Safe Spots

My dog has two “safe spots” in the house. A patch of tile and his bed. When he doesn’t want to be bothered, brushed, or bathed, he goes to one of those safe spots. We respect that and wait until he moves away to proceed.

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We humans don’t always have our safe spot nearby. When someone imposes views not aligned with our own, it is considered rude to stop them from speaking further. If only we could travel with some sort of invisible force field that is electrified like a bug zapper, we would be able to see the unwanted words and ideas sizzle and smoke, never reaching our intellect and emotional body.

No matter how much we may empathize or sympathize with another, we do not have the ability to read their minds, walk their path, or feel all that they are feeling from their unique perspective. And no matter how much we may identify with their problems – having “Me, too!” moments – we are not able to fully experience all that they are with identical philosophies or values.

We may desire to help so much that we are blinded by our own intention, unable to see the body language and facial cues that beg, “Please Stop!”

   Trying to help when I’m not sure what I need yet.

   Thinking you know how I feel when you don’t.

   Pressing your views against mine.

   Talking. You’re only making things worse.

The poor person we want to help only wants to jump ship in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight.

A person’s “safe spot” should be honored with breathing space and time for contemplation. We can make offerings to tempt the person away from their spot, then step back, allowing them space to choose for themselves which offer they’d like to receive. And if our offering is not the one chosen, accept that choice as being in their best interests.

Some of us are hard-wired helpers who sometimes forget that help is selected by the individual in need, and one size does not fit all.

Related image

 

(The video of this dog is totally unrelated, but he’s offering dog toys to an infant because he stole her toy. )

http://www.boredpanda.com/dog-apology-baby-toys-laura-charlie/

 

 

Profiling? Oh, yeah.

I was keen to attend a lecture by author Raymond Szymanski who’d just written a book called, “Fifty Shades of Greys,” referring to the pesky big-eyed aliens commonly known for abducting humans. He was speaking at the local UFO meeting, so I thought I’d stop by and at least check out his book. Having witnessed UFO’s with my own eyes, this is a topic I find intriguing.

I arrived early and sat in my car checking email for a few minute when I noticed a parade of characters in my rearview mirror – over 60, balding, bearded, in faded plaid, worn tennis shoes, and windbreakers. It occurred to me that subject matter attracted a particular demographic. Perhaps the type that spent their nights wearing headphones connected to parabolic devices,  one eye glued to a high-powered telescope from the roof of their octogenarian mother’s house.

In my lavender pants and pink, green, and white floral bag, I would stick out like a church lady in a biker bar.

When the Uni-bomber dude – black hoodie, black jeans, black shoes and matching backpack passed behind me, I decided that perhaps I was a tad over-dressed for the event. (Did he think the greys couldn’t see black with their huge black eyes?)

And what if I was the only female? What if they wanted an email address for future notifications? What if they wanted to (gulp) engage with me?

Hey, I just wanted to hear the speaker, his findings, and research data. I didn’t want to become FB friends or subscribe to some conspiracy theory newsletter or be interrogated by a bunch of former military guys.

Honestly, I think I’d have felt more comfortable in a room sitting next to this guy instead of Mr. Uni-bomber.

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Was I stereotyping? Profiling? Absolutely. Just like the little grey guys do when they select their specimens for experimentation.

Now, I may well have had a fantastic time, learned some new things, made a couple new friends with a common interest . . .  Then again, if the truth is out there, it can probably be found on Amazon!

Mr. Szymanski, forgive my absence. I don’t always boldly go where I don’t comfortably blend.

Desirable Dark Art

Desirable Dark Art

I know this might be an odd item to post for Easter, but the last thing I expected to get out of a writing program was the discovery of a haunting painter. (Silly, as I ignored the fact that the class was in the Milton Rhodes Center for the Arts in Winston-Salem, NC)

Behind the lecturer was this painting entitled The Gathering.

Intense, no? I’ve seen a few graveyards like this, but not in this kind of light.

As great as the lecture was, I found myself studying this painting more than paying attention to the speaker. And I wasn’t alone. A couple of us took photos and one woman had already looked up the artist online at:

http://www.brianmashburnart.com/

barn owl barn swallow

He explores the delicate polarity of life by showcasing nature before a backdrop of mist and manufactured landscapes.

requiem

This Asheville artist has me inspired.

Go to his site and check out more.

Oh, and . . .

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The Invisibility Cloak

Anyone who knows the Harry Potter story remembers his Cloak of Invisibility that turns out to be one of three objects that helps him cheat death.

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Not so fast.

Three years ago, I traded cars. Since the change, I’ve lost count of how many close calls I’ve had. (Although it is a newer model, it is not so new that I drive more cautiously than normal.) I’ve have more near collisions in the last year than I have had in my last four decades of driving. People don’t see me, even when I’m the only other car on the road or right in front of them. I feel as if my car is wearing an invisibility cloak. It’s probably nothing to do with the car itself, but my energy. My field has shrunk so small that I’ve become invisible.

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Many people have been scuttling through their lives under invisibility cloaks. They want to quietly fly under the radar. They’ve retreated to their caves to avoid the new energies stirred up by recent world events. Folks have been keeping close to home, feeling safe in their nests.

I have too. My senior dog is slowing inching his way to his end. The old boy is not ill, but in steady decline. Yet I need to go to work, do errands, or just get out of the nest for a change of energy. Still, I find that I don’t want to leave my comfort zone.

The longer I stay cocooned, the smaller my energy shrinks.  I risk becoming invisible. Right now, I feel as if I would go unseen by a drone in the middle of a salt flat. For now, that is fine. But driving? Short of painting my car a brighter color, I can use thought, movement, and creative visualization to grow my energy. And the horn. I’ve used that more than ever.

Being invisible doesn’t always keep us safe. In today’s climate, we would all like to be seen and heard. When we aren’t, we can shift our own energy to step out into the open, wear colorful clothing, look both ways – more than once – and say a little prayer before crossing the road. You might not be invisible to the unseen.

When No One Hears You

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Image by DeviantArt

Ever have times when you need someone to listen to your thoughts, your ideas, or your problems and you feel as if you are talking to a wall? You are met with resistance and offered explanations on why your thoughts, ideas, and problems are not real or true? You hear the word “no” a lot.

While your friends and family mean well, they don’t always listen. Oh, they hear select words and begin formulating responses before you are finished talking. They stop listening at a certain point and focus on that alone without hearing you out completely. Hurt feelings develop because you feel shut out, your thoughts and feelings are not important enough for full consideration.

Often, we just want to be heard. We don’t require advice or approval. We just need validation that our thoughts, ideas, or problems are worthy of someone’s time and attention. When we are not heard, we retreat into a tower of our own design, either a prison or a haven, to bandage our wounded heads and hearts.

Boo hoo, poor you. What can you do?

Talk louder?  Throw a temper tantrum like a spoiled child?

I write things out as if there is a fly on the wall reading it. I think perhaps we might just be working too hard to be heard by the wrong people. Maybe it’s prudent to move down another path and encounter new people. Maybe we should sit with ourselves instead of leaning on others to make it better. Maybe a shift in perspective is in order.

This morning I watched a young doe wander around the pasture behind my house looking lost. I watched her for about fifteen minutes. I put myself in her place, alone in the rain looking for which direction to head without another for guidance. She circled a small area and stared right at me for several minutes.

“What do I do? Which way to I go? Where are others like me?”

Being lost and alone is a temporary state. And the only way to find others like you is to move and continue to search. And the rain. (How I prayed for it though our painfully dry summer! Now we are getting too much.) But rain is cleansing. It washes everything and brings new growth. Clean slate, so to speak.

So, what if no one hears you? If you are quiet enough, you might hear that still small voice. “Psst. Over here.” And you’ll move in that direction, in a new mindset with a new perspective. Because remaining rooted in one perspective won’t help you to be heard.