BSUR

     "BSUR, SUC, SIMIM*."
     I can always count on a James Taylor song for theme music in my life.  Do you get it?  No?  Read the letters individually.
     Whenever I get to thinking I need to do more to make a difference, life shakes me up, brushes me off, and sets my thought aright again.  It was the day before Thanksgiving when I heard a knock on my door.  It was my young neighbor, Juan, with a beautiful floral arrangement for me.  
     "This is from my grandmother.  She says you are so wonderful, and she wanted you to have this."
 Juan and his grandparents, Luis and Maria, are from Puerto Rico.  Juan is bilingual; Luis and Maria speak sólo españoles; I speak English and really poor French.  I gave them some tomatoes from my garden when they moved in this summer,  and I smile and wave hello when I see them; that's as far as we can get.  Luis is retired with a heart condition.  He looks and walks like Thich Nhat Hanh.  But to keep busy he repairs the home he rents, rakes his leaves...pulls out the grass in my driveway cracks, brings in my garbage barrel, rakes my leaves...his generosity is stunning.  All I can do is offer effusive Italian hand gestures akin to throwing kisses and bake oatmeal cookies.  So what the heck was Maria thinking?
     "Juaaaaaaan!"  I said after picking my jaw up off the ground.  "I don't do anything for your grandmother!  My Lord, this is so beautiful!"
     "No, no.  She thinks you are so good.  She wishes she could talk to you, though."
     I looked up and saw her standing on the second floor deck.  Barefoot, I ran across the driveway and up the steps to give her a big hug and kiss.  "Merry."  You thought the word was used only with "Christmas," didn't you?  Maria is "merry" personified.  She just beams when she is delighted, and chuckles they way my Grandma Daddona did; they are so much alike.  Juan followed up behind, and I made him translate for me:  "Tell her I will write her letters.  I can translate them on the computer and put them in your mailbox.  Then she can write back, put her letters in my box, and I'll translate those."  He did so, and Maria got even merrier.

My beta apple vs Maria's alpha apple

     But wait, there's more!  Two hours later there was another knock on my door.  This time it was Luis with a bulging plastic shopping bag.  Again, the language barrier being what it is, I relied on facial expressions to go through the gamut of "hello," "what's in here?" "oh my stars," and "thank you."  I think I managed "gracias" for the latter.   Then, with peace as every step, the Latino Buddhist monk glided back across the driveway.  Inside were three apples, six bananas, and three sweet potatoes each the size of a basketball.  I'm serious.  One apple could feed a family of four.  I'm betting that in a former life Luis and Maria were the ones responsible for the loaves and fishes when Jesus fed the multitude.  Did their generosity know no bounds?  Apparently not.  And what the heck did I do to deserve it?
     Well, it seems just being as I am is all it took.  Seeing them, smiling to them, and making silly gestures tell them that this middle-aged American white woman is safe, accepting, and enjoys talking with their beloved grandson.  Seeing myself through the eyes of another culture tells me that an open heart is more valuable than a job title or how much education I have or how I maintain my driveway.  Without language, we can sense the best in each other, because we hear with our hearts.  And so they inspire me to BSIM in the best way possible all the time.  As do you, my Gentle Readers.

Pax tecum.

*From the album Flag

Stranger than Fiction

     This is pretty much what I looked like when I read the email a few days ago.
     I had given up on an even part-time career in voice overs due to the never-ending equipment problems I was having in my home studio.  You can't market yourself if you can't trust your software.  Given that realization, I was ready to ask my web designer (Bob Tyrrell, he's the best!) to take down the site when this email came in:  
     I found you on the web and wondered if you'd be interested in a voice over job.  The budget is $XXX.  The script is attached.
     No fool, I, immediately I googled this company and the client they represented.  Both really exist and are quite legitimate.  But I was getting out of voice overs.  He may not want someone who's never done a gig before.  What happens when he finds out I no longer have working equipment,  maybe I should...shut up.  I wrote back with a yes.  This was one of those times when my higher self actually trumped my ego and propelled me into the fear of the unknown.
     What makes this so improbable is that NO ONE GOOGLES FOR VOICE OVER TALENT!  Even a fool knows there are studios and web brokers like voice123.com you contact to find someone.  I figured George was a rookie.  He wasn't.  I was warned by coaches and talent that people could be difficult to work with.  He wasn't.  I told him I no longer had my own studio and would have to record somewhere external.  He gave me more money.  He didn't do anything extravagant, he wasn't effusive in his dealings with me.  Simply, he was a pro with a good attitude.  And in my eyes, that made him trustworthy. 
     This meant I could share my good fortune with Jim, the owner and engineer of the studio I had in mind.  Things have been tough for him, as they are for the 99% in these economic times.  But he is a generous soul nonetheless.  He gave me a very fair price for his services saying, "I don't have to gouge someone to make a living.  I just want to be able to take care of myself and do a good job."  I knew I was in the right hands.
     Then George contacted me again.  The client wanted me to record a longer script for their website.  Could I give him a quote for that and record it at the same time as the other?  "Make sure it's fair for you," George admonished.  I gave him my fee, and he didn't flinch.  More money!  And more fun, since I loved the three-minute script.
     I rehearsed the copy, got feedback from John, and was able to improve my delivery.  I also made a point to remove all fear from my consciousness.  After all, I reasoned, this was a gift from God.  Why would I trash such an extraordinary gift with my anxieties?  What an insult!  Besides, it was an opportunity to be of service, a big value in my life.  So I went to the studio feeling at peace about my abilities yet jazzed about this opportunity.  Nothing goes perfectly.  I blew the first line on the first read.  But rather than get upset, I said, "Great!  Got that out of the way."  Then went on to give two nearly flawless reads.  The other scripts were just as carefree.  When it was all over, George said there would probably be more work for me, so he'll keep me on their roster.
     What an extraordinary gift this was!  Completely out of the blue.  And I was able to give some business to a terrific engineer as well.  When the check comes in, I will also be tithing to a couple of local food banks so that even more can share in my good fortune.  This is the stuff one only sees in the movies.  It can't possibly happen in real life.  But then again, life is stranger than fiction.  And why George chose to find a talent through Google, I may never know.  But am I grateful!
      I wish you many blessings this Thanksgiving week, and I hope you will share your gratitudes with others in the comment field below.  I'd love to hear your good news.  We all would!

Pax tecum.
    

Share Your Light, Not Your Oil

     Frequently I find myself thinking of service versus income.  As strange as that may seem to you, it is a real dilemma for me...and others as I have discovered.  We want to live a life of service, and while many can use our help, they haven't the means to pay for it.  So we do things for free or way below the amount needed to sustain ourselves.  We want to believe this is right, but it feels draining.  And yet to focus on how to make income feels as though we are putting the emphasis on the wrong driver. 
     But I may have had a breakthrough.  Recently I listened to a truly inspirational recording of a workshop about fulfilling our purpose.  In essence, it is imperative to live our purpose for the love of it, for the love of others, so everything can happen in the best way possible.  Otherwise things will be off kilter.  One participant asked where you draw the line between unselfish love and being a doormat or martyr.  "Yes!" I shouted to the laptop.  "That's what I want to know, too!"  The speaker, Chet Manchester, then gave this quote:  "Share your light, not your oil."
     When we really are fulfilling our purpose, God or the Highest Good is working through us, and that light is what we share.  But when we give too much of our time or energy, when we begin to feel exhausted, we can be sure we are giving of our oil because our divine nature has mingled with our ego.  We give from our need to feel valued, or an overdeveloped sense of guilt or responsibility.  We grow to resent others or hurt ourselves, and then there is no way to sustain our light.  You know what this feels like: someone sucking the marrow out of your bones.  Or indeed, you feel like you are the one dependent upon another's energy to feed you.  To be absolutely clear, we all occasionally need the help of others.  And that is indeed a blessing because giving and receiving keep the divine energy in a gorgeous, meandering flow.  It's what makes the world go round.  But when need becomes a lifestyle choice it's time to take note and do something different both for our sake and that of others.
     Coincidentally I was sharing this with an acquaintance who said something powerful.  Quoting Bible, she noted that Jesus said, "Love your neighbor as yourself."  "You notice he didn't say more than yourself.  There has to be an equal respect between yourself and another."  I had never considered that before.  Mutuality requires appropriate boundaries.  Just as floodgates can open and close for the best use of water power, so “yes” and “no” do likewise.  Hearing “no” in response to a request, I must consider that another person or a wider perspective may better serve my need.  Saying “no” may be your way of teaching another how to fish.
     So keep your wick trimmed and your lamp full.  Then shine on, glorious Light.  Shine on!

Pax tecum.
    

Losing Consciousness

     Aside from heavy duty narcotics for which I was most grateful during my battle with a kidney stone, the next best way to lose consciousness is through the creative process.  I marvel at those artists, composers, writers, designers who give up the normal thought process and go someplace else entirely for very long periods of time.  

     Recently John and I chanced upon an art show up in Litchfield one Sunday afternoon.  The community center was chockablock with everything from pottery to weavings, from oils to jewelry.  What imagination these people had, and what time they spent not only in execution but in the process of conceiving.  How extraordinary it seems to me to see something so deeply that it confounds the rational brain.  I found myself standing before Rita Paradis' White Vessels, a pastel piece that was a still life in white.  But I could not stop gazing at the evidence that it was not white at all but various shades of pale greens, violets, and blues.  With a cursory glance the brain will register just white.
     Yesterday I read the obituary of composer and Pulitzer Prize winner Elliott Carter who died at 103 and was composing up until earlier this year.  He had studied with Danbury native Charles Ives (who sold insurance to the Carter family).  Talk about history!  His music was complex and difficult to grasp. He is quoted in the New York Times:  “As a young man, I harbored the populist idea of writing for the public.  I learned that the public didn’t care. So I decided to write for myself. Since then, people have gotten interested.” Oh, to have the courage of one's unique gift and break the ground of new ideas!  You can listen to Carter's Cello Sonata to hear for yourself.
     So here am I, desiring to write, and yet dodging the muse with every excuse I can find.  I don't want to give up control of my thoughts to her.  She will infiltrate my being and take over, confuse me, infuriate me, exhaust me.  And yet, why do I insist upon writing?  I write to discover questions that had never occurred to me before.  I write to explore their answers.  I write to see if there are personal Truths I need to examine.  I ask myself if these are universal Truths. Then I just put it out there.  Most people do not respond to any of these blogs.  But I decided when I first started them this was simply a way for me to show up and do the writing.  It's not that I don't care what you think about my pieces or if you choose to read them at all.  It's just that I care more about the process.    
     So here's my question for you:  What are you willing to lose consciousness for?  Where does your muse take you?  What do you learn?  And are you willing to share it with others?

Pax tecum.
  

Connecting in Chaos

     Sandy was quite a gal!  Since most of my readers are from Connecticut, I send out my hopes that you are well, warm, and safe.  By some grace or luck, my neighborhood escaped both damage and power outages.  My parents are shuttling between my home and my sister's since they are without power.  I have not been able to reach Supercuts the next town over for a haircut, so clearly their power has not been restored.  I have not heard back from a client in Bridgeport for whom I am supposed to start a job.  (These are not complaints but observations.)  Then I read that New York City is crippled.  Subway tunnels are flooded, the city is running out of gasoline.   I feel as though I am living in a dream while everyone else around me must feel they are living in a nightmare.  The disparity in fortune is mind-boggling.
     Lately John and I have mutually expressed our desire to live more simply.  But what we also discover is that the added benefit of this is the development of deeper and wider connections with others.  Simplicity cannot be about rugged individualism.  It must be about mutual support. We need less when we can share more.  When we offer a chain saw, a sofa to sleep on, or space in our garage we have cause to connect, to freely give to others what we have in abundance.  We participate in what is called the gift economy.  And nothing brings people closer together than that.  Whatever divisiveness we may have sensed in the upcoming elections seems to have yielded to more immediate needs and a concern for others on a local level.  Would that we could see each other across the country--or even across the county--as our next door neighbors and nurture that sense of connection all the time.
     This posting today will be brief.  In the face of this much upheaval there is little I can say that would have any use.  But I can offer a hot shower, a hot meal, and some company to those of you living in my area who might need something.  And if you are looking for something to do, just keep in mind that the Red Cross is in dire need of blood.  If you can make a donation, please consider it.  
     My prayers and love are with you all.

Pax tecum.