caring about others

A Song to My Soul

/ James Browning

One of my habits near an addiction level is used books. I have my nose in a book just about every day. My interests have changed over time and rarely do I read anything but non-fiction. Reading to learn and explore has become my driving force and somewhere along the way I picked up a love of poetry. Old or new, if it rhymes with good meter a poem often feels like a song being sung to my soul when I read it.

Used books stores are favorite places and when visiting a city it’s a special treat to visit one of the local stores stocking previously owned books. My favorite in the town where I live is a huge, cluttered and rambling place called “Gardner’s”. The store is not just enjoyable, it is a sort of refuge for me. If I am feeling down, going there is always a pick me up whether I buy something or not. That’s the reason for a late afternoon visit yesterday.

It’s particularly meaningful when I read an inscription a person wrote in a book given as a gift. Other times I find interesting clipped articles that may or may not have anything to do with the subject of the book. Bookmarks left in an old book sometimes present food for thought. Then once in a while I’ll come across family photos and feel a little sad that the images have been separated from the loved ones where they belong. Always before there has been no information on any such photos so I could attempt to return them; at least until yesterday.

On my desk before me are the four photos at the top of this blog. My favorite is the one of the two elementary school children. The others help me to know what they grew up to be. The boy became a military man and the girl became a care giver.

The only date indicated is the bottom middle photo: May 2001. That means the top center photo of brother and sister is from somewhere around the late 70’s, maybe early 80’s. The top center photo has info on back I hope will allow me to return to where they belong: “Nici & Travis Unser, Colo. Spgs, Return to Lynn Unser”.

For all the slams the internet may receive, there are many benefits such as looking up strangers from just a little information (assuming it is done with good intentions such as mine). Here’s what I found that I believe relates to the Unser’s:

Nici and Travis’s father is Al Unser, who retired not long ago as CEO of the Greater Tulsa Association of Realtors. Travis graduated from Bishop Kelly High School in 1996, and in 2000 graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in Civil Engineering from The Citadel in Charleston, S.C.. In late 2008 he came home from serving his third tour in Iraq as a Naval Aviator with the U.S. Marine Corps. Nici (Nicole) lives in Dallas and is a Neonatal ICU nurse for Baylor University Medical Center. “Nici” was recognized as Nurse of the Year in her unit, and has been nominated for the Dallas’ Great 100 Nurses award. She is a 1993 graduate of Bishop Kelly High School and a 1997 graduate of Baylor University. Here’s the photo that accompanied this info.

With further digging I discovered that Mother, Mary Lynnn Unser, passed away in June of 2007 in Tulsa. Since the little kids photo was back inscribed “Return to Lynn Unser” I feel especially compelled to get these photos back to her family. I am certain the inscription is in her hand.

In the grand scheme it’s not a big deal if I am successful in returning the photographs. Only a small act of kindness will have been accomplished. As emotion wells within, I hope I succeed but realize that the doing of the self assigned task will benefit me most. It is in making a different; in doing little things to make the world slightly better for having been here that are meaningful to me. I am grateful to have grown into my skin over the years to be a gently caring man to whom something like this would matter.

There is overwhelming evidence
that the higher the level of self-esteem,
the more likely one will be to treat others
with respect, kindness, and generosity.
Nathaniel Branden

Best Way To Start Off the Morning

/ James Browning

Finding myself a little groggy this morning before the second cup of coffee kicks in, I have chosen to use another stimulant I know works even better: gratitude! All it takes is a minute or two of sitting back and counting blessings to bring myself to a more alert state of mind. Such thoughts bring a fullness of being and warmth for life I can find no other way.

Simple thanks for: The radio playing, the hands that can type and the healthy body they are attached to, the computer I am using and all that makes it work, the coffee in the cup on my desk, a good mind to think of things to be grateful for, the books and CD’s in the shelves in my office, the view out my office window, the home that my office is within, the job that allows me to pay for my home and all the rest, the friends I wrote emails to this morning, the cleaning ladies who came and spiffed up my home yesterday, my filled fridge where I will find breakfast soon, living in a free country where I can speak my mind, those I love who help give meaning to my life, my old Volvo in the driveway that saved my life once upon a time, the cooler temperatures of fall, my memories, the good times I have known, the challenges that have taught me well…

I’m not “old” but I am not “young” either. If life is a scale from one to ten then my time now is somewhere around a “7.5” and old enough to appreciate Edgar A. Guest’s poem “Life’s Finest Gifts”.

When you get “on” and you’ve lived a lot
And the blood in your veins isn’t quite so hot,
Though your eyes are dimmer than what they were
And the page of the book is a misty blur,
Strange as the case may seem to be,
Then is the time you will clearly see.

You’ll see yourself as you really are,
When you’ve lived a lot and you’ve traveled far,
When your strength give out and your muscles tire
You’ll see the folly of mad desire:
You’ll see what now to your sight is hid,
The numberless trivial things you did.

Often the blindest are youthful eyes,
For age must come ere a man grows wise,
And youth makes much of its mountain peaks,
And the strife for fame and the goal it seeks,
But age sits down with the setting sun
And smiles at the boastful deeds it’s done.

You’ll sigh for the friends that were turned aside
By as hasty word or a show of pride,
You’ll laugh at medals that now you prize,
For you’ll look at them through clearer eyes
And see how little they really meant
For which so much of your strength was spent.

You’ll see, as always, an old man sees,
That the saves die down with the fading breeze,
That the pomps of life never last for long,
And the great sink back to the common throng,
And you’ll understand when the struggle ends
That the finest gifts of this life are friends.

The cure for a melancholy day; the pick me up when I’m draggin’; the filled part of the half empty glass; the method that puts life in true perspective: gratitude. I am thankful it is my friend.

Best way to start off the morning
is with a smile and appreciate you’re alive
cause somewhere else someone is fighting for their life.
Unknown

A Thank You Left Unexpressed

/ James Browning

Today my leave-behind here is short and simple; a short story of unexpressed gratitude from yesterday about 5:25pm.

Late afternoon rolled around with an appointment for my every five-week haircut. Driving in the peak of late day drive-time traffic, my departure from work was later than it should have been.

As I drove my mind was a flurry of activity that included discussing an issue on a long phone call with a co-worker, concern about getting to my appointment late, reminding myself to stop at the pharmacy on my way home and then getting caught in traffic where two lanes are narrowed into one. It is there the subject of this story lies.

1) It is a personal pet-peeve about people who can clearly see the signs that a lane is closed, but chose to go down the closed lane as far as possible before merging (called a “zipper merge” I read somewhere). Of course, doing that slows down the lane that is open where everyone else has orderly lined up soon after seeing the signage.

  • Admission: In my haste yesterday I was one of those people. In my efforts to get to my destination I disregarded what I should have done to serve my own selfish need. Of course, it’s a little thing, but one I wish to apologize for to those who “followed the unwritten merge rule” . It’s fascinating to me what a human being can justify when they feel cornered; even me.

2) Even though I ‘cheated’ by going down the closed lane as far as I could, there was someone kind enough to let me in. That is one of the wonderful things about living where I do; people are genuinely good and thoughtful. What I regret is pulling into the space the person gave me, but never acknowledging them. Another peeve is letting someone in and not getting some sort of customary signal of thanks. Being late and caught up in my own “stuff” I disregarded expressing gratitude for a small kindness. So lost was I at that moment I could not tell you if the driver was a man or woman, much less what type of car they were driving.

  • My small retribution for a thank you left unexpressed: To that nameless, faceless person who let me merge in traffic yesterday, this morning I say “thank you” and apologize I did not express my gratitude at the very moment of your kindness.

Today I will be a little more aware of each kindness shown me and a bit more expressive of my gratitude for each one. For the small lesson of yesterday I am grateful and even more so for my awareness to notice it.

Happiness cannot be traveled to,
owned, earned, worn or consumed.
Happiness is the spiritual experience
of living every minute
with love, grace, and gratitude.
Denis Waitley

Namaste, Have a Nice Day, Good Morning

/ James Browning

“Namaste” is a word I hear quite frequently these days, usually from someone who’s taking yoga or Ti Chi classes. I tend to be around “spiritual seekers” of one kind or another a lot and know the word seems to always be spoken positively in the context of a blessing and good wish. I got curious about what “Namaste” really means.

Namaste, is a common spoken valediction or salutation originating from the Indian subcontinent. It is a customary greeting when individuals meet, and a valediction upon their parting. A non-contact form of salutation is traditionally preferred in India and Namaste is the most common form of such a salutation.

When spoken to another person, it is commonly accompanied by a slight bow made with hands pressed together, palms touching and fingers pointed upwards, in front of the chest.. Wikipedia

Namaste, when simply put, means ‘I bow to you’. It is a respectful salutation and is used as a courtesy greeting. When two people greet each other with a Namaste, it is an act of recognizing the presence of divinity in the other as it is in oneself. Therefore, Namaste is a not just a greeting but a reminder that a higher Spirit resides in you as it does in me. So, an alternative definition for Namaste would be ‘I honor the Spirit in you which is also in me’. This definition is attributed to author Kabir Chopra in the book ‘Buddha: A Story of Enlightenment’ by Deepak Chopra.

Namaste also has another meaning. The ‘NA’ in Namaste signifies a negation; ‘MA’ means ‘mine’ and ‘TE’ as mentioned earlier means ‘you’. When put together, it simply means ‘not mine but yours’. Thus, saying Namaste is a subtle way of giving up one’s ego and surrendering to the Supreme Spirit that is recognized to be present in the other person. http://voices.yahoo.com/

In coming to know the true meaning of Namaste it seems similar to “bless you” frequently heard in western countries. My curiously continued pushing me toward the roots of this expression as well. What I found was the term “bless you” actually comes from an ancient superstition that a person who sneezes might actually sneeze their soul out of their body. Ok, how about “have a nice day”?

Some say “have a nice day” itself first appeared in the 1948 film “A Letter to Three Wives”. According to Roland Dickison of California State University “have a good day” first appeared in Geoffrey Chaucer’s 1387 “The Canterbury Tales”.

What about “Good Morning”? As we use it started as a greeting, “have a good morning” with a shortened version of “good morning”‘ dates from around 1400, as “gode morwene”.

Now I have some relatively useless information stored in my head to dump onto others at opportune moments. Interesting I can remember such trivia for years and years, but can’t remember a phone number more than 12 seconds.

“Namaste, have a nice day and good morning” seems to cover my bases on wishing everyone a meaningful day. I am grateful to get to share my thoughts and ramblings here every day!

Lord I know I’m not here to stay,
but thanks for waking me up today.
Prepare me for what may come my way.
Cee Lo Green

An Old Cottage of Clay

/ James Browning

When beginning here today my first inclination was to write a piece titled “I am not broken” in reference to myself. I find images can be inspiring, wake feelings within and focus my attention so I often find a few that are good catalysts for the day’s subject. When I searched Google Images for photos relating to not being broken, I was unprepared for what I was about to find.

Growing up I experienced having shoes too small that my parents would split the leather on top so I could still get my feet into them. Clearly I remember wearing worn out shoes with holes in the bottom. But I always I had shoes and realized how lucky I was when I saw the image of the sandals made with flattened plastic bottles and tied on with torn cloth. The photograph pulled me into a dead stare as I fully took in what I was seeing. My eyes watered up.

Down further on the Google image search page was this little under nourished boy crouched down eating bread crumbs off a concrete floor. While my childhood was difficult, I had it really good compared to him.

Then came the little girl with the dirty dress that looked as if it had never been washed. She looks far older than her years and her solemn expression says to me she has likely seen horror far beyond what I can imagine.

The poem just below titled “Poverty” was written by Jane Taylor in the early 1800’s. Now 200 years later not much has changed.

I saw an old cottage of clay,
And only of mud was the floor;
It was all falling into decay,
And the snow drifted in at the door.

Yet there a poor family dwelt,
In a hovel so dismal and rude;
And though gnawing hunger they felt,
They had not a morsel of food.

The children were crying for bread,
And to their poor mother they’d run;
‘Oh, give us some breakfast,’ they said,
Alas! their poor mother had none.

She viewed them with looks of despair,
She said (and I’m sure it was true),
‘’Tis not for myself that I care,
But, my poor little children, for you.’

O then, let the wealthy and gay
But see such a hovel as this,
That in a poor cottage of clay
They may know what true misery is.

And what I may have to bestow
I never will squander away,
While many poor people I know
Around me are wretched as they.

Although I can’t directly affect the lives of the people pictured, I can have empathy for them. By acknowledging their life condition and showing it I take a little step to see they are not completely unknown and forgotten. In spite of their hardships they are not broken and somehow, someway they go doing the best they can. I can’t imagine living a life so grueling and filled with fear. The reminder of how hard life is for so many helped me start my day with a heightened sense of gratitude for how easy and full my life is. Today I won’t complain about a single thing!

Poverty is the worst form of violence.
Mahatma Gandhi

That Wish Was Never Granted

/ James Browning

Don’t fall in love. Rise with it.
Amit Abraham

It’s a terrible feeling when you first fall in love. Your mind gets completely taken over, you can’t function properly anymore. The world turns into a dream place, nothing seems real. you forget your keys, no one seems to be talking English and even if they are you don’t care as you can’t hear what they’re saying anyway, and it doesn’t matter since you’re not really there.

Things you cared about before don’t seem to matter anymore and things you didn’t think you cared about suddenly do. I must become a brilliant cook, I don’t want to waste time seeing my friends when I could be with him (her), I feel no sympathy for all those people in India killed by an earthquake last night; what is the matter with me? It’s a kind of hell, but you feel like you’re in heaven.

Even your body goes out of control; you can’t eat; you don’t sleep properly: your legs turn to jelly as you’re not sure where the floor is anymore. You have butterflies permanently, not only in your tummy but all over your body – your hands, your shoulders, your chest, your eyes; everything’s just a jangling mess of nerve endings tingling with fire. It makes you feel so alive and yet its like being suffocated. You don’t seem to be able to see or hear anything real anymore. Its like people are speaking to you through treacle.

And so you stay in your cozy place with him (her), the place that only you two understand. Occasionally you’re forced to come up for air by your biggest enemy, “Real Life”, so you do the minimum then head back down under your love blanket for more, knowing it’s uncomfortable but compulsory.

And then, once you think you’ve got him (her), the panic sets in. What if I blow it; say the wrong thing? What if he (she) meets someone better than me? Perhaps he (she) doesn’t feel the same; maybe this is all in my head and this is just a quick fling.  He (she) says he loves me; yes, well, we can all say words, can’t we? Perhaps he’s (she’s) just being polite.

Of course you do your best to keep all this to yourself, you don’t want him (her) to think you’re a neurotic nutcase, but now when he’s (she’s) away doing “Real Life”, it’s agony; your mind won’t leave you alone; it tortures you and examines your every moment spent together, pointing out how stupid you’ve been to allow yourself to get this carried away; how insane you are to imagine someone would feel like that about you. From “Birthday Girls” by Anabell Giles

Nothing I have experienced is as confusing and difficult, yet wonderfully inspiring as romantic love.  My maturity sinks to that of an inexperienced teenager when love is raining on me. I sweat, fumble and don’t know what to say, yet relish every uncomfortable moment.  My old heart is tattered and shows cracks where the broken parts have been put back together, but love is stronger than fear.  No matter how much I have at times wished to be unable to feel it any longer, I am deeply grateful that wish was never granted.  I am glad to know love.

Sweetheart, darling, dearest,
it was funny to think that these endearments,
which used to sound exceedingly sentimental in movies and books,
now held great importance, simple but true verbal affirmations
of how they felt for each other. They were words only the heart
could hear and understand, words that could impart
entire pentameter sonnets in their few, short syllables.
E. A. Bucchianeri

Four Miles Wide and Twenty-Two Miles Long

/ James Browning

That photo above was the view from the balcony of the apartment where I lived on a Caribbean island for a good bit of 2004-2005. That experience of close to a year taught me many things and one of the most important was how little of my “stuff” actually matters. All I had on the island was a few suitcases full of my things that got added to on trips back and forth ‘state-side’. When I moved back everything for my then wife and I fit into four suitcases and ten boxes we shipped home.

Satellite television existed when we first arrived on the island, but within six weeks a hurricane took that away. The remainder of the time was without television, except for a few VHS tapes filled with slow speed recorded programming that arrived from family from time to time. I did not miss watching the ‘tube’.

Our home on the island was furnished, but simply decorated. Never did I miss all the ‘bric-a-brac’ and ‘what-nots’ that fill my home today, nor did I miss the perpetual dusting and care such things require.

Having taken few valuables to the Caribbean in the first place, there was little worry about such things being lost or stolen. There was a simplicity about that I miss.

The clothing brought on-island was simple garb fitting of living on a palm treed island. Never did I need a sport coat or a tie (I didn’t bring any in the first place). Having brought only a small portion of my total clothing it was insightful that I missed the rest so very little.

Internet service ‘on-island” was very slow even when we had it and downloads were just not possible. Not a lot of time was spent ‘on-line’ although before the island a good bit of my time was spent that way.  I swear I was calmer and more relaxed without it!

What did I miss? Books and music. While an ample supply traveled to Grand Cayman with me, the majority of both libraries stayed home. Digital music made my yearning for music bearable as I brought a hard drive filled with tunes.

Leisure time was spent mostly reading and it did not take long to get through all the books that traveled to the island. Because of the weight, I had not brought lots of reading material in the first place. I did discover a little book store that helped fill that need and broadened the scope of what I was reading with the eclectic variety they carried.

Most of all, I longed for friends and family. Not seeing a handful of people I loved and was accustomed to spending time with was the most challenging. Inattention to relationships can cause them to sag a bit over time. Thankfully I was able to pick up with where we had left off previously, but it still took time to get back into the full rhythm of the relationships.

Books, music, friends and family I learned are my greatest treasures. I am grateful for that heuristic lesson discovered in the Caribbean on a little island about four miles wide and twenty-two miles long. “Ya-mon!”

It ain’t about the money.
It ain’t about the time.
It ain’t about the love you lost,
Or the things you think you left behind.
It ain’t about your losing streak,
That makes you feel like you’re falling apart
What matters is the heart.
From “What Matters” by Edwin McCain

Swallowing the Bitter Pill

/ James Browning

I am not bad person. Never have I intentionally hurt others. Yet, unintentionally, through selfishness, dysfunction and compulsion I have deeply hurt some of the ones I have cared about most.

Graphically illustrated, that’s in line with the difference between murder and man slaughter. Maybe the latter crime is considered to be less, but a killer is still a killer whether deliberate or not. No matter what contributing factors there may have been, I am responsible for what I do.  Nothing can diminish that. Part of taking responsibility for my past actions is swallowing the bitter pill of knowing I’m guilty of the pain I caused, regardless of whether I did nor did not mean to cause the hurt.

Acceptance of the past is a big step in moving beyond it. The realization was critical in getting unstuck from the past.  Today I can look back and see the results of my actions while not beating myself up too badly about it. My self-disgust of my past used to be brutal. Today it is mostly scar tissue from healed wounds. That’s huge and a healthy move of self-forgiveness. I have learned it’s near impossible to forgive others when I can’t forgive myself.

I have learned that the person I have to ask for forgiveness from the most is: myself. You must love yourself. You have to forgive yourself, everyday, whenever you remember a shortcoming, a flaw; you have to tell yourself “That’s just fine”. You have to forgive yourself so much, until you don’t even see those things anymore. Because that’s what love is like. C. Joybell C.

Forgiveness is not about forgetting. It is about letting go of another person’s throat… Forgiveness does not create a relationship. Unless people speak the truth about what they have done and change their mind and behavior, a relationship of trust is not possible. When you forgive someone you certainly release them from judgment, but without true change, no real relationship can be established… Forgiveness in no way requires that you trust the one you forgive. But should they finally confess and repent, you will discover a miracle in your own heart that allows you to reach out and begin to build between you a bridge of reconciliation… Forgiveness does not excuse anything… You may have to declare your forgiveness a hundred times the first day and the second day, but the third day will be less and each day after, until one day you will realize that you have forgiven completely. W. Paul Young

Self-forgiveness is a long process of intentional erosion of guilt for a wrong I hold me responsible for. Much like receiving a reduced sentence in a court of law, to personally lighten my self-imposed retribution for a past transgression is when I begin to heal. I am grateful at this point in my life I have the ability to let go of most of the past and be largely alive in the present.

Forgiveness is the fragrance
that the violet sheds
on the heel that has crushed it.
Mark Twain

A Gift Above All Others

/ James Browning

The trouble is, you think you have time.
Buddha

I ran across that Buddhism quote and it stopped me completely still in though for a few moments. Silently, the thought rang inside “I always thought I had plenty of time… lots and lots of it”. That’s not intended to be a morbid comment in any way. My doctor says I am healthy and as far as I can now there are many years of life yet ahead of me. Nor do I think I have wasted my time in a regretful way, although that thought has to be shooed away once in a while.

Coming to the realization of how many years are behind me and the smaller number in front causes today, this moment, to be very valuable. Time alive is a gift above all others on this Earth. I am grateful every minute of every day I have had and will live.

When younger I did not listen to those older with life experiences I could have learned from. I don’t suspect someone a lot youngerto see that as anything except a tired comment bantered around all the time.  Today or one day, it becomes truth to all of us.

Here’s the skinny: I wish I had listened to more of the advice of my elders when I was younger. Then I would not have had their words ring so loudly true later when life taught they spoke the truth.

So I step up on my soapbox state to three simple things:

1. Time is precious.
2. Those you love are your true riches: nothing else matters much.
3. Show as much kindness and understanding as you possibly can to those you love.
4. We are never gentle and tender enough to those we care about.
5. Forgive even when others won’t.

From experience I know those things can change your world. They did mine. I am very grateful.

Procrastination is one of the most common and deadliest of diseases
and its toll on success and happiness is heavy.
Wayne Dyer

Photo: Anamaya Yoga Resort, Montezuma, Costa Rica http://www.anamayaresort.com/

Thank You Sherry

/ James Browning

It has been several weeks since I had visited my favorite used book store and yesterday was pleased to find the poetry section had been restocked. In among the dozen titles I picked from Kahlil Gibran to Susan Polis Schutz, was a loosely bound volume titled “2004 Senior Citizens Poetry” published by Southwestern Oklahoma State University. From the introduction I learned it was a class project for the twelve students whose signatures were within.

Thumbing through the volume last night it was the twentieth page that touched  me to the point of reading it over and over. Not knowing if I would find it, this morning I searched on-line for the piece discovered yesterday. Too obscure and unknown, nothing was found. Reading the lines again this morning I felt something this heartfelt should be put into the world for others to enjoy.

“Ghosts”

I dance in the moonlight and your ghost in my arms dreaming of what might have been.

I hope that life has been kind to you and that I am not forgotten.

I send warm breezes to kiss your lips that I cannot reach and I envy them.

Time and space has taken their toll, but the memory of you and our lost love lives in the secret places of my heart.

We cannot know what the fates have in store for us as the future has yet to be written.

I wonder, will the paths we choose bring us back to each other or further apart on divergent paths, never to meet again in this life.

I only know that my memories of you warm me like a soft blanket against winters cold grip, comforting me when I feel I can no longer stand strong against the hardness of life.

We will not waste our precious time on ‘what ifs’ but yet in fleeting moments they invade my thoughts without invitation and that is when I dance in the moonlight with your ghost in my arms.

Sherry C. Potter, Ponca City, OK

I searched Google for the author and found an article about medicine access by a “Sherry Potter” who identified herself by saying “I live in rural Oklahoma 8 miles south of Ponca City, Oklahoma. I am the mother of two children, five grandchildren and am going to be a great-grandmother in mid August”. From the references she made I assume that the article was about three years old and “Sherry” was somewhere in her mid to late 60’s.

She goes on to say “I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer in March of 2005… I was given just a few years and to date have far exceeded that time frame. All the doctors who are involved in my treatments have expressed their amazement that I have survived this long. I owe it to their treatments and investment in me as a person and my strong faith in my creator, as well as the many prayers made on my behalf.”

While writing this emotions have swelled up several times and I’ve come close to tears more than once. Inside is deep sentiment for this stranger who writes so openly of herself and her feelings. I dare not dig deeper for I fear I will find “Sherry” is not longer with us. For a heart so sweet and a mind so clear, I hope she is still around for her presence surely makes the world a better place. I am grateful to know her, even if ever so slightly. From a distance she touched me.  Thank you Sherry.

There are no strangers here;
only friends you haven’t yet met.
William Butler Yeats