Be your own favorite author. Be your own action hero.
Some blogs wouldn’t want to publish this. I love Rebelle Society and other gardens, and I grow weary of them.
I want to plead with you to grow your own wisdom and forge your own manifesto.
You’re so much more, in and of yourself, than a pithy quote, a nature pic, and an internet meme. You learn from these, but you’re capable of inventing them!
It’s symbiotic.
We build upon and grow from others, and at the same time we find our voice, and we give back, and we share our own perspective.
When will we cut loose the tethers? Should we?
If we set out sailing, need we leave all else behind?
Or, can we absorb it all, take it all with us in spirit, as we set forth? Bravely.
Acknowledging those who nurtured and supported, yet surpassing same in our own excellence.
For you are, in every sense, excellent!
Accept it, without fear or doubt.
You expound, you inspire, you motivate.
Above all, you DO!
I read dozens, maybe hundreds, of marvelous, amazing deep thoughts each day. I aspire to create my own adventure. Not to invalidate or in any way belittle others, but rather to Live it, to Be it, to Own it.
I love to read great writing, but I want to write.
It’s like cycling. I would rather be out riding than watch the Tour de France, even if I am half as fast as them.
At some point, we have to fish or cut bait.
So, please please please set aside time away from scrolling and browsing to compose. Be your own author.
And before you draft, do something worth describing. Be your own action hero.
Keep harvesting Rebelle, all you rebels, but don’t forget why you are here.
You’re unique, you’re awesome, and your own story is every bit as epic and worthy.
You may find yourself, strangely, with less time to read because you are engaged in the moment and LIVING.
Exploring Fort Bragg
I am an explorer. I need not imagine what it must have been like to be Magellan, Cabrillo or Drake. When I visit Fort Bragg and Mendocino for the first time, it is my discovery, and I am filled with wonder anew at the beauty of the California coast.
One difference between me and the first European explorers and settlers of America is that I have no instinct or desire to claim or possess it. Other inhabitants were here, are here. It would never occur to me to take it or to steal treasure.
I feel gratitude for the gift and opportunity to witness the natural landscape for myself. I tread lightly in order to leave a small footprint as undetectable as possible. I wish nature to remain in the care of Mother Nature, for I cannot improve upon it. I am far from perfect, but the Earth and the Universe are perfect.
Mendocino
From the moment I set foot in Mendocino, I connected with the notion of a gateway or portal.
Some portals tunnel through rock. Think about how long the water persisted and slowly chewed its way.
Other portals are easy, meandering views through trees and gulches, beckoning the traveler.
All represent both rest stops and stepping stones.
Mendocino is simultaneously a destination and a gateway. Picture postcard lovely, yet not static like a photograph, it foams and swirls.
The many natural rock portals portend paths to mysterious locales unknown.
As one sails through the whitecaps into the currents, the ocean may lead to the next harbor or, who knows? All the way to China or New Zealand…
Oceanic Mendocino is life. Each day is both a destination in and of itself, to be experienced to its fullest, and a portal to the next day.
Riding the Wave
Sometimes I write from pain. Sometimes I write in healing. Sometimes I write from nothing at all. This is about healing.
It’s like getting a bad cut and then going surfing. One expects salt water in a wound to hurt like hell.
And, there’s the risk of getting cut again while surfing, but I push that thought away, out of my consciousness. Fear is not going to prevent or defeat me. The cool, enveloping water beckons.
Now, suppose I tell you that I feel like we are surfing in Magic waters? Waters that close and salve wounds, cleanse and remove old scars.
The rush I feel is the intensity of that initial, stinging pain — partly real because of the foamy, swarming brine, but mostly the clever work of the Inner Saboteur, the devious Brain and its constructs and obstructs — quickly followed by the elation of paddling and riding in the soothing, powerful water and its curative, invigorating touch.
The lacerations mend instantly, the blisters melt, and the scabs fall away.
The question is not “Do you have any scars?” We all have some. The trick is, are you willing to show them? Even if they make you feel ugly?
The paradox is that if I kept them hidden under wetsuits and wraps, I could surf and play, but I would exit the sea as the same person.
By empowering my heart to go skinny dipping, I opened myself to the healing and emerged stronger, Closer to Fine.
I peeled back the outerwear and the Under Armour and revealed a scar. I don’t know what it looks like to you, but to me it is hideous. I forced myself to look in the mirror and confront it.
No one else has to look at it. They may look or turn away. By my nakedness I allow my vulnerability. I’m not asking to be judged or hurt, although I have to accept those possibilities if I’m going to do this.
Thus, I leapt into the water.
And yet, the more I expose the cuts as I cut through the waves, defenseless, I learn that no one except the Saboteur is trying to harm me.
The other surfers are busy riding their own waves. I both share the ocean with them, willingly and joyfully, and stay out of their way, yielding when they time the swells and find their space.
I’m literally and figuratively trying to ride out this wave of growth and self-discovery.
I surfed the waves and slayed a demon. I shed that disfigured part of me much as I removed the neoprene, and I left it in the past, lying in the sand.
The new me, the now me, has evolved again and is one step closer to my higher self.
This old 3G technology will never become obsolete.
This is my “3G” technology for the art of living. I may find a way to enhance it — to upgrade it — but it will never fail me or go out of style:
Giving – approach each day with an attitude of Giving. What can I do for others to help them bear their burdens? Don’t worry about what they can do for me; in time, the Universe will provide what I need. By focusing my attention outward and staying aware of those around me, I find opportunities to give and accept beneficial Karma.
Grateful – think about what I have, not about what I don’t have. Each day, acknowledge people for whom to be thankful. Accept gifts and blessings that come my way, without wishing for more, and know that I am worthy to receive them.
Graceful – Give and be Grateful with style and grace. Do so quietly, without excess words or fanfare, wanting no reward or recognition except that which comes from within my own soul. This is the part I have to work on. Some days I am graceful, and some days I am incredibly awkward and childish. True grace is difficult to master.
My journey at this point is largely about Acceptance — letting go of old, unhealthy ways of doing and thinking and discovering paths toward my higher self while acknowledging that I will never be Perfect, never master it all. But I can try. And I must try.
Never give up myself, being myself, reaching for my higher self. Life in the key of G.
Feeling extra grateful
Saturday morning, I woke up, got ready, and headed into SF with some friends for a nice 5-mile run with Team RWB! Back in WC, just had time to shower, eat, and throw my bags in the car (forgetting a few things in the process) before getting a last-minute phone call and racing over to Alamo to put in a couple of hours of volunteer work. Being ‘on call’ makes me feel good and useful!
From there I drove straight down to Santa Cruz. First, we made our way down to the beach and walked along for a ways talking and checking out the waterfront. I saw an otter swimming not far offshore. Afterward, I took Erik to dinner for some tasty burgers and fries. After gorging ourselves, we took a nice 4-mile walk through the forest. Nice bonding time!
I almost never watch TV, but it felt nice and comfy to laugh at some Parks & Recreation episodes, just hanging out with a few of his friends at the house. That they accept an adult into their lair, their natural habitat, and nothing is weird about that is a rare, special feeling.
Sunday morning, Erik was still sleeping as I ate a bit and headed back into the woods to explore on my own. I fulfilled my intention to go “off road”. I specifically targeted a “No Trespassing” sign in order to discover what was beyond the edge of the pavement. I chose a steep climb up a damp but not flowing creek bed. Although the morning was cool and cloudy, I quickly removed my long-sleeve pullover as I worked up a sweat. On the way back downhill, I literally skidded several feet at a time through poison oak and foliage and across the leaf-covered ground without falling — testing my balance for later in the day!
Walked and chatted with three very nice friends down to a lighthouse and back, and then thankfully accepted some excellent leftovers as lunch before loading up cars and steering toward the beach.
Meeting Richard, the surf instructor, and spending 2 hours out in the waves for my first-ever surfing lesson was everything I hoped it would be and more. Words can’t describe how great it felt to stand up on the board and skim along in front of the rushing water. I had more solid rides than bad ones, for sure, and yes, I fell down quite a bit, but I can’t believe how well it went. I am hooked and will definitely go again soon!
Met up with Erik again for yummy pizza for dinner, and then we had ice cream for dessert at the house. It was so good to spend time with him, and he was appreciative of the meals!
Does it suck to come home and do laundry and have to go to work tomorrow? Not at all! I am very grateful to have a job that provides the means to enjoy a wonderful, exciting weekend. Most of all, I am constantly thankful for my good health that enables me to do so many fun activities!
P.S. As I laid my head on my pillow last night, salt water ran out my nose. Despite having worn ear plugs while surfing, water must have found its way into some obscure sinus cavities or my ear canals, escaping only at the end of a long, marvelously tiring day.
Super Moon
August 10, 2014 — I had just finished dinner and cleaning the kitchen when I remembered tonight features the Super Moon. Around 8 p.m. I headed over to Howe Homestead park and began trekking up to Summit Ridge to get a glimpse. On the way, I saw a beautiful young deer on a road to my left, but it was a bit far away to get a decent photo. In the pic below, the second white-topped fence stake from the left perfectly points at the rear end of the deer, appearing to be it’s white tail, directly in the foreground of the red car…
I was happy to see the deer, for that has been my animal totem for some time. I felt as though the deer was guiding me toward the moon. My yoga instructor had told us in class this morning that the Super Moon is a great time to meditate. For me, the combination of the deer and the moon symbolizes a portent of something to come — a sign that significant change is imminent.
Within minutes, six more deer appeared nearby!
I also believe the deer came to say goodbye to me. That is part of the change occurring. I have been feeling drawn to water lately.
Yesterday I had taken a swim in the American River with some friends during a hot run. Much of the trail went through forest. I was grateful to be close to nature; it was my intention that day. However, despite the lovely forest and river, I did not see any birds or other animals. I was not disappointed, but I was a bit confused. Why was the Universe not sending me guides and messengers? Yet, I have learned to trust my intuition and be patient. The messages will come when they are meant to be.
I continued up the hill and watched the moon rise stunningly over the foothills of Mount Diablo. I took many pictures, and many of them look similar to each other, so I will post just a few.
I purposefully let my phone camera stay out of focus for this shot, because for some reason it was making the moon look even larger and rounder.
I can’t say I know what exactly the portent is, but I’m excited for the future!
Let’s Go Again!
Watching a great documentary like The War Comes Home felt like falling on a football and having my wind knocked out, a punch to the abdomen, a hand reaching into my rib cage and grabbing my heart. It’s the free-fall of the Double Shot at the Santa Cruz Boardwalk and the highs and lows of the Giant Dipper rolled into one, but it’s not a thrill ride. It’s real as hell.
Facing the epidemic of suicide among veterans, joining the fight for prevention, and supporting lifesaving programs are potent stimulants. If I was in any kind of comfort zone before, even for a moment, interacting with the Save a Warrior organization bowled me over and challenged me to evaluate what to do next.
Watching the film and speaking with its players, other veterans, and the SAW team lifted me up and set me right back onto my emotional roller coaster.
I happen to love thrill rides, especially amusement park roller coasters. I love the analogy, because I long ago accepted and embraced my impassioned, excitable self. I’ve grown accustomed to the ups and downs of life and learned how to balance and lean. I dig that sensation, JUST at the very peak of the tallest hill, when my brain is telling me to hold on for dear life, yet my inner child wants to throw my hands in the air and shout “Whoooo!”
I anticipate the steep dive down into the lowest trough. I defy it with exuberance, because I know I will rise again up the next hill.
Some of my most cherished memories are the times my dad loaded us in the big, green station wagon at the crack of dawn and drove us north to Sandusky. My eyes grew wide in elation as we rounded the bend and caught the first, wondrous view of Cedar Point and the soaring, colorful mountains of the Blue Streak and the holy grail of rides, the Corkscrew!
My brother Jim and I, wise experts at navigating amusement parks, always headed straight for those biggest, baddest rides, launching our surprise, sunrise attack before the masses of mere mortal children had even finished their first snow cones. We hit those coasters early and often. We breathed in the morning air, rose to the first mammoth hill, surveyed the world around us like kings, and screamed in holy terror and glee as we rocketed down into chilling tunnels below. No amount of buffeting, rocking and rolling was too much. No stomach-turning upside-down loops could unhinge us. We slayed those beasts and howled our warrior cries of victory as we glided smoothly into the finish. We laughed crazily and sauntered dizzily away, trading exclamations of joy and amazement. Even when we felt queasy from the combination of a sugar-coated breakfast and coaster rides, invariably we would turn to each other and exclaim, “Let’s Go Again!”
Then, I was a child, and it was all about having fun. Now, I’m grown up and thinking about prevention of suicide. Shit got real.
The War Comes Home took me up and down, shook me around, and brought me back home. Days later, I am still drained mentally and emotionally. Yet, my overwhelming feeling is, “What’s next?!” After the roller coaster, instead of “Let’s go again” it’s more like “Let’s do this.”
Storms
“The storm will pass. Your heart and mind will settle.” - Author Unknown
Storms bring cleansing rain and wind that blows away the chaff, splinters and debris of the soul. Without tempests, we would not know tranquility. Without hurricanes, we would not appreciate the light tropical breezes.
Lightning fires the synapses in the brain. Thunder is far more preferable than the noise of jackhammers on the street or the jawing of political pundits on cable TV.
Birds fly in the rain.
Gales subside, clouds dissipate, the sun appears bringing healing warmth. Critters emerge from burrows, and the suburbanites rub their eyes, sip their coffee, and crawl out of snug boxes. The cycle begins anew.
What do people do with the balmy days of calm between the chaos? We re-enter the rat race. We run our errands, check off our to-do lists, make our excursions, jaunts, and picnics, and go to the sun and the sand. We enact the plans we made… when? When we locked ourselves inside, barricaded during the storms.
Storms incite riots of togetherness, lovers snuggling in bed, and parents wrapping arms around frightened yet magically consoled children.
Storms also encourage solitude, curling up with a book by the fire, and time to think.
Meditation allows the heart and mind to settle. At the end of meditation, a breeze stirs, droplets fall, clouds roil, and the whisper of a thought grows into a voice shouting across wind and rain, and the tornado chasers pack up and charge toward the funnel clouds!
Melancholy my ass
Melancholy is a beautiful sounding word describing a shitty, pathetic feeling. It’s the opposite of passionate and enthusiastic. I would rather feel sad enough for a good cry. And I most definitely don’t want to be an “Eeyore”.
I came to the realization Melancholy is why I sometimes getting annoyed and irritated, damn near angry with myself. Virtually any emotion I can concoct is preferable to the numb, soul-sucking sense of blahhhhh…
Hey, I feel better now! Love my blog.
On Loneliness
Excerpts from a blog I read today (author unlisted, strangely; I'll have to track that down). This made me cry.
As George Saunders put it: “Anything is possible. Stay open, forever. So open, it hurts and then open up some more, until the day you die, world without end. Amen.”
Or, as Chogyam Trungpa put it, in “Shambhala,” a book I read each morning:
“The genuine heart of sadness comes from feeling that your nonexistent heart is full. You would like to spill your heart’s blood, give your heart to others. For the warrior this experience of sad and tender heart is what gives birth to fearlessness. Conventionally, being fearless means you are not afraid or that if someone hits you, you will hit him back.
However, we are not talking about that street-fighter level of fearlessness.
Real fearlessness is the product of tenderness. It comes from letting the world tickle your heart, your raw and beautiful heart. You are willing to open up, without resistance or shyness, and face the world. You are willing to share your heart with others.”
Loneliness is okay. In fact, it’s the feeling of our beautiful raw vulnerable heart, finally open. Don’t close.
Because we can’t get rid of loneliness. We can only open it up to sunshine and healing fresh air.
Sometimes I don’t know where to put my feelings. In a box, tucked away on the top shelf of a remote closet? I can’t keep wearing them on my sleeve. The answer lies somewhere in between. I know that. The words above help.
Peregrine Falcon
The peregrine falcon, as an animal totem, is a powerful symbol and means of self-discovery. It stands for greater vision and the power to focus and to connect with your spirit and awareness.
When you perceive a totem such as a falcon, although it can be a guide, it is not you. You have an affinity for and understanding of the peregrine, but that is just one aspect of you. You are many things and more.
An analogy comes to mind, one that may be seductive for others yet may be harmful to you. People tend to view birds as beautiful but rather fragile creatures. Feathers are soft, but wispy. Wings are capable of the amazing power of flight, yet they are filled with hollow bones that break. Compassionate humans feel compelled to rescue and fix broken wings. However, that may be harmful, because it may limit your trust in your own capabilities.
You may very well feel broken to some degree. Not afraid, not beaten, but wounded.
In a sense, you may be like a bird with a broken wing, but you do not need to be rescued, because you are incredibly strong, more than you may realize, although you have growing awareness of your strength.
Instead, you are a resourceful traveler who can face obstacles, feel lost at times, but always find your way.
You are a warrior who, felled by an arrow, grits your teeth, extracts the arrow despite the pain, stitches up your own wound, then stands up to fight again.
Let the peregrine be your totem, your guide, but know that you need not have a falcon’s wings in order to fly.
Dynamic
One of my favorite words! One of my mottoes is that I am dynamic, not static. When I’m feeling particularly strong and positive I like to say I am aerodynamic.
I don’t believe in labels, and I don’t believe in first impressions. Both tend to be lazy and/or shallow. I have been misjudged and underestimated all my life, typically by people who figure I am “weak” because I am short and skinny, or assholes who mistake my kindness for gullibility and vulnerability and try to intimidate me.
Please don’t take a snapshot of me and conclude that is who I am. I am constantly learning, evolving, and growing. I think my siblings and some other family members have an out-of-date perception of me, because we live so far away from each other and do not spend a lot of time together, through no one’s fault except perhaps my own, for choosing to move to CA. Although they can follow what I’m up to, I get the feeling they think of me the way I was as a teenager. It’s not that I am a different person, but rather that I am much more than I was. I have added many layers, skins, interests and experiences. I believe that each day I grow for the better, and I am much more a movie than a still photo.
In literature, often the most admired and most interesting characters are those who are dynamic and demonstrate a significant metamorphosis from the beginning of a story to the next. My favorite example is Jean Valjean in Les Miserables. As a backdrop, canvas, and environment for such characters there are necessarily one or more static characters against which the strong lead characters can be gauged. Static characters tend to be antagonists, such as evil villains. I’m not saying all static characters are “bad”, but the protagonists who inspire us experience life-changing moments from which we learn more about our own journeys, hopes, and dreams. In short, they are our heroes and champions.
How about making that concept real and thinking of yourself as your own champion?
We’ve all seen the bumper sticker that says, “Be the Change you wish to see in the World”, typically attributed to Gandhi. I found a blog that purports to bust the myth that he said it:
Here’s a fuller quote that he apparently did say: “If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. … We need not wait to see what others do.”
Both quotes are wonderfully though-provoking, regardless of who said them.
Being the change means rejecting the status quo and taking responsibility. It means working toward improvement of the human condition, whether for oneself or for the community and the greater good.
I endeavor to let go of the labels and misconceptions others place on me, and I refuse to be a snapshot. I embrace change, and I try to do something nearly every day to make progress toward my goals. Often, I fail. I take a step backward and fall into negative habits, or I procrastinate and waste time. Lately and more often than not, however, I outwardly express positive energy and go to new places and try new things. It’s a daily challenge to break through my own insecurities and the limitations I placed on myself, but I am dynamic and feeling stronger every day.
Guides and Messengers
When we view creatures in nature, however beautiful, they are not simply objects to behold with our eyes. Animals in particular can be powerful guides and messengers from whom we can gain valuable insights.
I was sitting in my office minding business, when I took a breather and glanced out the window. Resting merrily on a cable was a scrub jay who visits me frequently, preening and cleaning his feathers. I took some pics and wished my phone camera had a zoom lens. He turned around by the time I had my camera ready. I zoomed and cropped the photo below, but his more colorful blue head and shoulders cannot be seen well.
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Since my pic leaves much to be desired, I will share this Google image as well. My friend looks somewhat like this…
Minutes later, I left the office for a walk in the sun. Right outside the front door of the building, I found not one but two dead birds on the ground within feet of each other. I am sorry I do not know what species they were. First I saw a baby bird, and I felt sad. I happened to glance toward a wall, and next to it lay a bigger bird, and my heart broke. I went back in the building and grabbed some paper towels with which to carry the birds, then I found a place to bury them near some shrubs.
As I continued my walk, I contemplated and quickly realized a deeper meaning in the whole experience. I almost cried, not out of grief but from the intensity of my cognition. The discovery of a path dawned on me, and this is where it led:
Recently, I wrote a blog inspired by a hummingbird. By opening myself to nature’s gift of the hummingbird, I reflected back to the universe my acknowledgment that birds are guides and messengers for me at this time. Thus, the scrub jay came to visit me again as my guide. Birds represent flight. The scrub jay symbolizes me taking flight. Yesterday, I took a big step with a personal endeavor I have been tackling. Simultaneously, I learned that an acquaintance is dying of cancer. The two dead birds represent people I know who are at that phase of their journeys, and they also sent me the message that I need to continue my flight if I am to reach my goal before I pass from this material world.
Not only does nature provide its beautiful creatures to send messages, I have learned over the past year to be more open-minded and less judgmental about the content of the messages themselves. Rather than grading them as good or bad, I take my time to explore ways in which concepts typically viewed as “good” may not be beneficial to my journey, and things I was taught to think of as “bad” are often quite useful and helpful when examined in a broader context.
For example, rather than look at the dead birds and simply feel sad or bad, I accepted that it’s all part of the circle of life, and then I felt the connection with the scrub jay and meditated upon the messages that were there under the surface.
Everything has a purpose, and everything is energy. I sat by the pool and wrote this blog, soaking up not only the sun’s warmth and energy but also the less obvious forms of energy and powerful catalysts all around me in nature.
I will radiate love
I am going to stop acting like a chameleon…
… and constantly project my true color, the color of love, the love that is in my heart.
I am warmth, affection, and compassion.
These are not mere words. I know exactly how I will do this. Simple, straight-forward actions. They are so easy. I don’t know why it took me 51 years to figure it out, but here I am.
The simplicity, the beauty of this, is that I can do it no matter what my environment, because it comes from within. It does not require the people around me, the recipients, to do anything. They can accept it or not accept it. I will be a source of positive energy for them to drink as they wish. Thus, I remove all obstacles, which in the past were created by my own frustrations with and reactions to others.
Most importantly, my soul is one with my highest self. No more chameleon. I will singularly be myself.
Each day is amazing – part 1
OK, bear with me, this is another “music as the soundtrack of my life and life is amazing” post (or trilogy of posts, because I couldn’t figure out how to paste a link into a regular “text” post like I used to, because apparently WordPress changed the interface). I just returned from a superb Thai food lunch at Savanh in Pleasant Hill with my awesome friend Kris. We covered so many topics of conversation that it will be difficult for me to remember half of what was said. The miracle of it is that 3 songs on the radio while driving back to the office captured the important themes.
First, as we were taking our seats, we noticed a large moth flitting around the dining area. Most people seem to find moths annoying and, I don’t know, creepy? Scary? But please, they are truly harmless. As Kris began to try to catch the moth, she explained she wanted to set it free outside. That’s the cool kind of person she is. Who cares about a moth? Kris does. I joined in, because she’s right. Unfortunately, the elusive bastard was just beyond our reach; in retrospect, I feel like I should have given it more effort. We both commented almost at the same time how we don’t kill spiders; we trap them under a container and set them free outside. Next, Kris tried to enlist the help of the restaurant staff in containing the moth. How nice, I thought, when like 4 or 5 employees began tracking the critter across the room. One woman managed to trap it on the ground, yay. Oh wait, she’s stomping it to death! WTF, dumb b****. Senseless. I slapped my hand to my forehead in disbelief and turned back toward Kris. She was upset. She said so, and I don’t blame her. Stupidly, I muttered, “I’m sorry.” I know it wasn’t my fault. But I felt like, damn, not on my watch. Why did we care? I said, “Kris, if anyone asks why, say ‘F*** you, that’s why.’ ” She got it. But we had to let that incident go.
What is amazing about this? Nothing much, unless you believe that nature is amazing. Every plant and animal is incredible and to be treasured. Even a moth.
And wouldn’t you know, one of the songs on the radio was How to Save a Life by the Fray, so I am sharing that in honor of the fallen moth. I don’t even know all the lyrics or if they make sense, but the title fits.
