or worse. And nothing is worse than trying to talk when you are emotional (unless it is shouting for joy when Ohio State wins their game or you are having a lovely French kiss (in which case words probably won’t be appropriate anyway). But you know what I mean. When you are angry people can hear it even if you have that quiet, icy calm in your anger or you tend to let it all out.

Listening

Finally, the key to the best communication: LISTENING. Oh did I say that one already? Well you know the formula: two ears and one mouth.

Virtual Communication

Strangely enough all nine apply within the virtual world, in fact some apply more strongly, so be wise about this.

I have been shouted at, romanced, threatened, courted, dismissed, thanked, ordered about in the virtual world. I have been insulted, lied about and French kissed in the virtual world. Interesting all feel about the same as when it happens in the real world (except French kissing, of course). So be careful, it’s a jungle out there!!

To the Lady Este...

2007-11-11T12:26:00.001-08:00

They say it is always darkest before the dawn in the world. Perhaps this is true, but we can count on the dawn. And what we learn in the dark, during our struggles does make us stronger, if we do not give up. You inspire me. And look at the result of your patience. Thank you !

No Power - No Virtual World, Yet...

2007-11-11T11:03:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I was running through Avilion in my virtual world and merrily meeting people when I sensed something was different. I looked around at everyone I could see (perhaps someone was griefing the SIM (meaning they were trying to do something technically that would stop the GRID (remember the Matrix)). The light was dim, so I (who have power over a few interesting things) changed the world light from midnight to noon. Humm, very little difference.

You can get so intent in the virtual world that you just miss things. I realised it was also strangely quiet all of a sudden, or my perception was that it was very quiet. I sat up straighter thinking perhaps I was going to faint as it was that kind of snow-sucked silence that also happens right before you pass out. No difference. Just the absence of sound.

I turned to keep walking but seemed frozen in my steps so I decided to ask someone standing near me in the virtual world, if they could see and hear what I was seeing and hearing. I typed words (the preferred means of speaking to another) and nothing happened.

I looked at my little map and noticed that, yes, that must be it, it had gone red, a sure sigh that I or the SIM had crashed. The frequency of this happening goes up proportionally to the recency of an upgrade and today of all days I have finally given up and downloaded and launched the latest wonder-version. So I was not surprised.

I closed the virtual world and then noticed that something was still wrong, my Internet connection was closed. Even more of a concern, the power to my high-powered laptop was also off. I checked the battery life and had about 2 hours left!

Out of World

I went to my email system and tried to send some emails but the modem didn't work and the wireless link was also off. So I turned off the laptop and unplugged the power cord and the broadband connection. The absence of sound was everywhere. Wow the power must be off throughout the house, not just a circuit. Yes, checked the light -- nothing.

Some friends were over and they also noticed it but were leaving anyway, to come back a bit later for dinner, and left me to sort it out.

I went to the circuit breaker box and it was covered with spider webs, which did not set well with me and I peered in through the plastic cover and couldn’t see anything that looked wrong (I don’t remember ever looking at it before actually, so probably wouldn’t have known something WAS wrong).

Busy --Non Technical --Work

So knowing the power always works, thought I would just use the time to sort through a huge pile of mail and it would be up again. Through the mail and nothing. Reorganised some stuff on my desk, replaced all the books I had out for a couple of articles I was writing, worked on my clip file and then found my powerful wireless mini-laptop and powered it up. It had four hours of power so I was set, however the signal strength to the local source was very low and I realised I couldn’t actually work easily on it as the key board is meant for midgets and for petite women like my best friend, Carla, who has doll hands.

So I closed it down. I read some articles until it was too dim to read much and moved to another room where there was more light, but that too was futile.

My friends returned and were surprised that almost two hours had passed and still no power. We called the power company because it was apparent by now that every house around was also without power. The recording (for no human beings work at the power company nowadays (no human beings work in most places nowadays)) the recording was too funny to bear: “We know about the outages, but have not yet discovered the source, however all power should be restored by 9:30PM. We roared on the floor laughing at that!

Fun In the Dark

The boys thought it was great fun as they could not remember a time where there was no power. So we began to look for candles and torches (flash lights to the Yanks) and Carla told us all how when she was a little girl they didn’t have electricity where she lived and she studied by a kerosene lantern. We all tried to imagine that: opening books, using paper and pencil. Now too like a fairy tale for the boys to conceive of.

There was a sense of agitation from the youngest (7 years old) who has never liked the dark and he could not stop checking that his torch still worked even though we kept reminding him that batteries run out and he wouldn’t have it if he needed. He never got that message.

We cooked dinner on the gas (thankfully) stove by torchlight and then lit candles for the table. We talked about what we would do for the rest of the night and it looked grim because we are people who love to read and there was no light. The boys have just gotten a new bit of technology called a “WII”, and after only one and a half days of trying it out, they are now lost without it.

Me? I worried about the spiders who would certainly be out in force now knowing no one could see them slink around and pounce.

So we ate our meal and did something we rarely have time for, we talked with each other about our plans and hopes and dreams for the coming week. It was really neat.

As our meal was ending and we were thinking about how long milk would last without refrigeration, the power came back on. It had been off over four hours !! We all cheered and went back to our old routines.

It was really a gift you know, not having electricity for a while; not being able to go in world…

The Recluse & the Huntsman

2007-11-07T02:42:00.000-08:00

Ever have one of those mornings? My routine calls for making my bed first, so I had just drawn the doona (comforter) over the top of the covers and was walking around to straighten everything when I felt it.

I live in Australia, and we have the most, highly poisonious critters in the world, so you are ALWAYS alert. It was a spider web. And from its position, it could only mean that I had shared my bed with the spider (now of course missing).

The Huntsman

I lived in Okinawa Japan for some time and it was a cultural awakening for me in more ways than I could ever imagine. One thing I discovered was gigantic bugs including huntsmen spiders that were the fastest running insect in the world – the equivalent of 35 miles per hour!

The floors throughtout the entire house were chocolate linoleum (you know so the four- to six-inch, flying cockroaches were more able to hide when you ran after them with passion and one slipper). I gingerly walked out one night very late to make a quick trip to the bathroom. Once in there I was confronted by a flying cockroach of monstrous proportions and screamed into the souless night for help. Then ran into the living room to stand ceremoniously on a chair. What was I thinking?

I was screaming for help when I noticed it….a huntsman who casually walked to the middle of the now back-lit door way from the bathroom to the chair I was standing on and like in the movie High Noon, he stood there. Fiddling I imagine with his poison filled side arm, twirling it to ensure I knew I was definitely in trouble.

Now I really screamed and started jumping up and down in the chair (what was I thinking) and watched completely mesmerised as this amazingly large, hand-sized brown, hairless spider caught me in its fractiled gaze.

Two legs raised from the floor to salute me and then it took off straight for me at full speed. There was no possible escape as I stood transfixed to the spot. Just as it would have pounced on me, a broom came smashing down upon it. Whew that was close.

The Recluse

Back in the USA, under more civilised conditions the man in my life went off on a Air Reserve exercise one day. He came home ten days later than expected, chauffered in a bright white "limosine" that looked very much like an ambulance. His right thigh was still almost twice the size of the other from the hidden and quietly painless bite of a recluse spider that had wound its way carefully up his pants leg -- biting him on the front of his thigh (sparing more important parts of his body from this amazing and very painful process).

When the brown recluse spider bites, it leaves a venom in the wound that begins to break down and sort of melt the tissue. It seems like a little mosquito bite at first. By then the culprit is long gone. Then itching and reddness. Then a little fever. Then a little more reddness and itching and the bite area raises. Then the bite mark begins to blacken and the flesh sinks as it deteriorates. Typically people who are bitten don’t have a clue until it is very late in the game and they are very ill from the bite.

Sneaky Critters

But what is especially interesting about these two kinds of spiders is how easily they can hide in the most unlikely spots. They can remain so very still you think they are part of the wall. They can press their rather large bodies through small holes and cracks to be places you would never expect them to be. They hide behind pictures hung on the walls, on the side of the sofa or once I found one on my closet door knob clinging there like it was part of the pattern on the brass fittings, just waiting for me to turn the handle.

They are very sneaky and once you disturb them they take off and chase you (well I understand it is the fear pheromones they are attracted to, and for me that would be very attractive). Their behaviours remind me of a few people I have known in my life (both real and virtual). But you have to live with them somehow because they do keep down the number of other bugs.

And if you’re wondering….I finally found the spider in my room. It was hiding right beside the drape pull cord, silently and deadly still waiting, skulking, hoping I would never find him, until he hurt me. But I did (and screamed a lot too). Now he will never bother anyone again. (One last small detail I left off earlier -- they always come in twos.)

Sometimes, you must take drastic steps to have peace in your life and in your bed!

To Lady Este

2007-11-02T16:58:00.001-07:00

Angora Yarn

2007-10-29T15:04:00.000-07:00

I’ve had a remarkable life (both first and second) and I have struggled mostly alone. Firstly because everyone I leaned upon was more interested in leaning on me. Then out of habit I never leaned again.

That has made me both strong and weak. Others can see my independence and some fear it, some admire it and many don’t have time or the interest to give a darn about it.

For a long time I used to long to be weak like all the other girls I saw around me. This started when I was in high school and first noticed many of the really pretty girls had managed to snag a jock with a letter sweater and were wearing his class ring, well wrapped with lots of pretty angora yarn.

But not me.

I carried my own books -- thank you very much! And I was in the top five percent of my class for academics. I was in more activities and groups than most everyone I knew – which was a blast when everyone had to sign my class year books and I had more stuff from more people written in mine that anyone else.

I could hop from one group to another with no difficult and got to know a wider cross-section of the population…everything from the physics club to the butterfly collectors and Bible study group.

I was lonely.

My life was a mile wide and an inch deep or so it seemed. My family life was not typical and this “hidden secret” kept me happy to stay at arms length away from everyone while appearing close to everyone. (a neat technique I fall back on even today in RL (remember real life) and in my virtual life.

The greatest amount of my time in high school was spent in developing and polishing my singing and speaking voice. I had and have the lung capacity of a trained athlete. And in high school and for many years afterward, had the most remarkable voice coach. I had a surprisingly wide high soprano range, with the ability to clearly hit notes most found completely out of reach – which helped me achieve many awards in competitions (and also helped pay my university fees).

In my senior year, I decided to change to be popular. Now that was a mistake if I ever made one. I would sneak clothing that was a little shorter out of the house under my “conservative and well accepted” clothing. For instance, I remember a wrap skirt I would be sure to wear a little open (even with a full slip under it, if you know what that is nowadays) that made the boys take notice of me.

And I flirted.

I’m sure I wasn’t very good at it, but the boys seemed interested (but then they had just noticed hair growing in all sorts of unusual places and muscles where smoothness once was).

I giggled a lot too because I was scared to death someone would actually like me and I would have to go buy a lot of pretty angora yarn.

I enter theatre and speech classes and found heightened excitement from having to play the part of a wife or girlfriend (I had no idea what a lover was and absolutely no idea where flirting was supposed to lead, although I had a clear picture of fallopian tubes and the art of sperm swimming against the tide).

Anyway, enough of those photos that still flash in my mind….In theatre class, I would get to play a part across from some really cool guy that was likely a jock and who had a class ring and a letter sweater.

Really Cool Parts

Once I even played the part of a girlfriend and had to get regularly chased off the stage by THE hunk in our school -- who not only had the ring and the letter sweater -- but his dad owned a new car dealership and he was going to be the valedictorian of our school that year. (BTW: His name was Jim Berry and he died a year later of Hodgkin’s Disease in the university hospital I worked in at the time.)

What I found out during all this time and even today –- is that some people just like me and some people just don’t like me. But what I still have not figured out was what to do with that knowledge.

I like people and always find my greatest joy is being there for someone and just caring about them. To make time for someone when my needs are screaming at me. To take abuse when I should turn away and deflect it. To make excuses for bad behaviour. I struggle to always believe the best about someone until I have bloodied my forehead against a brick wall just one too many times with trying to believe.

Someone once called me Braveheart, from the movie, but I didn’t know what he meant at the time. Now I do -- and perhaps, being hopelessly romantic and sincerely optimistic is not actually wise, but I like living my life (first or second) this way more than I would like to live it by being suspicious and distant.

Who knows, perhaps this inner passion is why I still have that ball of lovely, lavender, angora yarn.

Hard to Believe....

2007-10-29T12:37:00.001-07:00

Robbie Burnes once said, "Would God give us the gift to see ourselves as other see us."

There is nothing this little Elven warrior-woman struggles with more than understanding the look of love in someone eyes as they stand in front of her.

Who Was She?

2007-10-27T13:28:00.000-07:00

Do you have vivid dreams that seem to make moral sense, even if none of the events seem to? Last night I dreamed of a woman who was all of us and none of us. She was you and me and all of us, yet strangely unique.

She was poor. She lived alone except for her old, little, ratty doggy in one little room filled with all she owned. There was one chair to rest her weary body in, a footstool to rest her feet upon, a little cot upon which to rest her weary soul.

She lived in an area everyone else would be surprised to see – a place misunderstood, even condemned by some. She lived in the shadow of another huge, but tottering building, dangerous with live and hot electrical cables dangling everywhere.

It was an emergency.

I was called to help. At the scene there were many workmen hurrying about the tall building that everyone could see was nearing collapse and would fall and destroy the little homes near by.

The lady’s “house” was the closest to the building and a direct hit by all estimations. But no one could get her to leave. She stood there in the middle of her meager dwelling, embracing her little dog, with tears running down her eyes from fear and courage colliding within her.

All she owned was in that little room. It looked like a couple of strangely shaped candles and a bunch of greeting cards taped to the walls with some precious photos – a few boxes arranged neatly and in a very tidy way under her cot.

Why was I there?

It was a mystery. In the dream, I walked to this woman’s home and asked to enter. I hugged her and her dog and told her I wanted to help her. She continued to cry and embrace her only friend.

I had a large plastic bag in with me and now began to carefully gather every card and photo as if they were priceless works of art and place them in the bag. Candles, cards, photos, whatever was there. And listened to the incessant and constant shouting of neighbors and workmen outside shouting for us to evacuate before it was too late.

Still I gathered every little box from under her bed and keep asking her for direction with the search for her “valuables”. Everything was stored in the bag carefully so as not to damage one corner of any of her precious things.

I pulled up the little floor rug and carefully rolled it up and put it in the bag and gathered everything under her watchful and tear-streamed eyes.

Her fear at being unnecessary in a busy and “successful” world poured off her like the water rushing over Niagara Falls and it hurt my soul for every moment I was near her.

The shouting from outside never ceased, the wind seemed to pick up. Still I lingered there to comfort her and held her and her companion. I whispered over and over that everything would be alright and that we would find her a new place, even it it meant coming to stay with me.

Once almost everything was gathered together, she let me lead her outside to the waiting arms of a rescue worker.

I returned inside for one last review.

Bare walls, the floor bare, her cot – now stripped of it’s blanket and sheet, her little chair and footstool carefully moved outside. I checked for lose boards or secret cupboards and found little more, as I continued to listen to the shouting.

I carried out her chair and footstool and handed them to a worker and went to find her as I heard the huge building begin to fall, and knew I had done what was necessary for another who had no one to help them.

When I awoke, I wrote down the dream, so strangely vivid it was and then I lay there instead of rushing up to get on with my day, to wonder at the many messages I found in it. Perhaps you will find something of value there too.

Together, We Will Live Forever

2007-10-24T23:31:00.001-07:00

Could it really be true...?

Together We Will Live Forever

2007-10-24T23:24:00.000-07:00

Daddy's Secret

2007-10-24T16:04:00.000-07:00

My Dad was twenty years older than my Mom when they met one unusually hot, sweaty day in late May. He was a man of the world, vigorous, looked like a young Paul Newman, had his own business -- that seemed to give him lots of money. He was well connected with the powers that were in those days, he was a well seasoned man who had survived the great plague in America and, by then, been in two World Wars and was a notorious womanises.

To her a good catch by all measures.

She was beautiful, youthful, and as my Daddy used to put it, “built like a brick outhouse” (I never quite understood this reference, but was told it had to do with her very ample upper body). She had beautiful, shiny, dark, almost-black hair. Her eyes were hazle and she had the most lovely smile and sense of humour (up to the last day of her life too).

Torrid was their love affair.

He was just divorced from his third or fourth wife; she had seen one husband-buried on her wedding day and three more since then that stuck for a while. She was married at the time actually to that third husband. Which goes to the story of my adoption (but I will save that for another time).

They drank together, partied hardy together with a multitude of their friends -- at a time when others were doing it very tough. She was a chef and they entertained. No one quite understood this unbalanced relationship.

Eventually, they HAD to marry (I was the problem but another time for details) and people were amazed to see this couple together. What was their secret and how did he keep her so attracted to him? For all my life until he died they were together from the moment of my birth (I was going to say from my conception but that is very NOT true).

The Secret

When I was about seven years old my Daddy told me the story of their secret for eternal youth. When he was about ninteen he went on a quest throughout Florida. You see, he had read about the Fountain of Youth and studied maps and purposed not to rest until he found this legendary spring that reputedly restored the youth of anyone who drank of its waters.

Even today stories of this hidden fountain are some of the most persistent stories associated with Florida. He told me about a great Spanish explorer, Juan Ponce de León searched for the Fountain of Youth in 1513 and he found it. My Daddy said he found it too…it was in an overgrown area and surrounded by a graveyard.

He brought a supply back to share with my Mom, but always joked they had really been drinking the water that had filtered through those old dead bodies. Even today I shuddered to think this would be true of my Daddy and Mommy.

Regardless, all my life I watched them never age as others around them did. Men and women of the same age when compared with my parents, looked their age, grew old in heart and simply died.

Seventy-Nine

It was not until they were nearly 80 that the first signs of ageing showed in my Mom or Daddy. When they reached that age -- all at once as if they had run out of this precious fluid or perhaps it lost its potency – their bodies rapidly deteriorated.

My Dad, up until that time could carry a porcelain bathtub on his back up five flights of stairs without growing out of breath. He worked every day of his life, and hard each day from morning to night and five or six days a week, rarely ever sick or injured. Mom did not have one wrinkle on her face till she neared 80. Her eyes were bright and she could still sing in her trained operatic voice and work in a full kitchen chefing (a job that is far harder than digging ditches – I tried it one summer as a favour to her !).

Then it was over. The magic number seemed to be 79. Both gone twenty years apart.

Strange. I have always had unbounded energy and optimism. My body is younger than all I know of my age. No wrinkles on my face. I have the lungs of an athlete...

I wonder what was in my special formula and those special drinks they always gave me every day of my life until they died.

White Rabbit

2007-10-22T03:29:00.000-07:00

Thomas Merton (195 to 1968) was one of the most influential Catholic authors of the 20th century. A Trappist monk of the Abbye of Our Lady of Gethsemani, in the USA. This man was known as a spiritual writer, poet, author and social activist, writing over 60 books, scores of essays and reviews. He was also a proponent of inter-religious dialogue, engaging in spiritual dialogues with the Dalai Lama, Thich Nhat Hanh and D.T. Suzuki.

In one of his essays, said:

“To surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything is to succumb to violence. Frenzy destroys our inner capacity for peace.”

And he wrote this before people couldn’t live a day without their computer, their mobile phone, wireless environments, SMS and MMS or virtual worlds were much explored. How did he know this when he would have used at best a pencil and paper Day Timer diary, wall calendar or the old index/palm cards to stay organised?

Real Life

Recently, I have found myself feeling tired and run down and I need some of that famous “Vitameatavegamin” that Lucy sold so long ago. I have a real life, you all know this. I write three columns every week day, am presently working on an update to my business book and working on my second novel. To earn a crust, I write and facilitate a series of 26 professional business workshops and have done so in a dozen countries now.

I race walk most days and enjoy the love of a sweet family (yet not my own), including two wonderful boys (ages 13, almost a man with deep voice and the 7 year old, who loves me to pieces and can’t wait to tell me about his latest knight and horse model.

Virtual Life

In my virtual world, I live in wonderful Avilion, a medieval land rich with beauty and diversity. It is well populated by locals and is the second most frequently visited land in the virtual world -- and all too often by many people who can’t remember to button up or wear enough clothing for some reason. There, I teach a variety of classes there during the month including role play, swordsmanship, preparation for sword tournaments, etc.

I have built a little chapel where I also perform “handfasting” ceremonies to wed people in partnerships (that typically last around 3 months at tops). I belong to 25 groups, including subgroups and attend numerous meetings and events through the virtual week.

To fit in my virtual life around my real life (something most are puzzled about) I arise typically before 3 AM each day and manage to fit in as many activities on line as I can. Then it is off to the real world for a "sanity break" and then back periodically into the virtual world for a "sanity break".

Handfasting

As you may know if you read this blog, I recently handfasted myself to “he who may no longer be named” and had the most remarkable whirlwind time of my virtual life. I joined him in his virtual world and there began to extrapolate my activities to keep up with him.

So what did I find started to happen? Well the turning point was that my Dad died (see "An Ordinary Knight Has Passed" on this blog) and I could no longer keep pace with either the virtual or the real world. Then I had an asthma attack due to some extraordinary stress and got new fangled medicine that completely anesthitised me to where I was sleeping up to 16 hours in a day.

Stopped the meds and started to reorient only to find that my lack of activity and keeping up with all my three schedules became too bloody much -- even with Vitameatavegamin. Especially when additional pressures were added to resume my “normal” pace after returning.

Under the Suns

Perhaps it is time for me to return to the wisdom of King Solomon, who said:

"All things are wearisome; man is not able to tell it. The eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor is the ear filled with hearing. That which has been is that which will be, and that which has been done is that which will be done. So, there is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which one might say, ‘See this, it is new’? Already it has existed for ages which were before. There is no remembrance of earlier things; and also of the later things which will occur, there will be for them no remembrance among those who will come later still.” Ecclesiastes 1:8-10

There is just so much one body, mind, heart, soul and spirit can keep up with and I have maxed out from demands of so many people. I am trying to adjust my pace and to remember that the virtual world I entered, I entered first to do research and second to have fun. I raise my glass of Vitameatavegamin to fun once more.

Is This The End?

2007-10-19T11:28:00.000-07:00

By Lady Sheridanne Kelley

This will be the day to forget.
The one with ragged edges,
A piece of paper torn loose.

Perhaps in the corner
A bit of scribbling.
Or a smudge in the sky,

Like a cloud.
Impressions from the pen
Of the day that just ended.

It’s a grey day.
It has grey trees with grey leaves,
And thick dust still falling everywhere.

The bedroom is white
And everything is covered
In light dustings of frost.

The white hands
Of the seven-day clock
Are burrowing back into the two

Deep holes for the key.
No chimes.
You remember your husband’s face.

It winds down like a clock.
Someone’s eyes are fixes
On the white hands of the clock.

Two more minutes to the needle of snow.
Your husband lies there, bed rails up.
You lie on your bed near him.

Your hands
Pull his two eyelids down.
You close your eyes in pain.

Tomorrow, life will again blare like a radio
When the time is right.
The sun always remembers

And you re open your eyes
To the emptiness
That now remains.

How Was Your Day?

2007-10-10T03:53:00.001-07:00

Ever have one of those days? Well today was a day to remember...not unlike Alice's mad tea party.

Satisfied Now?

2007-10-07T20:55:00.001-07:00

No One

2007-10-07T18:21:00.000-07:00

She purposed to need no one, not
love or thirst, not even sunrise
and the sweet amulets of water
that fall from the heavens.

No, she wanted to be an island
of self-sufficiency, to sleep
with her arms around her pillow,
a flower alone in damp woods
singing to herself
beneath her curling umbrella.

And this is how she lived for many years -
a solitary song, a soliloquy
spoken into a small mirror
that hangs beside the wash basin,
with its pink towel and basket of dead flowers.

But something remained wrong -
a dull ache whispered from below her voice
where her heart should have been. A seed
rumbled in the pit of her stomach, as if to suggest
a tree that had never grown, a stone skimming
the surface of water once and then sinking.

She grew old this way, never knowing
it had been need she had needed all along -
the sound of her own small voice
asking for a light to see by, a match
to retrieve her heart from the widening dark.

Good, Better, Best

2007-09-29T12:45:00.001-07:00

You have wonder how this little, low budget movie was one of the top money earners of all time? Perhaps we identified with the characters and the situations a bit more than anyone would have expected.

US & THEM

2007-09-29T11:59:00.000-07:00

(My version of “Us and Them”. See: Colorless Green Ideas)

Taxonomy

Taxonomy, 1. the theory and techniques of describing, naming and classifying living and extinct organisms on the basis of similarity of their anatomical and morphological features and structures, etc., 2. the practice or technique of classification. From the Greek taxis = arrangement.

And God Said

“Then the Lord God said, ‘It is not good for the man to be alone; I will make him a helper suitable for him.’ And out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field and every bird of the sky, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called a living creature, that was its name. And the man gave names to all the cattle, and to the birds of the sky, and to every beast of the field, but for Adam there was not found a helper suitable for him.” – New American Standard Version of the Bible, Genesis 18-20

The first job ever listed in the Bible was sorting and naming all the animals in an effort to find the perfect first mate for the perfect first man. Once done, we all know there needed to be something new and very special created -- so it was sort of the first gap analysis, if you think about it.

Sorting People

There are so many ways to sort people. We all do it, all the time. In fact from recent studies we know that in the first 30 seconds you identify race first, then gender, then go on to run through a list of other sorting mechanisms we all use typically or specifically with regard to our own identity.

We sort to make every day decisions of who to speak to at a social function or who to call back first from a list of possibilities. We sort as we make life-changing decisions as to whom we will marry or partner with. Sorting occurs at great turning points in history -- “and whose side are you on anyway?” We look to see who is standing with us or against us in any situation or whether we choose to stand-alone.

We sail through our lives in many roles too – all of our roles and loyalties and associations call for different types of sorting. We may be a father, son, husband, lover, mate, brother, business man, athlete. We are part of many groups and loyalties at once, such as a woman’s leadership forum, an industry association, a parent-teacher group, a conservative or liberal political party, an American or an Aussie, a Hindu or a Christian or Muslim.

Pain in the Choosing

Can you remember a time in school when they were choosing up teams for say a softball team? Ok two “captains” are chosen. Instead of doing something that doesn’t hurt the ego, the teacher tells each of the “captains” to choose their team. They do this by prolonging the agony and humiliation of those to be choosen, by taking turns one at a time calling the name of the best softballers in the group to the “Bad News Bears” left at the bottom of the barrel. Potentially soul-destroying if you are in the last few or the last one to be picked by your colleagues! And being choosen first or last continues throughout your life.

There are many other ways we are sorted, including obvious ways such as through gender or race (although we are no longer officially “supposed” to do this).

We all start our lives with being a good girl or a bad girl; a bad boy or a good boy; a good student or a bad student; someone who scores well in college placement tests or goes to work or a technical school. Once we apply for a job we will be sorted by the way we fill in an application or get to the interview on time.

Sorting "Tools"

There are a variety of fun to professional sorting tools that are “deeply probing psychological instruments” that can tell us conclusively whether we kiss well or don’t kiss well, are good in bed or not (Cosmopolitan Magazine type tools) to professional tools such as birth order, Emotional Intelligence, Birkman or Myers Briggs -- all are created to help us sort everyone into “us and them”.

After many years of creating and facilitating a workshop called, “Corporate Dancing” even I felt compelled to create a tool call “The Key Relationship Management Tool” to help people identify and sort those they work with in an effort to help them more easily “get their way in a business setting”.

We all know how to sort people around us. (There are still people who will deny they do this, but you can't walk through life and see another person and NOT do this. So just get real and quit being in that group that denies they are human!) We begin sorting people the moment we can recognise this is Mommy or Daddy and this is NOT Mommy or Daddy.

Some of us are far better at being accurate with our sorting than others, but the end result of sorting can be disappointing as we mature into adults, especially if we spend too much time on this or use criteria that is not actually beneficial (such as sorting people because of their eye or hair colour or perceived race, handicap, political or religious associations).

Our world, whether real or virtual grows more divisive every day. Some -- who have so much to offer -- are still waiting in the bunch to be called for a team. Look around you today and see if someone -- who may initially look insignificant -- might actually make great allies or friends, teachers or guides. Think carefully about the criteria you use to sort -- because you could sort out the very person or people who will change your life -- or love you forever.

I Dreamed Last Night!!

2007-09-25T12:04:00.000-07:00

It is said the human being is the only animal that goes to bed when it is not sleepy and gets up when it is!

I like that quote because it is so true. I don’t remember the last time I dreamed. I average about five hours or less of sleep each night and have averaged this amount since about January this year. I seem unable to sleep longer and when I try, I get massive headaches. Yet it is the dreaming I have missed. The truth is we all dream, we just don’t remember our dreams, especially when we don’t get enough sleep, or at least that is one theory.

Well I dreamed last night! And it was a dream of unrequited love of 18 years! Eighteen years ago, I met this wonderful man when I was just beginning another relationship and would never consider having two relationships at the same time.

But one weekend I travelled to his city and we went to see The Phantom of the Opera. I stayed at the famous Windsor hotel, a most remarkably romantic, Victorian-era hotel. He met me in the foyer and we had a little snack and glass of Champaign before strolling to the theatre. I had secured fourth-row centre seats (right under the chandelier). The play went perfectly and he was surprised and thrilled at the music and the drama. He was also very attentive. It was fairy-book!

Afterwards, we strolled hand-in-hand back to the hotel, went into the grand dining area and had some supper and another glass of Chamaaign. Then, he walked me to my room. My heart was racing. From the day I had met him I had fancied him and even though I had not known him long, I loved his manners and gentlemanliness around me. He treated me like I was special.

And here he was at my hotel room door!

He took the key from my hand and opened the door and held it open as I walked through it. Then he stood at the entrance holding the door open and I leaned against the door jam with my heart screaming at me. He leaned in to kiss me and…I pulled away.

He smiled gently and bid me good night and I stood at that door and watched him walk away.

In all our eighteen years of wonderful and close friendship, he never again attempted a kiss! And I have kicked myself a hundred thousand times for the lost opportunity.

Well last night in my very long and very vivid dream, he kissed me (and that is all that happened for you perves because I woke up like Sleeping Beauty at the touch of his lips on mine)!

As I woke and realised what I had been dreaming I thought perhaps I was dying because of the unlikelihood of the dream – for I have not once, not EVER dreamed of his kissing me.

In fact, I have made up my mind that I am going to call him today and TELL him about the dream….because, who knows, people die suddenly and they never get to tell people how much they mean to them. I would hate to think he never hears about this silly dream or realises the longevity of my silly “crush” after all these years. And…perhaps he will come and kiss me just once, so I can tell how soft his lips are.

Is there someone you are dreaming about? Be brave and tell them…anything can happen today -- and when you least expect it.

To Be, To Sleep, To Dream

2007-09-24T12:51:00.001-07:00

To Sleep Perchance to Dream

2007-09-24T12:05:00.000-07:00

“To be, or not to be,--that is the question:--Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortuneOr to take arms against a sea of troubles,And by opposing end them?--To die,--to sleep,--No more; and by a sleep to say we endThe heartache, and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to,--'tis a consummationDevoutly to be wish'd. To die,--to sleep;--

“To sleep! perchance to dream:--ay, there's the rub;For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause: there's the respectThat makes calamity of so long life;For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,The insolence of office, and the spurnsThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,When he himself might his quietus makeWith a bare bodkin? who would these fardels bear,

“To grunt and sweat under a weary life,But that the dread of something after death,--The undiscover'd country, from whose bournNo traveller returns,--puzzles the will,And makes us rather bear those ills we haveThan fly to others that we know not of?

”Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;And thus the native hue of resolutionIs sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;And enterprises of great pith and moment,With this regard, their currents turn awry,And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!”

- Hamlet, Act III, Scene 1, William Shakespeare
==================================================

I tried to research grief with respect to fatigue, but didn’t find as much as I hoped for. But I am tired. I am tired of the way things are going in my land of virtual dreams, I am tired my new partner has been away so long and hasn’t been around to comfort me through this dark time and I am tired that my Dad took leave of this world without my being there with him to hold his hand through the moment.”

Three. My Dad was wise. In fact my Dad was the wisest man who ever lived (that’s my opinion and I’m sticking to it, so don’t try to convince me otherwise!), and one of the things he always said is that bad things come in threes. So I’ve had my fill now and the quota is full and I can take leave from dark events for a while.

What this means is that I have wandered into a deep valley but am now, albiet it slowly, walking back out of it. The funeral for my Dad is over and Doris is sorting out her new solitary life.

The (never to be called great again) Turner has promised to have victory over the T-1 cable provider this day and after he does all the important stuff in his virtual life, has told me he would finally catch up with me again if he has time (makes me feel really important, that does – there will be a payment to extract for such an attitude to be sure).

And my virtual land….well that will take time. Evil is afoot and growing stronger. Some of us remain there to be part of the solution and I am one of them…even when the going gets tough, discouraging and even dangerous. I love my realm and want to help the people who live there and visit there and I have great hope.

So today I will do my old rounds and look for familiar faces and embrace those who also need encouragement with my 90-second, Sheridanne’s-special hug (the one that leads to giggles and helps people de-stress) and hope that will help make just a small difference as I heal slowly.

For today….that is all the energy I have. So sharing it will be enough for as long as I can share it and then I must rest again and continue to regain my strength from a month of three challenges.

An Ordinary Knight Has Passed

2007-09-18T20:51:00.001-07:00

2007-09-18T20:46:00.001-07:00

Boromir was a brave and faithful man who tirelessly and valiantly defended those weaker than himself at any cost, including giving his life for others. It is the way he lived and it is the way he died, or that is what we know of this mythical man from Tolkien’s wonderful stories.

I’ve chosen this video to mark the passing of my second Dad, Owen Smith, who never held a sword but cut a million heads of hair with his trusty scissors while his golden smile and sweet wit held peoples attention. He was an ordinary man filled with extraordinary courage and hope -- and most of all love.

He fell in love with a woman he spent over 55 years with -- his beloved Doris. To me I can’t think of one of them without the other, it as if that Biblical concept of becoming one flesh was manifest in their every reflection, word, action, deed, song.

Yet he was the quiet one to me, the one always ready with a smile that could melt an iceberg. So sincere whether he was mucking out the stables or milking Goaty-Goat in the back yard or making Doris her hot cup of tea served in bed every possible morning of their wonderful relationship.

One year, he dug a pond on their land and laboured more hours than I could imagine, making it just perfect for his sweet Doris, the family, friends and strangers. And it was a constant labour for him from the day it was just a dream - but he fished there and we ice skated and went swimming there. It was wonderful!

A Gentle Knight

He taught me gently about his love of the Lord and the simple act of praying “just regular and from your heart”. In fact I never heard a high-flung word from his lips. He was living lessons to me, never preaching, never even correcting – unless I was about to jump out of the hayloft and break a bone.

I would have loved to be there with the rest of the family during this time but I know he knew just how very much I loved him. I wanted to say something profound about him – words are all I know – but I have no more profound words to say than this Scripture passage to mark his going home to be with his Lord and Saviour than these unlikely ones:

Jesus taught: “’You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbour, and hate your enemy’; but I say to you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you in order that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.

"For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax gatherers do the same? Therefore you are to be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. Beware of practicing your righteousness before men to be noticed by them; otherwise you have no reward with your Father who is in heaven.’” Matthew 5:42-6:1

He was just an ordinary knight, who never had armour or a sword; and his horse was little and slow and not even white. But he is the only knight I have ever known who knew what it was to stand for something so gently and so faithfully without attention or praise, never wavering his entire life – faithful to a concept so few can conceive of. He stood for the Lord and for his beloved Doris with GRACE.

My life has been so enriched by him and I will miss him, but will never forget his lessons. And there will be no greater reward than his at his homecoming.

Don't Give Up...

2007-09-16T12:44:00.000-07:00

Why DO we give up? (Reference: See earlier post: "Thank You Friend")

Is it because we are tired? Because we did not train enough before we started? Did we forget to take the right equipment or to even get it in the first place? Do we give up because we feel unworthy or hopeless by the circumstances? Do we give up because we have no more choices or because we are tired of the choices? Do we give up because our body, mind or soul is simply worn out? Does our heart become so burdened by circumstances we finally relinquish our fight and simply crawl under them?

Sometimes we give up because we do not have enough information about what is going on. That is likely too often true. Like Rudard Kippling’s story: The six blind men and the elephant, everyone has their own view of a situation: like a palm leaf, like a rope, like a tree, like a wall or well you know what I mean.

I see things my way and you see the same things differently. And what may be hurting me may only be my personal, myoptic perspective of the situation. (You say tO-mato, I say to-mAto.)

So I seek you out and ask you to come look at my “elephant” to see if perhaps you see what I see or if you see something slightly or entirely different. And you tell me. So then I think about what you see and compare it with what I see. Sometimes that helps me and sometimes it hurts me….especially when my vision was cloudy and yours is so clear. (This is known as the flat-of-the-palm-hitting-the-forehead “duh”)

We are Alone or Are We?

In the introduction to The New Individualism (Elliot & Lemert) we read:

“Everywhere in contemporary society, peple desperately search for self-fulfilment and try to minimise as much as possible interpersonal obstacles to the attainment of their egocentric designs – as the culture of individualism has come to represent not only personal freedom but the essential shape of the social fabric itself. – in the so-called do-it-yourself society, we are now all entrepreneurs of our own lives.

“What is unmistakable about the rise of individualist culture, in which constant risk taking and an obsessive preoccupation with flexibility rules, is that individuals much continually strive to be more efficient, faster, leaner, inventive and self-actualising than they were previously – not sporatically, but day-in day-out.”

In this quote there is heaps gold. It is the divide and conquer strategy we see at work today everywhere. If we are too busy to reach out to another, that works to isolate us. If we are too emotionally drained, that isolates us. If we are fearful of what others may think of us or how we are seeing a situation or how we are coping or reacting with a situation in comparision to their “apparent” competence and skill, that will completely isolate us. We give up because do not see the choices and we feel so all alone.

Coming Up For Victory

What can we do to climb back out from under the circumstances? We can screw up all our courage and focus it so we can march to another in whom we have trusted before and we can ask for their ear and for their wisdom.

They say there is wisdom in many counsellors, just choose your counsellors wisely.

If we take the step to ask for help; and if we listen carefully, they will more than likely whisper part of the answer for us. Then we can put the puzzle pieces together stronger than ever before and upon this assembled and sturdy base we can stand again and begin the healing process.

But it is our choice. Will we take action or simply huddle under the situation trembling with fear?

Brute Force

2007-09-13T15:27:00.000-07:00

When I first began to teach, I thought my way was the right and only way. Then one day, like being struck by a bolt of fiery lightening I saw something profound:

God has a way of pulling you to Him through His personal-designed life plan until you look up one day and recognise and acknowledge Him. He is capable of handling post-pull life too.

Remember the statement: "God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life"? Well, that was what was supposed to happen. However, what does typically happen is that, yes, God does love you, but everyone else has a plan for your life!

When in fact, as personal as your walk to God was, once you agree to that personal relationship, the walk to follow Him back into His world as His "disciple" is also as personal & well planned as the walk to Him – and He (not others) is in charge for effecting the changes He has designed for you that will unfold in His time for His purposes.

No other person does or can know another’s heart or what is in God's heart for another person. It is dangerously assumptive for someone to tell another what to do in these matters.

What is true, in fact the only truth I know on this topic is this: “There is my opinion. There is your opinion. And there is God’s Word.”

Biblical wisdom says we must wait upon Him and not worry about someone else’s walk or “wisdom”. God actually doesn’t need our help to correct others – that is what He left His Word to do.

Jesus said: “’Do not judge lest you be judged. For in the way you judge, you will be judged; and by your standard of measure, it will be measured to you. And why do you look at the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?’” – Matthew 7:1-3

So leave judgement in the hands of the One who sees stuff in perspective. A better use of energy is spent encouraging someone to read the life Manual for themselves and to set an example of living those principles. That will go a long way in helping someone grow.
When we tell or try to legislate or manipulate people with “should or shouldn’t behaviour”, it fails. Why? Not really sure, sort of why if I tell you not to think of a pink elephant that doesn’t work either….from the very beginning, it didn’t work….and it still doesn’t.

The Day the Earth Stood Still

2007-09-12T04:50:00.001-07:00

Can there be peace when there is diversity? If not there will be war. War is not good...we need to learn how to work and live together. The opposite of that is just too dreadful to think of.

Diversity & Religious Freedom in the Virtual World

2007-09-11T21:56:00.000-07:00

Well now I have done it -- started a topic from which there is no escape!

What happens when anyone in the world can enter the same room (shades of “The Day the Earth Stood Still”) and begin to talk together thanks to the growing influence of “English” (in it’s many forms) becoming the language of commerce (as Greek once was) and due to a nifty little attachment you can wear in my virtual world, called the Babbler now version 3.1.7

So everyone can talk with each other. What do we notice first of all? Well scientific research shows we first notice “race”, then gender. From then we may begin to look for other similar reference points we can “relate to or start a conversation about.

Diversity Reigns Supreme

In my virtual world of Avilion, for instance, the smorgasbord of races and types of characters is too astounding to imagine – most races (we call classes) are welcome. As our Charter states:

“We welcome all to our land, human and creature alike. These include and are not limited to, Elven, Drow, Dragon, Faerie, Pixie, Dwarf, etc.” – The Avilion Charter

Everything from centaurs and mermaids, Drow (dark and typically cranky Elves), magpies, little white or light brown bunnies, werewolves, neko, vampires and just plain humans of various ages from 4-1/2 to grandpas and those of inestimable ages, such as the Druids and Elven. Even Furries are welcome in my realm ((and I have never quite figured out what they are about at all, but they look like a human being in a skin-tight furry fox outfit)).

With this diversity of races, sometimes-strange scenarios arise. For instance, I am a little (6’11”) Elven warrior woman and I may be speaking with a 10 foot tall blue orc with 8 inch white teeth. I may have to go meet with a 20 foot tall bright red, scaly dragon with wings twice as wide as he is tall arguing with a little 3 foot pink Fae with wings that look just like a rainbow.

Avilion - Open-armedly Diverse

Our Charter again tells why:

“Those with the gift of the mind, and of the sword, exiled themselves to the Island, and with the power gained by their unity, chose to save the Island by shrouding it in a Mist. Those of the Isle gave up all that they possessed, and chose the peaceful co-existence on Avilion Isle.” --The Avilion Charter

So, again, as in the film, “The Day the Earth Stood Still”, those who choose to here are here because there is no place left for them in the rest of the world. They have found their perfect sanctuary, and willingly sacrifice the natural enmity they may have for one another.

However, It is the 16th Century, or thereabouts depending on who you speak with, so there is sometimes even a little dangerous intrigue.

Religions Freedom

“After the King, King to all, Christians and Pagans alike, passed, those non-believers sought to destroy his work.” The Avilion Charter

Within Avilion there is not only diversity, but also accompanying and critical religious freedom and tolerance ((such as is guaranteed within the Declaration of Independence in the United States of America)). In Avilion, our Lord and Lady are Druid and Drow and have an openly benevolent tolerance for different religious beliefs.

This guarantees that no believer or non-believer has to worry about being thought less of, or more than, any other because of their religious or non-religious preferences.

I have the delightful pleasure of performing “hand-clasping” or partnership ceremonies (like a wedding in the modern world) and I must write respectful ceremonies for those with no faith and those with deep faith in a variety of entities and gods and powers and Unknown Gods and unknowable gods, as well as “the God as we know and understand Him ((or her)), a Power greater than ourselves” and for those who are happy to trust in themselves alone (dust to dust).

All are respected. For without religious freedom, our realm would not last long. Consider for a moment what happened in the 16th Century during Henry VIII’s time. His changing desires and appetites dictated religious preference for the subjects of his kingdom and eventually destroyed his kingdom and legacy.

War and Religion

The danger in proscribing religion for others is that someone’s relationship with their spiritual (or lack of spiritual) identity crosses the barriers of privacy and freedom and right.

In Man’s Search For Meaning – the author, Victor Frankl, who spent so many months in a concentration camp in the worst of physical conditions, learned that:

“When all the familiar goals in life are snatched away, what alone remains is, the last of human freedoms – the ability to choose one’s attitude in a given set of circumstances -- this ultimate freedom, helps us all appreciate man’s capacity to rise above outward fate and circumstances.”

They say a war is started somewhere in the world every twenty minutes and many ((perhaps most)) are started when one person or group of people wish to impose their beliefs on another person or group. This has never worked and it can never work. Religious freedom in a world of increasing diversity is the only hope.

Sharing your beliefs with someone because they see your admirable and peaceful example is another thing all together and is the effective way of “spreading the word” of what works for you….perhaps a little more of this wouldn’t go astray. We are all looking for good examples…

Life - First & Second & Third & ....

2007-09-09T16:52:00.000-07:00

I got up this morning at 2:30 AM to finish writing a service to wed two lovely people in my virtual world (yes, that was 2:30AM when it was still very dark and quiet here).

The two I wed (called "hand clasping" or partnering) were Johnny and Gwen. He is a 552 year old Vampire-Neko (a Neko is a half human (half leopard in his case) and half big cat). She is one of the most lovely Elven ladies I know of. And because of this partnership, he will be freed from his Vampire needs because of true love.

The service went well, although due to typical technical “storms” that crashed several people out of the world (or for Matrix fans, off the grid) we ran behind schedule -- and for me that is just not easily excusable.

The reception after was held at our drum circle fire and everyone was there enjoying themselves with virtual wedding cake and virtual champagne, ale and mead. There was a terrific best man’s speech that balanced the sweet and naughty things just perfectly (thank you again SF).

Right after, I transported to a huge green crystal grotto beside a very lovely, sandy white beach to met with an old friend from Greece. But when my feet touched the sand I crashed out of the system again. So decided to do other work for a while.

Sad Phone Call

The phone rang and my little brother (really 6 foot tall and so strong and handsome) was on the line. This is a VERY rare occurrence and like a precious gift for me.

The news however, he hesitated to share with me, was that the man I will always think of as my second Dad, Owen, is being taken off life support today.

He is 80 and has had a wonderful and full life, although the last year has been filled with his body slowly shutting down despite all efforts to stop this. He and his wife, Doris (who is the best second Mom you could imagine) were people who helped change my life by always being there for me and for praying for me every day since I was twelve years old. They believed in me. They never missed a birthday or a holiday with a call and a card and a fax no matter where in the world I might be on the day.

You know, we all lose people we love (or will in life) -- this is true. Losing Owen will be a very difficult loss for me (though not as significant as losing my real Dad). Owen is the quiet one of the two, who always has a smile on his face. He has the most amazing appetite and has worked so hard every day I knew him.

A Virtual Birth

So I feel sad right now. Then I balance this sadness with the memory of a birth. Yes in the virtual world you can have babies (There is a tremendous emphasis on making babies, so of course someone had to think of the swelling belly and all that goes with it). It was a joy for me when a couple of months ago I had the privilege to watch as my dear special friends, Amin and Red brought their daughter, Maya, into the virtual world. It was amazing to see this happen -- even though it wasn’t “real”.

I have no idea how life will turn out for Maya in the future (will she go to some virtual MIT or Cambridge or get married to a truck driver and have half a dozen children?). The symbolism, however, cannot be lost on all of us who might otherwise stand far apart in RL (real life) and look down on out little computers and forget what is going on. We must never, for a moment, fail to recognise the significance of each individual’s AV (avatar or representation of the human who sits behind the AV and “pulls the strings” if you will).

It got me to thinking of how this wedding this morning -- and my recent one with the (never again to be called great) thoughtful Turner - is just a little part of an incredible circle of both my first and second life (after all, I started early with second parents don't forget).

As I look afresh at my new responsibilities as a wife (even a virtual one), I can see how difficult some of this will be. But I know that good things will be birthed (and no, I do not think I am pregnant) from my efforts and my dedication….if I do not grow weary of doing well.

Everyone one of us faces life changes. Some are good. Some are difficult. Some are bad and hurt us. Some heal us and some even help us grow if we will only look for the lessons – as we have been taught to look for the silver lining in the black clouds.

The virtual world gives us hope as well as despair. The virtual world gives us the opportunity to see ourselves as others see us sometimes. It offers us the chance to try something over again and do it right this time – if we can ever shake off the bonds of our past memories and actually try a different way.

A Second-Second Chance

I’ve noticed a lot more people with ALTS (a second AV – see above) lately -- and can’t help wondering if this might not be because we are who we are no matter what our outer form looks like – no matter how many times we try to reinvent ourselves.

We can’t escape our heart, or our wounds, or our experiences, just because we can live behind new Avs – no matter how many we might create.

As AVs, we may escape death (although symbolic death and suicide has happened with people I have truly cared for) but we can never escape life as long as we are alert – because life, as they say – HAPPENS!

The AV that dies however, hides somewhere in my inventory on a “calling card”….with all the memories and/or notes I may have put there to remind me of them. It stays in my inventory to help me be more careful next time with the next person I meet.

They might need me and I might need them and we might just become good friends -- both in the virtual world and in the real world….you never know.

I just hope I live my life enough to fill it up as much as my dear Owen and Doris have. That would be a model to strive for! They have always given of themselves. They have never hoarded their possessions or their time or their efforts. They have never lied or made lame excuses. They have never played politics, watched much TV or played computer games (well that is the truth). They have travelled all over the world (on a strict budget and only one piece of luggage allowed). They have read books and gone to so many seminars and services. They have studied all kinds of topics. But most of all -- every day -- they have enjoyed each other!

Finally, they held hands when they walked together or sat together. I hope I do that when I am old…hold his hand.

Anyway, now I’m rambling, but today….well I just needed to ramble on a bit. Thanks for listening.

What Does Make Us Human?

2007-09-06T20:50:00.001-07:00

What Makes Us Human?

2007-09-06T20:45:00.001-07:00

His Mom sent him a sort of thought for the day. ((an exceptional Mom, to say the least.))

“In an effort to internalize our conscious understanding of the nature of cause and effect, we can never truly know how our thoughts, emotions, words, or actions will manifest themselves on the larger universal stage because it is likely that the furthest-reaching effects will fall outside the range of our perception.”

As always, these words placed together bring other ideas to me, the first is of a line in a song. “Preserve your memories, there are all that’s left you.” I think of movies such as The Butterfly Effect, Sliding Doors, The 6th Sense or Dark City, all touch on the concept of cause and effect and memories.

What makes us human? Is it that we can appreciate and contrive humour? Is it that we have language or use tools? Or is it our memories? I’m sure many have scientific answers to this question as to what makes us human, but I like to think that connecting with our own memories and remembering the highlights of other’s memories around is part of it.

A Seventh Sense?

Perhaps what makes us human is a seventh sense: the sum total of our memories and the memories of those we love and/or read about.

I think of the movie, “Short Circuit”, where Number Five is alive because he suddenly begins to, not just cough up bits of stuff he has memorised, he moves to something like the beginning of wisdom – where connections between memories and ideas surpass his processing speed and abilities.

Where suddenly communication begins to flow from the heart, based on memories and based on such impossible concepts as love, hope and faith, truth, trust and loyalty.

An Interruption

So what happens when something interferes with memories? Say if you don't have your memories past or current, such as happens in some diseases (Alzheimer's Disease); through a medical procedure or treatment, an accident or stroke. How does that affect your ability to appreciate your own humanness? Is it something you think about?

What makes us human? It is the stuff of dreams…and memories…and good timing.