Sweet People, Life Lessons, and Meditation

Such a wonderfully fun day! Out early to go to this thing called Handworks, which is a holiday event filled with vendors from all over the U.S., bringing their wares, jellies, clothes, jewelry, pottery, toys, soups, fudge, art, most anything that can be made by hand, it’s there. I got some fun items for me and the kiddo and some nice treasures for gift giving for Christmas.

Then Mama and I went to eat lunch, grabbed some more school uniforms, and then off to get groceries. After that, home to chill with my dog. My babe had to work today, so we were missing her, but I know she’s happy to be earning some good moola for Christmas.

Don’t you just LOVE Saturdays? They have so much potential. There are so many possibilities! I mean, you get ALLLL day Saturday and then you have another day to look forward to. You get to sleep in if you want, go anywhere – I mean, the world is your oyster. Within reason, of course, but I just love the freedom, man! It rocks!

Except for those of you that work weekends. I know that sucks. I remember when I did it and I didn’t particularly care for it but you do what ya gotta do to pay the bills. Heck, I remember working on Thanksgiving Day when I was younger and that truly sucked but I remember not only my family bringing me a huge plate of food at lunch into the store, but I had different friends come in and bring me yummy food, too. See, even when you have to work on a holiday, things can still be great when you have love.

Love is the one cure for everything. Maybe not everything, but it even makes the hard things seem a little easier to deal with. With love, there is soooo much power and strength and it can make any place feel like home because love is home. I’m getting a bit mushy today, aren’t I?

Well, I’m just thinking of this sweet lady Mama and I met today. We were at the grocery store and Mama was going one way with her cart and I was going another way with my cart and I was looking at the reading glasses and I asked if she’d help me pick out a cute pair. This sweet lady just gave us both a huge compliment and then she shared a piece of her soul with us. She shared how her daughter passed away from cancer in 2009, and then she lost her husband in 2012, and lost her sister, and the years were all pretty close together. You’d think her heart would be broken and feeling lonely and pathetic. I know I would be. But she wasn’t broken.

She held a sweet light in her eyes. She teared up speaking about them and apologized for burdening us and we invited her to keep talking. She shared how she was best friends with her daughter just like me and Mama are. She talked about her boys who were still living and are so good to her and they take care of her and don’t live too far away, and her sweet grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She said she was 83 and explained that God must have something important left for her to do and she’s good with that. She said, “Not once have I asked, why me?” She said even when she was holding her daughter in her arms as she was dying at the youthful age of 49 (my age), even through her daughter’s suffering, not once did her daughter complain, “Why me?”

She had such a love in her heart and her eyes, this sweet woman, that I could feel the energy of it. Do you ever get that from people? Their power? The love they hold? Of course you do. I mean, we definitely feel people’s energy, good or bad, but the good, OH MY! I can just eat it up with a spoon! I LOVE when people share their hearts. It teaches me such a valuable lesson – or tons of lessons, in fact.

And then, at Handworks, this gentleman shared how his mother-in-law is in the hospital and she may not be here much longer. She’s 94 and so beloved by all who know her. She’s their rock. And he was explaining how she was telling him, “When God feels it’s my time, I’m good with that.” And he was sharing, with his pained heart, “We are not ready for that. Please hang on just a bit longer. Your new great grandbaby will soon be here and they have to know their Meemee.”

I can learn lessons from each of these people. Can’t you? The sweet lady in the grocery store, her daughter that passed, the man at Handworks, his mother-in-law. The main thing here is love. Love as much as you can, as many people as you can, as often as you can, everywhere you can, because life goes by in a blink. And all the while, even though we may suffer and struggle and experience tragedy and heartache, there is always, always, and yes, I’ll say it again, always something to be so thankful for, if only to have lived. To have lived on this planet is such a beautiful blessing. To experience the human existence is a beautiful thing. It’s a treasure, really, and you never know when it’s going to be over. So treat it like a treasure. I’m talking to me, too. Love. Love others, forgive them, love yourself, love your life, ’cause it’s the only one ya got, babe. Treasure your life. And share your heart, maybe even with strangers, because you never know how you may affect someone’s life with your story. And never, no matter how bad things get, never ask, “Why me?” I know I’ve complained waaaaaaaay too much and I’m gonna stop because life truly is a blessing to me and I LOVE my amazing family and we have been blessed with more than we deserve.

Just think about it.

Okay, so enough mush for today. On to more benefits from daily meditation. Oh, I didn’t do the med till 7pm, but it’s all good. At least I did it and that’s all that matters.

More benefits are:

  1. Help senior health
  2. Healing thoughts
  3. Better relationships
  4. Help Lightworkers

And one last thing before I sign off, my dear ones, I’m so much a better person for knowing you and I’m so blessed to have you in my life, even if it is in passing. For each of you that shares a piece of your soul and your story with me, thank you for enriching my life. You fill me with love and I love you for being you. Keep shining your light and never forget the power of sharing your love and your heart with a stranger, or even just listening. Sometimes that’s all a person needs. You don’t have to understand or always have something to say. Sometimes listening is enough. I love you, sweet babies.  xoxo

Do You Believe We Should Write/Share What We Cannot Say?


“What cannot be said above all must not be silenced but written.”
Jacques Derrida


What do you think of this statement?  I know many things that cannot be spoken.  Maybe certain things about my childhood.  Maybe traumatic moments that bring back nightmares.  Some of these things would be hurtful to people – people I’ve forgiven.  Sometimes, I think what a great story these truths would make.  I’ve written many of them down and when I go back and read them, I laugh out loud and snort and get so tickled I can’t stop myself.  At others, I bawl like I’ve never cried before, as though I’ve lost my one true love, or as though I cry for another child that’s so hurt and so far away that I can’t get to her.  That’s how I see my childhood now.  I’m so far away from it.  For me, once I reached (or rather grabbed onto for dear life) forgiveness, I became somewhat removed from my childhood, like I wasn’t that little girl anymore, unloved, thrown away like last week’s forgotten left overs.  It doesn’t hurt me like it used to.

I had forgiven one who hurt me.  I had forgiven and befriended.  I learned how to understand how this person was raised and understand that all people are not the same, that some are unable to give what another needs.  Some people are weak and afraid and don’t even know themselves, who they are, nor who they want to be.  It takes great courage to change and grow into a taller person, into yourself, seeking more, looking for better, wanting to heal, wanting to make amends.

It takes less courage to forgive the person who hurt you.  At least, it didn’t take that much for me.  It just took me 39 or 40 years to learn how.  Once I got a handle on it, it was easy.  So easy, that I didn’t even realize I had done it until after a conversation.  I realized somewhere in the middle of a 20 minute civil conversation with a tragic heart thief that I had forgiven him and it wasn’t even my intention.  Or was it?  Whatever it was, it became so easy after that.  I was forgiving all over the place.

Then, I forgave the one who hurt me the most in my life, who warped me and wrecked my mind, who stole any chance of ever trusting another human, perhaps as long as I shall live (we’ll see).  Once I began to try to understand this person’s horrific childhood (100% worse than mine, not that that even matters – it’s not a contest), and how this person was never shown love or respect, adoration or celebration, kindness or sympathy, a shoulder to cry on nor an ear to listen, I realized I could not withhold forgiveness.  Everyone suffers.  There are different levels of suffering.  There are different layers in people and on these many varied layers, there may not be even an ounce of love to take or give, they may lack understanding, lack forgiveness themselves, or even utter ever a kind word to another, but they still need (maybe even deserve) our forgiveness.

I’m not going to turn this into a religious thing, as I’m not a religious person, although I’m tight with the Dudes Upstairs.  Yeah, God and Jesus – they’re my family.  But I have to speak on these Guys.  I think of what God did for us by sending Jesus and why he sent him.  I think of Jesus and why he came and what he did for each of us.  He did it of his own free will.  He could have caved.  He could have been weak and given up on us.  I can’t tell you that I would have done what he did for all of us.  Sometimes, I think we are all worthless, we don’t deserve what Jesus did for us.  When I think of all the rapists, child killers, demons that walk this earth that should be blown to bits (and I’d like to blow away several of these myself), I think we don’t deserve Jesus, we don’t deserve forgiveness or love or any of it.

But then I look into the eyes of my child.  These eyes are windows to the soul of the one I most prayed for since I was 2 years old.  This child was the answer to a lifelong prayer, with every quality I prayed for and more great qualities I never thought to pray for.  When I see what a gift I was given, I saw, personally, and in my face, how much God and Jesus truly love me (and love and adore each of us).  Later, I began to see how much each of us deserves to have a love like that in each of our lives.  We all do deserve love.  We all deserve forgiveness.  It is not something we have ever or will ever earn (or can we?) but we deserve it, because to live without love and without forgiveness is not a life I would consider worth living.  I used to feel hate/unlove for myself and didn’t want to live.  Thank you, Father, for helping me to see things differently before I did something stupid and selfish.

If you don’t feel love for yourself or cannot forgive yourself, please know you are worth loving and you are worth forgiving.  You truly are.  You are special and unique and this world needs you and your gifts and talents, even if you don’t think you have anything to offer.  You do.  Every person out there that has hurt you also deserves to feel love and to be forgiven, and you don’t even have to tell them if you don’t want to.  Let me tell you, once you forgive someone, it feels so amazing, it frees you, frees your soul.  You then learn how to forgive yourself for your own stupidity and weakness and you begin to pull yourself out of the darkness.  It’s an awesome feeling and I want that for you.

Have you forgiven yourself lately?  Have you learned to love yourself?  What about forgiven others?  Do you realize everyone deserves to feel love?

Back to the original statement above, do you think the words we cannot even begin to say should be written?  I’ve written much of my unspoken stuff down but I will probably burn it, because I don’t want to hurt anyone with the past.  We are not our past.  We build from the past.  We learn from the past.  We move on from the past.  But we are not our past and we do not deserve to relive it nor cause others to relive it.  Do you agree?  I know the original statement means more than just this.  It means many different things to different people, but this is what came to the front of my mind when I read it.

What are your thoughts?

When Did You Know You Wanted to be a Writer?



“I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don’t know what I did before that. Just loafed, I suppose.”
P.G. Wodehouse


From as far back as I can remember, I was a storyteller.  Before I learned to write, I told stories to my dolls and stuffed animals.  I made up songs and sang to them.  They were always entertained, as was I.  These were private stores between just me and my dolls, as I never trusted anyone enough to share my stories/songs with them.

My bio-father heard me in my room talking once and walked down the hall to ask me, “Who are you talking to?”  He sat down on my bed and I felt his eyes burning into my head.

I was deathly afraid of him, as he was never a kind man, to put it nicely.  This was the one and only time in my life he ever showed any interest in me or what I was doing.  “My dolls,” I said with a whisper, because my fear always stole my voice, as I stared at the floor.

“Will you tell me what you were saying?  Were you singing?”

I just sat there, speechless.  Hairs stood on end on the back of my neck and my skin already hurt as I braced myself for what most likely would come next.  He got up from the bed, cussed me, and not too loudly, for once, as he walked away.  Thank GOD!  That was on a good day.

We’d visit my grandparents who lived a state away (where I live now) and they had this awesome magical antique typewriter.  Of course, I didn’t know my letters, yet, but when I henpecked those keys, a magical world opened up to me.  I realized, one day, I’d be able to write down my stories through a treasure like this.  The sound those keys made was sheer bliss.  I cannot even describe how beautiful and melodic the music those keys played.  Still, it’s one of the most angelic musical instruments I’ve ever heard singing in my ears.  I realize it’s not classified as a musical instrument but it should be.

I miss that old Royal.  I don’t know what ever happened to it.  Mama says we (my brother and I) ruined it by clicking too many of the keys together and they stuck.  I have no memory of ever doing this.  I loved that typewriter!  The instrument was broken and had to be thrown out like garbage.  If it were me, I would have buried it like the beloved friend it was.  I would have held a funeral service and told it how it would be missed, how much I desperately loved it.  I would have wept.

I finally learned how to write and make words and it opened another magical portal in my world.  But, my imagination, of course, grew leaps and bounds as I grew older and I’m afraid I was always in trouble at school for daydreaming.  Every single one of my report cards carries the words, “Carol is a bright girl, filled with a great imagination.  She just needs to stop daydreaming and participate in class.”  Yes, I was never really in class.  I was creating worlds.  I was a super hero, saving kids from certain doom, slaying dragons and battling scary harry monsters that lurked in the night.  It was my escape, you see.  It was the one place I was safe.  Safe from the wretched nearly murderous fingers of my bio-father.  Safe from the bruises.  Safe from the sleepy boredom of those monotone teachers who lacked inspiration, though I can offer up one or two that were inspired and fueled my imagination.  Even encouraged me, believe it or not.

The imagination is an awesome thing, isn’t it?  You can fly.  You can perform magic.  You can create worlds, languages, characters, creatures and situations.  The only limit is your own imagination, if you put limits on it.

So tell me, when did you become a writer and/or imagineer?