People

A Straight Line From Then To Now

/ James Browning

Going through a tattered trunk filled with old things dating back to my teen years I came across an old wallet.  Two things were inside:  a photo of my brother when he was about thirteen and a small much yellowed clipping.  I remember cutting the piece out of a Sunday newspaper “Parade” magazine and recall it was writing by a man in prison.

Why do we usually view the past as a straight line from then to now, yet view today as filled with uncertainty and chaos?  In time what makes us feel lost today will eventually be perceived as part of a future straight line view. Why can’t I have that future view now? 

It’s quite ironic I found that clipping in a wallet made by a convict.  In my formative years road maintenance, right of way mowing and trash pickup on state highways was done by trustee convicts.  These were not “chain gangs” like the movies where men are chained to each other.  All dressed in white except for their prisoner number on the back and front of their shirt and jacket, these men were free to do their work unencumbered by bindings.

In these prison work crews were usually six to ten men who were transported in the back of dump trucks.  One or two guards with side arms were present to keep track of the convicts. Usually these men were those imprisoned for nonviolent, lesser offenses and had little to gain from trying to escape beyond extending the time they had already been sentenced to.  That’s why they were called “trustees” and were men who appreciated being allowed out in the open.

The work these men did was patching potholes, putting up signs, picking up trash and driving tractors to mow the right of way.  Most appreciated the chance to work and do something meaningful.  I’m not sure of the amount but seems like that got a quarter an hour for their work or less than $3.00 per day.  Back then cigarettes were less than fifty cents a pack and so a few bucks was a lot for men who had so little.

My home Alabama county had nothing but two lanes roads until about ten years ago. In my early driving years the convict work crews would block a lane when doing work on the other side.  At each end of the work area a convict would have the job of directing traffic into the one open lane.  It never failed if you were stopped and had to wait the prisoner there would try to sell you leather goods they made.  Wallets handmade and tooled were small enough to carry in their pockets and pull out to sell.  The one I found in my old trunk was one of those:  navy blue dyed, thick leather with a tooled design all over one end.  There is no memory of what I paid the convict for it, but I remember clearly the man and joy on his face that I bought it.  Such happiness for just a few dollars for something so well made that had to have taken days.

Around lunchtime convict crews working within a few miles would come into the family store I worked at in my early teens.  This was back in the days when soft drinks almost all came in reusable bottles that were worth three cents to a bottler.  We paid two cents per bottle to anyone who brought them in.  The prisoners would frequently bring in bags (we called toe sacks) filled with bottles they picked up on the side of the road.  We paid two cents for each one to the convicts who always seemed respectful and polite.

Once observation that sticks with me yet today is almost all the men on the work crews were African-Americans.  As the years passed I connected the dots to realize that these men were being discriminated against, likely to a degree I can’t even imagine.  Yet, they were probably better off than some since they got to “work” on the “outside”.  I can’t imagine what went on with minority men who were viewed much more sternly.

Today I am grateful for several things learned seeing these prison work groups as a kid.  Between seeing these crews and visiting my Mom’s cousin in prison one time I gained a healthy respect for the law and the basic values I was taught.  Witnessing the appreciation of the convicts for being “free on the outside” helped me know I never, ever wanted to be locked up.  Seeing their appreciation for tiny, little things made an impression never to be forgotten. And my memory of the work crews is a vivid reminder of the discrimination that went on in the Deep South when I was growing up.  All those nameless men on the work crews taught me well by just by their presence.  I am grateful.  In return I tell their story here as a testament to the fact they lived.

Inside these walls
things look so gray.
But, the crimes I committed
are why I’m here today.

I keep my head up
and learn to cope.
Freedom will come again
and this gives me hope.

So many different people
with faults to accept.
Looking to God with a smile
is all I have left.

My life has been better
and I still have waters to wade.
I plan to make my life good;
Turn lemons to lemonade.

From “These Walls” by a prisoner identified only as C.S

How You Made Them Feel

/ James Browning

The story below has come into my email several times over the last ten years, yet it never fails to touch me in a positive way.  I hope it does the same for you.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
The Cab Ride

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I walked to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.   After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.  She kept thanking me for my kindness.. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her.. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated’.

‘Oh, you’re such a good boy’, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive through downtown?’

‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly.  ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice’.

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice.. ‘The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. ‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.  We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.  As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired. Let’s go now’.

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.  Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.  ‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked, reaching into her purse.  ‘Nothing,’ I said.

‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.  ‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.  ‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’  I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light… Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest o f that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments..

But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Reading again about the kindness in the story I am grateful to be reminded that people and love is all that really matters.

I’ve learned that people will forget what you said,
people will forget what you did,
but people will never forget how you made them feel.
Maya Angelou

To Go Somewhere Without Moving

/ James Browning

Pressed for time with the hour or so unavailable I usually spend on “Good Morning Gratitude” included here today are two favorite love letters. One by a man who was President written to a woman almost as well-known (President Ronald Reagan to Nancy Reagan); another by a woman known only by a single name (Maribella) to someone completely unknown. Open your heart and feel the love.

Letter #1

Dear First Lady,

I know tradition has it that on this morning I place cards Happy Anniversary cards on your breakfast tray. But things are somewhat mixed up. I substituted a gift & delivered it a few weeks ago.

Still this is the day; the day that marks 31 years of such happiness as comes to few men. I told you once that it was like an adolescent’s dream of what marriage should be like. That hasn’t changed.

You know I love the ranch but these last two days made it plain I only love it when you are there. Come to think of it that’s true of every place & every time. When you aren’t there I’m no place, just lost in time & space.

I more than love you; I’m not whole without you. You are life itself to me. When you are gone I’m waiting for you to return so I can start living again.

Happy Anniversary & thank you for 31 wonderful years. I love you.

Your Grateful Husband

Letter #2

Darling,

We have gone through many hard times together. We have been through the difficulties of our relationship and we even came to a point of almost losing each other because we got tired of each other’s weaknesses and shortcomings.

I thank God; we were able to make things right between the two of us. We learned how to deal our differences in a proper way. We learned to listen to each other and we became sensitive to each other’s needs.

Now look at the two of us, we are still here and getting stronger as time goes by. We are enjoying each other’s company and making each day special by showing our love and care in a very special way.

Sometimes, when I come to think of what we have been through before and how we have dealt our problems. I cannot help myself but to laugh at it because we were like children fighting over petty things and made it such a very big deal until it blown out of proportion.

However, I am very thankful ’cause we have grown so much. We have become more mature in handling our faults and our shortcomings. It would have been my greatest mistake if I did let you go and let go of our love.

I promise to continue to love you more each day.

Maribella

I am grateful for a mind that can conceive words together to express loving sentiment and the ability to write them down. I am thankful for the love letters of others who touch my heart, inspire my mind and remind me of the multifaceted angles of loving another.

To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere
without moving anything but your heart.
Phyllis Theroux

Thanks For Your Time

/ James Browning

A message was in my email this morning from a dear friend I have known for 35 years.  Even though we have not lived in the same city for close to 30 years we have used phone calls, emails and occasional visits to keep our friendship intact.  Bob spent decades working in the entertainment industry including some years as road manager for John Mellencamp.  This morning he sent me a story I have seen many times and while I always found it meaningful, this is the first time it had a dinsinctively personal meaning to me. 

James, my friend Bob’s son, has followed in his father’s footsteps and works as a sound technician for a major country act called Lady Antebellum.  Bob sent the story below as thanks to me for spending time with his son.  The tour James works on was in town rehearsing and performing at our big arena.  Like his Father, James is a good man and I am proud to have known him he was born. 

Over the phone, his mother told him, “Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday.” Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.  “Jack, did you hear me?” 

“Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It’s been so long since I thought of him. I’m sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago,” Jack said. 

“Well, he didn’t forget you. Every time I saw him he’d ask how you were doing. He’d reminisce about the many days you spent over ‘his side of the fence’ as he put it,” Mom told him.  “I loved that old house he lived in,” Jack said.

“You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man’s influence in your life,” she said.  “He’s the one who taught me carpentry,” he said. “I wouldn’t be in this business if it weren’t for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important. Mom, I’ll be there for the funeral,” Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser’s funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.

The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped to see the old house next door; one more time.  Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house was
exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories; every picture, every piece of furniture. Jack stopped suddenly.  “What’s wrong, Jack?” his Mom asked. 

“The box is gone,” he said

“What box?” Mom asked.

“There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he’d ever tell me was ‘the thing I value most” Jack said.  It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it,
except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.

“Now I’ll never know what was so valuable to him,” Jack said. “I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom.”

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. “Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days,” the note read. Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the sender caught his attention:  Mr. Harold Belser.

Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack’s hands shook as he read the note inside. “Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett.  It’s the thing I valued most in my life.” A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch.

Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved: “Jack Thanks for your time! Harold Belser.”

Joe immediately thought “The thing he valued most was… my time!”  He held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days. “Why?” Janet, his assistant asked. “I need some time to spend with my son,” he said.

There is a story I tell sometimes about a man named Bill who encouraged me to pursue my profession when I was eighteen.  He told me I had real talent for the business and there was a bright future ahead if I would work hard.  When our paths crossed twenty years later he remembered me well, but when I thanked him for his encouragement he had no memory of saying those things to me. 

Each of us never knows when what we do or say will have a big impact on another person.  I am grateful for Bob’s note today that reminds me how each of us affects others.  My awareness is increased to do my best to make the impact I have on people always a positive thing.

Act as if what you do makes a difference.  It does.
William James

What is Most Precious

/ James Browning

Right Now –
-somebody is very proud of you.
-somebody is thinking of you.
-somebody is caring about you.
-somebody misses you.
-somebody wants to talk to you.
-somebody wants to be with you.
-somebody hopes you aren’t in trouble.
-somebody is thankful for the support you have provided.
-somebody wants to hold your hand.
-somebody hopes everything turns out all right.
-somebody wants you to be happy.
-somebody wants you to find him/her.
-somebody is celebrating your successes.
-somebody wants to give you a gift.
-somebody thinks that you ARE a gift.
-somebody hopes you’re not too cold, or too hot
-somebody wants to hug you.
-somebody loves you.
-somebody admires your strength.
-somebody is thinking of you and smiling.
-somebody wants to be your shoulder to cry on.
-somebody wants to go out with you and have a lot of fun.
-somebody thinks the world of you.
-somebody wants to protect you.
-somebody would do anything for you.
-somebody wants to be forgiven.
-somebody is grateful for your forgiveness.
-somebody wants to laugh with you.
-somebody remembers you and wishes that you were there.
-somebody is praising God for you.
-somebody needs to know that your love is unconditional.
-somebody values your advice.
-somebody wants to tell you how much they care.
-somebody wants to share their dreams with you.
-somebody wants to hold you in their arms.
-somebody wants YOU to hold them in your arms.
-somebody treasures your spirit.
-somebody wishes they could STOP time because of you.
-somebody praises God for your friendship and love.
-somebody can’t wait to see you.
-somebody loves you for who you are.
-somebody loves the way you make them feel.
-somebody wants to be with you.
-somebody wants you to know they are there for you.
-somebody’s glad that you’re his/her friend.
-somebody wants to be your friend.
-somebody stayed up all night thinking about you.
-somebody is alive because of you.
-somebody is wishing that you noticed him/her.
-somebody wants to get to know you better.
-somebody wants to be near you.
-somebody misses your advice/guidance.
-somebody has faith in you.
-somebody trusts you.
-somebody needs you to send them this letter
-somebody needs your support.
-somebody needs you to have faith in them.
-somebody will cry when they read this.
-somebody needs you to let them be your friend.
-somebody hears a song that reminds them of you.

Sometimes…
-when I feel like I don’t matter.
-when being alone is hard to bear.
-when sadness over takes me. 
-when I am wondering if anyone cares.
-when depression comes to visit.
-when my inner light is flickering.
-when I feel “less than” or incomplete.
-when the day is hard to bear.
and when the night is even harder….

……..I read the first list above.  Almost always there is a positive shift in my spirit, of nourishment being added to my heart and of my thoughts refocusing toward what I am grateful for.  Then I am filled with gratitude for what is most precious to me:  those I care about and those who care about me!

The purpose of life is not to be happy – but to matter,
to be productive, to be useful, to have it make some difference
that you have lived at all.
Leo Rosten

A Music Bath Once or Twice a Week

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

Sold out show.
Ear plugs very necessary.
Lots of twenty-something’s.
Piercing and tats on parade.
Loud, very loud and even louder.
Some probably not more than 15.
More girls and women than boys and men.
Well over a thousand people grooving together.
Bass so deep it made coins in my pocket vibrate.
Twirling lightsticks and bodies moving rhythmically.
The floor bobbing up and down with the steady beat.
Some stripped to bare minimum due to sweat from dancing.
Melodic patterns of cool electronic music and dazzling lights.
DJ Excision in concert at Cain’s Ballroom, 2/21/2012 Tulsa,Oklahoma

Music of any sort can tie people of any age together.  When its good enough to make the listeners’ bodies move without thought how old one is does not exist.  Fifteen and fifty year olds have at such a moment more in common than probably at most any other time.  And there I was last night with my almost thirty year old son listening to a “famous for the moment” electronic Disc Jockey who calls himself “Excision”.  The two of us and a mass of a thousand or so were moving to the beat systematically in mass almost like one giant heart beating;  a cool experience!

I am grateful to work in a profession directly related to music and to have been involved up close with concerts and the artists for over three decades.  Music has kept me young in spirit.  There is no issue with me having a conversation with an eighteen year old about music and finding we likely have a good bit in common about what we like musically.  Likewise, talking to a peer who lived during the classic rock from the 70’s there is no problem finding commonalities in what we liked.  Any anywhere in between is the same and it’s also true across genres of music as well.

I truly am lucky to be living a life that can put me comfortably with those my age and at the same time with those young enough to be my grandchildren.  Being by far the oldest person at some shows on a regular basis I am amused by the looks I get.  Some make eye contact and gesture in a way that says “It’s awesome that someone your age is here”.   Of course, once in a while at a concert I find myself looking back at a young’un whose expression expresses clearly their surprise seeming to say “what are you doing here?  Are you lost?”  I just smile and think to myself, I hope you stay contemporary enough to do what I doing and enjoy yourself one day like I am tonight.

Without counting, all I can do is guess at the number but I believe there are tickets for seven or eight concerts and shows clipped on my fridge.   Some people watch lots of TV.  Some spend time playing video games.  Others give ample spare time to playing or watching sports.  Hobbies soak up time available for some folks.  Other than being with those I care about for me its music, music, music and books, books, books that the majority of my spare time is given to (movies too).  My parents always had records or the radio going from the time I can remember and there are pickers, players and singers scattered around my family.  My music interest may well come from genetics even more than my formative environment.  Where ever it comes from, I am blessed to be able to “feel” and enjoy music as much as I do.  Some time back while living for close to a year outside the country with few personal belongings other than clothes I found I really missed only two things:  my books and my music.

This morning I am grateful to have a grown son who still likes to visit his Dad frequently.  We have much the same tastes in music and there is no one’s company I enjoy more.  Much thankfulness is within for my love of music and for it to be a common ground with my boy!

Take a music bath once or twice a week for a few seasons.
You will find it is to the soul what a water bath is to the body.
Oliver Wendell Holmes

It’s Harder to Ignore It

/ James Browning

Dear Dad,

The last time we spoke I was very angry at you and my feelings were not misplaced.  You needed to hear what I had to say.  At the time there is no way to have known we would never speak again.

Here in late middle age I am making peace with the emotional injuries of childhood including you leaving on my seventh birthday.  I don’t hold that against now.  How complicated adult life actually is has been taught to me the hard way.  Having made some weighty mistakes that are now deeply regretted, I comprehend better why you shed tears and spoke “I’m so sorry’s” during my visits as a grown man.  You never did anything intentionally to hurt me.  I know that.  Rather you were lost in your dysfunctions, delusions and “junk” from childhood.  I’m don’t think you ever even thought there were anything wrong with you nor ever saw those primary causes of the chaos and unhappiness of your life.

In childhood you were hurt and damaged. That is a good bit of what led you to behave as you did as an adult. Your mother abandoned you at seven when you and a younger brother were left with a middle-aged and bitter father who knew nothing about raising children.  From stories told it is easy to see he too was emotionally injured from his own formative years.  My suspicion is his father was an emotional mess too as was his father before him and so on.  There is no way of knowing how far back the dysfunctions have been passed from generation to generation are rooted.

I will never think of you as a bad man, but will always know you were a weak one.  You spent all your life running away from yourself, but like your shadow in daylight that was always present, you were unable to outrun your childhood baggage.  You tried the cure of money and found it fixed little to nothing.  Actually it probably helped you become more deeply enmeshed in your dysfunctional behavior.  All the marriages and the parade of women in your life at best only temporarily relieved your pain.  The pursuit of fame and burning desire to have “famous friends” did nothing but fuel what was already wrong.

Then came alcohol abuse followed by drugs I believe you took up to look cool to the younger women you pursued.  Somehow dating women young enough not just to be your daughter, but in some cases you granddaughter gave you a temporary false sense of being younger.  The twenty-something women were just another of another substance of choice to numb what hurt inside you.

I wish there was more pride in me for the person you were.  Instead there is memory of a man I loved in spite of his mistakes, flaws, dysfunctions and injurious behavior to himself and others.  Never was there ever any real happiness in your life.  How constantly you kicked away chances at contentment was never something you realized.  It makes me sad when I think of how tormented your life was.  You never knew your place which makes me all the more grateful I am down the road a good way in knowing mine.

Although there was no contact between us during the last year and a half of your life, I am glad you ended up in rehab.  While that was not your choice and the legal system put you there, sobriety did find you.  Staying straight and living humbly the last eighteen months of your life is something I am proud you accomplished.  You faced the most difficult person to face:  yourself, and made at least a temporary peace.

This May twenty years ago you died of a heart attack at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at the end of taking a turn sharing about your journey.  To know you made a difference in other lives, if even small ones, gives me something to be proud of you for.  I doubt long-term you could have stayed sober, but that is irrelevant now.  What does matter is your last days were spent trying to face your demons and walking a path of sobriety.  I will always be grateful for that.

Love always,

Your son

All the times that I cried,
Keeping all the things I knew inside,
It’s hard, but it’s harder to ignore it.
From Cat Steven’s song “Father and Son”

To Love More and Be Happy

/ James Browning / 3 Comments

A company business trip took me to the Florida for most of the week.  The trip was completed with a stop in Alabama to visit family for a couple of nights.  As much as I no longer find business travel to be enjoyable, the first part of the trip was more than a fair trade-off  to see my Brother, his wife and my niece.

Arriving home late yesterday afternoon I was near a walking zombie.  The meetings of the week started early and the evening dinners went late.  Arriving home my state was near exhaustion.  Too tired to unpack and too wired to go to bed at 7pm, I turned on the cable box to find something interesting to unwind and decompress with.  I ended up on pay-per-view stumbling across a documentary called “I Am” by Tom Shadyac who directed movie comedies such as “Ace Ventura:  Pet Detective” “Patch Adams” and “The Nutty Professor”.

For some people there are events that happen which are deeply life changing.  For Shadyac it was post-concussion syndrome after a 2007 bicycle accident in Virginia.  A 2011 New York Times article stated that: the symptoms of a concussion (didn’t) go away. Something as simple as a trip to the grocery store was painful for Shadyac, whose brain was unable to filter various stimuli. After medical treatments failed to help, he isolated himself completely, sleeping in his closet and walling the windows of his mobile home with black-out curtains. As his symptoms finally began to subside, the director wanted to share his inner quest in the way he knew best: through film. 

Shadyac gave away much of his fortune mostly through donations to worthy causes.  He reoriented and simplified his life, sold his 17,000-square-foot home and moved into a trailer park in Malibu.  Some think he “lost it” but after watching his documentary I think his experience enabled him to “get it”!

In the film, Shadyac does interviews with scientists, religious leaders, environmentalists, and philosophers focusing on two questions:   “What’s Wrong With the World?” and “What Can We Do About it?”  The documentary is about “human connectedness, happiness, and the human spirit” and explores the nature of humanity and our world’s ever-growing addiction to materialism.  In the trailer for the film Shadyac says he went looking for what was wrong with the world and found instead a lot of what was right about it.

Although some reviewers have not thought kindly of Shadyac’s documentary, I was moved to tears by what I saw and heard.  I don’t think he worries much about what others think as Tom Shadyac has found his own personal truth, something most people never even brush up against, much less tell the whole world about.  As the centuries-old wisdom in the “I Ching” says before a brilliant person begins something great, they must look foolish in the crowd.

Here’s are some of Tom Shadyac’s favorite quotes that shed light on his point of view and that of the documentary:  

“…Our life might be much easier and simpler than we make it…Why need you choose so painfully your place, and occupation…? Place yourself in the middle of the stream of power and wisdom which animates all whom it floats, and you are without effort impelled to truth, to right and a perfect contentment.”

“Study to overcome that in yourself which disturbs you most in others.”

“We don’t see things as they are. We see them as we are.”

“When we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

The final essence I am left with now some twelve hours after seeing Tom Shadyac’s “I Am” documentary is my life is better when I am guided more by my heart than my mind.  Within my feelings are the strongest and truest connections to my most authentic self.  I have known for a good while my mind spins falsehood and fabrication with regularity, but my heart rarely does.  The key for me is to tune out my egoic mind’s loud and constant talking when I can in order to hear and feel the soft voice of my heart.  While my practice of that wisdom is far from perfect, my gratitude is large to simply have knowledge of it.  I get better at living it every day. 

link to film website and trailer for “I Am”

When all your desires are distilled
You will cast just two votes
To love more
And be happy.
Hafiz

Poetry of the Senses

/ James Browning

A dozen and a half thoughts about love:

1. It hurts to love someone and not be loved in return. But what is more painful is to love someone and never find the courage to let that person know how you feel, and then regret it.

2. Maybe God wants us to meet a few wrong people before meeting the right one so that when we finally meet the right person, we will know how to be grateful for that gift.

3. Love is when you take away the feeling, the passion, and the romance in a relationship and find out that you still care for that person.

4. A sad thing in life is, you meet someone who means a lot to you, only to find out in the end that it was never meant to be, and you just have to let go.

5. When the door of happiness closes, another opens. But often at times we look so long at the closed-door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.

6. It is true that we do not know what we have until we lose it, but it is also true that we do not know what we have been missing until it arrives.

7. Giving someone all your love is never an assurance that they will love you back. Do not expect love in return; just wait for it to grow in their heart. But if it does not, be content that it grew in yours.

8. There are things you would love to hear that you would never hear from the person whom you would like to hear them from; but do not be so deaf as not to hear it from the one who says it from the heart.

9. Never say goodbye if you still want to try. Never give up if you still feel you can go on. Never say you do not love a person anymore if you cannot let go.

10. Love comes to those who still hope although they have been disappointed, to those who still believe although they have been betrayed, to those who still love although they have been hurt before.

11. It takes only a minute to get a crush on someone, an hour to like someone, and a day to love someone. But it takes a lifetime to forget someone.

12. Do not go for looks; they can deceive. Do not go for wealth; even that fades away. Go for someone who makes you smile, because it takes only a smile to make a dark day seem bright.

13. There are moments in life when you miss someone so much that you just want to pick them from your dreams and hug them for real!

14. The beginning of love is to let those we love just be themselves and not twist them with our own image. Otherwise, we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them.

15. Happiness lies for those who cry, those who hurt, those who have searched, and those who have tried; for only they can appreciate the importance of people who have touched their lives.

16. Love begins with a smile, grows with a kiss, and ends with a tear.

17. The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past. You can’t go on well in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.

18. When you were born, you were crying, and everyone around you was smiling. Live your life so that when you die, you’re the one who is smiling, and everyone around you is crying.

I am grateful for eyes that see, a mouth that tastes, ears that hear, a nose that smells, and fingers that touch.  But more of all I am grateful for a heart that loves.

Love is the poetry of the senses.
Honoré de Balzac

Two Eyes on the Same Side of the Nose

/ James Browning

For several weeks my job has had me working on a financial project that hasrequired being sharply focued for hours and hour on spreadsheets.  Last week I needed a mental “breather” and took my lunch break to stop by my favorite used book store. 

This particular used book store is quite large.  It has more books that any chain store I’ve ever been in and fills an entire old strip center.  My time there is usually spent in browsing sections I have the most interest in:  psychology, self-help, poetry, philosophy, new-age and health aisles.   There’s even a particular pattern I follow that is the most efficient way to check my favorite sections for anything new that may have come in since my last visit.  Most often poetry is the last section checked as within my loop it’s the final stop before the register and front door. 

This past Wednesday it was near 2pm when I neared in that last aisle.  The small poetry section is located at the very back of walkway created by long flanking shelves of children’s book’s on the right and left.  On the floor just in front of the poetry shelves was a thirty-something man sitting on the floor reading to a little boy about five years old sitting in his lap.  From the way the kindergartener looked at the adult I surmised what was in my view was father and son.  My mind floated to a past memory of my son as a youngster as I watched and listened.

Standing a dozen feet away for about a minute before the father noticed me, I was the chance voyeur of a sweet moment shared between the him and his son.  Overhearing the words being read I identified them as familiar, but from a source not immediately known. 

I sent a message to the fish:
I told them “This is what I wish.”
The little fishes of the sea,
They sent an answer back to me.
The little fishes’ answer was
“We cannot do it, Sir, because-“

It was right after I heard “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” said Alice.  “It gets easier further on,'” Humpty Dumpty replied that I knew the words were from “Through the Looking Glass…”, Lewis Carroll’s follow-up to “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”.  The small boy looked at the book, then to the reader’s face and then up to me and back down on the book.  The father continued. 

I sent to them again to say
“It will be better to obey.”
The fishes answered, with a grin,
“Why, what a temper you are in!”
I told them once, I told them twice:
They would not listen to advice.

I’m smiling enjoying what I am seeing and hearing.  At that point the little guy is looking directly at me with a somewhat serious look as if I am somewhere I am not supposed to be.  At that moment I believe he was convinced the real estate of that particular aisle was fully owned by him and his father.  He looked back at the book as the reading continued. 

I took a kettle large and new,
Fit for the deed I had to do.
My heart went hop, my heart went thump:
I filled the kettle at the pump. 

The young boy pulled on the shirt sleeve on the arm around him.  His father first looked at him and then up at me.  I quickly said “don’t mind me, I was just eavesdropping”.  I would have preferred the reading to continue.  The thought occurred I should leave and let them be but before I could the dad said “excuse us” and he moved to get up to make way for me in the aisle.  I pointed to a bench about 15 feet away and said something like “I’m sorry for interrupting you guys.  Maybe you’ll be more comfortable over there.” 

I browsed the poetry section quickly and found nothing new as I strained to hear the continued reading now from the bench out of ear shot.  As I walked by them and toward the front door the last thought I made out being read was one of Humpty Dumpty suggesting two eyes on the same side of the nose.  That line made the little boy laugh the cutest little laugh.  

Always I will remember father and son sitting on the floor sharing Alice’s Wonderland adventures.  Seeing them brought back memories of my almost thirty year old son as a child sitting in my lap while I read to him.  I found the needed mental decompression I needed when a just-made memory connected with an old one, increasing the value of both.  What a delightful experience!   I am very grateful for it.  There is so much life and joy to be found when I will just stop and notice it. 

Pleasure is the flower that passes;
remembrance, the lasting perfume.
Jean de Boufflers