Wisdom

Sweeter Than Donuts

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

Krispy Crème Donut locations were a fixture in Alabama when I was growing up.  The donuts could only be found fresh in larger cities like Birmingham.  The tasty treats were also sold packaged in rural grocery stores where we were able to buy them on a semi-regular basis.  I had my first one before I can even remember.

There is one Krispy Crème location in the city where I live now and yesterday after a visit to a nearby home store I decided to indulge myself.  The first bite every time of a Krispy Crème donut always takes me back to my growing up years and yesterday was no different … at first.

As I sat eating slowly and enjoying my coffee and donut, in came two young women in their early 20’s I would guess, each pushing someone younger in a wheel chair followed by another in their care who was physically the size of a young teenager.  The caretakers were smiling as they put Kristy Crème baker hats on each one in their charge.  The smiles on the faces of the hat wearers were joyful from ear to ear.

As I watched the scene it became obvious that the two in wheel chairs and the 3rd follower were victims of Cerebral Palsy or some condition of that sort.  Even the boy in the wheel chair whose speech was composed of only varying types of grunts was having no problem expressing his happiness at that moment.  As much of a positive impact the impaired ones made on me, the care takers demeanor was even more impressive.  They both were beaming genuine smiles from their faces as they interacted and attended to the three in their charge.  It was evident their expressions were honest, real and unaffected by all those who stared at their little human caravan.

Watching the keepers buy donuts and milk for those in their care, I noticed the caretakers did not buy anything for themselves.  Instead their time was spent helping the others who’s drinking and eating was not something two of the three could do completely alone.  I suppose I could do what the custodians were doing, but in my heart I know I could not do it with the joy and unaffected caring the caretakers exhibited.  Getting real with one’s self with a thought like that is humbling.

My experience at Kristy Crème yesterday was the catalyst for recognizing a number of things I am grateful for.  I am thankful there are people like the young caretakers who those they were taking care of depend on for their very survival.  There is gratitude within that my son, members of my family and those I care about are healthy and do not need a caretaker to survive.  I am thankful to have seen the joy and just plain fun those being cared for showed.  Their reactions to being at Krispy Crème appeared to be akin to taking some great and rare adventure.  I am grateful for the patience and kindness the Krispy Crème employees showed the traveling troop.  And I am thankful for the reminder to count my blessings.

I am reminded of the lyrics of a country song by Mark Wills:  Don’t laugh at me, don’t call me names, Don’t get your pleasure from my pain, In God’s eyes we’re all the same.

And for the young caretakers, I found these lines I dedicate to them.

Blessed are you that never bids us “hurry up” and more blessed
are you that do not snatch our tasks from our hands to do them
for us, for often we need time rather than help.

Blessed are you who take time to listen to defective speech,
for you help us to know that if we persevere, we can be understood.

Blessed are you who walk with us in public places and ignore the
stares of strangers, for in your companionship we find havens of
relaxation.

Blessed are those who forget my disability of the body and see the
shape of my soul.

Blessed are those who see me as a whole person, unique and complete,
and not as a “half” and one of God’s mistakes.

I have come to believe that the emotions and sometime tears that sometimes come when I write this blog each day are some of life’s greatest gifts to date. I am so very grateful for the ability to feel so deeply.

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.  Thornton Wilder

Sustenance From Gratitude

/ James Browning

Since beginning this blog and the morning ritual of expressing my gratitude each day, my life has changed.  And it has changed remarkably for the better.  I am stunned by the effect on my life of an activity that appears so simple and one I thought I was already fairly consistent with.  What an eye opener this new journey is.

One of my very first thoughts in the morning, usually climbing out of bed, is “what am I most grateful for today” or “what am I going to write about today”.  This thinking is not compulsive nor does it feel like an obligatory task.  Rather, I look forward to it the way birds must anticipate embracing sunshine or the earth looks forward to rain.  I grow a little each day and become healthier from this simple expression of gratitude each day.

Near the start my thinking was it would be difficult to come up with a gratitude subject to write about each day.  How wrong I was!  It seems the more thanks I express, the more I find to be thankful for.  Here on my desk is a list of over 20 items to write about in the future and my store of future subjects is getting larger by the day now.

I have been moved emotionally at my very core by this daily activity.  Like most, I have read sayings about being grateful and believed in their wisdom.  Long has the belief been within that gratitude was a key ingredient in a good life.  What I have discovered is the sizeable distance between intellectually knowing truth and emotionally knowing truth.  Through this experience my discovery is my intellect is largely really one dimensional.  My feelings add the additional dimensions of height and depth to my understanding.  And so it has become with gratitude.

Each morning it takes about 30 minutes or so to create what is found here each day.  The belief within now is each half hour affects me like I imagine a solid half hour of prayer might.  For me a prayer has never lasted more than seconds and if ever, certainly no more than a minute or two.  To essentially pray for a half hour has a profound effect.

Further, after when finishing each day within is a feeling as if completing a half hour of formal meditation in the manner I have practiced somewhat regularly for years.  In that practice I close my eyes and count my breaths up to ten.  Inhale is “one”; exhale is “two” and so on until I reach ten.  Then I start over again.  Just that little bit of activity is enough to keep my mind from bouncing around in thought the way a pinball moves around in a game machine. My conclusion is writing this blog causes me to center on one subject I am grateful for and the sharpness of that focus quiets my mind much like formal meditation.  I did not expect this and am frankly profoundly moved by it all.

I am grateful that you have come here to read what I have written.  Now with gladness I share of myself openly about my truths, feelings and thoughts.  However, the impetus behind me doing so began as a purely personal thing and has evolved into a personal need now that when exercised is as nourishing to me as food and drink.  I know now that the measure of gratitude in my life is directly related to the amount of happiness and contentment I can experience.  I GET IT! 

So this morning I am humbly grateful to the spark of an idea, the thought put in my head by the universe and the divine inspiration that I feel that caused me to begin Good Morning Gratitude a few weeks ago.  I am convinced my gratitude multiplies the good in my life and diminishes the difficulty to an extent that exceeds my ability to express it.  I could lament “why did it take so long” but choose instead to say “the best of my life is still ahead”.

Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakens.
  Carl Jung
 

The Invitation

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

I seem to be touched the deepest by works of art in written form, but as soon as I write that I am reminded of how I can at times be visually moved to the point of being overwhelmed.  When what I read is accompanied by an image to match that is when I am penetrated at the deepest levels.   I have profound gratitude for my ability to feel the expressions of “self” that artists and writers have given the world.  My life is far better because of them.  As an example I offer the image above and words you find below here.   I recently sent someone “The Invitation” as an explanation of what I hoped should I be blessed with love coming into my life again.  While no one can likely fit every single idea presented, the ability to be stirred by the words in a meaningful way is a necessary trait for anyone who wishes to knock on the door of my heart.

The Invitation

Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ‘Yes.’

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

There was a time in my life I would have thought “The Invitation” to be “pretty” and would have appreciated the art of it, but have gotten no more from it.  I am indebted to the heartache that opened me, the trials that molded me and the growth as a sensing and feeling human being that today allow me not just to see the words of Oriah Mountain Dreamer, but to “feel” them as well.

If you’d like to know more about this poem go here:  http://www.oriahmountaindreamer.com/

Wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving. Kahlil Gibran

My Two Ex-Dads

/ James Browning

I have been married and divorced twice. Both are longer stories to tell another time, but the failure of both marriages was in majority my fault. In spite of the pain and heartache that came with both of them, I benefited from both marriages.  Not the least of which was two Father-in-Laws who both treated me like a son.  Having basically grown up without a father I learned a great deal from both men about how to be a man and how to be a good Dad myself.

In both cases I always knew either would be there to help me no matter what.  All I had to do was ask.  That was a great deal of comfort that I never said thank you for.  Then there was all the times each did help me that I believe I always said thank you for, but those two words do not express the depth of my gratitude in retrospect.

S. and E. were strong men from a different generation where most got married once and toughed out all difficulties in the union.  They were both hard working and a success in their jobs.  They worked hard at their professions and even harder on their own homes to make them as good for their families as they knew how.  Both were men of high morals and were the sort who would help people without being asked.  From both I learned a lot about how to be a man that today benefits me more than ever.  Interesting how clarity in the rear view comes with time if you look.

Both men were very close to their daughters and were disappointed that the marriages did not end up being “until death do us part”.  They were disappointed in me.  That their daughters were hurt is something I will always regret.  In some ways I can see how forgiving me is a  difficult thing.  If the roles were switched I don’t know if I would be able to forgive.  I know one did forgive before he passed away and I hope one day the other might also.  Even if that does not happen, my gratitude for his role in my life will not be diminished. 

S. & E. were both good men who experienced pain through knowing me.  It has taken a long time for me to forgive myself.  Gratefully I have peace now.  Otherwise I could not write here and put my feelings out there for the world to see.  I am grateful for the legacy both men left me with.  I may not have practiced all of it well when they knew me, but today I am part of their legacies.  I will always be grateful beyond words.

If you concentrate on finding whatever is good in every situation, you will discover that your life will suddenly be filled with gratitude, a feeling that nurtures the soul.  Rabbi Harold Kushner

Learning to Love a Book

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

 

Early in my childhood I developed an acute love of reading.  It became my way of exploring further the world I saw on TV, in films and in magazines.  I developed the ability to be able to see in my mind what I was reading in a sort of movie in my head.  Through that ability I read in “full color”.  I have had wonderful adventures and have met the most intriguing people.

I have spent time along the Mississippi with Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer and journeyed to many other destinations with Samuel Clemens.  I learned about how challenging life could be from Charles Dickens and will always be grateful for his introductions to Oliver Twist, David Copperfield, Timothy Cratchit and for the first love story that touched my soul in a “Tale of Two Cities”. 

From reading I learned how to save the day with the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew.  When Jim Hawkins taught me about pirates and buried treasure I could not put the book down.  “Treasure Island’s” Jim Gunn was not my first meeting with a castaway.  That was Robinson Caruso who begins as an aimless wanderer and ends as a pilgrim.  From him I learned about perseverance.

As a child, the Bible was just too difficult to read for me in its original form.  But there was Vacation Bible School at the Lineville Baptist Church in the summer that brought the stories in the book to life.  When the tales were translated to a kid’s level I was amazed as I read the books they gave us.  David and Goliath, Samson and the lion, Noah’s ark, Jonah and the whale and more were all great adventures I learned from.

By junior high I was reading James Bond novels and fancied growing up and being some sort of a cross between Bond and Albert Einstein, doubling my chances to save the world.  Soon I discovered Jules Vern, H. G. Wells and before long graduated to the scary stories of Edgar Alan Poe (and remember seeing Vincent Price star in the movie versions of several of them).  I will never forget the far out journeys I took with Isaac Asimov to deep space, with Arthur C. Clark to the monolith, visiting Mars with Ray Bradbury and or the trip to a brave new world compliments of Aldous Huxley.  These authors stretched my concepts of reality and made me think and ponder deep questions I had never considered before.

As the years passed I traveled through the beautiful writing of Kahlil Gibran during my hippie days and then into the poetry of Elizabeth Barrett which touches my heart today more than ever. Now I read to grow and focus mostly on philosophy by every one from Epictetus, Aristotle and Socrates to Thoreau, Russell and Carl Jung along with books with a more spiritual theme by writers like Tolle, Walsh, Lama Das and the Dalai Lama.  My exploration of Eastern Spirituality has been going on for over a decade now and still takes up a good bit of my time.  I am deeply indebted to Huston Smith and others who expanded my view of religion and spirituality to the broad perspective I have today.

I have said all this to express great gratitude for four women who were instrumental in my learning to love reading so much.  They were the teachers I had my first four years in grammar school:  Mrs. Pruett, Mrs. Levi, Mrs. Anderson and Mrs. Wood.  I will always be grateful.

Gratitude is a vaccine, an antitoxin, and an antiseptic.   John Henry Jowett

Playing It Backwards

/ James Browning

Through the years I have become much more conscious of eating food that is good for me.  Not that I was ever awful at it, but my habits needed some adjustments to be more healthful.  A couple of years ago I developed a taste for strawberries, melon, blueberries, grapes and fruit for breakfast.  Now most every morning I have a bowl of some combination of them.  I have always kept bananas around as they are my favorite fruit and today I could easily be writing about them.  However, it’s strawberries from my fridge pictured above that have my attention so I can express my gratitude for them.  Not just for the strawberries, but the amazing fact that I can get them year round.  Of course, they are sold at a better price in-season but the fact that in the middle of winter I can buy them blows my mind!

When I step back and begin to express gratitude for the ability to get strawberries every day, it is the people who make it happen that deserve my thanks.  I did a little homework on how they are grown commercially today and my list of people to thank got pretty long.

  • The person who plowed the field and made the mounds to plant on
  • Those who installed the drip irrigation system in the mounds
  • The one at a nursery who took the cutting for a new plant
  • The packer that got the new plant ready to be shipped. 
  • The man or woman who drove the truck that carried the new plants to the farm
  • The person who planted the new plant
  • The one who fertilized the strawberry plants
  • The people who covered the plants with plastic so they stay moist and the one who punched the holes for the plants to “breathe”
  • The human hands that “weeded” the plants and cut off runners
  • The person who picked the strawberries and packed them.
  • The drivers responsible for the berries getting from the field to a wholesaler then to a grocery store
  • The produce stocker who put them out in the store so I could buy them
  • The checkout person who I paid for the strawberries

And I won’t even get into all the people responsible for making the car that I drove the strawberries home in or the refrigerator that keeps them fresh.

You may be thinking that this is a pretty stupid thing to be writing about and expressing gratitude for.  But I disagree.  By my count it took at least 15 people that were directly involved so I can have my strawberries for breakfast.  Yet, I know I have only scratched the surface.  The actual tally is probably several times that.

This sort of thinking has me recently pondering everything from the shirt I put on to the pine board I purchased to make a home repair.  I wonder how many people’s work it took for me to be able to have a product.  Many people return a good deed by “playing it forward” and that is a wonderful practice. I have a new practice that is similar.  I stop here and there and “play it backwards” and think about all those responsible for all the things I am able to have.  I feel that expressing a little silent gratitude in “backwards” fashion sends goodness to them.  But to a much greater degree those thoughts enrich me by just thinking them and through that gratitude I feel more connected to the great circle of humanity.

We often take for granted the very things that most deserve our gratitude.  Cynthia Ozick

From Sore Muscles to Gratitude

/ James Browning

As I was getting out of bed this morning it became readily apparent that my arm, hand, back and leg muscles were sore from painting a closet yesterday.  The chore took several hours from masking it off to the cleanup afterwards.  While I am not out of shape, I did do a lot of twisting and reaching while painting the hard to get to places in the closet.  Those movements left me sore this morning from using muscles in ways I don’t normally do.

So my first though was to go “darn it, sure wish my left elbow was now hurting from tendonitis this morning”!   Then of course all the other muscles in my body that were sore chimed in:  upper leg muscles said “what about me?” shoulder muscles said “don’t forget what I did”, back muscles said “I worked hard, pay attention to me” and so on.

I got my morning cup of coffee and decided to go check out my work in the closet in my library.  Once the lights were on and I could witness my work, it seemed like some of the soreness left.  There is something about being satisfied with work I accomplish that lessens the pain involved.  I was pleased at my work, and satisfied that the trade off of getting the work done versus being sore was a fair transaction.  The work will be enjoyed long after the after effects are gone.

Today I am grateful for the closet project being done, but even more so that I have the ability to do it.  Not just the steady hand and arm to paint with, but my legs to hold me up, my back to strengthen and keep me up straight, my eyes to see what I am doing and so on.  Physically I am not young but I am very blessed to be able to do most anything I want to. 

 This morning I remembered what a friend said yesterday regarding how challenged she is with the movement of her hands.  While she very healthy and whole, surgeries have left her with her hands unable to do tasks that require small and precise movements.   When I suggested yesterday she use a razor blade for a small project, she indicated she could not do that and would probably cut herself if she tried. 

So this morning when I reflect on my closet project completed, I remember the edging around the ceiling I did and the precise movements it took.  I realize it is a blessing that I can do such things.  The more I live, the more simple things I find to be grateful for.

Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.  William Arthur Ward

April 27, 2011 Alabama Tornados

/ James Browning

Clay County, Alabama is in the most southern Appalachian Mountains and where I grew up.  The majority of my family still lives within 100 miles of there.  Earlier this week I had great concern due to the historical storms and tornados in North Central Alabama, especially for my brother who lives between Birmingham and Tuscaloosa (hardest hit by the storm).  My brother said they spent several hours in his basement and were genuinely concerned.   I am relieved and grateful today to know that all are OK.  When things scare me like that it brings feeling and emotion to the top and I wrote what follows in about 15 minutes to express my morning gratitude today.

 

My Little Brother

 

I remember well those childhood days,

In Shinebone Valley where we romped and played.

“Catch-ah-ma-doggie” Creek and Gray Hill,

Clear, vivid and strong in my memory still. 

 

Playing soldier and building forts in the July heat

Using haybales in the loft  to make ’em was quite a feat.

Catching little crawfish and darting minnows too,

And tying to a thread June bugs of green-blue.

Evening’s early summer lightning bugs blinking in a jar,

Steam rising after rain from the road’s black tar.

 

Riding our bikes on pulp wood roads

With Willis teaching us about the woods,

Catching snakes and sometimes toads,

And turtles and all the fish we could.

 

Stepping on rusty nails and telling no one,

Kick the can in the yard till the sun was done

That time with V. & C. and mud to our knees with them.

Sweet memories strong within of those childhood whims.

 

Then we did not see how the days just flew.

Through the all pain and difficulty we knew.

Coping with a self-absorbed and distant mother

In our lives no choice and no chance for another.

We know it’s true as a parent she was unfit,

And without each other we’d not have made it.

 

We have our scars, but we are alive and well,

And it’s only on the good of childhood days I dwell.

You’ve always made me proud like no other.

Always you will be my cherished little brother.

There is a calmness to a life lived in Gratitude, a quiet joy.   Ralph H. Blum

 

First Cup of Coffee

/ James Browning

This blog is already having a profoundly positive effect on me after just a couple of days.  When I now wake up in the morning one of my first thoughts is about what I am grateful for that I will write about today.  What occurred to me this morning  to express came as I was making the morning brew.  It is my gratitude for my coffee each morning and to those who make it possible.  That simple thought started a landslide of being grateful. 

I am grateful for:  the person who planted the coffee, the one who gathered it, the one who roasted it, the one who packed it, the crew of the ship the brought it to this country, those who unloaded it, those who put it in the can, the store that sold it to me, the trucker who got it to the store, the stocker that put it on the shelf for me to buy, the checkout clerk who I paid for it, even the shopping cart wrangler who was responsible for there being a cart by the store entrance for me grab as I entered the store.    

I am grateful for:  the coffee pot that made this morning’s coffee and all those involved in making it and getting it to me down to those involved in making the raw materials for available, for the people making the packaging down to the one show wrote the instructions.

I am grateful for my then grammar school son who gave me the cup for father’s day close to 20 years ago (and  for his mother who I am confident either bought it for him or paid for it after my son chose it – thank you B.).  I am thankful too for those who made the cup and the ones who brought it close by so it could be purchased for me.  Too, I am thankful for the work where the money was earned that made the purchase possible.

I am grateful for:  the spoon I stirred the coffee with and the many people involved in producing it and the sugar and milk I put into my coffee right down to the cow that made the milk.

I am grateful for:  my Iranian friend Cy who gave me the beautiful tile that I use as a “coffee pouring staton” which has sat by my coffee pot for many years now that.  Seeing it frequently brings him to mind when I am pouring a cup of coffee.

I am grateful for:  the many people who are responsible for me having electricity that made the coffee pot work and made the lights come on so I could see what I was doing (was still dark out when I made coffee).

I am very grateful………. 

This list could still go on and on as I think deeper about such a simple thing as a cup of coffee.  I am deeply touched this morning by the discovery that  increased gratitude unlocks even greater feelings of being grateful. 

Nothing is more honorable than a grateful heart.  Seneca

Favorite Shower of a Lifetime

/ James Browning

 

The photo doesn’t look much like a place a person would take a shower, but in September 2004 I showered with joy right there in the open where the photo shows.  At that time I was living on Grand Cayman and it was 10 days after Hurricane Ivan (a category 5 storm) that ripped the island up badly.  The apartments on the first floor where I lived were gutted by the sea surge that had the 1st floor completely underwater during the storm. 

I am grateful that our apartment was on the 2nd floor and got only a few inches of water on the floor and a broken window.  At least I had a place to call home.  Many on the island did not have a place to sleep and one who did not have a place to stay lived with me for over two months. 

It had been 10 days since the storm and water was very precious.  All we had was bottled water and filthy water left in the pool usedful only for pouring in and flushing the toilet.   There was no piped in water, no electricity and food/water was not easy to come by.  To set the stage you have to understand that I had not bathed in a week and a half since the storm and had only washed off with a rag here and there with the little water I could spare. 

On that 10th day it rained and I did two things:  1) caught as much rainwater as I had containers for to use for washing later and 2) with my swimsuit on and a bar of soap I took a shower under the downspout the arrow points to in the photo.  I have never been more happy or grateful for a shower or bath than I was that day.  NEVER!  I was joyous standing under the down spout, washing, singing and laughing like an uninhibited kid doing a happy dance.  That will always be the favorite and most memorable shower of my life.  To this day I feel the great gratitude deep within.

He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has.  Epictetus