Tag Archives: music

Warm weather means one thing to me …

convertible top down!  OK, maybe two things, at least once my sister’s pool is operational, that is.

There is nothing like driving along with the convertible top down and the music loud to ease every care from my mind.  A balm to my spirit, it is.  And I love it.  Every minute of it.

I don’t mind that I get crazy looks as I gaze toward the sky and clouds as I’m driving along.  They bring me comfort and ease and I feel as though I am one with them.  Who doesn’t, I ask, want to be one with the sky?

One with the clouds?  One with the birds?  One with the stars?  One with the moon?

The music varies widely and can go from Ozzy Osbourne one minute to Bach the next to Styx the next to Wagner the next.  There is no rhyme nor reason, only joy; pure unbridled, joy.

Today, the temperature reached 92° and I was in my own personal Heaven.  The sun beat down, warm on my skin and in my eyes.

I was sun-kissed and it was awesome.

I spend way too much of my time thinking of things, places and people that I aught not be thinking about and my convertible time empties my mind.  It sets me free in a way that I cannot explain.

I am myself.  My thoughts are my own and if the tears fall, they are my own as well.  I still think of things and of people, but they are are freer, more beautiful, somehow.

Open and wonderful, without guilt, without compromise.  Simply mine.

I am me.  I am a Sagittarius.  I wish, I want, I will things into being and then, when they don’t suit me, I may mourn for them, but ultimately, let them go.

On these occasions, I am nothing more than a petal spiraling in the wind, wishing wishes and floating, as though weightless, above the earth.

The hay grass dancing.

The lightning bugs flickering.

I am a part of nature and it is spectacular.

Life.

The ultimate roller coaster with the ups and downs, unexpected and exhilarating,with its realistic to the point of detriment, dreams.

And I, from this moment forward, plan to enjoy the ride.  And, when the dreams, sometimes plain, oft times erotic and breathtaking, filled with music, come, I plan to enjoy them, too.

I will embrace them and become part of them, immersing myself in them.

I will thrive in the dreams that I dream and know that I, after all, am still me, with my hopes, longing  and desires.

Human.

Still me, always me, and relishing that which comes int0 my mind.

I intend to waste none of this magnificent existence, whether real or imagined, dreams or reality.

I’ve wasted too much time, already.

Beemer, a sweet Great Pyrenees, shows his Hollywood

George Jones’ death …

took me back, in my mind, many years and unearthed several memories that I had suppressed.  As a kid, whether we were driving to church or going on vacation (for my Dad was in charge of choosing stations), there was one of two things on the radio; sports or George Jones.

At the time, I thought that surely, this was the worst thing that could happen to a person.

However, as I got older, and developed my own taste in music (and sports, though that is irrelevant in this post), I found that I listened to quite a bit of George.

Or “Possum”, as he was familiarly known.  It wasn’t the most flattering nickname, but in reality, he really did, somewhat resemble, a possum.

Sorry George, but as my dad is fond of saying, “the truth will stand when the world’s on fire”.

When I look at my LP collection, I find that there are several of his albums there.  When I still had eight-tracks (and for those of you too young to know what that is, look it up) there were many “George Jones” in that collection, too.

My dad was a fan.  I was always trying to impress my dad and win his approval, so I suppose that some of my “George admiration” came from that.  But at some point, I realized that I just plain liked his music.

I also liked Conway Twitty, John Conlee, Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Hank Williams, Dolly Parton, Willie Nelson, Reba McEntire, Loretta Lynn, Patsy Cline, Elvis and Lefty Frizzelle (just to name the ones that come easily, without stressing my brain, to mind).

So sue me.

The music today that calls itself country has little to do with what I grew up with.  As a matter of fact, it has little to do with music at all, but then, I may be biased.

OK, I am biased.  But so what?  Even though I have a hard time playing a note of music, I know what it should sound like.  I understand it on a personal level and appreciate it in the very basic way that one understands and appreciates it.

It is a huge, very consuming part of my everyday life.

But I digress.  I was talking about George and the impact his death had on me and I know, without asking, on my Dad.

I don’t consider myself immortal.  I believe with my whole being that, if I died right now, I would go to Heaven and I have no illusions about living forever.  But …

Seeing my idols and the people that I have “known” all my life die … well, that makes me think.

I don’t remember a time in my life that George wasn’t a part of it.  He was popular when I was born (or so I am told, as I don’t remember those first few days) and became moreso in the years to come.  And now he is dead.  His music will live on for decades and generations, but the man himself is gone from this world.  That is a sobering thought.

It hurts my heart nearly as much as when Andy Gibb died.  That was a black day in my life.  I loved him more than life, but he chose drugs over life.  Choices.  It all comes down, once again, to choices, BUT, I digress once again.

I cried like a child when, first Maurice Gibb and then again when Robin Gibb died.  The Brothers Gibb (Bee-Gees) were my favorites and remain so, even though only Barry remains.  Sometimes, when I think about them young and beautiful, singing their songs as only they could, I still cry. (If I keep this up, I will be crying before the night is out).

It was an end of an era for me, as it was when Conway died, as it was … then when Waylon died … then when Johnny died; well, this could go on for pages, but you get the idea.

The same can be said of George.  I’ll miss you, Possum, and will, most likely, cry for you now and again as well because … well, because I loved you, too.

RIP, George … RIP.

Who’s Gonna Fill Their Shoes?  Who, indeed?  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xi3GgoLtlWk

a single day in a remarkable journey

Early this morning, well before sunrise, I was up because I had planned to go to Sunrise Service at church.  Had been looking forward to it.  There is something inexplicably peaceful about standing in the cemetery on Easter as the first blush of morning blooms behind the quaint little country church.  There is a knowing that this is real, that what I have believed, what I have based my life on, is true.

Standing there in the cemetery.

But the sound of the pouring rain and knowing that because of it, the service would be held inside the church, changed my mind.

I tooled around the house a bit, restless.  During lulls in the rain, I stood on the back porch, absorbing the heavy, moisture-laden air, smelling the scents that can only be found during springtime in the mountains.  Thinking about things.

As the seemingly random thoughts passed through my mind, I found myself immersed in memory and longing.  It has been over three years since Jim died and I haven’t dreamed of him once.   Now, though, images that have been building over the past few days floated before me in a lovely haze.  Annie’s song.  The bagpiper in the cemetery.  A sharp tux at my first gallery showing.  The painting of the tree in my closet.  Looking back, the signs were there.  I think the memories were likely kindled last week when I was fiddling around with his clarinet.

Out of nowhere, it occurred to me that in all the years we were married, he never played for me.  Not once.

Of course, thinking of such things can do nothing but ruin an otherwise lovely day and I said as much to myself as I turned on the music.  It didn’t matter what kind, just anything would do until, as usual, I migrated to what was on my mind all along.  The melodies and verse filled my mind.  It didn’t stop the memories, though; they came anyway, unbidden and uninvited.   That’s the way of it sometimes.

The more I listened, the more I allowed myself to be carried along as I stepped back, in my mind, in time.  The music continued to play as  background to my thoughts while scenes long past wavered and became clear on the edges of my subconscious.   Jim and I had a great deal in common when it came to music.    It was a huge part of our lives, both a joy and a heartache; a double-edged sword.  At least it was how it seemed to me.

We took something very different away from it.  I shared with him the thoughts and feelings the music evoked; the way it made me want to weep or laugh or scream … to dance in the grass under the light of a full, summer moon … the excitement in the pit of my stomach.  To him, it was only sound and what I was trying to explain made sense only to me.  Seeing it now years later, with eyes unobstructed by grief, I realize I wanted him to want to understand me and was perplexed when he didn’t.

That knowledge chipped away at something vital to my well-being and made me feel foolish and insecure.  It was hurtful.  It wasn’t intentional, but it was still hurtful. I had not yet reached a point in my life when I trusted the way that music made me feel; didn’t realize that it held the same power over me whether anyone else felt it or not. I tried to bury, or at least quiet, the discombobulating range of emotion that it evoked in me … but the music was just too powerful.

It still is.  It will always be.  I not only know and understand what it can do to me, but embrace it and that in itself is freeing, like falling through the air.  Through his indifference, not just about music, but other things, came encouragement to find my own skin and be comfortable in it.    To everything, there is a season.

Memories teach me many things … for one, life goes on … my past doesn’t change, but my perception of it often does.  God takes the pieces that seem out of place and puts them in perspective.  Even with its ups, downs, doses of reality, complexities and melancholic rantings, life really is quite remarkable.  There is enough joy and wonder to balance out the rest if we embrace it.

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On this stormy night …

while Barry Manilow played in the background, I spent some time catching up on photo editing.  I culled through landscapes, portraits and random shots of various things that caught my eye.

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The photographs are often exactly what I expect them to be, but not always.  Sometimes, there is more to them than I saw with my eyes; images within images that make me realize, again, just how much there is to see.

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The intimacy of holding wonder and beauty in the lens of my camera with nothing but light and shadow in between is profound; the effect it has on me is sometimes startling.  Just as a piece of music that soars and resonates takes my breath, so do the images.

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Contrast, light, shadow, color, reflection … they capture my imagination and intrigue me, teaching me something new every time.  The same shot taken a hundred times will always yield a different result as nothing, not air nor wind nor water nor light, stays the same from one moment to the next.

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I find, on occasion, that I have missed shots because I have become so mesmerized by what I was seeing that I forgot to click the shutter.  At these times, the magnificence of nature or the human spirit permeate my very being and make me more than I was before; more aware, more real, more emotional, more grounded.  Simply more.

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There will always be, no matter where I go or what I do, more to see and experience.  There will be new ways to feel old emotions and catalysts that will throw me where I never thought I could go.  That is the beauty of photography.  Every shot is an original.  Every shutter click is a memory kept.  Every image is a monument to a single, solitary moment in time.  The wonder of that knowledge never fades and it never, ever gets old.

After The Storm

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace ~ Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8

an exciting or remarkable experience …

is how Merriam-Webster defines adventure.  I believe that to be an apt definition and find myself in such situations regularly.  I love driving along deserted country roads where flowers spring up in the hot days of summer.  Putting the convertible top down and heading to the high places with the sun on my face is sheer ecstasy.

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I have favorites; roads, bridges, trees, rocks, trails.  I love them all, but I do have favorites.  Often, I start to one place and find that, without actually being aware of it, end up somewhere else entirely.  It is these times I like best for I end up where I need to be to find that which I seek.  Sometimes it’s a photograph, other times, it is nothing more than silence ensconced in the beauty and rhythm of nature.  In these places of solitude, shadow and light, I think my thoughts and dream my dreams.  These are the quiet, lovely adventures that leave my mind clear and my body strong.

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I can’t compare my solitary escapes into the wilderness to the whirlwind trips to D.C, St. Louis, New York and Las Vegas.  Those were very different adventures.  They were full of noise, lights, crowds, smells and frenetic energy.   There was no peaceful silence or slow, lazy days.  In those places of chaos, shadow and light, I tried very hard to hold onto my thoughts as the world unfolded before my eyes.   While in Las Vegas, amidst all the opulence and grandeur, there was a welcome respite; a drive through the desert and across Hoover Dam.  That was an awesome experience.  Even with my mind boggled and my body tired, it was awesome.

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I’m certain that none of what I have experienced thus far will be comparable to the one I am on the cusp of experiencing.  I am going to a place I’ve never seen in a city I’ve been before.  Lord willing, I will have an orchestral experience that has the real potential to blow my mind with its magnitude.  I haven’t even left yet and I already feel altered somehow.  I suppose it is the excitement.    This era of my life is a precious window; my time, my place.   I don’t plan to waste a minute just watching it pass.

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Get out of my OR …

were the words he said.  Actually, he didn’t say them as much as angrily and red-faced screamed them, and this, might I add, is the severely cleaned up  version of his tirade.  There were many other quite colorful words he said as he pointed his scalpel at me.  A scalpel, I must say, that he hadn’t had the chance to use yet.

I was a very young, very green, very squeamish nursing student.  It wasn’t a hundred years ago, but looking back, it seems so.  I had already told my instructor that I was a bit apprehensive about rotating through the surgery suite, but she, having more faith in me than she should have, encouraged me to “give it a whirl”.  I gave it a whirl alright; right to the ground.  I had one of my biggest pump-knots ever from that experience, not to mention my wounded pride.

The victim, aka patient, was draped and swathed over their entire abdomen, with betadine.  The first incision hadn’t been made and yet, just seeing that poor soul lying there like a corpse, covered in the magenta colored antiseptic, made my head spin.  I sang in my mind, as I often did when I was nervous, Bee-Gees songs.  Something about that beautiful Barry’s falsetto  just calmed me right down.  In this particular case, however, it was ineffective.  The head Operating Room nurse (who was a very formidable character) had placed me nearby, but not close enough to get in the way.  At least that was what she thought.  Every time she looked at me with those sharp, intelligent, hard eyes, I felt like I was five years old and about to get a spanking.  I stood in the exact spot she put me and didn’t move an inch; not one single inch.  Up until , that is, the point that I passed out.

The Surgeon, one who was known for his quick temper and blatant intolerance, didn’t even glance in my direction.  I was, as far as he was concerned, little more than a gnat to be swatted away.  He was in his element an he knew it;  reveled in it … a god in his own heaven.  The fact that there was a young nursing student watching his every move just enhanced his already inflated ego and even so,  he still didn’t acknowledge my presence.  I was glad of that because I was, without a doubt, terrified.

I looked at the poor soul that was about to be cut on, saw the red hue of the betadine and felt myself getting warm.  I had never passed out before, so I didn’t recognize the warning signs.  I had no idea how much damage simply collapsing in a heap could cause.

If I had only passed out and fell without incident, I suppose he would have just left me there until he was finished; caring not if I were alive or dead and happy in his existence, either way…  but that isn’t what happened.  At the moment I realized that I was going down, I reached out.  (after all, isn’t that what people do when they realize they are falling?  reach out for something to brace themselves with?)  In this particular case, the thing I caught hold of was THE  sterile tray of items needed for the surgery at hand.  I pulled gauze, instruments and towels to the floor, thus compromising the sterility of everything that would be needed f0r the surgery.  One of the towels landed across part of my face; the instruments and gauze strewn about me.  The spell lasted only, as fainting spells often do, a few seconds.  But my, oh my, the havoc that a few seconds can have  on an already tense situation.

When I woke up (again, after only a few seconds), the surgeon was standing over me, scalpel pointed at the part of my face (namely my eyes) that weren’t covered by the previously sterile towel, screaming at me to get the #$&% out of his OR and ensuring me that if I ever came back to his operating suite, he would strangle me with his own hands and laugh while I was being buried.  Being young, green and very impressionable, I did the only thing I could think of to do; I started crying.  That pissed him off even more and I learned a whole slew of new words.  Some of them, nearly thirty years later, I still don’t know the meaning of.

Needless to say, I was banned, for all eternity, from the OR and had to spend an extra three weeks (I’m now convinced it was solely as punishment) in Pediatrics just to get enough clinical hours to get me through Nursing School.  By some miracle, I graduated, passed my boards and ended up actually making a living as a nurse.

I became less squeamish as years passed and tasks that had to be don were less daunting. Other than watching someone be hacked on, I found could tolerate many gruesome things.  As I get older, though, and I am older for that experience happened more than 25 years ago, I find myself becoming  squeamish again.  More often than not these days,  I find it’s hard not to gag at the myriad of things that people bring to “show the nurse”.  There are things I don’t need to see, things I don’t need to hear and things I wish I never knew existed.  These days, my least favorite phrase is “ears!” for God knows that the things that grow in people’s ears is as close to Hell as one can come without actually getting burned.

I am not thwarted, though, because unless I am discovered as a writer or photographer, I can retire in  another 100 years.  Wait, I’ll be dead by then and I won’t have to worry about it anymore and the fear of humiliation will be noting more than a bad memory.

We learn things as we go through life.  Things that make us stronger, more secure or simply cut us off at the knees and then kick us while we are bleeding out in front of the spectators.  I still sing Bee-Gees songs when I get nervous about something and I still wonder, at times, if this will be the moment when I hit the floor.  It is, if nothing else, an adventure in itself, but I’m finding the adventure to be less adventurous and more arduous as time passes.  But, like I said, in 100 years, I can retire.  I am counting the minutes.

Soaring

Dear God, make me a bird so I can fly far; far, far away from here ~ Jenny in Forrest Gump

Sunday evening …

is one of the perfect pieces in the time puzzle that serves a dual purpose; retrospection and contemplation.  It is at the cusp of the end of one week and the beginning of another.  A time to look back on the past few days, to see strengths and weakness, to view insecurities and inadequacies to come face to face with failures.  I don’t want, and doubt anyone else wants, to admit to insecurities, inadequacies or failures; we have them, though.  In spades. How, otherwise, would we know our strengths if it weren’t for the ability to isolate our weaknesses?

I cherish these moments where I am alone with my thoughts and my thoughts have purpose.  A time when I can reflect on how I handled myself in difficult situations  A time to review my circumstances… my interactions.  How I could have avoided meltdowns, hurt feelings and unnecessary  chaos.  Don’t get me wrong; there are times when I thrive in chaos, but not when it is permeated with negativity.  Coming into full, thought-jamming contact with the negative is like two trains colliding.  My positive brain pan tries to adjust, to defend and to avoid such an event so that my rational mind can do what it does … rationalize.  Those rare but damaging collisions, however, nearly always end up causing an overload.  Meltdown mode usually commences soon thereafter

When I can look back and see the catalysts to these events, it provides me with knowledge and knowledge, as everyone knows, is power.  I have the information and the sense to use it to see the warning signs and avoid a potentially volatile situation which has me coming home from work and throwing porcelain cups against the wall just to hear them shatter.  I don’t like feeling that way and while I am usually able to keep it self-contained, there are times when it explodes to cover my family and friends in the same sticky rottenness that I have allowed to get beneath my skin.  This is humiliating for me as well as perplexing and hurtful to them; unfair to them on every conceivable level.

Knowing that I can step boldly into the week ahead with a new piece of know-how and take each day as it comes, with compassion, patience and grace (or even one of the three) gives me hope for the coming days.  It is egotistical to believe that it will be perfect.  This is life, remember.  There are no certainties, no infallibility clause, no precision.  It is simply knowing when I go in that I am going to be the best person I can be even in the midst of those who are  having a moment which proves that there are no certainties.  If I, however, forget what I know simply because something happened to upset the apple cart, then I didn’t learn anything useful after all and it’s back to the drawing board.

On this night, my introspection is accompanied by the brilliance of fellow Sagittarian, Paul Desmond.  Music.  There is a certainty, pure and beautiful, after all.

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On the Eve of New Year’s Eve …

I have found myself looking back over memories of the past year.  While some of the looking has been within the vast memories of my mind and heart, most of the thoughts have been invoked from the photographs that depict the life I have lived.  While I appear in but a few of the photographs (part of being the photographer), they depict what I have found to be inspiring, beautiful, profound, enlightening and without doubt, some of the most exceptional moments I could ask for.

I have learned that it doesn’t matter who you are or what you know (or think you know), there is more to learn.   People are complex and, at the same time, simple and beautiful  My niece Gracie has Down’s Syndrome, but I’ve learned from her that the things that make people different aren’t an anomaly or defect, but something to be praised and honored.  She reminds me that, if I get lonely, I only have to look into myself to find company.  She only sees the beauty, the positive and she never fails to offer a smile.  She reminds me to smile, even when I don’t feel like smiling.

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I have learned that I don’t have be alone when I want to go to the hard places; that there are people willing to go with me, not because they want to go, but because they know I want to.  A long and arduous trek to the White Rocks this Autumn brought this thought process to fruition.  My sister knew how much I wanted to go and because she didn’t want me to go alone, she, along with my niece, Sophie and cousin, Emily, made the journey.  It was exhausting and breathtaking and full of fellowship and fun.  It reminded me that there are people in my life who care about the things that are important to me and want to help me succeed in finding them.  These are memories that, as long as my mind lasts, will stay with me, for they are precious beyond words that can describe them.

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I learned, through my niece Sophie, what it means to be courageous and not to balk when an obstacle presents itself in my path.  She is fearless and has a sense of adventure that makes me proud.  I’d like to think that, somewhere in her heart, she has a tiny bit of me and that between the two of us, we can see and experience everything.  She, while sometimes a challenge, is an inspiration to me and a constant comfort.  She is beautiful and strong and reminds me that life, even when it seems to be mediocre, is an incredible journey that should be loved, for the moment, at the moment; the rest will fall into place when it should.

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I have been reminded that music has no boundaries when it comes to what moves the soul.  I have been introduced to new music that has touched my heart in such a way, that it will never, ever be the same.  Friends come into my life and then fade away, but the mark they leave is everlasting and causes a chain reaction of the thirst for knowledge of music in its purest form  and the peace that it brings to my mind.  For those who have influenced me, I am thankful, for there is much I would have gone my whole life without knowing had there not been special ones to show me that there was more than what I thought possible.  Music always has and will continue to be a balm to my spirit.  I am grateful for the musicians that have graced my life and made it, because of their presence in it, richer and more beautiful than I could imagine.

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I have been reminded just how wonderful it is to have the love of a beloved pet.  One who will let  me hold them way too tightly as I cry into their soft fur.  One who knew all of my secrets and then took them to heaven with them, for I cannot imagine that these sweet animals that stole my heart could be anywhere other than in Heaven.  They were my friends, my confidants and my loved ones.  As I think of them now, tears run down my face, for I miss them terribly.   They were the best of me.  The purest of me.  And the most loyal of any friend I have ever known.  They were an extension of myself and brought me great joy, teaching me even as they lived, what it meant to be a friend.  I have learned so much from them and thankful to have had them, for but a moment, it seems, in my life.

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I’ve been reminded that sometimes, something as simple as a ride on a tire swing can bring joy unspeakable.  Through time and space, I was transported to my childhood and immersed in the beauty of the memories that bring me happiness.  There is nothing like being reminded of happier times to bring a smile and moment of happiness to my heart.  I am thankful that the little ones that I am blessed to be a part of their lives, who remind me what it was like to be a child, to be carefree and to have no worries other than when I get to swing again.  My blessings continue to mount as I reminisce over the past year.

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My parents, whom I am blessed to still have in my life, have been a profound influence on me. The took me to church when I was but a babe and, while there were times I didn’t want to be there, it all came full circle when I came to the point when I wanted to give my life to Christ.  They encouraged me when I was down, supported me when I was an embarrassment to them and loved me when I was, as I know there were times when I was, unlovable.  I owe so much to them.  My parents.  My biggest fans.  My rocks.

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I am reminded of those who have gone to be with God, who will grace this life I live no longer, other than in memory, and am not ashamed at the falling of the tears at there absence.  I am richer for those I have known, more blessed for the ones that have graced my life and more fulfilled because some of the most wonderful people I have ever known have passed through my life.  It has, while moments of sadness would say otherwise, been an incredible year of learning and discovery.  I am blessed beyond what I deserve and am thankful for every experience.  Not all of them have been good, but through each one, I have grown a bit, both spiritually and in the human factor.  I have no regrets.  I have no wishes for do-overs.  While there are those that have left a lasting impression on my life, be they alive or dead, I am grateful.  Each experience has brought me closer to that which is written that I should accomplish.  I am thankful.  I am grateful.  I am in awe of my Awesome God.

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Through it all, there is joy unspeakable in the beauty that my Heavenly Father reveals to me, through His astounding beauty and wonderful works.  I am thankful for all that I have learned this year and anxiously await what He has in store for the next.  God Bless my friends, followers, family and everyone who feels that their life has, for one reason or another, been in vain.  Know that you are important to so many and that without your influence, things, at least for me, would have much less wonderful.

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For each moment, each experience, each happiness, each sorrow, each disappointment, each joy, each heartbreak, each smile, each tear, each lesson … I am grateful.  I can  only hope that the next year will bring as much knowledge, love and friendship as this one.  I am grateful.  More than words can say, even through the hard times, which have been many, I am, thankful and optimistic.  That is my nature.  I am a Christian and a Sagittarius … What choice do I have, after all?

The reflection we see in the mirror …

is all too often a misconception, a lie on the most basic level, depicting only the things we find wrong with ourselves on a superficial level.  There is nothing of the heart, spirit or soul that is seen when watching ourselves through a looking glass.  The imperfections of the physical can take on a life of its own if, when we look at ourselves in a mirror, we see only what is reflected back.  But there is more … much more.  The mirror cannot reveal what lives inside our hearts; the joys, sorrows, insecurities, strengths and weaknesses.  The image can be deceiving if we fail to look past the obvious.

How many times in life do we hear “you can’t judge a book by its cover” and then do exactly that when looking at our own cover.  We judge ourselves by the reflections of the physical and forget, sometimes, to remember that there is so much more to us than what is portrayed on the outside.  We ignore the beauty that lies within ourselves and forget that we have the capacity to relay our life experiences to others seeking a kindred spirit; our experiences with all the joys and disappointments that go with them.  The smiles we smile, the encouragement we, sometimes unknowingly, give, the experiences we have to share, the wisdom we have to pass on, the love we have that wells up, looking for a place to land, another soul to share it with, another heart to give it to; the possibilities are endless.  Hurt and disappointment are all around us; wayward souls looking for a bit of understanding, sympathy, empathy and encouragement.  Often the waywardness reminds us too much of what we already know and makes us want to close off, to forget the bad things that life has dealt us;  in doing that,  however, we forget the goodness that has come our way as well, hiding the joys and wonderment and then we become as lost as we thought we were to begin with.

All that is good and wonderful is within our grasp to give. The ability to share what we know and feel is something that, though sometimes difficult, is freeing on a level that will take us higher than we have ever been before.  When we give of what we cannot see from the outside it allows us to forget, for a while, that which looks back at us when we look too closely at our reflection.

I am as guilty as the next person.  When I look in the mirror, I see a plain-looking woman with blemishes and scars, eyes that are too big, brows that are too thick, lashes that aren’t long enough; the list goes on, the imperfections many.  Those things, however, are the superficial and dwelling on them is self-centered and vain.  But there is more to me than what I can see  when I look at a reflection of my physical self.  It often, though, takes the needs and desires, the hurts and disappointments, the joys and sorrows of those around me to remind me that I have more to offer than just what can be seen at a glance; a courage we often think we do not have within us.  Yes, it takes courage to share what lies deep within us so that others can find  understanding through our experiences.  In my daily work, I often see people at their lowest point; sick, disheartened, disenchanted with life and sometimes, at their rope’s end.  It is at those times that what I look like on the outside has no bearing on anything whatsoever, but what I have to offer from the depths of my heart that matter and make a difference.

The next time you look in the mirror, stop and think about what others see.  Wonder instead about the words you speak, the prayers you pray, the empathy you are able to embrace.  It will make the reflection in the mirror seem insignificant; for what we see of ourselves often has nothing in common with how others perceive us.  It is important that we see with our hearts and not simply what is perceivable with our eyes, for our eyes will often deceive us and when that happens, we are of little use to the whole of humanity.

Always strive to be who you are, not who you perceive yourself to be because of the reflection in the mirror.  The physical image is just that, but the spiritual and soulful image, well, that’s another story altogether and one that is begging to be told so that others, who feel they are alone, will learn that they are not.  Once they know that, they can begin to see themselves in a place other than in a looking glass.  And the impact has the potential to change the world, one person at a time.

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Joshua 1: 9 ~Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.

The Pianist …

was in the mood to play.  This has been one of those rare spaces of time that I live for.  Moments that move me past my everyday life and touch the very core of that which makes me who I am.  A time when emotions show themselves and then are pushed aside as the sheer joy of  music fills my spirit.  Before tonight, I didn’t realize how low my Spirit was feeling.  Putting on a smile for the onlookers is easy.  Those who don’t know what they are looking at take it at face value.  I had begun to almost believe it as well.  Until tonight.

I got all jazzed up and found that I was only going through the motions at the employee Christmas party.  Afterward, however, was the turning point of the evening.  I stopped by the house of two of my dearest friends. There was laughter, friendship and camaraderie that one can only get from those they are closest to.  And then the offer came.  The offer to listen as he played the piano.  After the first song, I simply burst into tears and was moved so deeply as they ran, unashamedly,  down my face.  It was as if the notes on the page weren’t there at all, such was the depth of the music.  I found myself feeling freed of every negative thought that was swirling in my mind.  The profoundness of the notes were so moving that my Spirit had no choice but to open itself, becoming released from burdens and sadness that I had not really, until then, been aware were there.

I felt transcended; removed from time and space .  There was nothing in my world at that moment but the musician and the music he made; his hands flying over the keys, the sound touching me intimately,  stimulating every cell in my body.  I felt awakened and content; calmness and exhilaration blending to become an emotion of its own.  Thoughts that had filled my head for days and weeks were swept away, leaving nothing but the serenity of hearing such brilliance being played in my presence.

It is hard to explain what the sound of a piano does to me.  It makes me feel breathless and full of something so wonderful that the world can’t touch. I consider myself immensely blessed to have a piano man in my life; and am thankful beyond what I have the capacity to relay in mere words that he plays for me.  I suppose it isn’t really for me, but for himself, but I like to think it’s for me because he knows I love it so.  Thank you, my friend, for sharing your gift with me.  I am richer now than I was only a few hours ago because you took me somewhere so ethereal that even my vivid and encompassing imagination has a hard time comprehending it.

Even as I write this post, the rain is beginning to fall.  I can now say, without reservation or hesitation that this has, without a doubt, been the best evening I’ve had in a very long time.

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Isaiah 55:12 ~ You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.