Mind, Body, & Soul

Mind, body, and soul- mental, physical, and spiritual...

I gathered this morning with like minds. It was a powerful session, to say the least.

For me, it's a trifecta. If my mental, physical, and spiritual, is not aligned I'm off-balance completely. It's not an easy task, but sometimes more simple than I perceive it to be.

The mental comes with right thought, and right action. With these comes right direction. In addition, my mental depends on my ability to differentiate between right and wrong, between healthy and destructive living.

The physical comes with moving a muscle. "Move a muscle, change a thought." Exercising, hitting the gym, doing my routine push-ups, going for walks, and playing with my children are all ways that I can keep my physical on point. My physical also depends on my diet. The food that I feed my body reflects my physical and the respect I have for it.

The spiritual comes with surrender. Surrendering to my HIGHER POWER is one way to stay spiritually connected. Hitting my knees and praying throughout the day is another. In addition, reading daily meditations, books about Buddhism, the Bible, and sometimes the Qur'an help as well. Even staying close and spending time with my children help to keep me connected and spiritually healthy.

All dependent on each other, my mental, my physical, and my spiritual need to coexist. There is a harmony that must be achieved, a balance- mind, body, and soul. One without the other is like a puzzle missing it's pieces, incomplete.

For me, staying spiritually and physically connected is much easier than mentally. My mental can be quite dangerous to me at times. It holds resentments, dwells on the past, encourages frivolous mischiefs, and often entices me in all the wrong ways. My mind has a strong ability to hate but my heart does not. My mind has a clever yearning for revenge but my heart does not. My mind can isolate me from my body and soul, but I refuse to let it.  My mind can seek out and befriend depression but body and soul know depression is no friend of min(d). Thank GOD for my spirit which keeps me grounded and my physical that allows me to soldier through and endure. 

Today, I need be aware of my my mental and work towards the balance I need to stay aligned- mind, body, and soul.

It is not an easy task; however, I've come this far and I keep reminding myself it could always be worse. Today, I am grateful for my blessings and will practice an attitude of success and greatness while being transparent with a sense of humility.

I'm going through it, and I'm gonna get through it.

Anniversary of Tragedy

Soon I will face the anniversary of tragedy.

It has it’s own way of waking me.

It shakes me by the shoulder, and the surprise is crushing.

Unexpected, the belief in it all, is impossibly simple.

Concisely confusing, it is brief in its form and non-comprehensive.

Seeming tangible but it is not.

A fading existence, trying to hold on to memories

Memories appear misty and become translucent.

With an eager eye as if it were a reaching hand, I look.

 With hopes to hold on to what is left of it all.

Let go and let HIM.

Let HIM hold onto the treasures that pain me.

Let HIM hold down the rising tides that rush my shores and salt my shell.

Let go and allow myself,

Allow myself to gain understanding so that he may grant me direction.

So that HE may lead me through the tragedy of LOVE and its clutches. 

Chords

When I was a youngster…

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes became hours

Sometimes I waited long into the night before I-

Before I heard the tune of your pain at the piano

Most nights like clockwork you came home and you played

Your scales you played over and over again were

Reflective of your personality, always wanting to be better

A person better you were, more than you knew

Because all you knew were your mistakes

But, that’s not the case- you were great

You were unapproachable but it bared no weight

On me, as I am the son of a humble and powerful king

Powerful in his silence and humble in his nature

You were all these things- to me- and so much more

The peaceful elephant the powerful lion dare not tussle alone with

The young teenager trying to figure out the meaning of life

The hardworking ever-hoping blue-collar father

Trying to feed his family, but trying to feed his hunger

Trying to quench his thirst a presence like thunder

An eerie rumble that shook the world around you

Caught between you and your self, you were-

You were- so sick and so closed, and you so chose better

You so chose vision, hope, and you chose my brother and I

You were healing, and as your eyes opened you understood

The extent of, and severity of, a son’s love for his father

You had wisdom that needed me, as I listened

With battered ears as a young boy

To the surprise of my adult years your guidance

Was- IS worthy of a loving father

You genuinely wanted the best for me

And even when it seemed you could not fathom life

I knew- I knew underneath the thick layer of pain

Were smiles that pierced me like the sun’s rays.

You were amazing and I was amazed

Maybe, just maybe it was the chords you played

With a sound so quiet and yet so profound

I Will Not Pretend

I will not pretend. 

Falling to me knees is what I needed. 

Last night the word unmanageability was the subject of discussion.

Amongst (it) were other powerful words.

‘Unmanageable’ spoke to me as if it were a person in our circle. 

While others spoke, Unmanageable began to quiet itself. 

When I entered the room every thing was in order, so I thought.

Voices lead the way, I listened, and I listened some more.

The first voice spoke as if HE put the story in place for me to hear.

The voice spoke of relative misfortunes and shortcomings, I was familiar.

But so unfamiliar am I that I needed to understand, and I tried.

As time passed and the speaker continued, my emotions were not so becoming.

Becoming unmanageable they were.

I thought to myself.

I tucked deep down inside those tears and tried hard not to vomit feelings.

The speaker spoke, and while the speaker spoke to the circle, HE spoke to me.

HE tells me to listen and to share my feelings.

Now with two voices, one inside and the other out, I try to hear what is said.

I try hard to hear what is meant for me, I understand that I am beside support.

I am beside hearts.

Trust me or do not trust me the speaker says but DO TRUST HIM.

Trust in HIM that I may be thankful for waking today.

Thank HIM for allowing me to be conscious in my sleep.

The speaker was troubled by the words, warranted words.

Working doubly hard to not let the unmanageability of emotions take control of the podium.

A breath, and then silence.

Another breath, and more silence between words.

I looked on with great empathy.

HE was with me.

My Brother, Ian.

After my father passed I was done off. I had hit bottom face down. I felt like I had lost the one person in life that truly BELIEVED in me, who did not JUDGE me, who was CONFIDENT I could achieve - and was capable of- more than I myself could believe, the one person who OFTEN reminded me of how far I had come as a son, a father, and a human being.

I would catch him looking at me with piercing eyes and his serious and calm face. I'd say "What's up Pop?" And he would tell me such things, and say things he's never said. I recognized that sometimes it took a great courage for him to show his affection: but he did, and I was grateful For his effort. I am grateful I can still hear him today. I hear him clearly through my brother Ian Claxton.

Confused and lost without him. I was at the brink of losing everything: my family, my job, my life. So I took a trip to California to run away, to escape. Without knowing, so clouded I did not realize, I was staying with Ian and his beautiful family on my father's Born Day (Sept 20th).

It was that night my Ian and I had an intense exchange of words and emotions. Through it all he shared with me what I thought I lost with my father. Ian truly BELIEVED in me, he did not JUDGE me, he was CONFIDENT I could achieve - and was capable of- more than I myself could believe, he would come to reminded me of how far I had come as a son, a father, a brother, and as GOD's son.

I came to tears that night in disbelief, as Ian's confidence in me was remarkable, and his faith sparked the flame that warmed my spirit and brought me back to life.

I surrendered to my little brother and asked him to tell me what I needed to do, and told him I would listen and do whatever it took: frustrated, broken, angry, terrified, sad, empty. He told me, and I listened, and I committed to doing as he said.

He said,"Bump, have faith in HIM."

Often Ian sends me text messages and calls me. We are closer than we've ever been. He helped me to restore: BELIEF in myself, the CONFIDENCE that I can achieve - and I am capable of- anything I set out to do. He, taught me to recognize how far I've come as a son, a father, a human being, and GOD's son.

Since then my life has taken taken the best turn in 39 years. Since then I have witnessed the blessings and the promises come to life. Since then I can say life has been miraculous.

This morning, I am THANKING GOD for having my brother Ian in my life. 

Bryant Park, Checkmate

Ok, so I walk to Bryant Park 42nd St. before meeting my mother for lunch on 46th and 6th. I find an old timer on the library side who was sitting alone with a chess board and offense (White) in front him. I ask him if it was alright to sit and have a match with him. He smiled, let out a little laugh, stuck out his hand to signal me to sit in the empty seat, which was the defensive side (Black).

I was nervous. He asked me my name, and I told him my name is Choice, and he told me his name was Charles. I nodded my head and shook his hand showing him respect for accepting my challenge.

While I was sitting down and placing my bag to my side, I see out of the corner of my eye, a movement. In a flash, in split second timing, with light speed, and without me even seeing him do so, he had reached across the board and removed my h7 pawn (King's Side), and in the same swipe of the hand he removed his a2 pawn. By the time it took me to sit, set my bag down, and look up he sat staring at me as if nothing happened. Only when I looked at the board and noticed the two pawns missing - which were not only a second ago- did I truly notice what he had done. Bewildered, I said nothing and looked back him with a blank stare. As soon as I was about to ask if we were going to start without the pawns, as soon as I twitched a lip, he pulled his 2 fists from below the table and placed them at eye level in front of me. He said nothing and stared at me. I asked him, "Pick one?" He nodded to say yes. I picked his right hand, which was my left because I am a lefty. He opened his hand and showed the white pawn. It was a game before the game, his way of a fair decision as to which side we would control. He then turned the rubber chess board around so that I was sitting behind the white army of pieces.

Because I was nervous I blurted out to him that it was my first time ever sitting down to play in NYC. He chuckles and said, "(When) I win I hope you wouldn't mind offering me a small donation. "I chuckled back and said I need to get back home on the train Sir.

I made my first move: queen's pawn, e2:e4. He responded, and the opening game was afoot. Quickly we established our pieces, and my opening game seemed to have surprised him. After 5-6 moves we were into the mid game, at which time I made a crucial but wise sacrifice- my knight for his pawn opening up the right flank, or h file to attack his castled king. It through him off as I hoped it would and left him open to attack, and let me establish in the next two moves a strong and powerful position. He retreated, and I pushed with more pressure.

While at the beginning it was just he and I with nobody around us, by this time people began to gather around and watch as the game became more intense and fast. With good position I knew I had to sacrifice more inventory to set up to capture his king. And so I did, and it through him off even more as he was up in inventory. He was wise enough to know I was up to something, and I was wise enough to know I needed to play aggressive to have a chance against him.

Knowing I was close to checkmate and he was up in inventory he began to play his strong pieces and attack with full force, and he was smart to do so because he pushed to the point that he also placed me under great pressure. The onlookers watched quietly and did not move a muscle. Surrounded by people and across the board from a park player I became more nervous, but I kept my focus, as one wrong move and he would mate me with ease.

Suddenly, in the end game we were at each other's throats - Queen to Queen, and my pieces were few but strategically placed so that there was no room for him to make a mistake. Quickly, I move my queen to place him in check and he had the choice to take my queen or retreat. However, knowing if he would have took my queen my rooks and my knight were in place to wipe out his fortress surrounding his queen. Every bit of me hoped that he would retreat in fear of losing his fortress and he did. He relocated his king and did not take my queen, at which point I stormed his beach.

I confronted him powerfully and with every bit of strength and strategy I had left on the board. Every move after was a check. He retreated again and again until I backed his king down to my king side. Finally, he was one move away from checkmate as he knew it. He took minutes to figure out how he let it happen, to try and figure a way out of the checkmate. He leaned back and folded his hand behind his head. He looked up and let out a big sigh of disbelief. He had lost, and my next move was the closing. Instead of letting me put him in checkmate, he leaned forward and said, "There's no way around it, I tried to find a way out. You've won youngster." I smiled softly, but every part of my insides were screaming with victory. My smile wanted to boast with pleasure but I did not let it.

An onlooker asked him why he did not take my queen when he had the chance. He explained to the guy that it was a trap. Had he taken my queen I would have closed on him soon after. In my head, I felt a sense of pride that he recognized what I had done. He told me he was impressed, an tipped his king.

I stood up, he stood up, we shook hands and I bowed my head and thanked him for the match and his time. He said it was a pleasure.

I grabbed my bag, and although I had defeated him, I reached in my pocket took out $2 and handed it to him. Once again, thanking him for a great game of chess.

As I walked away I jumped on the phone and called my mother immediately because I was suppose to meet with her a half hour before then. She said, "What happened Bump, are you okay?" I excitedly told her that I had just finished and won my first game ever in a NYC park. She laughed at me because I let out all the excitement that I held back while in front of the old man and the people surrounding us while we played. She said, "Great, I'll meet you outside on the 45th side, and you can tell me all about it over lunch."

Beautiful day in Manhattan- 

Breathe & Listen

WE were born with the ability to breathe. As an infant our breathing was excellent if not perfect. Our breathing was not yet tainted with experience.

As we grew older our breathing changed due to experience, especially as adults. WE suffered from adjustment: adjustment to pollution that taints the air around us (smoke, combustion, air pollution, etc.), and our own sources of pollution: for example, smoking, drugs, anxiety, stress, and coping with illness in our own ways.

Learning to breathe again - as we did when we were infants- can be a task: quite difficult. However, it can be achieved even if it is, for just a brief moment.

This brings to mind the act of slowing down. Slowing down, like breathing is something we distance ourselves from as we grow older. Before we know it we suffer from the "committee" in our heads - or the "the squirrel's nest".

Life, stress, relationships, substances, coping practices, and even the search for something greater than ourselves can be: noisy, debilitating, and can or will cause US to lead ourselves into moments of insanity.

Learning to slow down can be a task: quite difficult. However, it can be achieved even if it is, for just a brief moment.

We can succeed in the search for breath and the act of slowing down (tranquil moments) through destruction - destruction of the unhealthy habits WE created in our past that lead us to NOW. WE CAN, rebuild healthy habits, sober habits, and our ability to embrace: to live.

Through prayer and meditation we can achieve these moments. Taking brief pauses to revisit those things we are truly grateful for, truly thankful for, and what brings us a genuine feeling of joy can help us to breathe and slow down - or slow down and then breathe.

Paying attention to the ENTIRE moment is an act of embrace: the colors, movements, the smell, the feel or touch, the sound. Listening to your heartbeat, living through every living and mechanical motion slowly, paying close attention to our physical, feeling every step, feeling our heels touch the ground and closely following through until the tips of our toes leave the ground next, stopping to listen to our own heartbeat or someone in passing.

Upon putting my ear to my daughter's chest to listen and understand her heartbeat I quiet my mind, I stop listening to the world around me, I feel her small harmless structure against my ear. I listen, I breathe, I listen, and her heartbeat comes to life. I trace the sound, the touch, and our connection with my senses, and I become comfortably lost inside the moment.

Sitting down after a hike, resting in a comfortable position under a tree and listening to the wind rush my eardrums as it brushes my face, hearing the symphony of nature: wind through the trees, birds in harmony, even the distant sound of traffic petting pavement: absorbing the temperature, the warm, soothing mixture of a calm breeze and inspiring sunlight.

Stepping out of my house, planting both feet on the step or the sidewalk, looking forward at the world before me, without taking my feet off the ground or disconnecting from the earth, I turn my head slowly to the left and listen and look, slowly turn my head to the right and listen and look: and trust in my ears as much as I do my eyes. Feeling the calm, cool morning air rest on my face and hands, hear my heartbeat as I mind little, and let my senses speak to my thoughts.

Thanking my HiGHER POWER for today: for the ability to slow the pace of a minute and ripple my seconds so that I can breathe, listen, and let go - let go of my (the) self in a moment to experience the NOW - to let go of fear, to let go of the tears and pain I disguise by default, to let go of the noise and embrace my inner joy, to cuddle my gratitude, to understand serenity, to experience peace, breath, and a greater understanding of a tranquil moment. TODAY I KNOW there are many and I thank HIM for the ACCEPTANCE.

Breathe, listen: for NOW is a moment.

Destroy & Rebuild would like to introduce...

Hello Universe,

Destroy & Rebuild is excited to present to you a featured author...  

     She is life. She is an artist, a writer, and an experience.  I have asked her to join me in bringing to you different sides of the diamond, to share her stories, her thoughts, and her philosophies.  I’m honored to share this forum with her, as I am sure she will present - to the audience- a well of possibilities for all of us who choose to listen.  We live what we learn and we learn what we live, and she articulates this through her words and vision.

Without further ado, I am pleased to present to the audience of Destroy & Rebuild… ‘Z’.

Allow me to reintroduce myself…

     My non-formal introduction to the world… I am…I have become and I will always be 'Z'. Every day I am… a mother, a friend, a lover of life and most importantly… I am 'Z'.  My ‘was’ is always complex to speak about… my ‘was’ is multifaceted… my ‘was’, I am still working on…it is still being written. I guess it’s kind of complicated to live two lives at once; one is still healing while the other dwells in real time.

     My ‘was’ is very angry, lonely, hurt and confused… every day that God gives me breath, I work toward becoming a better 'Z'. Until I am able to be at peace with many things that have happened, I will not be strong enough to dream with certainty.

     History teaches us that people struggle with good and bad, which has been the case since the beginning of the human race. Once you become strong enough to live life with a heavier “good” load, life is easier to bear. Not to say that life is easy… things, your life obstacles and goals are easier to manage.  I don’t want to give you too many of my philosophies in advance, my goal is to give you my truth in hopes to help you understand that life is complicated but there is hope… there is a way and there is absolution.

     One day when I grow up, I would love to inspire people to dream with certainty. There is plenty to look forward to within a lifetime… I realize that now.  Even when things are dark, there is light, there is greatness to anticipate but there is a need for spiritual balance. I’ve recently implemented this in my real time life. When I dream now, there are lenses to adjust and allow me to see what is next… and to be honest, my dreams are beautiful now. 

Rt. #16 Bee-Line Bus Memoirs: The Elderly Woman and the Metal-Green Walker Pt. II

Rt. #16 Bee-Line Bus Memoirs: 

The Elderly Woman and the Metal-Green Walker Pt. II  

It was a rough day dealing with some customers with nasty attitudes that would rather I lose my job than read the back of their coupons.  It was rough because I was dealing with so many thoughts that day and they were running through my head all at once.  At home I had some things going on and was trying my best to cope with them all together.  A few weeks before that day, I had a car accident and totaled the car without hurting myself or anyone else, thankfully.  Only a week after the car accident I expected my father home from surgery and in good health.  Instead two days after having surgery in his left leg and after doctors told me he’d be better than ever with little or no extra nursing when he arrived home, I received a phone call at five o’clock the next morning.  The doctor said to me, “Mr. Claxton, your father was pronounced dead at 4:54 am this morning.”  He was 58 years old, and my little brother’s flight from California to New York landed 15 minutes after our father passed away.  I couldn’t get the picture of my father’s face tensed in pain with tubes stuffed down his throat out of my head.

    

     The day was longer than it seemed and I was ready to go home.  I was not in the mood to speak with anyone about anything.  I just wanted to get on the bus and get home as quietly and unbothered as I could.  I left my associates with a goodbye as I usually do, and they were unaware of all the things I was holding onto in my head and in my heart.  They said goodbye and told me to hurry so that I didn’t miss the bus, and hurry I did.  I ran up the stairs trying not to drop all that I had in my hands, and continued to the exit where the #16 Bus makes its last pick up at 9:50pm.

     The bus was already there but I was safe because there were people still boarding.  I walked over, boarded the bus, and I paid with my Metro Card.  As I picked up my head to scan the bus and figure out where it was I was gonna sit that night I saw Mrs. Holly sitting about three seats back from the front of the bus.  She had her metal green walker and many bags from different stores.  She smiled and said hello to me.  I smiled back and said, “Hello Mrs. Holly.”  She asked me, “You tired? You look tired? You’s a young boy why you look so tired?” With a slight smile I said to her that I was a bit tired and had some things on my mind.  I can remember trying to erase whatever it was I was thinking about that instant hoping she wouldn’t feel as if she were bothering me.  In my own way I was relieved she had noticed I was down.  It spoke to the attention she gave me, and her intuition.  I sat next to her.  After settling into my seat I looked at her and asked her in a low voice, “So what’s goin’ on with you Mrs. Holly?  I ain’t seen you in awhile.”  She sighed, looked around as if she didn’t want to share her story with the rest of the bus, looked at me and almost in a whisper she says to me, “I just came back from Syracuse.”  I asked her what she was doing up there, and what she was about to tell me next took me out of my head and into my heart.

    Mrs. Holly had just come back from Syracuse visiting her granddaughter and her great granddaughter.  She had been up in Syracuse in the hospital for the past two weeks.  Her granddaughter flipped the car eight times with Mrs. Holly in the passenger seat, her granddaughter driving, and her great granddaughter in the baby seat.  Her great granddaughter was only months old at the time. Mrs. Holly said it was amazing and God’s will that the baby never left the baby seat and didn’t have a scratch.  She was thankful she told me.  However, Mrs. Holly suffered some broken ribs, a broken wrist, and some more bumps and bruises to go with.  She said her neck and shoulder was burned from the seatbelt.  She said her granddaughter was fine but needed to wear a neck brace for a little while until her neck and back was better and healed from the accident.  I was in awe.  She let out a sarcastic laugh as if she couldn’t believe it herself.  She kept repeating to me that she couldn’t believe the baby didn’t have a scratch.  She repeated to me a few times, “Ain’t dat something, the baby didn’t have a scratch. I gots some broken ribs.  God bless her soul, ain’t dat something?”  I expressed how amazed I was that she was sitting and telling me the story only 2 weeks after the accident.  I asked her if she was in pain and Mrs. Holly explained to me that she was in a little bit of pain that day but it was no more than what she goes through on a regular basis.  I was confused.  I asked her what she meant by that and she told me that she has cancer. 

     She proceeds to tell me that she has cancer throughout her body.  She tells me that after the accident the cancer spread into her neck, back, and while she’s telling me she’s signaling to all the places the cancer has caused her grief and pain.  She can hardly move that well but still she tries to point down to her lower legs and feet.  She tells me that she gets cancer treatments weekly and that it makes her tired.  She said her bones hurt.  Again, I was in awe.  She said that she needed the treatment and it was the only thing keeping her alive, and it was the only thing killing her.  I was speechless.  I could see the discoloration of her skin and patches of brown wrinkled skin that were darker than other parts of her face.  She pointed to the patches and told me, “Look, you don’t see what its doin to me?”  She was so comfortable with telling me and so confident it seemed, I was struck by her strength and her will.  I told her I that I could see the patches on her skin.  Her hands were three times darker than parts of her face.  Also, I could see where the cancer treatment or the cancer itself had caused deformities to her in her lips.  It looked as if she had a fat lip on the left side of her mouth and one of her eyes was not as wide open and as beautiful as the other.  I said nothing and only listened. She continued to tell me about her hospital stays and how she had to wait to return home because the hospital in Syracuse would not release her until she was better.  Finally I said to her, “Mrs. Holly, how do you do it?”  She told me she didn’t know and that she had plenty things in life she dealt with before her cancer that were more painful.

      Immediately I asked her what could have been more painful than the cancer and the car accident.  She looked back at me and said losing my son.  I cringed as if the question should have never been asked.  She asked me if I remember her grandson, the big autistic man that entered the store time to time.  I told her that I did.  She said that his father – her son - committed suicide.  She told me that he shot himself while home one day.  She said to me, “He ain’t wanna live no mo’” She explained he was a good man and that she believed it was partly the reason her grandson was the way he is today.  She said her grandson didn’t say a word for years, and that she was the first person he ever spoke to after his father’s death.  He was in the house when his father took his own life.  She said that the mother was no good and abusive to her grandson and reassured me that when her son was alive he would stop the mother from abusing their son.  She said the boy, who was now a man, would not have been as troubled and quiet if her son had been around today.  She told me that her son would of never let that happen.  She expressed that she believes the wife was the reason her son took his life.  I passed no judgment and could only sense the tragedy she explained. 

    

     She told me how he did it.  Mrs. Holly was the one to find him after taking a potion of his head off with a shotgun.  All I could think was: how could a mother find her son in such a way? How could she cope with life herself after that?  She seemed to be at peace with it and explained that she loves her grandson who she cannot have a conversation with but cooks him pancakes because that is what he likes to eat, pancakes.  She explained that her grandson wouldn’t eat for months after the father took his life until Mrs. Holly started feeding him pancakes, and now that is all he will eat for the most part.  She told me that family and caretakers would call and complain to Mrs. Holly that her grandson would not talk and he would not eat, and that they refused to keep cooking him pancakes as she suggested.  They would tell her that it wasn’t any good for a little boy to eat pancakes all the time and that he could not survive on those alone.  The autistic man is now in his 40s and has lived on pancakes, bacon, and sometimes some eggs since he was a child thanks to Mrs. Holly.  The man is big too, not obese at all.  He is a big, tall, strong man, and not a being I would want to wrestle with honestly.  I sat, listened, and I was in awe.

     Mrs. Holly told me so much during the bus ride I couldn’t help but to think about her life and mine and think of all the blessings her and I were given.  She had a hard life.  She explained her aunt was 98 years old and still alive.  She said that her aunt often called her and told her to come visit.  She told me that her aunt was one of twenty children and the only one left.  Mrs. Holly explained that all twenty children came from the same man her grand mother’s first husband.  Mrs. Holly laughed when she told me her grandmother remarried after that.  She says to me, “Can you believe that?  Remarried after twenty children.”  I looked back at her shaking my head and laughed with her. I told her that it was beautiful having twenty children but it must have been hard.  Really, I couldn’t imagine.  Mrs. Holly explained that she was one of three children and that she had a good life, her and her sisters.  She explained that they were raised in the Carolinas and that she had to ring chicken’s necks when she was eight and let them dance until they were dead.  She laughed at the look on my face.  She said that her grandmother used to whoop her with a wet iron chord but that was not the worst of it.  She said that the worst part was how her grandmother used to hold them tight between her legs while she did it.  She expressed that holding her between her legs was worse than getting the wet iron cord: go figure.  She laughed again and expressed that she had a good life though when she thought about it.

     All I could think of was the pain and the hurt a person can endure in life and how amazing Mrs. Holly was to sit and share hers with me.  To sit and trust me with her story was a blessing in of itself.  She was/is a show of strength to me, and she is a reminder to remember the gifts that God has given me to the day.  She is a reminder of pain and happiness wrapped in a person and how the human soul can still be lit by sparks of spirituality.  She reminds me that complaining will get me nowhere, and that looking down on myself and self pity are sin. Mrs. Holly reminds me that feeling sick, is not a reason to be sick, and that being sick, is not a reason to feel sick.  She is a testament of strength.  How can I be as strong as she?  Will I ever have the courage and the will to carry on as she does every day?  She reminds me that prayer and gratitude will move my feet and fill my heart.  Quite honestly she said so much to me that day on the bus that I was moved in so many ways and touched beyond belief I tried my best not to tear and in front of her.  I was successful in that I did not cry outright, but inside I cried joy and pain for her like I haven’t in a long time.  Mrs. Holly is a person I will never forget as long as I live and will always hope to see again.  Knowing that her days are numbered I often worry about her and if I will not know when she has left us.  However I know that when she does leave the physical she will be in goods hands and she will look down on me and remember the talks we had.  She’ll remember the young man that listened, the young man that paid close attention, the young man that sat next to her on the #16 bus.

The Tragedy Of Love

Soon I will face the anniversary of tragedy.

It has it’s own way of waking me.

It shakes me by the shoulder, and the surprise is crushing.

Unexpected, the belief in it all, is impossibly simple.

Concisely confusing, it is brief in its form and non-comprehensive.

Seeming tangible but it is not.

A fading existence, trying to hold on to memories

Memories appear misty and become translucent.

With an eager eye as if it were a reaching hand, I look.

 With hopes to hold on to what is left of it all.

Let go and let HIM.

Let HIM hold onto the treasures that pain me.

Let HIM hold down the rising tides that rush my shores and salt my shell.

Let go and allow myself,

Allow myself to gain understanding so that he may grant me direction.

So that HE may lead me through the tragedy of LOVE and its clutches.

Falling To My Knees

I will not pretend. 

Falling to me knees is what I needed. 

Last night the word unmanageability was the subject of discussion.

Amongst (it) were other powerful words.

‘Unmanageable’ spoke to me as if it were a person in our circle. 

While others spoke, Unmanageable began to quiet itself. 

When I entered the room every thing was in order, so I thought.

Voices lead the way, I listened, and I listened some more.

The first voice spoke as if HE put the story in place for me to hear.

The voice spoke of relative misfortunes and shortcomings, I was familiar.

But so unfamiliar am I that I needed to understand, and I tried.

As time passed and the speaker continued, my emotions were not so becoming.

Becoming unmanageable they were.

I thought to myself.

I tucked deep down inside those tears and tried hard not to vomit feelings.

The speaker spoke, and while the speaker spoke to the circle, HE spoke to me.

HE tells me to listen and to share my feelings.

Now with two voices, one inside and the other out, I try to hear what is said.

I try hard to hear what is meant for me, I understand that I am beside support.

I am beside hearts.

Trust me or do not trust me the speaker says but DO TRUST HIM.

Trust in HIM that I may be thankful for waking today.

Thank HIM for allowing me to be conscious in my sleep.

The speaker was troubled by the words, warranted words.

Working doubly hard to not let the unmanageability of emotions take control of the podium.

A breath, and then silence.

Another breath, and more silence between words.

I looked on with great empathy.

HE was with me.

Good Morning Family and Friends: Puddles? - 10/9

Good morning to all my family friends and strangers (lol)

Puddles?

As many of you know I have some time off from work. In my time off I picked up my pen again, which is something I haven't done in over a decade.  I have so much to say, I see so much that I would like to communicate: OR, find out if anyone else has the same thoughts and visions.  My eagerness to learn has never died: however, my motivation was at a low. 

With that said - there are several people who may or may not use Facebook, and they are entitled to all their opinions.  However, I will say that YOU and others have been a great support factor for me here @/on Facebook.  

Often I speak to people who tell me they do not have the time, or they cannot deal with the nonsense that,"Facebook creates," it is childish, and they have more reasons why they do not have an account, will not start one, or has canceled the page.

Yes, I have some negative friends and, I too can be negative sometimes.  Some friends ask me why I am friends with someone like that, or some friends make comments that clearly explain our differences.  

Often I hear how people have cut others off, and it is my feeling that 9 out of 10 of these people are killing themselves with their disgust and hate for others, specifically because they are not perfect themselves and usually display a smidgen of the elements they are disgusted with and hate. It definitely takes a negative toll on me. I usually sit and listen and offer alternatives, and likely solutions: but we are all stubborn as human beings.  

So, I try not to avoid or disconnect with people on the strength of our beliefs not being in line with each other.  If I were to do such a thing, I would have nobody, I would stand alone/be alone.

There is not a soul on earth that is in complete agreement with my soul, so why would I expect any one person to be.  That is setting my self up for a major let down, which I have learned through experience. You are not me, I am not you, and we should expect to be different.

Differences in people are  like puddles on the sidewalk.

If I were to "walk around that puddle" every time that I was face to face with it, it would dictate my path now and - in some respect - my future.  This is NOT ME!  

There are times when I need to face the puddle and walk through it.  A Puddle is a puddle and that does not change. How we perceive the puddle will dictate how we approach and deal with it. 

Now, remember when we were kids and we used to stomp in puddles, walk through them only to be amazed that we were standing in water, sometimes we kicked the puddles randomly, or would kick the water playfully to wet a friend.  The fact was, we knew what the puddle was, we knew what could happen if we played with the puddle, walked through the puddle, kicked the puddle: whatever it was we knew what the consequences were: and, they were NOT ALL BAD.

Facebook and peoples feelings are a puddle.  Both are puddles you can walk around, sit face to face with, or avoid: it is a person's choice.  I'd much rather enjoy the puddle than walk around it.  WE ARE NOT TALKING ABOUT A  TSUNAMI!  In that case Facebook would be considered deadly.  

I am talking about a puddle, a small little forgotten element that as a child many of us have enjoyed. Now, as adults WE DON'T EVEN HAVE TO LOOK DOWN TO AVOID THEM: we just do.

Now, in our adult lives the puddle does not exist.  We walk around the puddle without even cherishing or giving credit to it for the laughs and the fun it provided in the past, which is still capable of providing the same entertainment today: however, we perceive the puddle to be a small, muddied mess, which if we encounter and engage will, dirty our brand new sneakers, get on a friend's skinny pants, make others look at us as if we were a child, and sometimes laugh at us.

Well, I am going to pay attention to the puddles I face and be sure not to avoid those that are not harmful.  I will be mindful and fair as to determining which are healthy puddles for me to play in and which are not.  I will keep in mind that my judgement is screened by my own blindness, and that is safe to confide and to listen to others in regard to my biases and contradictions. 

There are big puddles and small ones.  Have you had to walk around or through any puddles lately?

Peace.

Choicemas-

Rt. #16 Bee-Line Bus Memoirs: The Elderly Woman and the Metal-Green Walker Pt. I

Rt. #16 Bee-Line Bus Memoirs: 

The Elderly Woman and the Metal-Green Walker Pt. I

  I exit the automatic doors at the Mall and head towards the passenger depot to wait for the #16 Bus to Peekskill.  It’s 9:45pm and the mall closed only 15 minutes before.  The last bus to Peekskill leaves at 9:50pm.  My feet could use a rest, so immediately I approach one of two benches because it appears there is a place to sit. As I walk over to the bench I notice an elderly woman that has been coming into the Gap to shop for many years now: however, we lost touch because I was promoted to a higher volume store.  She was one of my favorites.

    Years ago – working at Gap in the mall, and an elderly woman slowly made her way into the store pushing her walker.  At first glance I was concerned for her because she was moving very carefully and slowly, and with so many bags.  It is not often that people her age are outside in public areas alone: I waited for minutes to see if someone would follow her or come looking for her in the store.  She had the kind of walker- it was like a three-in-one- metallic green walker, a shopping cart with basket, and a seat for a place to rest if she needed to.  She had miscellaneous bags, almost like a bag woman.  To me, it was obvious she was in her 80s if not early 90s.  Immediately I was attracted to her and the way she was looking around as if she were exploring the store for the first time: she seemed very aware of her surroundings.  In addition, I was attracted to her strength and courage: in fact, it was adorable.  So, I made my way over to her slowly as not to startle her, and she saw me coming.  She is basically hunched over because of the position she is in while pushing the walker, but even standing up she may be at most: four feet tall.

    She was wearing what many women at this age wear when they go walking or exercising: her, ‘active clothes’.  She donned a sweat suit, bottom and top matching, and best of all she sported a baseball cap.  She had small feet, and her shoes one could tell were special because they looked like shoes out of a cartoon- like two small balloons at the base of each leg.  As I approached her she looked directly into my eyes.  As I got closer I expected her to look away, or look around, but she did no such thing.  I continued to look back at her and smiled.  The less distance between us the more I liked about her, the more I could see what she was towing all by herself, and in close I could see all the places she had been in the day already because of the variety of different size shopping bags hanging from and rigged to her metal-green walker. 

    I said hello to her and told her that my name was Freddie: she smiled then, and gave rest to her serious face.  Her face did not appear angry, but it looked like she was focused, thinking, unapproachable for most people. It is a shame to say but I figured she would not get much attention form anyone so I chose to give her ALL of mine.

    Walking over to her, I said hello.  She did not smile, only looked back at me in silence. However, she smiled when I said, “My name is, “Freddie.” I immediately asked her if there was anything I could do for her, was there any way that I may help her, and she laughed a little laugh as if she was flattered by the attention or she was laughing at the over-the-top-vibrant style of customer service I provide: I believe at first, she took my hospitality for sarcasm, or not to be genuine.  So she was kind to bite her lip.

She responded with a smile and said, “Hello Freddie, I’m Holly.” 

Not being able to make out what she said I muttered, “Excuse me?”

    She said, “Your name Freddie?” as if she may have been annoyed by my lack of hearing- while I am nodding yes - she tells me again: “Well, my name ‘ Holly.”  She had a southern twist in her accent as if she moved to New York from down south or mid-west but never let go of the accent.  She reminded me of my gramma- my father’s mother.  My gramma is a beautiful African American woman who was raised in the Alabama-Tennessee area, and then moved north to New York with her uncle.

    I smiled and bowed my head gently, “Hello Ms. Holly, very nice to meet you.” She was impressed with my manners.  She asked me what sales were going on inside the store, which was a signal to me that she was very aware of what she was doing, able to communicate what she wants, and she is very capable.  After listing the sales going on within the store for her, she asks me where the sale section is.  She asks,

    “Where is the sale section young man?”  She adds, “Because sometime it’s over here and then sometimes it’s over there!” as she motions to different areas of the store.  I smiled in good measure and said to her, “C’mon Ms. Holly, it’s over here, and I’m a’ walk with you.”  Side by side we walked to the sale section and upon arrival she went straight to the racks.  I asked her if she needed help, and with her back to me shopping the rack, she told me she was fine.

    Watching her as she moved through the store I wondered who she was shopping for, was there anyone else with her at the mall, did she drive, how did she get here, I wondered why she was shopping at all, and where does she get the strength? Did she drive here?  Does she have family with her or around her?  Is she lonely?  I wondered about her life and experiences at first glance.  

    Long while entering the store, she finally made it to the cash wrap.  She puts three hats on the table that were price killed to $3, maybe even lower.  She explains to me that her grandson likes baseball caps, and that she likes the deals Gap stores have, and so she comes in to the Gap time to time to look at the sale rack. She made it clear to me that she only shops sale.

“That’s all I buy,” she tells me.  “Sale, that’s all I buy.”

    Ms. Holly frequented the store and we always greeted each other, and we talked to each other for minutes.  She wouldn’t say much but she would ALWAYS say hello.  She began to make her way to me when she entered the store and I did not see her.  She would always ask me how I was doing and I would tell her that I was okay.  There were times when she could read my face and my body language.  She would stop in her tracks pick her head up to look me directly in my face and Ms. Holly would ask me, “Are you alright?”  No matter what was going on I would always tell her yes, but all the times here senses were correct.

    Ms. Holly and I built a fine relationship as she continued to come into the Gap time to time.  There would be periods of time when I did not see her, and I would worry about her as she crossed my mind.  Most of all, I always worried whether or not she had someone or people that were around her, be there to help and assist her, family, or friends.  As she slowly pushed through into the store it would bring a smile to my face every time, and I began to tell my co-workers that she was my friend and who she was: a quiet celebrity. 

    One day Ms. Holly enters the store with a man who is almost a good 6 feet 8 inches tall to her 4 ft and few inches.  He trailed behind her closely and she did not look back as she walked in front of him.  Wherever she walked in the store, he followed.  As usual I walked directly to Ms. Holly to greet her and be sure she knew I was in the store: if she were to need anything.  As I approach I am sizing up the man and could see he was a young man or an extremely big boy.  I could see that his attention is all over the place, and it seemed as if he couldn’t stop moving: almost like an anxious child.  As I got closer Ms. Holly did not see me coming but he did.  He was two times my size in height and weight, and gave me a look that was so empty and curious that I was a bit intimidated, but of course kept my smile.  He watched me approach Ms. Holly as his attention shifted to her.  She turned and saw me coming and greeted me with her normal smile and hello.  After saying hello to her I said hello to the boy. He looked directly at me, his face did not budge, and he said nothing.  His face was stoic, as if life had left him, and he was about to take mine: the boy was huge.

    There was an awkward pause before Ms. Holly slipped in and explained to me that he was her grandson.  She told me don’t pay him much mind cause he don’t talk.  She didn’t mean for me to pay him no mind as a person, she meant for me not to be offended by his silence.  She explained to me that he was autistic, and it was her and her grandson’s day together, and that she gets one day a week with her grandson, and sometimes she likes to take him outside, “You know, outta da’ house!” she says to me.  Smiling back I tell her, “I understand, Ms. Holly.”  After shopping the two are leaving the store, and I was in awe.  It was pressing, this little elderly woman who I see taking care of herself, doing an amazing job of taking care of her grandson who is 4 times the size of her, and she was in total control with little worries.  My mind with the questions: How much more family does Ms. Holly have?  What else does she devote herself to?  What else does she endure? 

Things happen, and I am promoted out of the store and into a larger location downstate, about 2 ½ hours on the bus.  Ms. Holly and I had lost touch, I never knew if I would see her again, I didn’t know if she was still able to walk around and travel the way she did.  How long would her strength allow her to be her?  Low and behold one day I am walking through my new store and past the sales rack and who do I see Ms. Holly.  Immediately I say hello and she can see how excited I was and I was happy to see that she was also excited to see me.  It was a comforting feeling to know we were friends.  So, I asked her, “Watcha doin’ all the way down here Ms. Holly?”  Then I added, “You far away from home, aren’t you.”  She responded and told me that she needed to get away sometimes so she takes the bus all the way down state to escape, and that she sometimes has doctors appointments in the area.  We hugged, and I told her never to come in the store without asking for me so that I am sure she gets the treatment she deserves.  She assured me that she wouldn’t and she shopped that day, bought nothing, she left, and I never knew if I would see her again.

To be continued…