It takes a while to reach the pinnacle of the Empire State building. Elevators lead to other elevators, where lines of restless children and their tired parents, honeymooners and other dreamers wait. The adventure is well worth the effort; for in the end, a city takes their breath away.

Looking out upon the majesty of skyscrapers, bridges, waterways and places unknown, two pigeons distracted me, and I was reminded: "Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth." 

Not the whole truth, I would add--for the people I see on the streets far below are real, as is the child by my side. But we each have a vantage point, a place from which we see. 

Oh to value that perspective, that piece of the truth in each other....why is that so difficult at times?    

"All that I am....is a blessing....and I'm grateful for it all........" Beautiful love song.........

If our joys and our dreams lead our way, miracles await us it seems.

When standing before our personal fork in the road, the choice is not simply this job or that, the choice is between what has been and what can be. 

It is the unknown that frightens many of us. "What if" questions badger us, and in the end, we may choose not to choose, because we at least know where we presently stand.

Some among us leap like the dolphins in the sea, and though I envy their free spirits, I've discovered that even baby steps can transform worries into materialized dreams.

I have a painting of a mandala entitled Soul's Stillness, hanging in a very visible location in my home. It draws me into its center, where light emanates and where my heart speaks. The artist, Clare Goodwin, quotes John O'Donohue to explain her work:

"When your way of belonging in the world is truthful to your nature and your dreams, your heart finds contentment and your soul finds stillness. You are able to participate fully in the joy and adventure of exploration, and your life opens up for living joyfully, powerfully, and tenderly."

Sometimes it takes a lifetime to find such stillness and freedom. I wrote Letting Go into Perfect Love to describe what that journey has been and is for me. Though we all travel different paths, don't we all seek such a love--extreme?

Recently I was contacted by author Vivienne Duke and was asked if I would consider reading her book, These Wings Can Fly. It was an honor to do so, and as I traveled with her, one page after another, I realized I had found a friend--a sister across the seas. She, too, had discovered the miraculous, and through the internet, she also found me. 

If you shut up truth and bury it under the ground, it will but grow,

and gather to itself such explosive power that the day it bursts through

it will blow up everything in its way.

Émile Zola

Many of us bury memories, ashamed or fearful of the story they tell. We pretend that we did not see what we saw or feel what we felt. It's past, we think; and we move on.

Over time, we create another story to replace the unwanted memory and imagine that it is real--of flowers and sunshine, of laughter and play. The indiscretion, the rape, the violence slips into oblivion--or so we think.

Our hearts carry these buried memories, and as we seal them deep within the most tender part of who we are, less of us is here. And so it is that our secret separates us from others--and from ourselves.

The headlines revel in the exposure of entombed truths--because we live through these notable figures. When Oprah revealed her victimization, her story opened wounds across the seas and stirred many to speak. 

Psychotherapist Odelia Carmon explains that we are afraid of the consequences of truth, afraid that such disclosure would jeopardize our image and the perception of those around us. It is a risk we do not want to take. And, so we block off our hearts--to loves deep and dreams free.

Our closed life keeps us safe, or so we think; but what is the cost? 

The Dalai Lama stated that, "Love and compassion are necessities not luxuries. Without them, humanity cannot survive." These are strong words for such a gentle man. But now it seems that science has proven him right.

Gregg Braden has written extensively of worlds seen and unseen. And his research points out that "everything is connected to everything else." One selfish decision or an act of kindness has ramifications that affect the whole. He further explains that the human heart is the largest generator of electrical and magnetic fields in the body, much more powerful than the brain, and thus it is that our feelings and not our thoughts help create the world in which we live.

As baffling as this concept may seem, I am drawn to its possibilities. For if we knew that we had the power to transform the world for the good of all, wouldn't we do so?  Perhaps if we all guarded our heart and kept it loving and free, we would see a different world....

Gregg Braden--New York Times bestseller and a pioneer in bridging the worlds of science and spirituality.

Forgiveness, like love, is personal. What it means to you may be different from what it means to me. Our histories, our beliefs, and our personalities define it for us in the moment as we struggle to both understand and embrace it.

It is one thing to forgive a friend for a slight of words or a promise made then broken; but, it is quite another task to forgive when the affront threatens our very being.

"I forgive him or her," can be an act of faith or denial, depending upon the gravity and the complexity of the offense--and our respect for and love of ourselves.

True forgiveness for me has been and is a progression of faltering baby steps through a storm of flying debris. With time, I have learned to walk more freely as I've sorted through the jungle of terrors hidden in my heart. And through this lengthy process, I've realized that as we travel this sacred path, faithful to who we are, the heavens accompany us--for we are never alone.

Today is Flag Day, and across the nation homes, stores, businesses, parks and gathering sites proudly display Old Glory. For some, the flag musters images dark and frightening--of explosions and screams, of sorrow and pain. For others, it is a sign of who they are as citizens. For a few, it is a contradiction -- and maybe worse. Symbols are powerful conveyers of meaning.

I learned about the flag when I lived in Japan. Among the people of this proud nation, I watched as their flag was held high. I listened to their stories of battles won in the Pacific. And, when they bowed before their leaders and their gods to show respect, I realized I loved my home, my country.

My dad has always flown the flag. My husband, brother and cousins served in Viet Nam, and later Iraq and Afghanistan. Navy, Army, Marines and Air Force are all represented in our extended family. But, somehow it wasn't real when I was a child. I was not self-reflective about who I was until I lived in another country and experienced the depths of their patriotism. It was then that I realized that my family was not just relatives and in-laws.

When I see the flag, I see you....my neighbor, my colleague, my unknown fellow Walmart shopper. I see a country, my country--divided into Blue and Red states, arguing over rights--perceived or real, struggling with crippling issues of poverty, global warming and all the 'isms. Yes, when I see the flag I know, this is my family. And, as tears well -- for those known and unknown who sacrificed for me--and you, for their hopes and dreams and yours and mine, I cry. 

What I didn't know as a child, I know now. The flag is but a symbol, but like a cross or a hammer and sickle, it speaks loudly.  And for me, it tells the story of the love that unites us all. 

Dad was a farmer in his younger years; he raised crops of grain, cotton and sugar beets. Now at 95 years of age, he looks through the windows from his lift chair to the fields he once tilled. Weather and soil were his life blood back then, and even now he watches--for the clouds, the wind and the rain. Dad may wonder who we are at times, but he never forgets--the land which served him well.

There is much I am grateful for this Father's Day, but mostly I give thanks--for the farmer who instilled within us a deep love for this beautiful earth, for the father who showed us what it means to provide for another, and for the Dust Bowl survivor who taught us to persevere. 

Just outside my window, a mama duck sits on eight or nine eggs. Every morning she takes a walk...to gather food for the day, to stretch her wings wide. I watch her from my writing space and when I need to pause, I visit her.........quietly.

A week ago, author Roberta Dolan invited me to accompany her on a Blog Tour. I had never heard of such a journey, but I know Roberta through her soon-to-be published book: Say it Out Loud: Revealing and Healing the Scars of Sexual Abuse. I trusted Roberta, even though my insides were beginning to twist and turn--another project?

My reservations quickly melted as Roberta explained the steps: respond to four questions about my process and  introduce a couple more writers. Though I've never been self-reflective about how or why I write, answering the questions brought some unexpected clarity.


THE FOUR QUESTIONS:

1. What Am I Working On? Having just published my book (June 3), I'm busy with social media, my blog and a few special events (i.e., radio interviews). I'm beginning to think about a second book, but only very preliminarily. Non fiction is a natural genre for me, but I'm ready to try fiction. We'll see.....

2. How does my work differ from others of its genre? My book is a blend of genres. It is non-fiction, and like many memoirs, it takes the reader on a journey across time and circumstances. Unlike this genre, however, my book attempts to offer guidance similar to self-help books. Because it also includes elements of a spiritual quest, it could be considered "religious."

3. How does my writing process work? When I am inspired, I write--that is the long and the short of it. I awaken in the very early morn, before the sun has peeked over the mountains near, before the birds have begun to sing, before my husband has stirred. In the darkness, I wrestle with sleep, until the sound of ideas draws me into an irresistible magical world of times past and times present. Sometimes pages run through my mind, and try as I do to run after these break-of-day visions, I catch only glimpses--but it is these pieces of possibility that prompt my writing.

My early mornings musings are always unexpected. I don't think about writing as much as I am compelled to write. Maya Angelou is often quoted as having stated, "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." I know the agony of which she speaks, for the story ultimately is not mine. I simply hold it--temporarily.

4. Why do I write what I do?  I "write what I do" for all the reasons mentioned above, and because writing is a way for me to better understand life. I process events, situations, and travails through the mechanics of wordsmithing. It is a meditation of sorts; the silence within the play of words opens doors and offers light. Sometimes I can express in writing what I may have difficulty voicing. And, so it is that I share the stories running through my heart, because I hope we meet sometime--between the lines of scribble and the mysteries of life.

~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~


It's my privilege to introduce an author who will carry the torch of this Blog Tour: Fran Kramer. She is a talented writer and a wonderful person. I hope you visit her blog and/or website and take time to enjoy her books--the summer beckons good reads!  

Fran Kramer was born into an army family and spent her childhood in Hawaii and Japan. She attributes her life-long love of Asia and cross-cultural influences to these early years. Fran is now a life coach, writer, educator and artist whose passion is using dreams and intuition to heal, problem solve, and create.  She is currently writing her second mystery story, a sequel to Dead Men Do Tell Tales, about an intuitive teen who uses real dreamwork methods to solve crimes.  She lives in Hawai'i – a real garden of healing.

Palliative care nurse, Bronnie Ware, wrote about the regrets of her dying patients. At the top of the list was, "I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me." 

It seems courage may be pathway to the joy we seek...

Another school shooting...

My heart aches for the families who have lost their child, for the students who have known the coldness of fear, for the communities touched by horror, for the parents of the shooter now gripped by disbelief. How do we make sense of it all?

For close to 30 years, I worked in colleges on the East and West Coasts. I've comforted parents who lost a son or daughter--to suicide, to a drunken driver, to an alcohol binge. I've tried to reach students ready to end their life, despairing of what tomorrow might bring. I've counseled abuse and rape victims. I've worked with the gamut of human sorrow, and through it all, I've hoped I've made a difference. But hope aside, there is a truth I've come to accept.

The human heart is far more complex than we might imagine. It is there in the bowels of our being that we hold our fears, our regrets, our secrets and our terrors. When we cannot see the light that beckons us, when there seems nothing to live for, when religious beliefs erode into fairytales or distorted interpretations, we humans often lash out in destructive ways. And it is then that a gun hidden in a closet or a knife in a drawer becomes a means to express-- desperation.

What are we to do?

As a family separated by geography, ethnicity, experience, faith and so much more, how can we help our youth? For me, this is the haunting question demanding my attention.

A reminder of the majesty of our collective story......

Buckwheat pancakes with blackberry syrup....who doesn't feel warm all over? There's something about the aroma of breads hot and steamy that carries us home. We remember those first out-of-the-oven muffins our mother made, the pancakes rising on the hot skillet, the cornbread sweet and crunchy at our bite. When I read Away from the Kitchen, I was brought back to those moments and much more--each page a sensory feast of mouthwatering recipes and intimate stories of more than a dozen notable chefs. And though the author takes us to farmers markets and local growers, I was most fascinated by her appreciation of -- the story food tells. I remembered the Buddhist monks in Japan, bowing before each morsel before consuming a meal. The rice was not simply rice--it came from somewhere and was cooked by someone. There was a story...usually untold. When I read Away from the Kitchen, I was brought into the life celebrations and struggles of the chefs--their marriages and their divorces, their successes and their failures, and so much more. I was re-introduced to the story food tells, and I am humbled by what I have found.

I hadn’t seen him before, an elderly man slight of build, pushing a wheelchair which held his bride. He greeted me as he entered the church with a handshake, gentled by time. A farmer, I concluded, his hands rough and thickened by shovels, grease, hammers and bales of hay. I know you, I thought, remembering the hands of my father and grandfathers, uncles and brothers. Through kindly eyes dimed by time, he introduced me to his wife now slumped by his side.

“I love you”, I wanted to say, but all that came out was, “Can I help you?” How do we tell a stranger that we hear their story through the furrows of their brow, the grip of their handshake, and their smile?

When later I sat in my reading corner entertained by bluebirds, finches and arguing mallards, I found a different love story in the book Loveyoubye. This one didn’t end with togetherness, but instead love broken and love redefined. I followed the writer’s heartbeat down a trail of thorny thickets to her decision that freed her heart--and her life. And, I listened to the universal soul speak of crushed hopes and rediscovered dreams.

Maya Angelou's words come to mind: "All great artists draw from the same resource: the human heart, which tells us that we are all more alike than we are unalike."

The love story is much bigger than we might imagine.