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The unwanted gift

1/27/2016

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by Gwendolyn M Plano
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     Decades ago I lived in Japan, and during those important five years, I studied the ancient art of Chanoyu (Tea Ceremony). This beautiful ritual involves the preparation and serving of a cup of tea. Each step of the process is designed to draw a person deeper into silence. Words are sparse, and movement is predefined.  

There is a give and take to Tea; while one prepares the cup, another accepts it. Together, host and guest, kneel and listen—to the steam rising from the kettle, to the bamboo whisk against the tea bowl, to the song of birds outside. Friend or foe, together they remain in the silence.

When participating in this ceremony, the world of financial worries and health crises, of marital problems and political turmoil, fades—until time itself stands still. Tea Ceremony brings one into the unseen present.

In December our house was flooded with 35,000 gallons of water, spewed by a broken water filter. When I searched through the weeping mounds that once was a home, I discovered a few of my Tea utensils—a thin bamboo tea scoop and a fan. They are worth nothing of course, but at that moment they represented beauty to me.

During times of distress, we may forget what is important, consumed as we might be by terror or grief. But, as I have discovered, we can be rescued by a keepsake, a sunset or a sunrise, a kind gesture or a warm embrace. A heart-holding moment can return us to ourselves—and to the world we have not been able to see.

When I found the Tea utensils, I wiped them dry along with my tears, and then I sat in silence. Numb though I was, these simple tools are what brought me back to an experience of peace.

I did not realize the attachment I had to household belongings, until they were no more. But, as the weeks have passed, things have become increasingly unimportant to me. The perfect couch is after all, just a couch. The comfortable easy chair, just a chair.

With this realization, I’ve begun to see that more than belongings were taken from me. I had grown comfortable with the way things used to be, and living with dis-comfort has helped me see: the homeless, the lonely, the hungry, those who are disenfranchised—like you and me.

As walls and floors are slowly restored, I’m grateful for the contractor and his teams, but more than anything else, I am grateful for the restoration occurring deep inside of me.

I’ve learned that gifts sometimes arrive in unwanted packages, but their preciousness awaits our readiness to receive.

I wonder, will I grow comfortable once again? If I do, I suspect another gift will arrive to awaken me, for storms carry the much needed rain.

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Life after death row....

1/11/2016

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by Gwendolyn M Plano 
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Last night, CBS aired Life After Death Row on 60 Minutes. On this segment, former prisoner Ray Hinton is interviewed about his recent release.

Mr. Hinton was exonerated after almost 30 years on Death Row. The story is heartbreaking and is linked above for your review. Astoundingly, this innocent man is not an angry man.

Asked why he was not angry, Mr. Hinton responded, "I am a joyful person...I couldn't let them steal what I had left which was joy. They had robbed me of my 30s, my 40s and my 50s so if I get mad and hate them I'm letting them steal my joy."

Most of us know what it is like to be discounted; many of us know what it feels like to be falsely accused; few of us have the experience of being held on Death Row for a crime we did not commit. When I listened to Mr. Hinton, I wept. He had experienced the worst of life, and yet he was joyful. But why?

No one apologized to Mr. Hinton for the mistake that robbed him of his youth, his family, his life. No one offered him reparation for the time he served. The first injustice was met with even more incivility.

How could Ray Hinton be a joyful man?

For some of us, joy can be elusive. We might even spend a lifetime looking for it. But one of the many truths that Mr. Hinton revealed for me is that joy in an interior gift. He nurtured his--in a small cement cage.

I ask myself, where do I or how do I nurture JOY? And, do I let others "steal" my joy?

From a prison, emerges a teacher, Ray Hinton; his degrees earned in a classroom not chosen.


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Letting go....

1/2/2016

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Through the Rave Reviews Book Club, I have met many wonderful friends, most of whom are also writers. Harmony Kent from Cornwall, England is one of those dear friends. In addition to being a prolific multi-genre writer, she is an extraordinary human being. When you read her blog post below, you will know what I mean. 

Take a moment and savor beautiful writing. If you are like me, you will also need a Kleenex or two. With much gratitude and respect, I welcome Harmony to this humble site.  


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I wasn’t always the woman that I am today. The pathway I took to get here wasn’t a straightforward one, and—in fact—I ended up getting lost on purpose: It seemed the only way to find my way.
 
In the same vein, although I’ve been writing since being knee high to a grasshopper, I have only recently become ‘a writer’.
 
So, what changed?
 
Everything.
 
Nothing.
 
I have nothing to show for my life-that-was, except for my life-that-is. And my smile.
 
Confidence is the key, but it wasn’t easy pulling that particular trick out of the hat; still, it saved my life. If not for already having delved deep and tunnelled down to pure gold, when I suffered my catastrophic injury it would have buried me.
 
As a child and young woman, I had big issues stemming from a too-small ego. I had zero self-confidence, and a huge dollop of ‘imposter syndrome’: you know, that feeling that you don’t belong and that one day soon ‘they’ will find you out? The constant, nagging feeling that you’re a fake, and one day your nearest and dearest will discover what you really are. I limped from day to day, never content, always concerned.
 
One day, I realised that my external life situation was no longer threatening. Or, at least, not in any outward way. For once, I could say that I had everything I wanted: A home, a good relationship, a job I loved, and—while not rich—enough money to get by. And still it felt as if something were missing. And I still felt like I didn’t have a place in the world. That I never should have been born. I also believed that the world was this big, nasty place. The world had to change, not me.
 
Then, I did something for which nobody was prepared, least of all me. I gave up my lovely house, my relationship, and my job. I gave up everything. I went and ordained as a Buddhist Nun in a Zen temple, and stayed there for thirteen years. This was both the worst thing and the best thing that I ever did. Before long, I realised that actually, it wasn’t the world that had to change, but me. This person right here.
 
Oh boy.
 
Then the hard work truly began. It took grit and determination. The discipline of my chosen life was huge. More than anything I’d ever experienced before. And you didn’t get a day off. It was 24/7 and 365/365. Even in the military, with their strong discipline, they get R&R … not where I went, we didn’t. There was a good reason for it, though. Who knew that by giving up my freedom, I would find my freedom?
 
It took me six gruelling years to pop that balloon of fear that had sat on my shoulder my whole life. I remember a senior monk telling me one day that I had to allow the anger. I was like, ‘What anger? I’m not angry.’ Meanwhile, growing more and more annoyed! Ha ha. Joke was on me. By then, I had recognised that I spent every day in the shadow of some unnamed terror. What I hadn’t yet seen, and this monk had, was that I was too afraid to allow myself to feel (let alone express) the anger. Instead, I strove to maintain the peace and never rock the boat, often compromising my heart in the process. It just seemed safer than any alternatives I could think of. I’d done this since early childhood. The thing is, while anger is only ever a false emotion that masks what we truly feel, we can’t move past it until we see it, name it, and wriggle out of its grip.
 
Why do I say that anger is a false emotion? Well, we never feel anger in isolation. And if we look through the eyes of honesty, we will see at least one other emotion lurking beneath it. Usually hurt or despair or some kind of pain. It often feels easier and safer to go with the anger rather than that other emotion that leaves us so much more vulnerable.
 
So, first of all, I had to work with the fear, then the anger, and then what was really at the source of it all. With all those layers, it was like peeling an onion, and just as uncomfortable. What I found is that it’s all about the kinds of things I told myself. And, believe me, I victimised myself so much more than any other person in my life ever had. I took them all together and rolled them up into one mean SOB. The good news is, that as soon as I saw it, it lost its power over me. In the seeing, I was able to cease and desist. While the work was slow and arduous, and I hit many a roadblock and detour, the eventual ‘awakening’ came all of a sudden.
 
It was liked I’d pulled open the curtains and the sunlight streamed in, in all its glory. A whole world existed out there that I’d never seen before, or even suspected. Life suddenly became easy and joyful. I was content.
 
In most religions, there is a saying that tells us that we are never given more than we can cope with at any one time. This seems to have been all too true in my case. I had six months of grace, where life was full, smooth, and I felt content. Then routine surgery went as badly wrong as surgery can go. I almost died. I ended up severely disabled from a leg injury, and three years later I underwent an amputation. I had hoped that this would give me a fresh start and more mobility, but by then the nerve damage was too severe, and so—to this day—I suffer with high pain levels daily and limited mobility. I am grateful though. Grateful that this didn’t happen before I’d burst that balloon and faced my fears, before I’d found that confidence and contentment and no longer relied on some self-imposed perception of who I was and what my role in life should be.
 
Eventually, not being able to participate much in the temple schedule and doing my training mostly alone by this point, I took the decision to return to lay life. By then, I was forty years old. As hard as it had been going in, it felt ten times more so coming back out after all that time. I wasn’t the only one who’d changed. The world had too. Smart phones, Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, gigabytes, and the value of money. Everything cost so much more. I had no possessions, nowhere to live, little money, and a disability. By then though, I’d learned not to turn away just because something scared me. I took a big breath and a small step: one step after another.
 
My life-as-it-is began at forty. Faced with empty days begging to be filled, I sat down one day and wrote. Within a few months, my first book was born. Now, I have six books published and more on the way. I also offer editing services to my fellow writers. I’ve met many friends, both online and in the flesh. I have built my life from the ground up. I’m not that mobile with my legs, but my fingers do my walking for me.
 
Confidence is the key. It will open any door. That’s not to say that I don’t worry sometimes, that I don’t doubt; of course I do. But I don’t let that stop me. This includes letting a door close completely behind me, leaving me in the dark and not knowing what comes next. Not once has another door not then opened. The confidence comes in knowing that whatever happens, you will be okay. You can deal with it. You are strong and capable. And knowing, too, that this situation right now will change. Change is the one constant that we can always rely upon. Nothing, whether it be good or bad, lasts forever. You have to be able to let go.
 
With confidence and the ability to go with the flow, to accept change as a fact of life, we can achieve what we want and be who we want to be. If I can do it, you can too. I’m nobody special. All I did was to stop beating myself up, and instead, started believing in myself. From that new perspective, I could more than handle whatever life threw my way. And just because my old habits had a long history, I didn’t have to turn them into a life sentence. What I did do, and continue to do, is to build upon them. All the hard stuff makes great bedrock on which to base our lives. It makes us strong and resilient. That’s not to say rigid, though. The safest buildings sway in the wind.
 
Thank you for revisiting my journey with me.


Thank you, Harmony. Your journey and your message go to the core of who we are. I've read your post several times and discovered truths that have hidden from me. Thank you for being radiant YOU.

To find out more about Harmony and her books, go to http://harmonykent.co.uk. You can also find her on Twitter and Facebook, as well as Amazon author pages: UK and US. 


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Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way. ―Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning


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