The Blaze (Happy Birthday, Joshua)

The Blaze decided about three hours back that he'd rest when he reached the small group of thin trees ahead and he was now nearing them. Looking back, he reckoned he'd covered ten, perhaps twelve miles. With only momentary regard, he saw the tracks of his footsteps trailing off behind him. Each footprint stood out a full shade lighter that the yellow dust-color of the hard pan ground around them.

He supposed he would press on after resting for an hour or so under those trees. He spotted them from a hilltop back beyond where his footsteps now almost faded completely. And from that same hilltop, he saw beyond the little group of trees, the dark edge of an area more densely populated with trees. Those trees were larger and stronger without a doubt, but he was still not sure if he'd actually call it a forest at this point.

But a forest would mean there was plentiful water. And where there was water there were animals. There was meat. He didn't want to think too much about that now and trick himself into planning for too much and finding far too little. He would find out another twenty or thirty miles past the trees that are his current goal. He had seen, in his days, several large expanses of deep forest that held plenty of water, but not another single living thing could be found. Not so much as an art or a bird or a worm.
Experience has taught him that looks can and will be deceiving.

Even though his shadow barely leaned out in front of him, he knew it was not likely that could reach the forest (if that's what it truly is) by sundown. Tomorrow he would reach the first outcroppings. And they would be, he hoped, the end of the hardpan and the beginnings of a lush land full of life.

To his right, in the distance, the horizon was little more than a jagged purple line where the foothills of the Northern Mountains began and then spread up and away for more than five hundred miles of dangerous and inhospitable caves, cliffs and ravines. Some almost immeasurable time ago, he had almost lost his life in those mountains. And it was there where he lost many of his friends. They were friends who were fighters and they stood true, but in the end, they were friends who fell just the same. It was in those mountains where his remaining innocence was also lost.

While making his escape from those treacherous cliffs, along with his friends and his innocence, he also lost a true love. The truth is those last two things were lost together. Her escape route went just along the Front Range and his route went south.

He had almost pleaded with her to stay with him and travel on his course, but she did not. So, with a kiss and a long embrace, he turned and began to walk in the other direction.

Years later, he had heard that she (and most of her party) had survived and they had returned to a more civilized part of the world. They moved to a better neighborhood, if you will. And as far as he knows, they are still living still there and living well.

He looked away from that painful horizon and away from those times. Then he looked ahead again, as he always did. Closer now, he could see there were five trees that made up the outcropping. They weren't very tall and their branches and leaves looked a bit sparse, but, he didn't care. They were trees all the same and where there were trees, there was life. And shade.

He had first believed there to be only three. That was because first, there was quite a difference in their sizes and second, the angle of his approach masked the smaller ones. It was now obvious that the two larger ones had taken the lion's share of what little nutrients the selfish ground gave up. The larger one's height also ensured that they received the majority of the rain that passes through this region so seldom. The smaller ones have survived on was left in the dirt and on what dripped onto them from above. They did not look unhealthy. It was survival of the fittest.

Thinking about rain now, he looked up, but the sky showed no signs of bringing rain anytime soon. That would make his travel easier and even though he had water left, still, he wished for it to come just the same. The sun was still hot even as autumn was setting in. He can't recall the last time he rested and the sun had not yet reached its high point. By the time that it did, The Blaze hoped to have his boots off and his back against one of those trees. Made in the shade. Wasn't that an old saying, old even when he was a boy? He remembers it to mean how you feel when your day was an easy one or how you feel after the hardest work is done? Either way, he would be made in the shade soon enough.

He looked South across the vast colorless expanse. The landscape was peppered with small scrubs and patches of weeds here and there. There was the occasional flat cactus or an evil-looking plant with tough pale green skin and spikes on its tips. If there was beauty to been seen here, The Blaze no longer saw it. Perhaps in the year to come he would. But now, it was really just a patchwork of hard fights, hard disappointment and even harder miles. He had learned that very few animals outside of snakes and few hares inhabited this place with any regularity. His grandmother used to tell him that animals had always been smarter than men, mostly because they only did the things that nature has them do and not the things they decide they want to do. It was quite possible that the majority of animals simply had the good sense to stay away from this difficult area, but The Blaze's choices were not always his own and he moved forward regardless.

The few birds that ventured into this area, either lacking good sense or merely very hungry weren't good to eat, but if you were desperate enough they could sustain you for a while. This The Blaze knew from experience.

With the little copse of trees seventy yards ahead, the ground began to slope gently upwards. The rise was almost invisible to the eye, but after countless miles, The Blaze's legs noticed even the slightest change. He wanted desperately to stop and take a drink of water, but he was close now. He pushed on. He didn't so actually decide not to stop, it was more his nature not to. Walk now, drink later. Work now, rest later. Besides, he imagined that the water would feel cooler and taste sweeter when drank in the shade. And he was right, because just a few minutes later, he had arrived.

The trees were better in better condition than he had originally thought and from the West side of the little hill he could indeed see the larger forest in the distance. If it held life in abundance, he would find out eventually, but for now he would focus on his new surroundings. He scanned the area and the ground for signs of animals and was pleased to see several tracks made by small animals, two maybe three. The tracks where days old for sure, and probably those of rats, but this small standing of trees was not too far from the real forest to attract a few animals to their shade and possibly take a quick meal. If his luck was in, he may just be the taker.

He carefully walked around the bases of each tree and then craning his head back to inspect the branches. This was too far away from the forest to expect a squirrel, but one never knows. He walked a small perimeter and checked under a few of the larger rocks that were scattered about. He had learned as a boy that it was easier to deal with a snake while standing than it was to deal with one after you'd taken a seat or turned in for the night. Satisfied, he walked back to the biggest tree and its plentiful shade, he shook off his pack and his two water skins, sat down and eased back against the trunk. He winced at the bite marks the cords of the water skins left in his shoulders and rubbed them for quite some time.

Thirsty, he pulled one of the water skins over to himself, pulled the plug from it and raised it on his elbow. He drank deeply. He looked up and marked the sun through the moving branches of the tree. He lowered the skin, reached for his pack and opened it. He rummaged in it for a few moments and finally brought out a piece of paper and the stub of a pencil. The paper had been folded and refolded so many times you could see the softness of the linen that it was made from. The pencil was no longer than an inch and difficult to hold in a hand larger than a child's.

Carefully, The Blaze unfolded the paper and gazed at the tiny tick marks that covered it fully on one side and almost completely on the other. Holding the pencil with the tips of his fingers, he added another tick mark. He was unaware that whenever he wrote, even if just making a mark, his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth in a display of concentration.

With that done, he looked back the way he came. The footprints now only a light line in the dust leading back and disappearing out of sight. He looked to the paper, preparing to fold it and place it back in the pack, but instead studied the neat little tick marks covering it. The days and weeks and months and years marched across it like a line of never-ending soldiers. One after another and followed by another. It was a poor calendar that showed none of the long history it had seen.

And even though it was not his habit, he sat and reflected upon the marks and he was sure that he remembered them all. Not each mark as it was made, so to speak, but he remembered each of his days. Some of those days were the ones that were so good you wished at the time that they would have never ended. Still yet, some of those other days were so bad, you wondered how you ever got through them or you wondered why they ever came to be in the first place.

He took another long pull from his water skin and just as he was lowering his arm, he froze. With the water skin still balanced on his elbow, he let the paper fall from the fingers of his other hand and then he slowly moved them toward the handle of the pistol on his hip. Staring across the top of the water skin, he waited. He didn't have to wait long because the moment as the hare moved one of its sandy brown ears again, The Blaze’s hand flicked down and forward almost too quick to see and instantly with a flash of powder and a thunderous crash, twenty-five yards away a headless rabbit fell over.

A scrawny bird shrieked and exploded into flight from a branch far above him. The Blaze had missed the bird while surveying the area earlier, but with another flash of his hand and another huge report, he did not miss it a second time. Even as it fell to the ground followed by its raining feathers, The Blaze didn't think that it would make for a good a meal. Especially not with a rabbit already bagged, but an opportunity to eat must be taken. All of this, he had done in a matter of seconds, never lowering the skin from his arm. Noting this, he tilted it up and took another sip of water and stepped off into the brush.

He collected his prey and collected an arm load of good-sized sticks from beneath the trees. Then he felt around in the pack again for the makings for his fire. He noticed the paper still lying where he had dropped it and picked it up. He regarded those neat rows again and as he did, a smile began to slowly form on his lips. For he had realized, with some amusement, and if the marks were to be true, then today was his birthday. He counted several blocks of the marks and his smile grew. “Well what do you know?” he thought.

When the rabbit was sizzling on the spit (he discarded the bird because it's flesh was greasy and it's eyes were diseased), he looked West to the forest and it's great distance and decided that in celebration of his own birthday, he would make camp here tonight and sleep under the trees and the stars with a full belly. It was true that in very recent years, he had completely forgotten his own birthday only to realize he had the following year...or two.

As he cooked, he used a small sewing kit and mended several tears and loose seams in his clothing. Every once in a while, he'd place the needle between his lips and reach over and turn the spit a little this way or that way. When the meat was ready, he put away his sewing kit and removed it from the fire. He he ate slowly, savoring the smoky flavor. He had remembered earlier that he had a small pouch of salt too, but he refrained from seasoning the rabbit with it for there were far better and more important uses for salt in this place, Birthday or not. Besides, the meat was simply delicious! It was tender and juicy and the skin was crisp and well browned.

He chewed until there was almost no flavor left and he washed down every third or fourth bite with a sip of water. He did not want to over indulge in his water, but with the rabbit, he felt no such restraint. That forest was still far away and he was sure there would be water there, but he consciously spared it anyway. Old habits die hard.

As evening set in, he leaned back against the tree with a blanket draped over the front of him. He thought about tomorrow and his inevitable arrival at the forest's edge. He thought about what may lie beyond even that. And then, he imagined what may lie even beyond that! One thing he knew for certain was that there was work to be done. There was always work to be done and he imagined that there always will be. He didn't feel that was either good or bad, but only the way that things are.

With his belly full and the warmth of the fire (he had stoked it up to last through the night), The Blaze began to doze. Sleep would come fully soon enough and that would be alright. That was good. Like rain, sleep didn't always come when you wanted it to. But for the time being he was happy to doze with the calmness of his own mind and the crackle of his fire. He he opened his eyes and looked up at the stars.

They were much brighter now in the darkening sky. They looked like tick marks to him. There are billions of them, up there in the heavens, each one marking its own time, just as he was marking his time down here. Tick, tick, tick. He closed his eyes and thought about the stars and the blackness between them and his breathing grew slower and measured. Another smile grew on his face again and said quietly to the night "Happy birthday." Then he laughed a little laugh and drifted off to sleep and into that blackness in between.

Imagine, if you will...

How real is your imagination?  There are those that would argue that imagination is not real at all and that it really doesn't exist because it's all in your head.  I do agree that "it's all in your head" because everything is all in our heads.  Everything that we touch, see, taste, smell happens in our heads as our minds process the stimulus.

I do not agree that imagination is not real, for the simple truth that it makes you feel.  What's more is that our imaginations create measurable physiological changes or responses.  To me, that is real.  Human beings naturally use their imaginations constantly and for many reasons.  One of those reasons is a form of mostly unconscious training.  When we imagine ourselves in a situation, whether it's a pleasurable situation or an unpleasant one, we're test driving our responses to that imagined situation.  Producers of motion pictures know this all too well.  But I digress.  

Slogans such as "Think Positive!" and "Look on the bright side!" and even "... walk a mile in their shoes!" are all tips to exploring our own reactions and responses to any given subject.  I also find them to be good advice, by the way.  Exploring in such a manner is something that we all do and many of us are very aware of the benefits of doing so.  Relaxation techniques, meditation, or simply finding our "happy place" are all just other words for guided imagery.  The beauty of practicing your own imagery is that the only limitation is your own imagination!

There are countless sources available to help us discover the deeper abilities of ourselves when we use our imaginations actively and for a targeted response.  Dreaming works in much the same manner, but are much harder for most people to direct to any degree.  Our minds have trouble sometimes determining what's real and what is not.  Have you ever had a memory that you were absolutely certain unfolded just as you remember it to have happened and only later to find out that you remembered incorrectly?  That was the way that it happened.  Then it changed.  What if we apply that line of thinking to something about ourselves or to an opinion we hold?  That's right!  We can change.  We can feel better, perform better, and even physically feel better simply by imagining those things and exposing ourselves to the real physical effects we encounter.

As a statement of proof, I can tell you that I can control the speed of my pulse simply by thinking about it.  Faster or slower, up and down, it's an interesting ability.  I can also raise the surface temperature of my hands by a few degrees in the same manner.  I have no idea what benefit being able to do this is, but it's neat all the same.  Of course, you'd have to either see it to believe it or maybe do it yourself.

As a result of our busy society and our busy lives, we see the majority of guided imagery focusing on reducing stress, unwinding, relaxing, but we can use imagery to excite ourselves.  We can use it to overcome fears and apprehensions (by first experiencing them safely and controlled by us).  We can boost our self-esteem, confidence and performance, relieve pain, and have a positive effect in just about any scenario we can imagine.

If you already don't use your imagination in such a targeted way, challenge yourself to try and see how you feel afterward.  I think that you'll find that when it comes to yourself, even the sky is not the limit.

If you'd like to read a thoughtful life lesson my son Lucas taught me many years ago about the importance of imagination, I'd would love it if you read http://tim-buckley.blogspot.com/2011/09/big-lesson-from-little-boy.html too.  It's an underlying thread in almost everything that I write.

With love,

timmy

Two Worlds

Read any newspaper.  Watch any television news program.  Listen to any radio show and we're made aware of the world around us.  Information travels at the speed of light and there are few stones left uncovered around the globe.  Auto accidents, plagues, murder, and mayhem, sickness and distress.  By and large this is the world we're presented with.  Day after day, hour after hour, we're inundated with information so quickly there's barely time to absorb one breaking story before the next one is shouted at us.

Politics and finger-pointing.  He said, she said.  It's someone's fault, I'm innocent.  We can all relate to theses types of thing simply because its what's presented to us.  And for some terrible reason, it seems to be what "we" want to see because it garners responses from us all.  "Down with this and up with that", we shout.  Human differences are an integral part of what make us human and that's vital.  But what about our human commonalities?  I think they are far more vital to us because they create alliances.  Differences create oppositions, and I'd like to assert that respect creates treaties.  

This leads to the second of the two worlds my title implies that there are.  The second world is really only a part of the one we share, but it's less emphasized and doesn't make the headlines as often, but I really think it should.  It's a beautiful world, full of helpful caring people.  It celebrates the diversity in each of us and it uses that diversity to bring us all closer together.  Isn't that odd, I just said differences create oppositioins, didn't I?  I still stand by that statement, but only prior to applying the question: "Would you rather be right or would you rather be happy?"

Let me give an example.  Perhaps I hear a song on the radio.  It's a remake.  I might thumbs-down the effort because it's not right.  It's not right because it's different.  And now I am opposed to the remade song.  But if I look for the differences in the song with an open mind, I can be happy with it even though it is not the original version.  I may still perfer the original, but I can at least accept the remake.  I've created a treaty with it, so to speak.  I can take this process a bit further and apply it to other things.  It's not one size fits all, but it helps me.  So, back to this second world now.  In addition to the beautiful and helpful people there is physical beauty.  

The colors and the sounds and the smells of the world around us.  Plants and animals and water.  Earth and dirt and farms bursting with produce for as far as the eye can see.  It's the old man sitting on a park bench enjoying the life that's rushing all around him.  Maybe he smiles now and again.  Maybe he removes his cap and dabs the sweat from his brow with a mongrammed hankerchief.  And just maybe the monogram on his hanky was stiched on by a loving wife, now long deceased, who at the time was imagining the pleasure on her man's face when it was finished and she presented it to him.  She may have already been feeling the acceptance and self-satisfaction that comes when you've given a well received gift.  Maybe his random smiles are his passing thoughts of her.  

It's a world where you open the door for someone or help carry something heavy on behalf of a fellow shopper.  Trust me on this one, tall people love to get things from a high shelf for folks who can't easily reach.  It 's a world where a man and his son get out of their car, despite the blaring horns and growing line of impatient commuters, to lay hands on the trunk of a stalled car and push a disabled vehicle (and it's driver) safely from the lane and onto the roadside.  In that world, the father and son might offer a ride, a can of gas, or the use of a cell phone.

In this world, when a proud child displays his or her artwork, regardless of it technical quality, it is praised and complimented because we understand the creativity and effort that goes into bringing any art form to life.  There is never a need to point out that the Easter Bunny doesn't really have fingers on the hands holding the basket.

It's the same world where a mom and dad take turns teaching their clild to ride a bike, knowing all the while that the child will probably fall off and very likely get a scrape.  If that happens, courage is restored by the parents encouragement and confidence.  In the case of teaching a child to ride a bicycle, probable falling and scrapes are the risks taken to gain that brand-new freedom that one can only feel and never explain through words when we learned to ride.

In this world there was a wedding on Saturday.  There was a funeral last Thursday.  Thousands of high school kids graduated and are now pondering futures that are so full of possibilities, it's mind boggling!  This world is crowded too! There are people everywhere busily going about their days.  Smiling, laughing, crying, running late for work and getting well-deserved promotions.  There are people sharing food and advice or gathering it for others who may not be able to or in an easy position to.  There are phone calls to Gramdmas and "I love yous" exchanged.  In the second world there is a man paying a few dollars on behalf of the woman and her baby in front of him at the grocery store, because in her haste, the mother miscounted and thought she had more money than she did.

It is in this second world that I never have to apply that question "would you rather be right or be happy" because acts of kindness and support and consideration for other people is always right.  And it always makes me happy.  

As I said, the second world is just a part of the first world.  And together they are the world in which we share our time and our lives.  The news, televison and radio are not devoid of relaying information about world two, but the ratio between the two leans ridiculously toward the bad things and not the good things.  I believe that each of us can affect a change by focusing on that second world; it's all around us.  We can consiously live there and not just vacation there,  We can invite others to live there with us.  We can raise our children there and maybe one of the speakers at those high school graduations I meantioned a while ago will tell the eager young men and women about that world and how they are its up-and-coming custodians.

We can lead them there by our examples and if we're not yet there ourselves, we can follow a friend.  But we can get there. The ratio can be changed.  And  by the way, the next time you stop to smell the flowers, pick one.  Then give it to someone else to enjoy.

What if Tomorrow ...

...I decided to be a happier person?

...I looked first for the good in everyone I meet?

...I tried to help?

...I didn't jump to conclusions?

...I looked down at my belly and appreiciated the way it jiggles when I laugh?

...I make the effort to remain a "kid at heart"?

...I love freely, without the fear of being hurt?

...I realize that I can be as powerful as I ever will need to be?

...I don't wait until tomorrow?

Don't forget to practice your magic!

I realize that that is a very open-ended statement. I also realize that it is open to many interpetations. So to narrow my scope a little, what I am speaking of refers to you and me. It refers to who (and how) we are. 

Kindness and caring, empathy and understanding belong to no denomination. It is not exclusive to Christians, or Wiccans, or Pagans or any other that I can think of. 

This magick belongs to all creatures who sincerely desire health, happiness, and well-being for their fellow creatures. It rises above and beyond dogma and doctine in its simple wish for the best possible outcome to any painful situation. 

It takes no effort to speak a word of support to a person who is worried or frightened. The encouraging statement "you can do this" may be all it takes to help someone discover an inner strenght that they were previously unaware they held. 

By acknowledging that we are all struggling and by being able to offer a moment of our support and understanding exercises the magick that we all posses. What does a word of praise cost? A pat on the back? A shoulder to cry on? Nothing. But the price of withholding such positives may be the difference in success or failure. But whos? Maybe everyone involved.

While we may not be able to resolve someone's trouble on their behalf, there is still strength in numbers. Sharing yourself with someone may be the difference between that person being alone or having a friend. And that's magick. While we may not be able to carry the weight for them, our understanding of what burden they're carrying can go a long way to making it lighter for them. 

This simple magick is all of ours to practice as we see fit and the more we practice, they better at it we become.

High Hopes

I hope that you have failed at something

I hope that you have had your heart broken

I hope that you have been disappointed

I hope someone let you down

I hope that you really wanted something, but didn't get it

I hope that you've been selfish a few times

I hope that you've embarrassed yourself

I hope you've stereotyped someone

I hope that you have cursed someone

I hope you've worried needlessly

I hope that you have failed to pass a test.

Because that means that you have succeeded and you have fallen in love.  

It means that you've experienced satisfaction and that someone didn't let you down.

It means that you received something wonderful that you didn't expect.

Because you've been generous many times.  And you've been proud of yourself.

And you've given someone the benefit of the doubt.  You have forgiven someone.

Because you've relaxed and had a good time.  That means that you've done better than you

expected to.

But what I hope for the most is that each of us realize that our lives are little more than a series of checks and balances and I hope that each of us understands that we can always tip the scales either negatively or positively. Since it is likely that we have all experienced some or all of the above "goods and bads" and probably many more, then it is just as likely that we've "lived and learned" a little bit.  Perhaps we're skipping some of the negative aspects of ourselves (and others) and moving instinctively toward positive ones more often.  Maybe we're already surpassing that idea and we're now reaching out to help each other be better people, more often.

I believe that we'll always live with the ups and downs, the good and the bad, the light and the dark, because we are all part of the natural balances of the world, society, the Earth and sky, the stars and galaxies.  It fosters learning.  But if we live our lives aware of ourselves and we endeavor to lean more to our positive sides, in time, we may see the center of balance shift.  I have high hopes, but it's really up to us, isn't it?

Everything and Everyone Else

I am a confident person, secure about my thoughts and feelings toward just about subject that I have some familiarity with. But a thought crossed my mind earlier today and normally, I would have had a confident, secure answer. Today, I didn't have the answer I would have expected. I posed the question, "Who is in charge of your life?", to myself and I momentarily blanked in my repsonse. I suppose this is a common enough question. It's one that we all probably ask ourselves from time to time. And I think if that question was asked of me a few months ago, whether by me or by someone else, I would have instantly replied, "I am!"


So as I thought more deeply looking for my answer, I realized that I was not in charge of my life at all. Well, I knew without a doubt that I was the custodian of my life. I also knew that I had ultimate veto power in matters pertaining to me. Additionally, I knew that I was the top decision-maker, but even so, that didn't answer the question. It began to dawn on me that everything and everyone else was in charge of my life and still is and will continue to be. I'll explain, if you promise to remember that I am its custodian with veto and descision power, etc, etc.


The courses of all of my days have been altered perpetually by everything and everyone else. Rainstorms have foiled my plans for an outing. It was in charge; I decided not to picnic in the rain. A person's expression has revealed to me that I was upsetting them or that they were worried about something. They were in charge; I made the decision to drop the subject or agreed to go to the movie of their choice, not mine -whatever the case may have been. My point is that this type of interaction is most certainly the most abundant kind, if not the only kind of interactions that we have. It seems that life itself is simply too dynamic to claim to be "in charge" of it.


Of course, by applying the control that we do have and using our veto power when we think we should, we can most assuredly direct the courses of our lives, but plans change. Not all ideas can come to fruition. The unexpected happens. Now, I understand the term "in charge" is open to interpetation especially when it lacks a definition, and I would never suggest that we are powerless or that we are not fully empowered for all decisons pertaining to ourselves and our well being.


What I am suggesting is quite shadowy, almost imperceptible. It is the underlying causes and effects that all things have and impose upon all things. It is the actions and reactions that happen in countless numbers all of the time, without pause or end. It is the suggestion from a friend, or the tone in the voice of a lover. It is the wiggle of a puppy that compelled us to bend to scratch it, even if our backs were sore. Puppy was in charge; we decided to bend.


Looking at these connections today, and in this context, enables me to answer the question that I asked myself this morning and I am quite comfortable in doing so. My answer is: "We are in charge of my life." But that leads to another, far more enlightening realization that is truly the heart of what I am saying.


It was the realization that if (I believe it is) my life is constantly and endlessly effected and influenced in such ways, then I damn better well start thinking more deeply and more considerately about everything and everyone else because, I also believe, that will surely come back to me and my life.

A Note By Lucas Buckley (Age 16)

Today I realized that the world is beautiful. I realized that it is modern, fast-paced, intimidating, leaving me awe-struck and light-headed. I have lived in times where I felt I needed to keep moving; no dilly-dallying and smelling the flowers. I'm too busy and fast for that.

But then I realized what living is.

My father and I were talking this morning. About a lot of stuff, like the weather and other drivers on the already-busy morning highway. Our conversation had slipped to the subject of the government and the nation. Not what they are or what they do, but the people in them. How these men and women feel in their lives.

He brought up a video I had seen and showed him. It was titled "It All Goes Back in the Box".

Now stop for a second, and anazlye what that could possibly mean.

It was based on a game of Monopoly. This man and his female family member, whose status in the family I cannot recall, were playing Monopoly. The man, after long hours of trying and trying, had finally beaten his sibling or daughter or whatever. She had gone bankrupt at last; he was triumphant, filled with pride. Then the girl said these words: 

"Now, it all goes back in the box."

What significance does this simple statement hold?

A lot, actually.

It shows us that we are a world of consumers, raised to work and compete and win.

But what happens after it all? Why do we do it?

It all goes back in the box.

Is it really important to us to triumph over our equals?

It all goes back in the box.

Does money, power and possession take precedence over knowledge, friendship and life?

It all goes back in the box, my friends.

Most of us are alive, but never living. Look out the window for me, wherever you are, and whatever you find, find the color in it. Not greys and whites, find the shine of every surface and see it well. Don't see it as dull and listless, see it as an object that may hold life and beauty. Hold the image close to your consciousness and breath it all in.

Then go find something worthwhile to do. Go ride a bike, go swim, go hike, go walk, anywhere, everywhere. Be sure to take in the observations before you.

Want to do something? Do it. Want to achieve something? Work at it. Nobody is going to give you what you want. Not unless you earn it or buy it, and money holds no worth if it all goes back in that box.

What if everyone in the world did this? Just think about it for a second: The world and its people, free, loving, caring, healthy. Like the song "Imagine" by the great John Lennon. No greed or hunger, just the world living in peace.

In all reality, there wont be world peace, but why are we confined to work our entire lives rather than being free?

We are the most advanced and dominant race on Earth. If you were a king or queen ruling over a nation, would you want pollution and unrest? If you would, then I'm sorry to say, you're a horrible person. This is our world. Our people. We must take care of them. Furthermore, we must mature so that we can take care of them. If we don't, we will perish.

But how do we get started?

Start small, one step at a time. Take care of yourself, your friends, family, any loved ones. Take care of yourself by being healthy, being active, being happy. Help everyone else to it, too. A healthy world is a prosperous world. 

Respect everyone and everything. Your elders, your friends, your enemies, and most importantly, your environment. 

Get involved in outdoor, fun, active things. Sitting around watchin television or on the computer doesn't burn fat or build muscle, it only burns time and fuses you to your chair.

Spend less time arguing, more time discussing ideas to further the world.

Exercise your mind.

Eat healthy.

Compliment people.

Smile.

Whatever you can do for the world's welfare is worth it.

Can't get started? Feel unmotivated? Get someone to do it with you.

Start with yourself. Like sand in an hourglass, one grain falls, then two, three, and so on until all of the sand is at the bottom. But in this case, there's no limit to the sand. Or the time.

It takes one person to motivate the rest. People need a leader; be one. Just make sure you're a benevolent one.

It all goes back in the box, so make everything you do worth it. It's all about living and learning, but why not teach as you go along?

Our world is beautiful. Just like the people in it. We have to shed our bad habits to bring out the color and shine in everything.

We aren't going to do it as individuals.

-Lucas Buckley, April 7, 2011

My Old Man and The Sea

I’ve been thinking about the ocean a lot lately.  I have a special connection to it.  It’s a connection that did not come to me easily.  Having spent more than half of my life living in Florida, I couldn’t recount the trips I’ve taken to the beach to play in the waves and enjoy the sunshine.  Dozens of times? Hundreds?  Yes, hundreds!  Those trips span back to the first ones I made, as a little boy, in the nineteen seventies on family vacations from Indiana. 

On the surface, my mention of those numerous past visits and vacations aren’t central to what I’m writing; they are to illustrate the many, many times I have been in and around the ocean and had never felt it for what it really is to me.  But deeper down, where my real heart lives, the recollections of those visits and vacations are more than central.  They were (and are) one half of the thread that connected me to the sea.  The other half of that thread was the death of my father, nearly thirteen years ago.

But death sounds so final, so I will rephrase that to be “passing” instead because that is what I truly believe it to be, a passing.  But for me, even that’s not exactly right.  It is a passing, but I like to think of it as a “becoming” also.  Before I digress too much, I should state that I inherited much of my personal thoughts on the subjects of death and passing from my father and the story of that belongs here.

Many years earlier, my grandfather passed.  I was at my parent’s house and we were preparing to travel for the funeral.  Having never lost someone close to me before, I was, to say the least, dumbfounded.  While sitting inside the house, I saw my father through the window.  He was walking around his backyard, kicking rocks, so to speak.  Feeling lost and confused, I went outside to join him and was greeted by a simple, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I replied.

We walked along in silence.  After a few moments passed, not liking the silence, I said, “It really sucks that granddaddy died.”  I suppose I was hoping for some grand or experienced explanation, but instead the reply I got was simply:

“No, he didn’t.”     

Puzzled, I insisted, “No, he died.” To which, my father’s reply was the same:

 “No, he didn’t.”

As we continued walking slowly along, I kept quiet.  I began to wonder if my father’s sense of loss was so great, he might have lost his mind.  Maybe he’d disconnected from the stark reality that one of his closest friends, his supplemental father, was gone.  But before I could wonder longer, he stopped and turned to me.

“Timmy,” he said, tapping a finger against his temple.  “Your grandfather didn’t die because he is right here.  He is alive here, because I knew him and he is alive here (still tapping his head), because I talked to him. I just can’t talk to him in the same way now.  That’s the only thing that’s changed.”

His pure and simple explanation of his perspective immediately made me feel better.  His acceptance of the inevitable passing of my grandfather let me know that all was not lost, just different and that was something I fully considered.  At the time, I never considered that in a few short years I would be revisiting and applying that perspective to his passing, but he did.  And I tried.

After he went, our family returned from the hospital to my parent’s home.  We entered the house and I walked to my wife who was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor.  I said, lamely, “My dad died.” And she replied quietly, “I know.”   I lied on the floor with my head in her lap and I slept for a while.  I felt safe.  When I awoke, our family spent time talking and eating and making jokes. We recalled good and funny times and events, but after many hours, Beth and the kids and I had to head for our home at the beach.

The sun was still high and hot when we arrived home and we unloaded from the car.  I bypassed the house and walked out onto the beach.  Being fully clothed, I intended to walk to the water’s edge, perhaps to collect my thoughts, only I didn’t stop walking.  I stepped into the foam, soaking my shoes and socks, then my ankles and lower legs and when the waves smacked against my knees, I allowed myself to fall bonelessly over and into the water.  I let the waves wash over me and bounce me around.  I let them begin to heal me.  They dragged me back and forth and placed me in the shallows.  They dragged me into the sand.

And as I lay there in that hot Florida sunshine, half submerged and tasting the salt and the sand on my lips and looked up at the sky, the connection I spoke about was made between me and the ocean.  There I had been thinking that my father had died with his departure, but the strength and the weight of the water, the endless crashing voice of the sea told me differently.  In fact, it insisted.  It said purely and simply:

 “He is alive here, because you knew him and he is alive here, because you talked to him. You just can’t talk to him in the same way now.  That’s the only thing that’s changed.”

Do you have a connection to the ocean?

Consider Growing a spiritual Garden

Many of us enjoy gardening for a number of reasons.  Growing a garden is certainly a good way we can save money, considering the high cost of store-bought produce.  We can supplement our dinner tables with fresh vegetables, free from chemical pesticides and commercial fertilizers since there are natural remedies for most pests and soil types.  We can garden as a productive hobby and as a way to spend time outdoors.  But we should not fail to recognize and revere our spirituality as we sow, plant, tend to, and harvest our gardens.  As we nurture and grow our crops, we can nurture and grow ourselves.

Our modern lives, urban living, and busy schedules create distance between us our natural surroundings.  Growing a Spiritual garden can remove some of that distance by reintroducing us to the natural symbiotic relationships that we share with the Sun, Earth, Moon, and all of the elements.  Air, Water, Minerals, Soil, and Insects are all willing to work with us within our gardens, connecting us ever deeper to the world on which we live.

Your garden is sacred space.  Selecting it obviously requires some technical considerations.  Does is receive full or partial sun and for how long each day?  Are there trees whose roots may lie just beneath your space, making it hard to till?  Is your space located where it can easily be watered, etc.?   

In addition to those considerations, ask yourself if you are selecting a place that you love and does it please you?  After all, you’re going to touch the soil (the more the better).  You’re going to sweat there and heat your muscles there.  Your time and your heart and your devotion will be invested there.  Envision the thriving plants and the good feelings they give to you.  Picture the earthworms moving beneath the surface as they go along their paths.  Can you see the circling bees among your growing bounty?  If so, you’re committing yourself to your spiritual garden and it will commit to its return for your efforts.  You'll be working together. 

We should now stop and realize that a garden will not grow itself and that there are many technical considerations to be made as to what will flourish in your particular area of the country?  When should you plant?  When should you water?  Can you grow cucumbers or melons in your area?  All of these questions and more can be answered online or, in my favorite, The Old Farmer’s Almanac. 

A spiritual garden differs from an everyday garden because it is a sacred place shared between you and the Earth and empowered by the Sun where each plays its role toward shared success.  In a spiritual garden you should grow WITH your crops.  It is a place to clear your mind of daily troubles.  It’s a place to dispel negative feelings and regenerate.  It is a place for you, your family, and your friends if you wish to include them.  If you do include others, make sure to explain to them that your spiritual garden may be shared because the Earth holds nothing back from us, but also explain what sharing this sacred space means to you and how you wish to spend time in it.    

Sincere help should always be welcomed because, gardens are a lot of work, but also because shared responsibility, love, and labor in your garden will make deeper personal connections as you share your future meals together. 

Combining your love of self, one another and of Mother Nature with doing a bit of researching for vegetables that do well in your particular climate and putting in some time, love, and effort can provide you with a spiritual garden that fills your heart as well as your table.

A big Lesson from a Little Boy

About a dozen years or so ago, my youngest son, Lucas taught me a valuable lesson.  Most parents can attest to the simple, yet astounding pieces of wisdom that is often given to us from our children.  This particular eye-opener was given to me when Lucas was about four years old.  It was something I had forgotten.  Well, to be closer to the truth, it was something I never really considered to begin with. 

Lucas and I were sitting, cross-legged and face-to-face in the living room.  We were engaged in an epic action figure battle.  Regardless of the fact that Superman and Spiderman are fellow superheroes, superfriends, if you will, they were duking it out for some reason or another. 

I controlled superman and I barraged Luke’s Spiderman with x-ray vision.  Spidey countered with a volley of webs, which I easily broke free from.  Superman hurled the television remote and scored a hit!  Superman hurled a pillow! Superman flew easily to and fro, pummeling his foe.

And just as I was certain that Spiderman was mere seconds from defeat, he suddenly regained his strength, floated into the air and began blasting fireballs!  “Fireballs”, I said.  “Spiderman doesn’t shoot fireballs!”  Lucas laughed and informed me that not only does Spiderman shoot fireballs, but that the fireballs now were made entirely of Kryptonite!  I cried foul, but Spidey kept blasting away. 

I tried again, to explain to him what Spiderman’s powers consisted of (I was hoping to expose Spidey’s limitations and win the battle), but Lucas ignored me and continued his onslaught.  He said something to me and with it, disarmed me and won the battle.

He asked, rhetorically, “Who’s playing this game, dad?” and instantly I realized that my imagination wasn’t quite what it used to be.  I understood that my decades of experience and knowledge did not benefit me in this action-figure battle; it was what defeated me. 

Internally, I vowed never to forget that moment and so far I haven’t.  In fact, I revisit that more often than you might think because Luke’s simple and wise exclamation summarized to me the power of imagination.  I realized then that my action figure had been hobbled and his power diminished because so had mine. 

We have the tendency, as we grow older, to forget the importance our imaginations play in our lives.  There are those that argue the whole of the human species owes everything to its imaginations.  I don’t disagree.  Was there ever an invention made that wasn’t first imagined? 

Thinking, in its simplest form is really nothing more than imagining something.  Perhaps it’s thinking toward the solution to a particular problem.  It’s that mental grocery list we start putting together in our heads when we realize a trip to the store is soon needed.  It’s even the images of the products we’re going to purchase or the aisle they reside in.

When we think of a trip in the car on a bright and warm day and anticipate the breeze and the trees, the sights and sounds, we are imagining, aren’t we?  But we get so used to solving our problems, making our lists, planning our trips that we usually don’t see the process of what we’re doing.  Fair enough. 

Past experiences go a long way in shaping how we use our imaginations.  So do schools, teachers, churches, the media, and so on.  None of these entities are inherently bad and they do spark our imaginations, but more so, they tend to tell us “like it is,” and portions of our imagination get stifled.  I don’t have to imagine that two plus two equals four if I already know the answer.

But “telling it like it is” is not inherently bad either because certain truths are truths and facts are facts and relying on past experiences to anticipate a similar outcome to a similar situation is usually good sense.  What I am trying to say is that thinking the way we always think, while not bad, may be limiting.

Most of us have heard the hackneyed phrase “think positive!” and I would venture to guess most of us agree there can be benefit to doing just that.  We can imagine ourselves being happy or thinner or kinder or whatever, but unless we follow up with some type action, it’s likely that we won’t end up where/how we thought we would or at least a little closer.  The phrase “Follow Your Dreams” also comes to mind.

This past weekend I imagined a beautiful car ride with my wife to meet her friend.  The day was bright and warm.  The anticipated breeze and the trees, the sights and sounds were all there.  The ride was EXACTLY as I had imagined it would be.  It was wonderful.  All we had to do was get in the car, the rest unfolded.

So, imagining that you are (and will continue to become) who and how you want to be and giving it a try may be easier than you think.  This applies to everything we do.  I think it has everything to do with who and how you are already.

In my case, the case of the epic superhero battle, I learned that my imagination was constipated by the things that I already knew about Spiderman and Superman.  My character’s power was already defined and therefore limited. 

But then my son asked, “Who’s playing this game, dad?”

Thank you for helping me. No, Thank YOU for thanking ME!

Most of us were taught when we were young that saying “thank you” shows good manners.  We should also have been taught that when we display good manners, what we’re really doing is showing others that we respect them. 

Saying thank you is such an everyday occurrence, we may think nothing of it.  It’s sometimes an almost automatic response.  But that simple act alone holds some important reciprocal value for the giver and the receiver.  Being grateful produces positive emotions and positive emotions reduce stress.  Relying on someone’s help obviously eases our burden, but it also builds trust and makes us feel better.  Positive feelings, less stress, and an easier burden improves our overall sense of well-being making us healthier people.

By saying thank you, we’re letting the other person know what they’ve done is valued.  That value increases the individual’s feelings of worth.  It says that he or she was needed.  These feelings usually encourage that person to be more willing to offer help in the future.   It may be good to know that many people do not ask for help or accept too it willingly because they feel it represents failure.   Additionally, many people do not offer their help because they are unsure if it is needed or wanted.

I think the important thing to be aware of is that the benefits do not remain exclusive between the helper and the one receiving help.  The good feelings that are generated by helping make the giver more willing to help again in the future.  And the individual that received help, being grateful, becomes more likely to seek and offer help when needed.  They pay it forward. 

I enjoy looking for the commonalities in people’s behavior in everyday situations.   Equally, I enjoy trying to discover the mechanics behind those behaviors and I am fascinated by learning what positive, empowering, and helpful things can be revealed, understood, and yes, exploited, to help us grow and be kinder more caring people for each other, making all of our lives a bit better. 

 I sincerely thank YOU for taking a few minutes to read this and  I am truly grateful that you did.  If you find it interesting, or better yet, useful, then I am doubly pleased.  And, you see, the cycle continues…

Exercise your heart with a walk down Memory Lane

We are all aware of how happy we feel while reminiscing with friends about good times that we've shared, but did you know that frequent solo trips down memory lane can be a habit for a happier and healthier life?

Research shows that we use the same areas of our brains when recollecting our experiences that we use when we're actually experiencing them. Remembering good times is good for us and can improve our feelings of well-being on a daily basis. 

Recalling a time when you felt terrific or beautiful, or calm, relaxed, or content instantly produces the same wonderful feelings for you all over again and you benefit from them. Remembering something that made you feel good, makes you feel good! 

Of course, we shouldn't live in the past, but remembering happy times regularly makes us happier, healthier people and that makes it easier for us to enjoy our lives more fully.

Researchers from Loyola University have reported that in spending a few minutes each day, people who recalled good memories felt happier and more cheerful than people that focused solely on their present situations. Regular visits to our positive memories has been shown to help create more positive moods and outlooks in us. Like a joyful visit with an old friend. 

Psychologists from Southampton University, UK learned that folks that first recalled, and then wrote down their positive memories reported feeling happier, feeling increased self-esteem, and feeling more positive about their friends and relationships. 

Interestingly, Sonja Lyubomirsky and researchers from the University of California, Riverside, reported similar findings in those respects, except they found that people who DID NOT write down their happy memories had much stronger feelings than those who did.

So, if recalling a memory in depth has stronger impact than writing one down has, is there any benefit to writing them down? Indeed, 

there is, but it depends on the type of memory. 

Not to say that writing down your happy memories for posterity or to share (or remind) a friend or loved one is not beneficial because that is a terrific way to share the associated good feelings, but there seems to be an even better reason to write a memory down: when it's a bad one!

Because all of our memories are not happy, positive, or pleasant ones, we may want to keep a pen and some paper handy to lessen the negative, sad, or even heartbreaking feelings that come with our "not-so-happy" memories. 

By learning that recollecting memories (good or bad) invoked deeper feelings than writing those memories down did, Lyubomirsky formed a simple, helpful idea, which is:

keep and relive good memories in your head where they invoke the strongest feelings and put bad memories down on paper where they are weaker. 

I find this idea akin to sitting down and writing an angry letter with no intention of sending it, merely to get it out of your system and it makes sense to me.

By understanding that the feelings that we get, when we remember past events, are every bit as real as they were during those events and by knowing a couple of easy tips how we can maximize our good memories and feelings and minimize our bad ones, we can take advantage of our pasts to be happier, healthier people in our futures. 

I believe that happier people make happier memories. Can you see a pattern here?