Wondering and Wandering – A Journey
One of my favorite quotes is “Not all who wander are lost.” It pretty much sums up my philosophy about life. I grew up in a religious tradition where all the answers seemed to be set in stone – no doubts allowed for life’s big questions. As long as I can remember, I strove to fit into those perimeters of “belief” but I always questioned everything and it caused me a tremendous amount of uncertainty and thoughts of “not being good enough.” Consequently, I became a seeker of spiritual truths since I was a teenager. This journey led me on some unusual paths, zigzagging through traditional and untraditional belief systems. Finally, at this point in my life, after gleaning what sounds true and right for me, I feel that all belief systems and great religions have at their center the essential truth, which is Love. Everything else is secondary – those things that divide us – people, religions, countries. If we all realized that we’re interconnected, that what happens to one of us or some of us or the people of another country, ultimately will affect all of us – this would be a different world.
My passion for travel seems to run parallel, somehow, with my spiritual journey; experiencing different cultures, meeting interesting people, hearing foreign languages, trying to understand and connect with strangers, who often become friends – this has helped me to see the big picture. By experiencing random acts of kindness and connectedness from strangers, by learning to communicate with people whose language I don’t know, by seeing how their lives, passions, and what they care about, are similar to mine – I’m reminded that every person carries a spark of something that is connected to me as well; call it God or Yahweh or Allah or a Higher Power – in essence they are different names for the same longing we all have in our hearts.
Ruth Miller, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Submission from Vanna Song
My name is Vanna Song (Smokie). I’ve had an affinity for nonhuman animals ever since I was young and initially wanted to pursue a career with them. I began to explore that option by volunteering at Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium. I got a chance to learn about all the different animals there and got a chance to get up close and personal with a lot of them from Buckley the Beaver, to our clouded leopards. I also got to have access to the kitchen where food was prepped for the animals as well as the animal hospital which was made to accommodate every type of animal except for the elephants which had to have the hospital brought to them because of their size. There were many areas for me to explore from marine biology to veterinary technician and I had a good time and for a while, I felt working with animals was what I wanted to do. I eventually began thinking about something else which eventually landed me in the Human Services program here at the college. That something else was my own personal history and my country of Cambodia.
In 1975, a radical communist regime known as the Khmer Rouge established themselves as the ruling power of Cambodia. They were led by Pol Pot and a few other men and women who mostly are no longer alive. Their policies were agrarian-based and included abolishing the practice of any religion, any western influences, and of any intellects. The Khmer Rouge were one of the most brutal regimes of the twentieth century and according to the most recent data, about three million or so of my people died from execution, being overworked, famine, and disease such as malaria. They fell in 1979 alright, but they were not inactive. After they retreated in to the jungle, they touched off another thirteen years of civil war against the moderate communist government installed by the Vietnamese. The Khmer Rouge did not lay down their arms and disband until 1998.
Cambodia is now a third-world country and has not recovered much from that time. Landmines are still strewn about the countryside—occasionally maiming people and the government is corrupt. Some of its officials are former Khmer Rouge members such as current Prime Minister, Hun Sen. Currently, there are pretty much no mental health services to help Cambodians cope with the posttraumatic stress from events from 1975 to 1979 (currently, mental health services here in the United States are not designed to help that generation of Cambodians that have settled here in the United States because the United States has never endured anything like the Khmer Rouge regime). Most of the citizens of Cambodia are very poor and cannot afford to send their children to school. Clean water and medical care are virtually impossible to have access to. Human trafficking, drug addiction, and AIDS are prevalent. These are a few of the reasons why I decided to take a break from my animals and explore the Human Services program here at the college. I am the generation of Cambodians born in refugee camps along the Thai Cambodian border during the thirteen-year civil war that touched off after the Khmer Rouge fell in 1979 via invading Vietnamese troops. I would like to go back to Cambodia and help her become independent again like she was for twenty-two years before 1975 and her people get back on their feet and live a normal life like I got to do after I came here. A few things I’d like to do in Cambodia are bring Human Services to the country, give people opportunities for education, and promote using Cambodia’s natural resources to support the country and not rely so much on foreign aid. I can thank my returning to my grassroots of Cambodian music from the 1960s and early 70s, my staying up to date with current events in Cambodia, my acknowledging of that time in history now that I am older, and me not being American-born for steering me in this direction.
Amidst all of this, I have realized one thing: Just because you have liked something ever since you were little, doesn’t mean you want it for a career when you are older. People have loved beaches for a long time, but they end up living on them rather than work on them. Other people have loved animals for a long time too, but chose to pursue a career in computer science instead. I’m not abandoning my animals; it’s just the current state of my country, what she has endured, and my own personal history tugging at my heartstrings. Besides, there are animals in Cambodia I won’t find here such as Siamese crocodiles.
In 1975, a radical communist regime known as the Khmer Rouge established themselves as the ruling power of Cambodia. They were led by Pol Pot and a few other men and women who mostly are no longer alive. Their policies were agrarian-based and included abolishing the practice of any religion, any western influences, and of any intellects. The Khmer Rouge were one of the most brutal regimes of the twentieth century and according to the most recent data, about three million or so of my people died from execution, being overworked, famine, and disease such as malaria. They fell in 1979 alright, but they were not inactive. After they retreated in to the jungle, they touched off another thirteen years of civil war against the moderate communist government installed by the Vietnamese. The Khmer Rouge did not lay down their arms and disband until 1998.
Cambodia is now a third-world country and has not recovered much from that time. Landmines are still strewn about the countryside—occasionally maiming people and the government is corrupt. Some of its officials are former Khmer Rouge members such as current Prime Minister, Hun Sen. Currently, there are pretty much no mental health services to help Cambodians cope with the posttraumatic stress from events from 1975 to 1979 (currently, mental health services here in the United States are not designed to help that generation of Cambodians that have settled here in the United States because the United States has never endured anything like the Khmer Rouge regime). Most of the citizens of Cambodia are very poor and cannot afford to send their children to school. Clean water and medical care are virtually impossible to have access to. Human trafficking, drug addiction, and AIDS are prevalent. These are a few of the reasons why I decided to take a break from my animals and explore the Human Services program here at the college. I am the generation of Cambodians born in refugee camps along the Thai Cambodian border during the thirteen-year civil war that touched off after the Khmer Rouge fell in 1979 via invading Vietnamese troops. I would like to go back to Cambodia and help her become independent again like she was for twenty-two years before 1975 and her people get back on their feet and live a normal life like I got to do after I came here. A few things I’d like to do in Cambodia are bring Human Services to the country, give people opportunities for education, and promote using Cambodia’s natural resources to support the country and not rely so much on foreign aid. I can thank my returning to my grassroots of Cambodian music from the 1960s and early 70s, my staying up to date with current events in Cambodia, my acknowledging of that time in history now that I am older, and me not being American-born for steering me in this direction.
Amidst all of this, I have realized one thing: Just because you have liked something ever since you were little, doesn’t mean you want it for a career when you are older. People have loved beaches for a long time, but they end up living on them rather than work on them. Other people have loved animals for a long time too, but chose to pursue a career in computer science instead. I’m not abandoning my animals; it’s just the current state of my country, what she has endured, and my own personal history tugging at my heartstrings. Besides, there are animals in Cambodia I won’t find here such as Siamese crocodiles.
Stay Here--Remember Me by Lynn Romaine
STAY HERE- REMEMBER ME
A Poem for Emily
Stay Here
I looked and could not see you,
Slowly fading into the mist of days.
But to the end we fought to keep you here,
And make you stay.
You lent us your gentle spirit,
But I felt your need to break away.
In the end, your spirit knew best
How to soar free, not to stay.
Remember Me
For your love of things struggling in the world,
We remember you.
For your light step and lighter laughter,
We remember you.
For what we can make of our lives from yours,
We remember you.
God speed, Emily
Fly free and
Watch over us all
Lynn Romaine
A Poem for Emily
Stay Here
I looked and could not see you,
Slowly fading into the mist of days.
But to the end we fought to keep you here,
And make you stay.
You lent us your gentle spirit,
But I felt your need to break away.
In the end, your spirit knew best
How to soar free, not to stay.
Remember Me
For your love of things struggling in the world,
We remember you.
For your light step and lighter laughter,
We remember you.
For what we can make of our lives from yours,
We remember you.
God speed, Emily
Fly free and
Watch over us all
Lynn Romaine
The Sculptor by Randy and Trena Reed
The Sculptor
by Randy & Trena Reed
The Sculptor’s hands never tire.
God’s relentless love carves away my sin.
His mercy polishes my tarnished character.
His unyielding grace sculpts my sin-stained soul.
God chisels with perfect precision.
My blackened shards rain down.
Broken fragments litter the ocean floor.
God’s image is restored in me.
My forgotten beauty unfolds.
Infinite love emerges.
Joy appears.
A besieged world surrenders its captive.
by Randy & Trena Reed
The Sculptor’s hands never tire.
God’s relentless love carves away my sin.
His mercy polishes my tarnished character.
His unyielding grace sculpts my sin-stained soul.
God chisels with perfect precision.
My blackened shards rain down.
Broken fragments litter the ocean floor.
God’s image is restored in me.
My forgotten beauty unfolds.
Infinite love emerges.
Joy appears.
A besieged world surrenders its captive.
The Price He Paid by Randy R. Reed
The Price He Paid
He surrendered His powerful position
as Ruler of the entire universe
to come down to our tiny world
to save the people of this earth.
He was born a helpless baby
in a dirty barn late one night.
He gave up everything He had
just to show sinners the light.
He grew up among strangers
in a foreign and unforgiving land.
His stepbrothers misunderstood Him—
even His parents didn’t understand.
Then late one fateful evening,
evil men came to the garden and took Him away.
They beat Him, kicked Him, and whipped Him
all through the night and into the next day.
They spit in His face and cursed His name,
they pressed thorns deep into His head.
He could have called down ten thousand angels,
but He just stood there quietly and bled.
They continued this inhumane torture
until His flesh was shredded and torn.
They teased, mocked, and laughed at Him—
He was the object of their ridicule and scorn.
They tried and convicted Him unfairly,
they even forced Him to carry His own cross.
He staggered up the hill under its weight
until He collapsed from enormous blood loss.
Finally, they drove nails through His hands and feet
and took that awful cross and dropped it into a hole.
He hung there, suffering alone, the rest of that day
and just before sunset, He died on the lonely knoll.
Our Lord subjected Himself to all this pain and agony,
not because it was His duty to save us from sin,
but because of His extraordinary love for us
and because He wants us to live forever with Him.
Randy R. Reed
He surrendered His powerful position
as Ruler of the entire universe
to come down to our tiny world
to save the people of this earth.
He was born a helpless baby
in a dirty barn late one night.
He gave up everything He had
just to show sinners the light.
He grew up among strangers
in a foreign and unforgiving land.
His stepbrothers misunderstood Him—
even His parents didn’t understand.
Then late one fateful evening,
evil men came to the garden and took Him away.
They beat Him, kicked Him, and whipped Him
all through the night and into the next day.
They spit in His face and cursed His name,
they pressed thorns deep into His head.
He could have called down ten thousand angels,
but He just stood there quietly and bled.
They continued this inhumane torture
until His flesh was shredded and torn.
They teased, mocked, and laughed at Him—
He was the object of their ridicule and scorn.
They tried and convicted Him unfairly,
they even forced Him to carry His own cross.
He staggered up the hill under its weight
until He collapsed from enormous blood loss.
Finally, they drove nails through His hands and feet
and took that awful cross and dropped it into a hole.
He hung there, suffering alone, the rest of that day
and just before sunset, He died on the lonely knoll.
Our Lord subjected Himself to all this pain and agony,
not because it was His duty to save us from sin,
but because of His extraordinary love for us
and because He wants us to live forever with Him.
Randy R. Reed
In Our Search for Hope by Tom Bratcher and Ynes Liliana Cayllahua Diaz
In our search for hope
In our search for hope, everything was so fast that even I cannot explain, my husband; a strong and healthy man had just been diagnosed with leukemia
It was hard at first to accept that this was happening
I’d just look up to heaven and I asked for strength so I can be a good support for my husband
Our endless nights online searching about this disease was whipping my heart
God I said, I never ask thee why?
I never say to you why us? We just accept it and understand your designs as we know you'll always be there to support us in this journey
In our search we found that people can be insensitive with the pain of others
for some doctors and nurses we are another case…a patient on the list
Our plea for hope came when we contacted the Cancer Treatment Center of America (CTCA)
from the first contact with the representative of this hospital, we knew that there was light, the way to healing. since they all treated us with great cordiality and they were very concerned about my husband Tom and me
we were not just another case…a patient…we were Tom and Ynes.. seeking answers and hope
This hospital was a great encouragement to us, They knew that there was hope.
Let us together holding hands and with God guiding my husband we can win this battle
And I know everything will be okay…I know.
Thank God for leading us to CTCA
en nuestra busqueda de esperanza
todo fue tan rapido que aun no me lo puedo explicar mi esposo un hombre sano y fuerte acababa de ser diagnosticado con leucemia
fue duro en un primer momento aceptar que esto estaba sucediendo
solo mire al cielo y pedi fuerzas para ser un buen apoyo y sopor para mi esposo
nuestra busqueda de interminables noches online acerca de esta enfermedad fue latigando mi corazon
senor yo dije
yo jamas te preguntare por que?
yo jamas te dire por que a nosotros
solo lo aceptaremos y comprenderemos tu designios ya que sabemos que tu siempre estaras ahi para apoyarnos en esta travesia
en nuestra busqueda encontramos que la gente se insensibiliza
con el dolor ajeno para algunos medicos y enfermeras son un caso mas un paciente mas de la lista
nuestra suplica para la esperanza llego cuando contactamos con CTCA
desde el primer dialogo con el representante de este hospital, nosotros sabiamos que ahi estaba la luz el camino para la cura
desde que llegamos todos nos trataron con mucha cordialidad muy preocupados por mi esposo tom y por mi no solo eramos un caso mas un paciente mas eramos tom y ynes personas que buscaban respuestas y esperanzas
este hospital fue un gran aliciente para nosotros, sabiamos que habia esperanza.
Que nosotros juntos y agarrados de la mano de dios y con su guia mi esposo podria vencer esta batalla y yo se que todo saldra bien yo lo se
gracias dios por guiarnos a CTCA.
In our search for hope, everything was so fast that even I cannot explain, my husband; a strong and healthy man had just been diagnosed with leukemia
It was hard at first to accept that this was happening
I’d just look up to heaven and I asked for strength so I can be a good support for my husband
Our endless nights online searching about this disease was whipping my heart
God I said, I never ask thee why?
I never say to you why us? We just accept it and understand your designs as we know you'll always be there to support us in this journey
In our search we found that people can be insensitive with the pain of others
for some doctors and nurses we are another case…a patient on the list
Our plea for hope came when we contacted the Cancer Treatment Center of America (CTCA)
from the first contact with the representative of this hospital, we knew that there was light, the way to healing. since they all treated us with great cordiality and they were very concerned about my husband Tom and me
we were not just another case…a patient…we were Tom and Ynes.. seeking answers and hope
This hospital was a great encouragement to us, They knew that there was hope.
Let us together holding hands and with God guiding my husband we can win this battle
And I know everything will be okay…I know.
Thank God for leading us to CTCA
en nuestra busqueda de esperanza
todo fue tan rapido que aun no me lo puedo explicar mi esposo un hombre sano y fuerte acababa de ser diagnosticado con leucemia
fue duro en un primer momento aceptar que esto estaba sucediendo
solo mire al cielo y pedi fuerzas para ser un buen apoyo y sopor para mi esposo
nuestra busqueda de interminables noches online acerca de esta enfermedad fue latigando mi corazon
senor yo dije
yo jamas te preguntare por que?
yo jamas te dire por que a nosotros
solo lo aceptaremos y comprenderemos tu designios ya que sabemos que tu siempre estaras ahi para apoyarnos en esta travesia
en nuestra busqueda encontramos que la gente se insensibiliza
con el dolor ajeno para algunos medicos y enfermeras son un caso mas un paciente mas de la lista
nuestra suplica para la esperanza llego cuando contactamos con CTCA
desde el primer dialogo con el representante de este hospital, nosotros sabiamos que ahi estaba la luz el camino para la cura
desde que llegamos todos nos trataron con mucha cordialidad muy preocupados por mi esposo tom y por mi no solo eramos un caso mas un paciente mas eramos tom y ynes personas que buscaban respuestas y esperanzas
este hospital fue un gran aliciente para nosotros, sabiamos que habia esperanza.
Que nosotros juntos y agarrados de la mano de dios y con su guia mi esposo podria vencer esta batalla y yo se que todo saldra bien yo lo se
gracias dios por guiarnos a CTCA.
We Are Our Words by Sarah A.
It was after I had arrived at the lowest point in my life when I made a conscious commitment to redirect my energies toward something better. I know it was my own personal “rock bottom” because everything in my life now seems to have either led up to or stemmed from it. By that time, my mistakes were quickly outnumbering my good decisions, and sufficient emotional scars had been tattooed on my heart as a result (not to mention the harm I had caused others). I was reeling from the very weight of my conscience, which had usually been a strong enough force to keep me reeled in. The previous two years, though, had completely undone that reel. My values had gone from being extremely conservative to shameful and reckless. When I was ready to quit, I felt I faced only two options. I could either do just that, quit. Or I could make a new start. I chose the latter. My commitment to myself sounded something like this:
“I just want to be able to live with myself at the end of each day.”
To me, this meant that I would not be deceitful. I would not participate in things that I would be ashamed of should the light of day reveal them. Even if the chances of that happening were slim to none. I would own up to whatever mistakes I made along the way, and not let things “pile up.” And I would make efforts to continue to better myself. At that point, I didn't care if I ever made a significant mark on the world. I wasn't aspiring to reach the summit of the highest peak (literally or figuratively). The simplicity behind the commitment was to be one of the more effective promises I would ever make to myself. It's been over eight years since I made that promise, and it is what I come back to time and again when faced with important decisions.
Moving onto the thoughts that the title of this book elicits, I believe that while we are our words, most certainly, our actions are equally important. My husband communicated that very truth to me once, and it has stuck with me ever since. He had no use for the words I might use, but instead preferred to see actions to support those very words. He was right, I determined. So I dug in my heels and started to do what I said I would. Of course, I don't always get the “do” part right, and sometimes I'm too lazy to do more than use my words, but the message echoes in my head whenever there is friction in my life over what is said versus what is done. Quite often I can even skip the words and move straight to the actions.
So while our actions are important, I cannot ignore the weight of our words either. The impact of my words seems to vary depending on the recipient(s). For someone who doesn't know me, my words are probably taken at face value. Nothing more, nothing less. I believe this because they have nothing on which to base any alterations to that face value. Face value, of course, is subjective. Certainly our own views flavor the impressions we take from someone's words. However, if my views are of value to a person (most often the case if they know me), possibly my words would be capable of leaving a more lasting impression on them, for help or for harm.
Summarily, the words I choose to live by (such as my commitments to myself), affect the actions that I take in my life (that may be written of by another), which, when paired with the words I choose to use (speaking or writing), directly affect the future of the world as we know it. So I would suggest that we all choose our words wisely.
Sarah A.
“I just want to be able to live with myself at the end of each day.”
To me, this meant that I would not be deceitful. I would not participate in things that I would be ashamed of should the light of day reveal them. Even if the chances of that happening were slim to none. I would own up to whatever mistakes I made along the way, and not let things “pile up.” And I would make efforts to continue to better myself. At that point, I didn't care if I ever made a significant mark on the world. I wasn't aspiring to reach the summit of the highest peak (literally or figuratively). The simplicity behind the commitment was to be one of the more effective promises I would ever make to myself. It's been over eight years since I made that promise, and it is what I come back to time and again when faced with important decisions.
Moving onto the thoughts that the title of this book elicits, I believe that while we are our words, most certainly, our actions are equally important. My husband communicated that very truth to me once, and it has stuck with me ever since. He had no use for the words I might use, but instead preferred to see actions to support those very words. He was right, I determined. So I dug in my heels and started to do what I said I would. Of course, I don't always get the “do” part right, and sometimes I'm too lazy to do more than use my words, but the message echoes in my head whenever there is friction in my life over what is said versus what is done. Quite often I can even skip the words and move straight to the actions.
So while our actions are important, I cannot ignore the weight of our words either. The impact of my words seems to vary depending on the recipient(s). For someone who doesn't know me, my words are probably taken at face value. Nothing more, nothing less. I believe this because they have nothing on which to base any alterations to that face value. Face value, of course, is subjective. Certainly our own views flavor the impressions we take from someone's words. However, if my views are of value to a person (most often the case if they know me), possibly my words would be capable of leaving a more lasting impression on them, for help or for harm.
Summarily, the words I choose to live by (such as my commitments to myself), affect the actions that I take in my life (that may be written of by another), which, when paired with the words I choose to use (speaking or writing), directly affect the future of the world as we know it. So I would suggest that we all choose our words wisely.
Sarah A.
We Are Our Words by Harry Miller
"We are our words", can be traced back to Adam and Eve. We are still paying for the temptation Eve presented to Adam in the Garden. Words have been used to start wars and end them, start relationships and end them, and every thing imaginable in between. Words, I believe, are the most powerful tools available and their use is available to everyone. I cannot think of a successful business-person or politician that has not mastered the use of words in their communication.
It has been said that "a picture is worth a thousand words," but those of my older generation can conjure up images of where we were when we heard the words "President Kennedy has been shot"; or who can fail to think of Dr. Martin Luther King when we hear the phrase "I have a dream." In more recent times, the numbers 9/11 will be embedded in our memory forever.
Through my European heritage and my father's leading by example, I have learned that keeping your "word" is one of the most valuable characteristics one can earn. My second wife was drawn dearer to me because she learned she could "count on me" to be true to what I said or promised. As a side note, I learned that women can recall things said or done, forever. Words in the form of nicknames can be associated with a person forever, too. In my workplace a coworker and I shared a cubicle, and when his first son was born he would come to work relating what his little "Boo Boo" had done. Thinking that was pretty cute, I started calling my two grandsons "Boo Boo," but somehow this was turned around where they are calling me "Boo Boo." Having two special grandsons who call me “Boo Boo,” now 14 and 12 years old, is pretty special to an old "grampa.' (Not to mention the five other grandsons and one granddaughter, too!).
We are in the "Me" generation: “what is in it for me?” or “I want it now.” Through advanced technology we are communicating less: somehow texting someone "I luv u" does not replace looking into someone’s eyes, holding their hands, and saying the same words. My prayer is that we will not lose the art of communicating and using words carefully. Health-wise we become what we are because of what we eat or do not eat. Character-wise we are formed and judged by what we say. So go forth and let your soul shine!
Harry Miller
It has been said that "a picture is worth a thousand words," but those of my older generation can conjure up images of where we were when we heard the words "President Kennedy has been shot"; or who can fail to think of Dr. Martin Luther King when we hear the phrase "I have a dream." In more recent times, the numbers 9/11 will be embedded in our memory forever.
Through my European heritage and my father's leading by example, I have learned that keeping your "word" is one of the most valuable characteristics one can earn. My second wife was drawn dearer to me because she learned she could "count on me" to be true to what I said or promised. As a side note, I learned that women can recall things said or done, forever. Words in the form of nicknames can be associated with a person forever, too. In my workplace a coworker and I shared a cubicle, and when his first son was born he would come to work relating what his little "Boo Boo" had done. Thinking that was pretty cute, I started calling my two grandsons "Boo Boo," but somehow this was turned around where they are calling me "Boo Boo." Having two special grandsons who call me “Boo Boo,” now 14 and 12 years old, is pretty special to an old "grampa.' (Not to mention the five other grandsons and one granddaughter, too!).
We are in the "Me" generation: “what is in it for me?” or “I want it now.” Through advanced technology we are communicating less: somehow texting someone "I luv u" does not replace looking into someone’s eyes, holding their hands, and saying the same words. My prayer is that we will not lose the art of communicating and using words carefully. Health-wise we become what we are because of what we eat or do not eat. Character-wise we are formed and judged by what we say. So go forth and let your soul shine!
Harry Miller
A Random Act by Linda Rettstatt
A Random Act
I stepped down from the bus and into a puddle of slush. The throngs of people heading to their offices and shops in downtown Pittsburgh thinned as I turned the corner at 9th Street and headed for the Penn Avenue Homeless Shelter. The building, long-since abandoned with the exception of the first floor shelter, loomed against the grey winter sky.
Four women huddled in the entryway as I approached, each carrying a variation of trash bags and shopping bags advertising Pittsburgh's finer department stores. I greeted them and extracted the key from my pocket. A chill to match the damp December morning was less than welcoming inside the large, open space. I hurried to turn on the two electric space heaters—the building had no working heat yet. I'd been told it would be repaired 'soon'. That had been two weeks earlier.
The women claimed the more comfortable chairs and pulled from their pockets the fruit they had been given before leaving the night shelter a few hours earlier. The daytime shelter was intended to provide a safe, warm, dry place for the homeless to spend the day off the streets. Unfortunately, the building provided only a space, relatively safe. But with no back-up staff, there were days my adrenaline ran on overload. Small differences could escalate into physical altercations between our guests in a matter of seconds.
On this particular day, sleet rained down heavily outside our doors. Inside, buckets collected the moisture that dripped at a swift pace through the ceiling from the roof five stories above. The fluorescent lights flickered and hummed, and the coffeemaker growled and sputtered.
Throughout the morning, homeless persons came and went. None stayed very long. The truth was, other than blocking the wind, the shelter offered little in the way of comfort from the elements. I sat behind my desk, huddled in my down jacket, ensuring each visitor signed in and out. A small space heater blasted at my feet. I had already received the call telling me the volunteer who would relieve me for lunch had called off today. I was on my own.
At 12:30, the shelter was vacant with the exception of myself and one woman, Mary. She sat hunched over the battered coffee table in the sitting area and counted out change. I could hear the clink and scrape of the coins on the table's surface. She shuffled the coins into her palm and stood, carrying her two overly-stuffed shopping bags.
"I know I'm not supposed to ask this, but can I leave my bags with you for five minutes? I'm just going across the street to the bus station, but I'll be right back," she said.
The place was empty. The other homeless folks had sought true shelter at the bus station or in the restroom lounges of one of the department stores. One rule stated that no one could leave their belongings when they left the shelter. But there should have also been a rule that a shelter offered warmth. "Sure. I'll be here." I accepted her bags and set them behind the desk, out of sight.
Minutes later, Mary returned, a Burger King bag in her hand. She came over to my desk and set the bag in front of me. "This is for you," she said.
I was stunned. "Oh, I'm fine," I replied.
But she shook her head and nudged the bag closer to me. "You can't sit here all day for us and not have something to eat. It ain't right." She then reached into her pocket with a shabbily-gloved hand and pulled out an orange, setting it next to the bag. "Eat this, too. I got an extra one this morning. The vitamin C is good for you in this weather."
I opened the bag to find a wrapped burger, complete with cheese that would have cost extra. Tears of humility pressed at my eyes. This homeless woman who most people would walk past on the street without notice, or stare at with disdain, had taken the last of her change to buy me lunch. "Will you share it with me?" I asked. I'd feel better about accepting this if she enjoyed some of it, too.
"No. It's for you," she insisted.
And I realized that to refuse the gift would be to diminish her even further. "Thank you," I said, wondering how I would manage to choke down each bite of the burger without bursting into tears.
She beamed. "You're welcome." With that, Mary took her bags, poured herself a cup of hot coffee, and resumed her station on the threadbare sofa.
Long before Oprah encouraged us to perform random acts of kindness, Mary had the program down.
Linda Rettstatt
I stepped down from the bus and into a puddle of slush. The throngs of people heading to their offices and shops in downtown Pittsburgh thinned as I turned the corner at 9th Street and headed for the Penn Avenue Homeless Shelter. The building, long-since abandoned with the exception of the first floor shelter, loomed against the grey winter sky.
Four women huddled in the entryway as I approached, each carrying a variation of trash bags and shopping bags advertising Pittsburgh's finer department stores. I greeted them and extracted the key from my pocket. A chill to match the damp December morning was less than welcoming inside the large, open space. I hurried to turn on the two electric space heaters—the building had no working heat yet. I'd been told it would be repaired 'soon'. That had been two weeks earlier.
The women claimed the more comfortable chairs and pulled from their pockets the fruit they had been given before leaving the night shelter a few hours earlier. The daytime shelter was intended to provide a safe, warm, dry place for the homeless to spend the day off the streets. Unfortunately, the building provided only a space, relatively safe. But with no back-up staff, there were days my adrenaline ran on overload. Small differences could escalate into physical altercations between our guests in a matter of seconds.
On this particular day, sleet rained down heavily outside our doors. Inside, buckets collected the moisture that dripped at a swift pace through the ceiling from the roof five stories above. The fluorescent lights flickered and hummed, and the coffeemaker growled and sputtered.
Throughout the morning, homeless persons came and went. None stayed very long. The truth was, other than blocking the wind, the shelter offered little in the way of comfort from the elements. I sat behind my desk, huddled in my down jacket, ensuring each visitor signed in and out. A small space heater blasted at my feet. I had already received the call telling me the volunteer who would relieve me for lunch had called off today. I was on my own.
At 12:30, the shelter was vacant with the exception of myself and one woman, Mary. She sat hunched over the battered coffee table in the sitting area and counted out change. I could hear the clink and scrape of the coins on the table's surface. She shuffled the coins into her palm and stood, carrying her two overly-stuffed shopping bags.
"I know I'm not supposed to ask this, but can I leave my bags with you for five minutes? I'm just going across the street to the bus station, but I'll be right back," she said.
The place was empty. The other homeless folks had sought true shelter at the bus station or in the restroom lounges of one of the department stores. One rule stated that no one could leave their belongings when they left the shelter. But there should have also been a rule that a shelter offered warmth. "Sure. I'll be here." I accepted her bags and set them behind the desk, out of sight.
Minutes later, Mary returned, a Burger King bag in her hand. She came over to my desk and set the bag in front of me. "This is for you," she said.
I was stunned. "Oh, I'm fine," I replied.
But she shook her head and nudged the bag closer to me. "You can't sit here all day for us and not have something to eat. It ain't right." She then reached into her pocket with a shabbily-gloved hand and pulled out an orange, setting it next to the bag. "Eat this, too. I got an extra one this morning. The vitamin C is good for you in this weather."
I opened the bag to find a wrapped burger, complete with cheese that would have cost extra. Tears of humility pressed at my eyes. This homeless woman who most people would walk past on the street without notice, or stare at with disdain, had taken the last of her change to buy me lunch. "Will you share it with me?" I asked. I'd feel better about accepting this if she enjoyed some of it, too.
"No. It's for you," she insisted.
And I realized that to refuse the gift would be to diminish her even further. "Thank you," I said, wondering how I would manage to choke down each bite of the burger without bursting into tears.
She beamed. "You're welcome." With that, Mary took her bags, poured herself a cup of hot coffee, and resumed her station on the threadbare sofa.
Long before Oprah encouraged us to perform random acts of kindness, Mary had the program down.
Linda Rettstatt
Words Create World by Gloria Pearson
I do not remember a time when my world didn't show up escorted by my words good or bad things always show up exactly how I want, don't want, in comparison to, in agreement with and in severe juxtaposition to my words. From deep recesses thoughts just seem to occur - and without effort my words jump into the arena and start shuffling and kicking around the idea like a soccer ball. I couldn't stop this game if I wanted to. I've tried. Random scoring, goalies changing sides, fights in the stadium, absolute mayhem. Without even trying, these games go on indefinitely, without breaks, simultaneously forming the backdrop of what is actually occurring in my experience - what's really out there, what's really happening, what is so.
I am constantly amazed at the efficient machinery of the thought-word-world process. I mean, seriously, if we as humans could were to create machines outside of our bodies as resilient as the ones in our mind, we'd be obsolete as a species. It would appear as though there is no way out. That being said, if the thought-word-world game won't stop at our bidding, one option could be to create more players.
So, given that in this old game context the world will continue to show up as we think it must, what if we just created another way it could show up, without restraint? Perhaps create a few of or own word-players to kick the thought around the arena. Our own team of players, even? And, throw in some fans and cheerleaders! I'm not big on sports, so this is a funny analogy for me to use, but if our goal was to create another way for the world to show up for ourselves, and our players were to focus on getting those thoughts to the goal, and we had fans willing to encourage and support our new team - then it could work - couldn't it?
It can. I'll give you some examples from my own life and I believe you can see the victory of my words. In a nutshell, my 'supplied world' was primarily..."I'm a shy girl from L.A. barrio, with no money, and I want to make a difference, but I don't think I can..."
Some of my games...
"I'm going to get a degree in fine art"...Cal-Arts graduate [one of the finest international art schools]; long career in arts and cultural outreach.
"I'm getting married soon" [shortly after being dumped by my 2nd true love...married within a year to a man I loved dearly]
"I'll have two children" [two beautiful boys]
"I'll create a Santa Barbara chapter of an Artist Mentorship group" [done!]
"I'm going to start a huge cultural celebration based on the Mexican holiday - Dia de Meurtos that can be recreated annually in Ventura, CA!" [over 2000 attending, an absolutely miraculous event!]
"I'll do that again, this time in the mid-west - Indiana, and begin reaching out to the Latino community in Indianapolis." [over 3000, and still going strong]
"I'm doubling, tripling, quadrupling those outreach numbers." [done, and with heart]
To name just a few...
There's nothing I haven't created to be a possibility with my words, and the same goes for you too, I assert.
Gloria Pearson, artist, mom, making a difference...
I am constantly amazed at the efficient machinery of the thought-word-world process. I mean, seriously, if we as humans could were to create machines outside of our bodies as resilient as the ones in our mind, we'd be obsolete as a species. It would appear as though there is no way out. That being said, if the thought-word-world game won't stop at our bidding, one option could be to create more players.
So, given that in this old game context the world will continue to show up as we think it must, what if we just created another way it could show up, without restraint? Perhaps create a few of or own word-players to kick the thought around the arena. Our own team of players, even? And, throw in some fans and cheerleaders! I'm not big on sports, so this is a funny analogy for me to use, but if our goal was to create another way for the world to show up for ourselves, and our players were to focus on getting those thoughts to the goal, and we had fans willing to encourage and support our new team - then it could work - couldn't it?
It can. I'll give you some examples from my own life and I believe you can see the victory of my words. In a nutshell, my 'supplied world' was primarily..."I'm a shy girl from L.A. barrio, with no money, and I want to make a difference, but I don't think I can..."
Some of my games...
"I'm going to get a degree in fine art"...Cal-Arts graduate [one of the finest international art schools]; long career in arts and cultural outreach.
"I'm getting married soon" [shortly after being dumped by my 2nd true love...married within a year to a man I loved dearly]
"I'll have two children" [two beautiful boys]
"I'll create a Santa Barbara chapter of an Artist Mentorship group" [done!]
"I'm going to start a huge cultural celebration based on the Mexican holiday - Dia de Meurtos that can be recreated annually in Ventura, CA!" [over 2000 attending, an absolutely miraculous event!]
"I'll do that again, this time in the mid-west - Indiana, and begin reaching out to the Latino community in Indianapolis." [over 3000, and still going strong]
"I'm doubling, tripling, quadrupling those outreach numbers." [done, and with heart]
To name just a few...
There's nothing I haven't created to be a possibility with my words, and the same goes for you too, I assert.
Gloria Pearson, artist, mom, making a difference...
Nosotros Somos Uno En Este Momente II by Zoraida Haibi Figuera
Nosotros Somos Uno En Este Momente II
Untitled by Regan G. Smith (#2)
Untitled
Bye Bye, bye bye,
From the depths of your being
comes your call to me.
Oh! How I miss you my Love.
I break up emotion, cannot
give back your ever roar
in my ear, in my eye, in my
fringe of an alliteration, bye, bye.
My hand rises to give the sign
still nothing adhears the sand
of time, memory sweet in your
breeze, beat, presence
now away, back again
on the shores of my
conciousness. Bye bye unspoken
ceaselessly wringing Time naught
for Love hiding in shadows not
light dapple fettered with knot
unravelling me, my foam in a zero
fandango of unknown steps to your music.
May I ever rise to play again where
grass hinders not endless horizon of
your
Bye-Bye,
bye bye
Regan G. Smith
Bye Bye, bye bye,
From the depths of your being
comes your call to me.
Oh! How I miss you my Love.
I break up emotion, cannot
give back your ever roar
in my ear, in my eye, in my
fringe of an alliteration, bye, bye.
My hand rises to give the sign
still nothing adhears the sand
of time, memory sweet in your
breeze, beat, presence
now away, back again
on the shores of my
conciousness. Bye bye unspoken
ceaselessly wringing Time naught
for Love hiding in shadows not
light dapple fettered with knot
unravelling me, my foam in a zero
fandango of unknown steps to your music.
May I ever rise to play again where
grass hinders not endless horizon of
your
Bye-Bye,
bye bye
Regan G. Smith
Untitled by Regan G. Smith
(Untitled)
She sat while looming
over there another figure
waiting for her to notice
there was no more thread.
The weaving day had been long
her aged joints longed to stop
back and forth, back and forth
he commenced wearily standing
taking note of her pattern
unfinished yet done and left
arm in arm with her watcher...
Regan G. Smith
She sat while looming
over there another figure
waiting for her to notice
there was no more thread.
The weaving day had been long
her aged joints longed to stop
back and forth, back and forth
he commenced wearily standing
taking note of her pattern
unfinished yet done and left
arm in arm with her watcher...
Regan G. Smith
Evening Prayers by Leigh Feinberg
Evening Prayers
Golden text on liquid cobalt-
ceramic tiles swimming in
celestial glass waters,
the undulating
shimmering
moon canopy
of a diamond mirror
sanctuary.
A hive of honey bees
continually humming
throughout the ages,
The Name of God-
The Holy Name of God...
A Divine umbilical
ray of sunlight
fills the mystical
Grace orifice
of sacred geometry,
impregnating the air,
even the dust,
giving birth to
The Word of God-
The Holy Word of God...
A lone voice
sings out
with sublime
anguish-
"Beloved!
Thou art
the only one,
there is none
but Thee,
we come in prayer
and supplication..."
Covered heads bow,
cupped hands
as open flowers
receiving,
filling longing hearts
with grateful tears,
The Holy Nectar of God-
The Sweet Kiss of The Beloved.
Leigh Feinberg 2008
Vedic City, Iowa
Golden text on liquid cobalt-
ceramic tiles swimming in
celestial glass waters,
the undulating
shimmering
moon canopy
of a diamond mirror
sanctuary.
A hive of honey bees
continually humming
throughout the ages,
The Name of God-
The Holy Name of God...
A Divine umbilical
ray of sunlight
fills the mystical
Grace orifice
of sacred geometry,
impregnating the air,
even the dust,
giving birth to
The Word of God-
The Holy Word of God...
A lone voice
sings out
with sublime
anguish-
"Beloved!
Thou art
the only one,
there is none
but Thee,
we come in prayer
and supplication..."
Covered heads bow,
cupped hands
as open flowers
receiving,
filling longing hearts
with grateful tears,
The Holy Nectar of God-
The Sweet Kiss of The Beloved.
Leigh Feinberg 2008
Vedic City, Iowa
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
"Sharing" for the Holidays!
Hello, folks! I just had a GREAT idea! (Especially for all my beloved contributors and collaborators, who just got a mass email from me, and who are hopefully checking out my blog after reading the email). Why not "share" the possibility of this project with your families and friends as you gather for Thanksgiving? That December 1 deadline is next Wednesday and it just occurred to me that many of us will be socializing over the next few days, so rather than wait until after the holiday and then trying to fit everything in......just work it in as part of your celebration! Someone you talk to might just be "thankful" that you did! Who knows--you may have a budding writer in your midst, or a "leader" just itching for a project to take on. Jump in and have fun with it!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Sample Submission
Hello, folks! Just wanted to share this submission from my new friend, Antonio. He was inspired to write a poem after being afraid to love again, having lost his partner. Love walked back into his life, and this is what he wrote. Enjoy!
Fearless Love
When there is fear
there is no Love.
If there’s no Love
there is no Life.
My heart was choked
with fear and sorrow,
until you came
I could not Love.
You asked for nothing,
I let you in.
While you were there
I made you stay.
You worked inside my deepest fear,
the fear of loving
the way I had known.
While you were there
I chose to love;
my heart is full of Life again.
No space for fears
and no more tears;
over your shoulder,
over the fire,
you saw the last
burning the hurt.
When there is Love
there is no fear.
This is the way
I love Ale.
~ Antonio Ferraro, Santa Maria di Castellabate, Italy
Fearless Love
When there is fear
there is no Love.
If there’s no Love
there is no Life.
My heart was choked
with fear and sorrow,
until you came
I could not Love.
You asked for nothing,
I let you in.
While you were there
I made you stay.
You worked inside my deepest fear,
the fear of loving
the way I had known.
While you were there
I chose to love;
my heart is full of Life again.
No space for fears
and no more tears;
over your shoulder,
over the fire,
you saw the last
burning the hurt.
When there is Love
there is no fear.
This is the way
I love Ale.
~ Antonio Ferraro, Santa Maria di Castellabate, Italy
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Call for Submissions
In the interest of making this project's info as accessible as possible, here is one version of my "Call for Submissions," in case you found this blog somehow, and need some background information.
What comes to mind when you hear the phrase “We Are Our Words”? Where in your life have you made a conscious commitment to altering the outcomes in your life by connecting your belief system with powerful declarations of intent, promise, and commitment? What positive impact has consciously administering and attending to your words and declarations had on your life? Can everyday people like you and me positively impact the future of the world by collectively harnessing and focusing their creative energies through the words we use—in our thoughts, in our speech, in our writings? If you could instantly change the face and fabric of the world simply by speaking powerful words out loud, what would you say? What would you create?
I am putting together a book to be titled We Are Our Words: Spiritual Writings from Around the World, the writings of everyday people who have the power to change the world simply by speaking powerful words out loud. This book represents the possibility of everyday people expressing themselves and shifting the world with their words, etc. with the intended results of a published book with at least 25 submissions of poetry, essays, and artwork from people of many backgrounds and cultures. If you are inspired to participate, please email me (penda68@gmail.com) with a promise to submit your essay (250-750 words), poem (one page or less), or artwork (.jpegs, please). The deadline for final submissions is noon on Tuesday, July 27, 2010. Additional submissions may be accepted thereafter, space permitting. The goal for publication of the book is November 1, 2010.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Greetings!
Hello, followers! I will post updates about my Self-Expression & Leadership Program project, "We Are Our Words: Spiritual Writings From Around the World" here. Look for updates about number of submissions received, contacts made, inspirations, connections, serendipities, miracles, or whatever comes my way that relates to the book that we're creating together! If you've got questions, please feel free to email me at penda68 using Gmail (trying to subvert the programs that crawl the web and look for email addresses. I trust you can figure out my book's email address using this info!).
I'll write more later about the background of the project--just wanted to get this blog set up so I can post the addy. Thanks for playing with me! :)
I'll write more later about the background of the project--just wanted to get this blog set up so I can post the addy. Thanks for playing with me! :)
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