Sticks and Stones... and Words

We have all said things aloud that either endear us to others or serve to cause doubt, pain and confusion. Maybe we don't know what we're talking about, and sometimes we ignore the "think before you speak" adage and utter things we wish we could take back once they've been released, but the impact of words - spoken and written - is quite powerful and cannot be underestimated.

The Free Dictionary offers this definition:

word

n.

1. A sound or a combination of sounds, or its representation in writing 

or printing, that symbolizes and communicates a meaning and may 

consist of a single morpheme or of a combination of morphemes.

2.

a. Something said; an utterance, remark, or comment: May I say a word about that?

b. A command or direction; an order: gave the word to retreat.

c. An assurance or promise; sworn intention: She has kept her word.

d. A verbal signal; a password or watchword.

3. words

a. Discourse or talk; speech: Actions speak louder than words.

b. Music The text of a vocal composition; lyrics.

c. Hostile or angry remarks made back and forth.

4.

a. News: Any word on your promotion?

b. Rumor: Word has it they're divorcing.

the power of love - tjbg - 2016 - using the Silk app

Words are bandied about so freely today - meaningful words, truthful words, deceptive words - on TV, on the radio, in magazines and on social media, and I for one feel so constantly bombarded by the words of others - fueled by ignorance and prejudice, carrying negativity and hidden agendas - that I can no longer turn away from my responsibility to say, simply, "WHAT?" or "I BEG TO DIFFER..." or "LET'S RESEARCH THAT!"

Luke Skywalker: I don't understand how we got by those troops. I thought we were dead.
Obi wan Kenobi: The Force can have a strong influence on the weak-minded.

While some of us are able to express ourselves through the fine arts, most of us rely on words to share our feelings and ideas. Love letters... Books... Graphic novels... Poems... Eulogies... People who cannot express themselves in any positive, constructive way are, in my opinion, emotionally handicapped and trapped in a dark personal hell; a shuttered, shattered world of their own making. 

hearts around the world - tjbg - 2016 - using the Silk app

It makes me want to open a window and let a little light in for them and, if they wish, they can leave it open and breathe some fresh air or close it if they think the air is poisonous and not suitable for their gasping lungs. Not that I know so much, or that I'm right about everything, but I choose to have an open mind and a willingness to learn something new... as long as it is the truth. 

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Excerpt from the poem by Dylan Thomas (copyright poets.org)
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/do-not-go-gentle-good-night

peaceflower - tjbg - 2016 - using the Silk app

Please, let us not go gentle into that good night... We must rage, rage against the dying of the light.

A Simple Plan

A couple of days have passed since the national election and when I look outside everything looks the same: the trees, some still clinging to their red and yellow leaves that flutter and fall, thanks to a brisk breeze; the sky, blue today, lit by the same golden glow of the sun; the birds, still singing and foraging for food, waiting for me to put more seed out for them; and the hope that today I'll accomplish a few simple goals, like paring down my burdensome clutter, paying a few bills, writing words to heal my soul (besides this blog post), crafting and photographing new jewelry for the Etsy shop, and making time to meditate.

But the world also feels different now... There are things that make me a bit uncomfortable and sad... My mother is no longer alive, we have a new president who worries me, and there is a lot of unrest in the world. Yesterday I saw a Facebook meme that compared two dates: 9/11 and 11/9, calling them the two worst days in America. I wonder...

I realize I don't have much control over any of these things, so all I can do is work on how I feel about them and do what I can to help those less fortunate than myself. And the best way to do that is to write, to create, to process my grief and to let my humanity evolve in a positive way.

The wise Tibetan master, Djwal Khul, said: "At the center of a great tornado is a point of peace... And thus it is with all the storms of life. They lead to peace if you are not a leaf."

And James Allen, in his book As A Man Thinketh, wrote: "Circumstance does not make the man; it reveals him to himself... A particular train of thought persisted in, be it good or bad, cannot fail to produce its results on the character and the circumstances. A man cannot directly choose his circumstances but he can choose his thoughts, and so indirectly, yet surely, shape his circumstances."

There's also this:
"Be not in any way discouraged... if you find the upward way stiff and hard to climb. You are in good company and are not alone." 
D. K.
"Be not afraid of loneliness. The soul that cannot stand alone has naught to give." 
D. K.

 

These words must sustain and guide me as I move forward and try to work toward the best possible outcome for myself and what tiny bit of the world I am connected to. I wish the same for you as well.

That Mother O' Mine

The longer we live, the more we know about death and dying. With each departure, there are new lessons to learn that seem to replace everything you thought you already knew on the subject. Since the age of 20, I've lost my fair share of friends, family members and beloved pets due to illness, traffic accidents and old age. It's something that's shaped and altered my views on life again and again.

Intellectually, I understand that death is a part of life, but when you want to hear their voice or hold their hand and you can't, you just want to turn out the lights, assume the fetal position and cry for hours. And that's okay. Then you have to get up and get things done, whether you're ready or not. In other words, you have to keep on growing up.

My wonderful mother, Winifred, passed away this year, in July - she was 95 years old but, as I kept reminding her, the expiration date on her renewed license fell on her 100th birthday, so I half-expected her to stay with us five more years - and now my brother and I are finally orphans. It's a bitter pill to take.

Here is a heavily edited version of the obituary I wrote for her. It's just the tip of the iceberg that was my mother's life force, which is why I'm attempting to write a book - part memoir, part novel - using excerpts from her journals and my own observations about her and how she impacted our lives. She was the glue that kept us together, and I am lucky to have had her in my life for so long.

Winnie was born and raised in rural Kentucky, experiencing hardship during the Great Depression as an only child and, later on, enjoying the simple comforts of living in a small town.

She earned her teaching degree in Physical Education at a college in her home town before joining the U.S. Navy in 1944 and becoming a WAVE, where she taught English to international naval units - specifically Russian and Chinese sailors - a duty she gladly performed and truly enjoyed.

In 1946, Winnie married the first love of her life, Joel, a talented artist and wartime photographer with the Army Air Corps, and the two shared many adventures in the mountains near Spokane, Wash. and the mansions of Hollywood, Calif. before moving to Sarasota, Fla., where they both attended art school. Dad studied commercial art, while Mom took courses in interior design.

She taught Physical Education for three decades in Florida, returning to her alma mater in Kentucky for her Master’s Degree in Education (that took three full, glorious summers and my brother and I went with her) and taking part in Central Florida’s landmark teachers’ strike in 1968 (the nation’s first) promoting better education for students and better wages for educators.

Her first 25-year marriage ended in divorce and was followed by a second 25-year marriage to A.J., a retired Air Force Major and fun-loving Cajun. She was predeceased by both of them.

Winnie was funny and feisty, and she will be lovingly remembered and greatly missed by her family, former students and steadfast friends.

But the mourning never stops - or, rather, it comes and goes, returning again and again - and I obsessively wonder if the outcome would have been the same if I had done things any differently... It's a constant seesaw of justification and rationalization, and I must go through it to get to where I need to be.

So, I am left with no other recourse than to grieve my mother's passing and honor her life by writing about it as a way to heal my shattered soul. She will live on in my memory and my words, and I hope her children continue to make her proud.

Her grave marker reads: US Navy World War II - Caring Mother Teacher Friend

Happy Trails, mother o' mine, my mother o' mine...