HE WHISPERED

  Tls 2020                               

 

I have been to the bridge from which few return. 

I have been to the beach and summoned the tide.

I have been to the place where the dying hunger for life.

And at all these places, there I found God.

He restored my health with the warmth of His breath. “The bridge is not yours to cross; not yet,” He whispered.

When the storm was set to triumph over me, God calmed the sea with a simple bow of His head.  “Have faith my child,” He whispered.

And in the abyss, where the breadcrumbs STOP and the suffocating darkness reigns, He re-lit the flame within, not once, but three times and christened me a “Survivor”.  “Persevere,” He whispered, “there is more that you must do.”

So, at this moment, as the whole planet battles COVID, I reflect on the life I have lived and those who have blessed my journey with their presence and I whisper, “Thank you,”

And He hears.

THE FAIRY TALE

Tls 2013

 

 

Once upon a time there was a spirited young girl and, as is often the case in a fairy tale like this, an older, man with a fiery spirit.  They came to know each other at a distance; her watching him in awe; him glimpsing her when it suited him and slowly, almost hypnotically, drawing her in while keeping her at arm’s length.  As she matured, oh what a beauty she became, with long black hair, porcelain skin, and ebony eyes, she was the desire of every man in her village, but her heart…her heart always belonged to him. 

Bent on a dream of sculpting a “self” greater than he was, he could not see beyond the arms length circle at which he kept her.  And, at that distance, his feelings were more about owning her than sharing a life together.  He did not know how to love.  He did not know how to “share”.  She was to him, at first, a “fancy”, then an intrigue, and now, a prize to be lauded over all the rest who pursued her affections in vain.  It made him feel powerful.

It was a dark, stormy night when she snuck into his room and offered up her gifts to him. In a fiery explosion of love and passion too big to contain the beauty became possessed by the fire of the beast and, that night, she surrendered her soul as his prize. She had been promised to a prince, her future having been etched in time before she even reached womanhood, but now she made known her sins and staunchly refused. In the shadow of disgrace, she was banished from her family and freed to walk her path alone.

Many, many years went by with her living in his shadow, all the while dreaming of the day when he would honor her with the invitation to be his wife; all the while dreaming of the life they would share.  He loved her to the extent that a man-boy could love, holding her up as the rarity she was, celebrating his conquest with her soul as his trophy.  But when they stood before the mirror gazing at the reflection in it, he only saw himself and what he had come to own.  He had that now, it was time to sculpt the rest. The more he was loved, the less he did to deserve it.  The more she gave, the more he took her for granted and devoted all of his energy to pursuit of his dreams, to the chase of his future, to create a “self” greater than he was. 

One day the invitation of a lifetime came to him.  He was presented the opportunity to “start over” in a new land, with a dream bigger than he had dared ever dream.  Without a moments hesitation he took it for himself before ever considering her; what did she want?  The beauty’s fate was of little concern to him; he'd had that. He was possessed of a new conquest. To make easy his escape from this nowhere life, he told her that he would establish himself in the new land and would then bring her to him.  He teased her with dreams that were never his; a house, a family – the life she dreamed they would one day share together.  She knew. It sounded too good to be true.  And so, as she stood on the tarmac waving goodbye to the beast of a man who had taken her soul, she cried tears of grief and desperation over her sense of loss, putting out the fire of her dream of him with tears that spilled forth from the void in her soul.  

Many, many years went by with her living in the shadow of a promise that he never meant to keep. She knew it wasn't going to be yet she clung to that promise like a drowning man clings to a life preserver.  She had surrendered her soul to the older man with the fiery spirit and had done so willingly because she believed with all her heart the promises he had whispered; that he would always be beside her, loving, protecting and cherishing her. The years passed between them, with only brief visits to one another, always punctuated with a sorrowful battle when one or the other had to return to their world. Every time it happened she died a little more, for every time it happened she had to face the mirror and admit to the realization that she could no longer remember the life she used to see in their reflection. She could only see her own reflection in the mirror. For though he was there, she was truly alone.

Being the beauty that she was, the suitors were not deterred by her story of disgrace or her alleged loyalty to the beast.  He was there; they were here.  He called; they visited. He stoked her fairy tale of "them"; they offered her a “real” life. So, one day, at a particularly vulnerable moment, she accepted a proposal to become a wife; not the wife of the man who possessed her soul, but the wife of a man who would fill the empty space in the mirror that no longer reflected her once glorious dream.  She married.

Love is a tricky thing. She tried to forget. She tried to “move on”.  She tried to be a "good wife", but her heart was not in it. You see, the heart wants what the heart wants, and once possessed of a desire so powerful she could not contain it, her heart wanted the beast, even with all of his broken promises and selfish desires. Once given, she could not take back her soul. So, the marriage failed. And again, she found herself alone with years of sadness and heartbreak truly beginning to show.  

Then one day, she got a letter; not from him, but a friend who knew him well. “He is sick,” she told the beauty.  “He needs you.  Can you come?  Can you stay?”  This is where the lesson of this fairy tale begins.  Pay attention my dear readers.  Do not miss it.  It speaks to us all.  When he heard she was coming, he was relieved.  Ahhh, she still loved him.  She still lived for him. She still had a dream of a life together.  For one brief catastrophic moment, he felt the depth of the pain he had caused her over the years and the burn of the wounds he had inflicted on her soul. But, a master at steeling his heart, he quickly shut it down, because guilt and regret did not serve his purpose. Old habits are hard to break. He prepared for her coming.

The day that she arrived, he sent a messenger to pick her up from the airport because he was “busy”.  Yes, he was "busy".  When contempt intervenes there is no reversing it; it intervened at that very moment and finally she threw down the dream of "them". She turned away from the messenger without a word, a tear, or an idea of what she was going to do next. When others tell her story they say, “She just knew…she just knew.”   When I tell it I say, “The fairy tale breathed its dying breath.” 

The lackey called after her, “Where are you going?  Come back!  He’s going to blame me!  He’s going to be so mad at me!  Please, come back!”  But she did not turn back physically or emotionally.  For the first time since surrendering her soul to him, she had no thought of him, but only of herself and her uncharted future. That very night she boarded a plane for home and never looked back.

One day she received a letter.  It looked like his writing, but she wasn’t sure.  She did not open it at first, but left it in her dresser drawer awaiting a time when she could bear to open it. All the while it whispered to her.  It summoned. It haunted her dreams. It's voice would not be still. When she did open it, surrendering to it's echos from the past, this is what it said,

“Dearest Beauty,

In death, I leave all my earthly possessions to you.  I surely owe you that much.  If it is any consolation, I have wasted away on my deathbed for 18 months in great pain, afraid, alone, and ashamed.  While I leave you all, I leave you nothing, for I regret that I cannot return the most precious gift you gave me...YOU.  I stole your heart, your dream and your soul.  I loved you when it suited me and left you when it suited me more.  I promised you the stars and left you in a cold, dark, empty space.  For that and so much more I am truly sorry. 

I have prayed to the Higher Power for forgiveness.  Now I beg of you the same. I took a brilliant diamond and cut it and cut it again and again until it could not shine. I did this because I am, as you always said in times of conflict, a selfish and hard-hearted beast. Only now, do I see what I stole from the world when I did this to you; I robbed the world of an exquisite radiance, a purity of heart and depth of soul beyond compare. 

I wish for you to use this fortune to pursue your dreams.  But do with it what you will. Play with it, squander it, and spoil it, just as I did you. Do these things over and over again, until you recover what I stole from you…until you reawaken your light. Then shine on the world the way that you did before the fairy tale of me possessed you.  Wherever I am, I will see it and I will know that you are, once again, the precious diamond you were always meant to be. Then a real life will truly be sculpted and a fairy tale put down.  I set you free; that is our "happily ever after".

Please, my Beauty, allow me to steal three final things from you…your anger, your bitterness, and your regret. Perhaps then, one day, you can forgive me my crimes.  Perhaps then, you will illuminate the world like the incomparable gem you are.  I await that day!

In death as in life,

Your Beast

 

Fairy tales are born in the imagination.  They take form defying reality and infect the emotional centers of our mind.  Taking advantage of a vulnerability, they assume control of our rational brain.  They etch  themselves into our mind, our heart and our culture for all time. Fairy tales are a self perpetuating wish for what we know in our hearts can never be, but SO long for.  They provide an oasis that comforts and in which we find solace.  But the danger of a fairy tale begins with the three simple words, "once upon a time".  It is very easy to be swallowed whole, lose track of reality and never see that the thing you are really longing for is happiness imprinted on your reality.  Happiness comes not from a fairy tale, my friends, but from a conscious decision to BE happy.  "Happily ever after" IS within YOUR control.

 

 

WHISPERS

Tls 2017

WHISPERS

I marvel at the miracles of nature; the metamorphosis from worm to winged beauty, the passing of time etched in circles over and over again deep within the tree, the ever constant circle of life. I have but to watch a video of time-lapse-photography to realize all the wonders of nature going on all around me that I do not otherwise see. The flower I see in my garden one morning is so entirely different the next. The sunflower seed sustains not only the birds, but the squirrels, chipmunks and ants, and drops from the flower to the ground to replicate itself all over again. And though I barely notice the dew drop on a flower petal, it is not inconsequential to the hummingbird or the butterfly who sip from it the nectar of life.

If I can silence my inner chaos, I can hear nature’s song, a cacophony of voices that are a declaration of the abundance of life all around me; Saccade’s hum in absolute harmony.   I wonder, how does one know when to start and when to stop such that the rhythm of the symphony is not lost?  Each bird chirps out a melody unique to them.  A partner hears that song above all others and initiates a reply in a language only they can understand; yet to me from bird to bird the song sounds the same.

I am confounded by the eccentricities of nature, the exceptions to the rules.  Why does the Grackle deposit its eggs in the nests of other birds rather than its own? Why, in all of nature, is it only the male seahorse that carries and delivers its young?   What magical mechanism is at work when a lizard changes color to match its surroundings?  How can the thing that underlying the principle, “life will find a way”, be so adaptable, so pernicious and yet so elusive? 

And when I close my eyes and just allow myself to “feel” nature all around me, I am at once a cellular being taking in and expelling particles of energy unique to me; me and nature, we are one.  Most beings, whether human or otherwise, are driven by a force of nature etched in stone and as steadfast as the passing of time – survival of the species.  Reproduction is critical to ensuring that, but it is not the be- all/end-all I would like it to be.  My children are not my legacy, they are theirs.  From the moment I breathed the air of this wondrous universe an exchange between me and it began.  It will end when every last bit of dust I am is exhausted, having been expelled into the farthest reaches of space.

"AUTHOR"

I have traveled many lifetimes on my journey here.  I have sailed calm waters and battled violent seas.  I have tripped over pebbles yet floated gracefully over uneven ground.  I have never turned away from a mountain or an impasse because it was “too hard”.  I have climbed and I have fallen.  I have soared and I have crashed.  I have embraced the light at the height of my achievements, and befriended the darkness at the depths of my failures.  I have learned priceless lessons from both.  

 The temptation to take the “easy road” has called to me many times, but the price I knew I would pay was never worth the “ease of the way”.  In every dark crevasse I have extracted untold treasures that I only wish to share.  In the sunlight, I have mined precious gem-lets whose value is greatest when illuminated for all to read.  I have celebrated life even as I balanced on the precipice of death.  I have contemplated death each time it’s shadow crossed my path, only to conclude that I have no time for its inconvenience. 

 I have but one purpose on my life’s journey; to evolve spiritually into a being worth knowing.  I do not desire fame; I thrive in anonymity.  I do not chase wealth; I search for the gold that is “wisdom”.  I forge my legacy with the gifts that were bestowed on me, articulating the lessons I have learned along the way.  And when this journey ends and I embark on the one hereafter, if I have been successful in this life, people will read me and remember not my name, how I looked, or how I lived, but only the truth of the wisdom I learned and shared along the way. 

 

Then and only then will I consider myself a true “author”.

 

 tls 2013

DO YOU BELIEVE?

 TLS 2015

Do you believe? 

Do you believe that everything that happens in your life has meaning; every personal encounter, every “coincidence”, every joy, every sorrow; all of them happen for a reason?  I do.

To me, life has no meaning if it is not a quest for spiritual growth.  We are all on a journey, navigating a path toward the advanced soul we are meant to become.  The great prophets knew this.  They were endowed with a deeper understanding of life’s meaning than most of us can hope to achieve in our lifetime.  They came to understand early that the gift of “a life” was not about them, but about what they could give to the world - a message of peace, a lesson in tolerance, an example of integrity; an understanding of unconditional love.

I am not special.  I do not have any great “secrets” of life to share with you.  Like you, I am on a quest for spiritual growth.  So why read this?  Perhaps because I have been to places only accessible to those who have lived life on the edge, in that shadow world between life and death.  It is disease that taught me the fundamentals of spiritual growth – to give more than you take, to listen more than you talk, to honor your gifts, to instill joy in all you meet simply by smiling; to light the way for others who find themselves in the darkness.  What is a “righteous” life, if it is not joyous, selfless, and authentic?

Do you believe? 

 

THE COLOR PINK

FOOD FOR THOUGHT:

A couple weeks ago I learned something very alarming – hold onto your hat; there is no color “pink”.  Apparently scientists have determined that because red and violet are at opposite ends of the color spectrum (ROYGBIV), pink can’t exist without bending the rainbow a bit.  But, of course, there are critics.

Scientific American blogger Michael Moyer points to research that indicates that all color, whether in the rainbow or not, is a fabrication of our brains. ?????  He quotes biologist Timothy H. Goldsmith as noting that, “Color is not actually a property of light or of objects that reflect light. It is a sensation ???? that arises within the brain.” He concludes by stating that, “Pink is real—or it is not—but it is just as real or not-real as red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet.” ????? 

...Isn't he saying the exact same thing?

Now I’m REALLY confused!  Is the pink I see “REAL” or isn’t it?  If I like the color pink, is it because the “sensation” I subconsciously feel from the interaction of the color spectrum is pleasant and comforting to me?  If someone HATES pink does that speak to something psychologically “uncomfortable” about them?  Do you see pink the way I see pink? 

Now I’m REALLY concerned! 

Who’s gonna tell the flamingo’s? 

 The band, “PINK”? 

All the Floridians who have painted their house an imaginary color? 

"WELCOME TO MY DREAM HOUSE"
works on more than one level!

         

Do “My Little Pony’s” really exist?  What about “Hello Kitty”?  Is pink really a “feminine” color?  When men crossed the fashion faux-pas line a few years ago and began wearing pink shirts and pink ties and pink socks, was it because of some universal phenomenon that suddenly changed light refraction such that the color pink was now appealing to them?  Did “PINK” take control of their minds?

The suggestion that pink is not real begs the question…”What is?”  Philosophers have long suggested that our lives are an illusion.  That, perhaps, none of this is “real”.   That came as quite a shock to me.  If my life is an illusion, why would I ever paint it with unhappiness, illness, or crisis?   Is life like our dreams; our brain delivering us into snippets of crazy experiences that are a convoluted representation  of the world as our brain sees it?  If that’s the case, who or what is really in control?  WHAT????  If you’re confused, don’t worry; so am I. 

My point is, I live and experience “life” every day; that I am sure of.  If I could paint my life a “happy” color, I would paint it pink.  If my life were pink, there would be no sadness, anger, illness or crisis.  If my life were pink it would be exactly what Dorothy and friends EXPECTED to discover when they arrived at the wizards palace, not the illusion they uncovered.  If my life were pink, my life would be “perfect”.  But now my twisted mind has hit a wall because I know as sure as I’m sitting here that there is no such thing as “perfect”.  “Perfect” would mean EVERYONE agreed on the definition of “perfection” and I know that will never happen because we can’t even agree on whether the color pink exists.

Read more: http://newsfeed.time.com/2012/03/07/does-the-color-pink-exist-scientists-arent-sure/#ixzz2ZyVeyf87

JASON'S SONG

The older I get the more I recognize the irony in life.  

Life is like an Easter basket; the kind you dreamed of when you were a child...vibrant and exciting to behold...wrapped in exquisite pastels of cellophane, a layers-deep-bounty of delicious surprise.  

There is beauty everywhere and it is only our preoccupation and anxiousness with racing to the finish that keeps life's secret.  There is beauty everywhere just waiting for you to peek, and when you do, when you really see it, it can take your breath away.

As a life-tourist, I can recommend travel destinations to you that will deliver the richest experience for your life-journey's scrapbook; the hot-spots of life's unadulterated, abject beauty.  No doubt the top location will surprise you, as it has never ceased to do me, for at the top of my destination bucket list for you is the hospital.  No, you did not read it wrong...the hospital.  

By it's very reputation as a place for the sick to come to live or come to die, one might never think to look there, but that is why it's reward is all the more cup-filling.  Untie the satiny ribbon, peel back the luminous cellophane, and allow yourself to be barraged by the unspoiled beauty that resides there.  You will find it in the form of selfless, compassionate, dedicated people.

Allow me to introduce you to a rare gem of a man, my "Guide" (and yours), Jason Rohan.  Jason always introduces himself with a couple-minutes-long diatribe of humor so surprising (in this place) that it makes you believe you must be dreaming.  

"My name is Jason Rohan, but you can call me "the Guide".  Like all the green garbed Earthlings at this hospital, I am here to wheel, shpeel, and pamper you during your brief and ridiculously expensive stay.  This military issued burlap sheet I am draping over your lap as we commute to your pre-arranged sunless destination is all that stands between you and public humiliation.  Do not remove it.  Please keep your hands and body parts in the vehicle at all times because there are no "take-backs". This regularly scheduled "transport" is a "non-stop", so please do not ask to go to the gift shop, cafeteria, ATM, or bus station.  You will not like where you end up. If you have any constructive suggestions, witty comments, or complaints, please keep them to yourself, bearing in mind the tired adage, "Never bite the Guide that wheels you!"

How can one not laugh?  Whether tired, in pain, miserably sick and/or incapacitated, Jason's witty banter is a breath of fresh air that brings a smile to your soul.  Treasure it, for it has come at a great cost from a selfless individual who does this to "give back". "For what," you might ask?  For God's gift of life. You see Jason is not just a gifted comedian, he is a blessed humanitarian made so by life's school of hard knocks.

When Jason was 21 he was in a serious automobile accident.  He was in a coma for months due to a traumatic brain injury from which he should not have recovered.  But he did.  

It is only after you know Jason's story that you become acutely aware of the depth of the physical damage to his face, which was quickly and un-ceremoniously pieced back together without attention to scarring or beauty because Jason was not expected to survive.  But he did.

Jason awoke to a world completely different from the one he left.  He had to relearn everything; talking, walking, processing, functioning.  The gifts he had before the accident were not the ones he emerged with after.  Jason had to relearn being Jason. But he did.

The only thing Jason could not do, was to erase the effects of the accident on his brain, emerging forever damaged by a simple twist of fate.  He suffers from a serious seizure disorder that undoubtedly would have beaten most others into surrender.  But not Jason.  Medications have been ineffective against it, but Jason has not.  He uses relaxation and a keen sense of his own body's signals to control the disorder, such that he can work a full-time job at the hospital doing what he does best, shining his light into other's existence, and never missing a beat.

This is my second encounter with Jason in less than a year and I know what that means.  When your travel path crosses with anybody more than once, take notice, for it is no accident.  There are no "coincidences".  The universe is trying to tell you something that it can only communicate through this unique, individual gift of an encounter.  LISTEN!  LOOK!  SEE!  FEEL!  ALLOW IT TO AFFECT YOU.  You will be made the better for it.

Again, I told Jason that he was "missing his calling". Did I learn nothing from my last encounter?  You see more than one major comedy club owner in Atlanta has been wheeled and shpeeled by him here in the hospital, and they too, were awed by him.  He's been invited over and over again to "Open Mic" nights and "Talent Contests" at two of the major clubs in Atlanta, but he has not "bit". I encouraged him to gather his courage and "take his shot", only to realize what a ridiculous piece of advice that was.  It has nothing to do with courage.  Jason's courage is unrivaled by anybody I have ever met.

Jason knows what his body can and cannot do.  He does not think of this as his "limits".  Like him, his body is his "Guide".  He chooses to live "off" of medications and to control his disorder by caring for himself conscientiously.  Only by doing so (off of psychotropic meds) is he allowed to hold a position of patient responsibility in the hospital or anywhere in the public sector. THAT is what Jason was born to do.  His incredible sense of humor and impeccable "shpeel" delivery is not his "light" it is his "gift".  His light would shine if he were unable to wheel, shpeel, or pamper anyone again.  

Jason told me that he spent many, many years after his accident in rehab facilities, laboratories, and in physical therapy, trying to regain some semblance of life. He met extraordinary people in the hospital while he did, nurses, therapists, technicians, doctor's, and patients.  He sat in the chair that needed to be "wheeled".  He traveled the cold, dark, lonely hallways from one lab and procedural room to the next with the anxious anticipation of a scared patient.  He experienced people whose level of dedication to his recovery he credits with where he is today.  Jason has lived it.  And when he knew that he could recover enough to work again, he dedicated his life to "giving back" to the world that helped him in whatever way he could.  THIS is Jason's way and he is very happy and completely fulfilled doing it.  I for one, am so blessed to have "discovered" him and I have grown under his light.

Thank you, dear Guide!  Your are a lamp unto my path and a light unto my soul. Never change a single thing about yourself!  You are God's flawless masterpiece~