tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24757268674046025232024-03-18T16:24:22.183-07:00Whispers of MysteryWhispers of mystery and other mystic musingskarinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.comBlogger153125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-75950259508963026222024-02-28T16:40:00.000-08:002024-02-29T18:33:48.839-08:00Mysteries without Answers<p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"> After a
decade of debrainwashing, I hit an impasse.
“Debrainwashing” is what I called that process of lifting, layer by
layer, the conditioning I had been taught by my family, education, religion,
and society at large. In some way to and
to some extent, I was finding each layer false.
Whatever I had been taught was not, in fact, true. I had fallen into the rabbit hole, taken the
Matrix red pill, and the more untruths I uncovered, the more I found. I had hit that point that every genuine
truth-seeker eventually arrives: is there <i>anything</i> we can know to be
true?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If you take
any paradigm to its natural conclusion, you hit its delusion, its opposite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will prove it wrong with your own
paradigm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heroine of <b><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/p/just-like-eve.html"><span color="windowtext">Just like Eve</span></a></b> took the training she had
been given by her church to its conclusion and exposed the lie based on its own
teaching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Although her church condemned Eve, Jasmine r</span>ead the Bible the way her
church taught her to read it and found Eve heroic.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Physicists are doing the same
thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While probing the mysteries of
science, they are undermining their own laws.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Their own tools and methods are proving their science to be false.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">In <i>Why Fish Don’t Exist,</i>
Lulu Miller shows the same for the scientist she follows, David Starr
Jordan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had faithfully followed
Darwin’s scientific philosophy, faced despair, and only conquered his despair
by discounting his own philosophy, yet not admitting it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taking his own philosophy to its conclusion,
he had declared “Nature no respecter of persons,” yet he overcame his despair
with an opposite manifesto: “That which is in man is greater than all that he
can do.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of this Miller says, “It was
the kind of lie he promised he would never tell himself.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later, she demonstrates that Jordan
undermined Darwin’s philosophy when he, Jordan, declared certain persons “unfit,”
even advocating for their sterilization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Darwin, however, had adamantly insisted this is Nature’s job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not man’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Darwin warned men not to interfere with Nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jordan, a devoted follower of Darwin, did
just that.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">My own truth-seeking under the
paradigm I had been taught also led me to its natural conclusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had “wrestled” for years with the “God” I had
been taught, particularly “his” cruelty that extended even to commanding
genocide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my moment of emptiness,
like Nietzsche, I declared this “God” “dead.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although the death of this “God” was a relief, I was now left with the greatest
of mysteries: What is the realm just beyond our senses?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is there an Intelligence within it? Does this
Intelligence care about us, in <i>our</i> world?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">My impasse into emptiness was mirrored by my external life. Within
two years (2021-23), a mere blink, I had lost my marriage, my career, my two
kids off to college, and even our two cats, the first to my former husband and
the second to my daughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was also during this blink that I left the church and the “God” it taught, though continued to follow its teacher. Just has my inner life had morphed into emptiness, so did my outer life into an empty home, no longer a teacher, wife or mom with kids and cats at home.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">My blank slate drew me into
discoveries new yet old, ancient, in fact, that had lain deep within my own
intuition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Having</span> studied the wisdom of other traditions, I was aware of the ancient maxim, As Above, so Below, along with its corollary, expressed, for example, in Saying 22 in the Gospel of Thomas, to “make the inner as the
outer,” or that our internal self is reflected by our external life. My own life demonstrated this to be true.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Meanwhile, I was finding synchronicities
everywhere, a remarkable universal harmony among all things, and that what I
sow I also reap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It often comes many
years later and in ways I never would have imagined, but in some way, sometimes
happily and sometimes sorrowfully, in my own lifetime, I reap what I sow.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Still, mysteries without answers
remain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I reap what I sow, but
does everyone? I’ve longed to see it confirmed, yet meet another impasse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bullies keep bullying and the bullied keep
getting kicked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do wealthy
narcissists who exploit others to make themselves great again and again continue
to win in the game of life?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">True, occasionally, some rich
bastard gets his due, locked up for some white collar crime, with his mug shot
plastered over the evening news, and the rest of us celebrate that this crook
who had stolen from thousands finally got what was coming to him.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">But the story, reporting the
conviction of this crook, masks all that’s behind it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who are the crook’s friends?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Superiors?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Colleagues?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was he just a fall
guy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a much bigger empire?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A pawn of a mafia?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My longing for revenge upon the hateful
persists. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Then there are the kind, lovable,
oppressed, exploited, abused ones who have done nothing to receive such abuse, then die a cruel death.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Again, no
answers.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I think about the little boy in a
favorite story, who stands amidst a vast mass of starfish washed upon
the seashore, throwing a few, one by one, back into the ocean.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">A passerby, perhaps a teenager who’s been
stomping on the poor starfish to his twisted delight, mocks the boy. “You can’t
save them all.”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The boy picks up another,
tosses it into the ocean and says, “But I can save that one.”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">This little boy will reap what he sows,
right?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Some day, someone might save him
too?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">And what about the teen who’s been
gleefully torturing other starfish?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Will
he also reap what he sows?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I wonder whether I can’t see the
“reaping” for the people I find hateful because I find them hateful.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Seeking vengeance, perhaps I’m not intended
to enjoy the chance to see them get their due.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Could the Universe be testing
us?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Are we given exceptions to the sowing
and reaping law to keep the mystery alive?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">We see exceptions, point to them, and say to ourselves, “It’s not
true.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">What we sow, we don’t reap.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Look at them.”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">So what do we do?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">We start sowing bad seeds to our own delight
at the expense of other people, because, why not?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Given that we </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">all</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> intuitively
believe what goes around comes around, we’re challenged with the exceptions.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Will we follow our intuition and try to sow kindness?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Or, will we be tempted to follow the
exceptions that tell us it doesn’t matter, that we can do whatever we want?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">With plenty of reason to doubt,
many quit bothering to try.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others persist
in the hope for a reward and get disappointed when the “return” seems elusive
or takes a long time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">That’s me.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Staying true to my intuition of its truth, I’ve
tried to live it, and often, the “reward” comes barely in time to avoid a
crisis.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Could this be because I’ve
expected one?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">If I were more like
the boy who casts a starfish back into the ocean just because he can “save that
one,” would the return appear more readily?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Perhaps to me, the Universe has shrugged, “Yeah, yeah, you sowed, so
you’ll also reap, because that is how the Universe works, but you since you did
it for a reward, you’ll have to wait for it.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">You’ll have to wait so long, you’ll doubt it.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Then it can be known whether you’re
willing to sow even if you don’t reap.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Imagine a friend of the boy, also
casting back starfish, who hears the boy’s reply that he can “save that one” and,
in sheer delight, pipes in, “And it’s </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">fun</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> to throw them back!”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">These two boys aren’t saving
starfish because they think one day they’ll also be saved.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">They are sending the starfish back in a
moment of joy.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">They delight in saving
starfish.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Maybe we also can delight that
there are some mysteries without answers.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></p>
<p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">© 2024
by Karina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All rights reserved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please use with permission and/or a link to
this blog post.</span><o:p></o:p></p>mysterywhispershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06262425179234623996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-59970184541313284952023-12-21T16:21:00.000-08:002023-12-21T19:37:54.682-08:00Winter Solstice 2023<p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"> <span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;"> “Return.” That’s what ancient Chinese sages called the
Winter Solstice, when they asked people to cease travel, stay home, and
celebrate in warmth. Coming immediately
after “Disintegration” in their system of the I Ching, Return is an especially
beautiful moment of peace, one I can now resonate with. When I started this tradition of Winter
Solstice messages, I titled the first one </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/12/todaywe-live-out-longest-night-of.html" target="_blank"><b><span color="windowtext" face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;">“2020 was Different,”</span></b></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;"> smiled at the understatement, and was
thankfully unaware of what more “different” was still coming in
2021 and ‘22, for me at least. Ironically, this year that
has brought more “disintegration” globally has been one for me personally –
finally – that has been less “different.”</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;">It's still had loss – becoming an empty-nester – but at least this time,
it’s of the celebratory sort. And right now, I have both kids home for
Christmas for a few weeks – yay! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My son
graduated from college, moved into a home he’s leasing with good friends, and
secured a great position working for a warm and dedicated legislator at the OR
State Capitol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three months later, my
daughter, now a college sophomore, also moved out into a home she’s leasing
with friends, and even took the cat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
knew I’d miss the kids, but I didn’t realize how much I’d miss the cat!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I plan to find one of my own, but my current work
as a substitute teacher lacks the stable routine to introduce a pet, so I’ll
wait for the summer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;">When
I was asked recently to compare substitute teaching to having my own class, I
paused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hmm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It depends on your moment in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is something very special about
watching your own students rise into their success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That moment when their “light” turns on, and
they “get it,” and produce something amazing, after you’ve been pumping them up
for weeks – “You got this!” – and they don’t think so, and then they finally do
and surprise themselves and delight you, is Magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a time, I lived for that Magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I also didn’t get to “leave” work; some
of it was always coming home with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Itching
to write, substituting is now a blessing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As my blog shows, I had been writing
while teaching, but it was a constant challenge not only to find the time but
also the mental space for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having
completed the book I was blogging, </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/p/just-like-eve.html" target="_blank"><b><span color="windowtext" face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;">“Just like Eve</span></b></a><b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;">,”</span></b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;">
I am now working on another behind the scenes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I hope to show future publishers with this blog, especially “Just like
Eve,” they can trust me as an author. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had never anticipated when I began
“Just like Eve,” quite how much I would identify with my heroine Jasmine,
accused of being “just like Eve,” who through her marital shakeup, forbidden
love, eviction from church, and her own research into the figure of Eve, even from the biblical story's plain text, and, even more, in its
own language, discovers both Eve’s heroism and her own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Calling the book a “spiritual quest novel,” I
also didn’t know how many of my <i>own</i> trials I’d face while I was writing
story and how much these trials would teach me about myself, about life, and
how to find it in its abundance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’ve seen how hard, yet important, is to
maintain honesty through our trials, facing them without pretending “resilience”
or blaming anyone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was
brainstorming my </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/12/" target="_blank"><b><span color="windowtext" face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;">2022 Winter Solstice message</span></b></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;">
in November 2022, I intended a message of hope after loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then on December 2 came the next loss, the
fire to the racquet center where I worked, played, and met with friends. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hadn’t I been through enough?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of the fire, I recalled that classic ‘90s
sitcom and said, “If Cheers went up in fire, Sam and Diane would have lost more
than just their jobs.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;">The
planned optimism of last year’s Winter Solstice message was replaced with one
my mom called “too dark.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s honest”
I said, noting that the message already contained my reply: <i>“we need to
learn to allow ourselves to enter into the darkness and be honest that we feel
it, and that it is hard.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I had tried to pretend optimism, I might
have found surface peace, but not true peace. That comes only by way of truth and the type of Return the sages considered
the most meaningful: the one that carries us back to our original, truest
selves, that self before our culture has conditioned us into something else.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;">Through
this process, including my own trials of “disintegration,” I’ve landed onto
something amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a remarkable
place of miracles just beyond the five senses, and once you can reliably tap
into it and conquer the forces trying to keep you out, you find that peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if you can see your trials as
entry points into it, you’ll gain a fresh perspective on everything that
happens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope you’ve been discovering
this or will soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May 2024 be a year when we all come toward peace.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> * * * * * * *</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;">For
any curious about some of these I've learned, here is
a capsule from one of my 2023 posts, </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2023/03/letting-go-part-2-life-without-hands.html" target="_blank"><span color="windowtext" face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;"><b>Letting Go Part 2: Life without Hands</b></span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;">:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Humility:</span></b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"> when your teenage daughter is
bathing you and your college student son is clipping your fingernails, you have
to become very humble very quick.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Take
nothing for granted: </span></b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">when
you celebrate a thumb that works so you can dress yourself, you start to see
how much you’ve taken for granted. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">A
gentle touch: </span></b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">You
don’t realize how hard your touch can be until every touch brings you
pain. You’re starting to get better, so you’re now opening doors,
pressing the walk button at a crosswalk, closing your dresser drawer, shaking
someone’s hand, patting your teenager on the back for a job well done,
squirting out hand cream, and knocking out those coffee grounds: those things
you’ve done every day for years and taken for granted, and now they bring
pain. You wonder if your touch has been too hard, and then you wonder if
your speech has been too hard, and if you need to seek a more gentle way to
touch, to speak, and to live.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Forgive
yourself:</span></b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">
You were foolish and you fell. Now forgive yourself and learn.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Release
yourself from other people’s expectations:</span></b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"> there are those who think you should heal fast and
get back to life. But your body knows, and it tells you. Listen to
your body and set yourself free from those who think they know your body better
than you do.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Show
compassion:</span></b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"> If
you find yourself impatient with anyone, remember they might have just
fallen. Maybe they can’t use their hands. Maybe there’s something
else they can’t do that you can’t see. Show compassion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Slow
down! </span></b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">You’ve
forgiven yourself – good. But if you don’t want to re-injure yourself,
slow down!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Let
Go! </span></b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">No
matter where you are, where you’ve been, how hard you’ve fallen, nor how stupid
you were when you fell, let it all go.</span><o:p style="font-size: 12pt;"></o:p></span></p>
<p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">© 2023 by Karina Jacobson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All rights reserved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please use with permission and/or a link to
this blog post.<o:p></o:p></span></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-56899302409880368402023-10-24T14:19:00.002-07:002023-10-24T16:28:30.585-07:00The Energizer Bunny Learns the Rhythm of Nature (Part 2)<p><i><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: 12pt;">From Part 1:</span></i></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">The
Rhythm of Nature<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">strides
as the turtle<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">who
wins a race<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">he
doesn’t know he’s in</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Ever
evolving,<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">neither
static, nor constant<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>yet slowly progressing<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">beats
the rhythm of Nature</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Even
when we see not<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">the
burbling beneath the volcano<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">the
plates shifting into an earthquake<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">the
atmosphere transforming into a tornado<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">the
waves building to a tsunami</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Even
then, even when we see not the signs,<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">the
Rhythm of Nature is ever evolving<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">neither
static, nor constant<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-weight: normal;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>yet slowly progressing</span></span></div>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was trained not to stride to the rhythm of nature, but
to the drum of the Energizer Bunny, that mascot toy for the battery that keeps
“going and going and going” and, even after everyone else’s batteries are dead,
is “still going.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother is wired
like the Energizer Bunny, and by some genetic quirk, I am not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vacations were full, as Mom booked each hotel
with a “guaranteed late arrival” and even planned in which rest stops we’d take
for our picnic lunches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her errands at
home, however, were not planned and seemed to follow a random order, defying
geographic logic, zigzagging out of the way, and then returning to previous
stores that had deals three dollars better than the later stores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like all of the competitor bunnies in the
Energizer ads, I, her tag-a-long had batteries that died part-way through, but
hers were “still going.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thinking I
should be wired – or “batteried” -- like her, once I had hit my wall, Mom had
one of two replies: “Quit whining” or “The world doesn’t revolve around
you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">In time, I gained the endurance to quit whining and
eventually grew into an Energizer Bunny myself.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Early in our marriage, my then husband teased me for my to do lists that
also kept going and going and going.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I
had a love-hate relationship with these lists; part of me longed for days with
short lists, but the other part reveled in those days when I crossed out a
multitude of items on a long one.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2023/08/the-energizer-bunny-learns-rhythm-of.html">Click
here for the body of Part 1</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">The conclusion
of Part 1:</span></i><i><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: 12pt;">. . . It was
then that I decided to hire myself for the landscaping project to the side of
our house that had been itching at me for four years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Roughly 40 feet long by 14 feet wide, this
plot had previously housed two vegetable gardens and a play sand pit, each
bordered with bricks and stones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But our
kids had grown; the gardens had been left to waste; the bricks and patio stones
were broken, scattered, and buried; what amounted to seven 20 gallon tubs of
stones to be collected that were then also mostly buried; and weeds, many thigh
high, had taken over the entire plot.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: 12pt;">Since the
plot is right outside my bedroom window, every morning when I opened the
shades, this disaster welcomed my day, and then it presented itself to me again
in the evening at my favorite outdoor spot, also immediately adjacent to it,
our hammock.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">For the
plot’s neglect, I mostly blame the wildfires, of which we had already had three
since 2012 even before the 2020 fires.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While one came as close as three miles, most were further away, but we
live in a valley, where the smoke from all of the neighboring fires comes to
settle itself as an unwelcome guest for weeks of choking, hazardous air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How does one care for vegetable gardens in
the likelihood of such toxic air? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To
those who do, bless you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By 2018, after
the third set of fires, I was done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With
some help from my then husband, I began to clear out the plot of weeds, bricks,
and stones and hoped to clear enough to hire a professional landscaper to build
a stone patio, for which I was also saving money.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: 12pt;">In the summer
of 2021, I needed peace at my window and on my hammock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And between jobs, I needed that savings for
the landscaping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why not use the stones
and bricks I was collecting and hire myself?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: 12pt;">Now Part
2:</span></i><i><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJ8BG65FlFojxEDWW4sI69LS0wisJBLXmFrtlLVcaz-aQGWTguGCgPD6qQtXSgfwhZY-_1ISwyEevB4XWPLPUV_PdiYBmkHs1IUaRbIi6hOlIa-0cVBWQXqem5UbE7v0WVERlRTvO6ng_grYGy2LVxHJ4FSLr7emnNmyzrMnL8XoBB6Vht4UO6FgLYCs/s2000/Zen%20stone%20garden%20halo%20image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJ8BG65FlFojxEDWW4sI69LS0wisJBLXmFrtlLVcaz-aQGWTguGCgPD6qQtXSgfwhZY-_1ISwyEevB4XWPLPUV_PdiYBmkHs1IUaRbIi6hOlIa-0cVBWQXqem5UbE7v0WVERlRTvO6ng_grYGy2LVxHJ4FSLr7emnNmyzrMnL8XoBB6Vht4UO6FgLYCs/s320/Zen%20stone%20garden%20halo%20image.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: 12pt;">I spent two
years weeding, unearthing stones and bricks, shoveling, weeding and unearthing more
stones, raking, weeding and unearthing yet more stones, then finally placing a single
strip of landscape fabric over about a third of the length of the 40x14 foot
plot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I did more weeding,
unearthing stones, raking, and yet more weeding and unearthing stones, then,
finally, laid a second strip of fabric on that first third of the plot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did the same for the third and final strip
for that first third.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A significant
accomplishment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Triumphantly, I returned
some of the stones onto the fabric.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since
I had vowed to use whatever stones I’d collect in whatever way I could, my vision
for the final product was still vague.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I did the
same for the second section, and the following year, completed the third.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">After two years the seemingly endless task
was completed with a creative design I had not conceived. </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Thankfully, these years were 2021 and 2022, two
gracious years not covered in smoke.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Still, most of my work was done in the heat of the summer, and the Energizer
Bunny still in me urged me to head out into the heat to finish more
quickly.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">But my body rebelled.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">If I worked for more than three hours in a
day, my body refused to budge the next day. </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">That judgmental Bunny in me pointed to the professionals
who do this work for eight hours a day, five days a week.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Why, he demanded, was I such a wimp?</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Listen to
your body. It speaks for Us.</span></i><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> Though my whispers were soft, they overrode
the loud Bunny and reassuringly disputed him and our culture, for whom the
Bunny speaks. Under their guidance, I
worked for about an hour in the morning and another in the evening, five or six
days a week, and my body, in gratitude, quit rebelling.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">While
collecting stones, I was reminded of the story of the tortoise and the
hare.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The hare, like the Energizer
Bunny, is a rabbit who keeps going and going and going, quickly bouncing in
many directions, often off his path, seeking short-cuts, and through most of
the race, he’s ahead.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The turtle moves
by the rhythm of nature,</span><i style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </i><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">slowly, step by step, in a race he doesn’t know
he’s in.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">He walks straight, never veers
from his path, and keeps a steady pace.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Many times, my whispers came: </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Be the turtle. You will finish. </i></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">To become the
turtle, I needed a new rhythm.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">While
collecting stones, I reflected on how much I had been living as a Bunny –
filling up long To Do lists, feeling that I had to cross all the items off, not
answering the phone when a friend showed up on caller ID because I thought I
had too much to do, worrying over how untidy my house was when people were
coming to visit, feeling guilty when I wasn’t volunteering for the kids’ school
or activities, stressed when I did sign up for them, screaming at the repair
guy for being late, and so much more.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">And that was only at home.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">At my
teaching career, Energizer Bunny was more insistent.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Students had constant needs and
administrators asserted never-ending demands, changes, trainings, meetings, and
announcements of new problems we the instructors were all expected to seamlessly
take on without complaint or mistake.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">And that was before the pandemic.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Then came
Covid.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The expectations didn’t change,
but the work did, and we had to do it at home, use our own technology, have no
on-site support, and face new problems as we stayed at home to save lives.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I had my office and my classroom in my
bedroom.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The Energizer Bunny in me was
done.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Energizer says
its batteries don’t run out.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Its Bunny
“keeps going and going and going,” and even after everyone has stopped dead,
“it’s still going.”</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I’m no Energizer
Bunny. </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I might have been trained by my
mom to be one, but I had not inherited her Bunny DNA.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">My own make-up had never been wired to be the
Bunny. </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">But I had to learn that the hard
way.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">My batteries stopped dead.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I could not keep going any longer.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Be the
turtle. You will finish. </span></i><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">While
maintaining their compassion, my whispers were nonetheless firm. But everyone mocks the turtle, I replied. No one lives like the turtle. In real life, the turtle is bullied, scoffed
at, and the butt of everyone else’s jokes.
Maybe in the end, he wins, but he’s not enjoying himself if people are
laughing at him. I felt my whispers’ compassion
and heard their brief reply: <i>He’s counter-cultural.</i></span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Yes.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The turtle’s journey is counter to all that
I’d been taught, had lived, and to our culture.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Even if his fable is well known, nothing about his lesson fits into our
cultural patterns of life, especially where I was raised in high tech San Jose,
nor even where I now live in a small Pacific Northwestern town.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I might have moved away from the Bunny’s
territory, but I could never get away from him. To be the turtle, we have to slow
ourselves into a counter-cultural rhythm.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">It is to this rhythm that Nature strides.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I chuckled to
myself that I had tried for years to teach a turtle-like rhythm to my writing
students, even if I hadn’t learned it myself.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Having observed the usual strategy students follow for their persuasive
pieces, to decide on a thesis statement and then begin writing, I advised a
different strategy.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“If you decide on
your thesis before doing your research,” I warned, “you’ll find yourself a
stationary bicycle, expending a whole lot of energy, but getting nowhere.”</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Instead, “Decide on your research </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">question</i><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">,
research it, and then develop your thesis.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">That way, you’ll get on real bicycle that goes places.” </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">And wins the race</i><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">. </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">My whispers spoke up again, interrupting my thoughts
I was unburying stones.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I realized
that I, too, had spent most of my life on that stationary bicycle.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Progress had come.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">My To Do lists were shorter, but the long
ones I still kept in my head.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Every day,
I set myself to accomplish certain goals, leaving little room for spontaneity
or leisure with friends and family.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">So
much energy I had expended on a stationary bicycle, but not getting very far. </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Is it necessary to get far?</i><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">My whispers had once again shown up.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I let the stones in my hand drop, took a
breath, and sat against the fence.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Maybe
not.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">What had I been striving for and
why?</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">My whispers were gentle.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Be the turtle. Walk in a race you don’t know you’re in and
see where it takes you.</i></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGgkBmj2jPbh6N10TwjokbxVesOJqy1geXKqU2sUNngWdjVucGOFnDA-04chpz6XuyQKzNuvn-79zE6338dN54YtVnrPlhuNWVwj1LDUABX3mvggPaXzRj2mOO6knXQb3TcDPIV9NcrpMcD1nyvZUeh-drp85KLCKx4aOUCh7qWXhrVd5T6kVvHKn_I0/s2000/Zen%20stone%20garden%20vertical%20shot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1488" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGgkBmj2jPbh6N10TwjokbxVesOJqy1geXKqU2sUNngWdjVucGOFnDA-04chpz6XuyQKzNuvn-79zE6338dN54YtVnrPlhuNWVwj1LDUABX3mvggPaXzRj2mOO6knXQb3TcDPIV9NcrpMcD1nyvZUeh-drp85KLCKx4aOUCh7qWXhrVd5T6kVvHKn_I0/w149-h200/Zen%20stone%20garden%20vertical%20shot.jpg" width="149" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I felt my
inner spirit breathing a new rhythm into me.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">My stone garden was the first step: one stone at a time, one step at a
time.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Like a turtle, I built my Zen
stone garden.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">And like the bicycle that
goes somewhere, I built it without a “thesis” at the start.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Having vowed to use whatever materials I could
unbury in whatever way I could, I didn’t know what the end product would look
like.</span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTjSY9SyVmPh5liJLoblsNYBuC3XHwZRxHvkScOTM7nnB95hoKOkpftCZwqahyB8FP9-0ZvOtiG9HAIFxOxqPJsFX2YgGk_m4mIKFIPIYyA_SwRkNHJp0EfsKSedBWkDpm4Fan3sDdgvPlG1gIyDB7goZtTDBHsnhd_LS0HDgT25hdsFCHtZQNkcb8Qs/s2000/Zen%20stone%20garden%20half%20moon%20close%20up.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTjSY9SyVmPh5liJLoblsNYBuC3XHwZRxHvkScOTM7nnB95hoKOkpftCZwqahyB8FP9-0ZvOtiG9HAIFxOxqPJsFX2YgGk_m4mIKFIPIYyA_SwRkNHJp0EfsKSedBWkDpm4Fan3sDdgvPlG1gIyDB7goZtTDBHsnhd_LS0HDgT25hdsFCHtZQNkcb8Qs/w200-h150/Zen%20stone%20garden%20half%20moon%20close%20up.jpg" width="200" /></span></a> <br /></div><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">When I
finished, I posted this, with the photos shown here, to my friends on social
media: </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">One step at a time: weeding, cleaning, shifting, simplifying and zenning to create something new. Two veggie gardens & a sand pit lived on this 40x14 plot years ago. Then came the fires and smoke. One year ago, old, torn tarps, lots of weeds, bricks and stones, many of them buried, lived here instead. This past year, one weed and one stone at a time, and $300 for some bark and a few more bricks, I've zenned my way into new simplicity and beauty. I just finished and hope its completion also zens into simplicity and beauty.</span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="background: white; color: #050505; font-family: Oxygen; font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3C2chU8ZnJ_5y5hMT7sI7SZKJaqjWZ9BcZYnBU9tG-Tno1G1476gLgJdSRdOYagEtEmLSwEIUf1ZpzJvymSiV90pmOQ5htxLLFo7PsxPnzFK2dg2GVm1DkosPTk7HY8Bc4xjtdhwDLOxCfX5Xcur2hdsEEdyUoq6v86FxFIuLIttqp4Q4G42mzDRbV8/s2000/Zen%20stone%20garden%20halo%20image.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3C2chU8ZnJ_5y5hMT7sI7SZKJaqjWZ9BcZYnBU9tG-Tno1G1476gLgJdSRdOYagEtEmLSwEIUf1ZpzJvymSiV90pmOQ5htxLLFo7PsxPnzFK2dg2GVm1DkosPTk7HY8Bc4xjtdhwDLOxCfX5Xcur2hdsEEdyUoq6v86FxFIuLIttqp4Q4G42mzDRbV8/s320/Zen%20stone%20garden%20halo%20image.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><br /><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 12pt;">Living according to the rhythm of nature in a world that
runs like the Energizer Bunny is challenging.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 12pt;">To trust in the turtle’s pace calls for perseverance, patience, trust in
the greater forces beyond ourselves, and a willingness to let go, if that’s the
way through.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 12pt;">Success is not necessarily
assured.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">But Nature
does not give up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She continues to stride
to her own rhythm, and if we learn to step into her beat, slowly progressing,
like the turtle in a race he doesn’t know he’s in, we will begin to align with
the deeper part of our own nature, connected to Nature herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This work is a process, carrying obstacles
and losses, yet increasing peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if
we, like Nature, do not give up, we can, one by one, like the turtle, return
the rhythm of Nature to humanity on Earth.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: black;">© 2023 by Karina Jacobson. All
rights reserved. Please use only with permission from the author.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: black;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2023/08/the-energizer-bunny-learns-rhythm-of.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Return to the Energizer Bunny, Pt 1</b></span></a><br /></span></span></p><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"></span></span><p></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-80705945884098235042023-08-27T15:41:00.006-07:002023-10-24T14:23:10.211-07:00The Energizer Bunny Learns the Rhythm of Nature (Part 1)<h4 style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">The
Rhythm of Nature</span></span></div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">strides
as the turtle</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">who
wins a race</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he
doesn’t know he’s in</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ever
evolving,</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">neither
static, nor constant</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">yet slowly progressing</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">beats
the rhythm of Nature</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Even
when we see not</span></div> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the
burbling beneath the volcano</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the
plates shifting into an earthquake</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the
atmosphere transforming into a tornado</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the
waves building to a tsunami</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Even
then, even when we see not the signs,</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the
Rhythm of Nature is ever evolving</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">neither
static, nor constant</span></div></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">yet slowly progressing</span></div></span></span></span></h4>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was trained not to stride to the rhythm of nature, but
to the drum of the Energizer Bunny, that mascot toy for the battery that keeps
“going and going and going” and, even after everyone else’s batteries are dead,
is “still going.”</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My mother is wired
like the Energizer Bunny, and by some genetic quirk, I am not.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Vacations were full, as Mom booked each hotel
with a “guaranteed late arrival” and even planned in which rest stops we’d take
for our picnic lunches.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Her errands at
home, however, were not planned and seemed to follow a random order, defying
geographic logic, zigzagging out of the way, and then returning to previous
stores that had deals three dollars better than the later stores.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Like all of the competitor bunnies in the
Energizer ads, I, her tag-a-long had batteries that died part-way through, but
hers were “still going.”</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Thinking I
should be wired – or “batteried” -- like her, once I had hit my wall, Mom had
one of two replies: “Quit whining” or “The world doesn’t revolve around
you.”</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In time, I gained the endurance to quit whining and
eventually grew into an Energizer Bunny myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Early in our marriage, my then husband teased me for my to do lists that
also kept going and going and going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
had a love-hate relationship with these lists; part of me longed for days with
short lists, but the other part reveled in those days when I crossed out a
multitude of items on a long one.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>By the time little ones arrived, my love-hate
relationship with the lists turned to a hate-only relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One sheet was no longer enough for all that I
had to do; multiple sheets were filled, and included only what needed to be
done at home; at work, I had another list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My anxiety grew with the lists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
chest, neck, and face flushed with a pinkish glow; my heart rate beat fast; my
nights were endlessly sleepless, with a cherished hour or two of sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My doctor prescribed me with Prozac.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">The lists had
to go, and so too did the Energizer Bunny still in me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 2005, while juggling a toddler, a
preschooler, and a teaching position, I decided to pray every day of the year
for a quiet and gentle spirit, and miracles came that began the process to
loosen, layer by layer, that Bunny that didn’t belong in me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, for years, vestiges of this battery
remained, insisting that I keep going and going and going.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">My body knew
what really needed to go were the batteries and that the rhythm of nature
needed to come.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">What my body might have
known, I did not.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Having already been
greatly healed, I didn’t know quite how much of this Bunny still beat its drum
within me.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then came the pandemic. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Stay at home.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Save lives.”</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This was no time for
an Energizer Bunny.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Even Mom learned to
slow down. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The word Blursday was coined,
time felt different, and the process in me was reignited to discard more of the
conditioned Bunny within me.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Part of me
rebelled; I got out more than most of my friends, but I also acquiesced to begin
to learn the Way of Zen.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">To my blog and my
social media page, I posted this meme with my intent to learn this Way of Zen.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilBTGQu5UjrZDmc2pldcpMmO6VK-vIyYbNyQFK3wx73nzggkXnAz653CUxfeFwIH0NG6_f75u2q_J71VjE_VXTH4gkuGzIwYks_gtcvK-7NssxQ_SMj3pv4RkVDBxO72Yia6_srKijIGI5XisFpC8sOZiCRGhcTu3lr2G2xGYXyyyX-ifXuwzJc_-duY0/s960/Way%20of%20Zen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="780" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilBTGQu5UjrZDmc2pldcpMmO6VK-vIyYbNyQFK3wx73nzggkXnAz653CUxfeFwIH0NG6_f75u2q_J71VjE_VXTH4gkuGzIwYks_gtcvK-7NssxQ_SMj3pv4RkVDBxO72Yia6_srKijIGI5XisFpC8sOZiCRGhcTu3lr2G2xGYXyyyX-ifXuwzJc_-duY0/s320/Way%20of%20Zen.jpg" width="260" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> </span></span></div><p></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> <span> </span><span> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Way of Zen is hard for an Energizer Bunny to learn.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In the summer of 2020, we had begun to “flatten the curve,” and we were all getting out more.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Feeling I had had my zen, I was eager to get out. My inner Bunny was relieved.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Then came the
wildfires, 1800 of them raging throughout the western states.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our masks returned, we once again retreated indoors,
and even more of the Bunny in me was called upon to let go.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The West burning in flames mirrored my life, as both my
marriage and my career also ignited with burning embers.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My husband and I were compatible for projects
and parenting, but not for love-making, nor for my soul’s transformation.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He met someone else with whom he shared the
right mix of love elements to maintain a thriving marriage.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The following year, after months of marriage
counseling and a trial separation, we chose to close our marriage with
friendship, which still continues.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Meanwhile, the
university where I taught as a non-tenured track (second-class) faculty member was
grappling with a severe budget crisis and turned my employment ladder upside
down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of downsizing and laying
off those on the bottom rungs of my ladder, they transferred assignments from
many of us like me who had earned the highest promotions to our lower paid
colleagues at the bottom of the ladder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was eventually downsized all the way, and given with notice, citing a
loophole, that I was to be laid off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
I found a loophole of my own: Emeritus, the university’s honored form of
retirement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My promotions and 23 years
of service qualified me to apply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did,
and I got it, but I was also too young to actually retire.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The anxiety,
tight chest, rapid heart beat, and insomnia returned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the summer of 2021, and I was now both
separated from my husband and without work, a financial double-whammy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had put out applications, had interviews,
and even had completed new hire paperwork, a month earlier, but still had not
yet been called with a start date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Bunny in me begged to make phone calls and put out more applications.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the whispers and synchronicities
encouraged me to wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>It will come
in its own time.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it did.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But first, I
had to wait and learn the rhythm of nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was then that I decided to hire myself for the landscaping project to
the side of our house that had been itching at me for four years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Roughly 40 feet long by 14 feet wide, this
plot had previously housed two vegetable gardens and a play sand pit, each
bordered with bricks and stones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But our
kids had grown; the gardens had been left to waste; the bricks and patio stones
were broken, scattered, and buried; what amounted to seven 20 gallon tubs of stones
to be collected that were then also mostly buried; and weeds, many thigh high,
had taken over the entire plot.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Since the
plot is right outside my bedroom window, every morning when I opened the
shades, this disaster welcomed my day, and then it presented itself to me again
in the evening at my favorite outdoor spot, also immediately adjacent to it,
our hammock.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">For the plot’s
neglect, I mostly blame the wildfires, of which we had already had three since
2012 even before the 2020 fires.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While one
came as close as three miles, most were further away, but we live in a valley,
where the smoke from all of the neighboring fires comes to settle itself as an
unwelcome guest for weeks of choking, hazardous air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How does one care for vegetable gardens in
the likelihood of such toxic air? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To those
who do, bless you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By 2018, after the
third set of fires, I was done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With
some help from my then husband, I began to clear out the plot of weeds, bricks,
and stones and hoped to clear enough to hire a professional landscaper to build
a stone patio, for which I was also saving money.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In the summer
of 2021, I needed peace at my window and on my hammock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And between jobs, I needed that savings for
the landscaping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why not use the stones
and bricks I was collecting and hire myself?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2023/10/the-energizer-bunny-learns-rhythm-of.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Continue to Part 2</b></span></a><br /></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj92zab3_K2P5wMrrTm0TqsKKhc2wdcLw_JYxfNU6t0sBXndPuzStd07N_YQC7dS3LSIMhXpOgt_kM7UU0Pal1T0EPCR8dnQig9Cz_HTNoRHGoPvp5I4PD9fgNq7Yi0lRrqDCyZ5riV1D90UuJFny7BYP5gbtip0BPV6C7pYrWdvxPbso2azeblXAi2D4w/s2000/Zen%20stone%20garden%20halo%20image.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj92zab3_K2P5wMrrTm0TqsKKhc2wdcLw_JYxfNU6t0sBXndPuzStd07N_YQC7dS3LSIMhXpOgt_kM7UU0Pal1T0EPCR8dnQig9Cz_HTNoRHGoPvp5I4PD9fgNq7Yi0lRrqDCyZ5riV1D90UuJFny7BYP5gbtip0BPV6C7pYrWdvxPbso2azeblXAi2D4w/s320/Zen%20stone%20garden%20halo%20image.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">© 2023 by Karina Jacobson. All
rights reserved. Please use only with permission from the author.</span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><o:p></o:p></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-32507874431151109192023-06-22T15:27:00.013-07:002023-07-11T10:36:56.808-07:00Finding Life in the Dead Rose Bush<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) -->
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<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I have two
rose bushes, one of which received attention last year, needs more this year, and
can be saved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other I had not yet
attended to before I lost the use of my hands in August.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have my hands back, but only after months
of healing and therapy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For that story, see
“<a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2023/01/letting-go-part-1-fall.html" target="_blank">Letting Go, Part 1</a>.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This
spring, my second rose bush spoke the message of its neglect. The lost treasure
was now overcome with a great many dead branches protruding through a mass of weeds,
four feet high, towering over a plant that had previously produced a burst
glorious magenta, rich blossoms of roses abounding with life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None were now to be seen through a corpse covered
over with weeds of various sorts and crabgrasses a foot above the branches.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"></span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQGMQn9nqQmjBzvAMt4lMOFa8FGJixbuJNnhqzE_kh_o9cQRVCZ7xX316IrsmDAMXU0lAPQ5AE8_DJjeCzXiWd3XaSBW6MueknRsNsQvx8A33apOUVOTudEYkOBFEx7wae9VAJQj93Rb3OtA0MuPBAmG1rMTx3INqUDq70Bo0RkEqv24jmAsBNtAWdIw/s2000/Weeds.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQGMQn9nqQmjBzvAMt4lMOFa8FGJixbuJNnhqzE_kh_o9cQRVCZ7xX316IrsmDAMXU0lAPQ5AE8_DJjeCzXiWd3XaSBW6MueknRsNsQvx8A33apOUVOTudEYkOBFEx7wae9VAJQj93Rb3OtA0MuPBAmG1rMTx3INqUDq70Bo0RkEqv24jmAsBNtAWdIw/s320/Weeds.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><div style="text-align: center;">I have no "Before" photo of the rose bush with its towering weeds, but they looked like these.</div></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><br /></span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ds_RGOcCFi30M3A5gWliqEsOocvFaay-9I37WimuNPgFh5qONgpjP1NxlF8ztVX3x1GU10Z5f2BVjfQ2bIl1k5fpl2jX2tnsqvEZP-UjBkV0n0FNj7p9NYYg_Z6OLH5pwgELFsHfHezTYNgzkH7wAVCDOJAhxeHPmGtMRJRok4-a97vR6HYxXj9H_vM/s2000/Weed%20Pile.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ds_RGOcCFi30M3A5gWliqEsOocvFaay-9I37WimuNPgFh5qONgpjP1NxlF8ztVX3x1GU10Z5f2BVjfQ2bIl1k5fpl2jX2tnsqvEZP-UjBkV0n0FNj7p9NYYg_Z6OLH5pwgELFsHfHezTYNgzkH7wAVCDOJAhxeHPmGtMRJRok4-a97vR6HYxXj9H_vM/s320/Weed%20Pile.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><div style="text-align: center;">And here the weeds and dead branches now.</div><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Expecting the
need for a landscaper to come in with some equipment to haul off my dead bush, I
spent this spring attending to other parts of my yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, last week, I skeptically wondered whether my dead bush could be saved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If nothing
else, I could reduce the cost for someone to come in and haul it away by minimizing
its size.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">With a deep breath and determination,
I met my former treasure, the current adversary I had created, and I began weeding
around the bush, through it, and clipping dead branches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s delicate work because even the dead
branches have thorns, pricks screaming at me for what my neglect had done to
their source of life.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">To my astonishment, as I pulled the
weeds and clipped the dead branches, little signs of life – small, tender
branches with green leaves on them – came into view.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These brave little babies poked through, trying
to survive beneath their oppressors and crying for help.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Now my work became even more
delicate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been its careless killer,
and now I vowed to be its careful savior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I knew this remnant with life, these little, courageous branches of green,
must be protected while their aggressive invaders and the corpses among them
get cut out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly, carefully,
patiently, I made progress to save the lives of the budding branches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">I can save the rose bush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been sure it was dead, and now, I am sure
it has life.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNAXu1l8WRPP-dd-zp4jukpnEfun2O38fO5dhIgnqZ2Bkv83fE-8MWqlPq2AO_RyFd2QHotyzxUD6QhexGW5Skg739Jnb0H73gmVDxNVoEFY9p1OJdvg9xtYdctsmwPhw6Cz68JVpkPVFSXqrZva6QyN5UvbV5Q-hTnXXXlunkn4TYiNzUpNDTIxrE8_Q/s2000/Rose%20bush%20has%20life.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNAXu1l8WRPP-dd-zp4jukpnEfun2O38fO5dhIgnqZ2Bkv83fE-8MWqlPq2AO_RyFd2QHotyzxUD6QhexGW5Skg739Jnb0H73gmVDxNVoEFY9p1OJdvg9xtYdctsmwPhw6Cz68JVpkPVFSXqrZva6QyN5UvbV5Q-hTnXXXlunkn4TYiNzUpNDTIxrE8_Q/s320/Rose%20bush%20has%20life.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">A</span></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; text-indent: 0.5in;">mazingly, the rose bush has life!</span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">This process of weeding, pruning, and
cutting out what’s dead mimics my life of the past three years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During this time, I’ve lost my marriage, my
career, my next job to a fire, the use of my hands, my kids off to college, and
just last week, ended a temporary position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Weeding, pruning, cutting out what’s
dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Letting Go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For three years, letting go of what has lost
life has marked my life, and now it is time to find life in death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My rose bush tells me I can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surprising life buds in what has died.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">This morning, as I shared the story of my rose bush, a friend spoke what many
have said to me in these past few years. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“For
all you’ve been through, I admire you and honor you. I would have been crushed to lose so much so quick.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“I don’t think I would have made it
had I not seen little signs of life, like those promising branches of life,” I replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Surprising, little buds of life that I would
not have expected to be there, kept showing themselves to me, keeping me going,
giving me hope, helping me to never give up.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">There is Life in death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, after years of letting go, I am sure of
that too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let go, and watch the
surprising blossoms shoot into Life.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: times;">© 2023
by Karina. All rights reserved. Use only with permission.</span><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-3660781751965987282023-05-14T19:11:00.004-07:002023-06-25T20:40:28.125-07:00With love comes . . . <!-- Google tag (gtag.js) -->
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<div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><i>With love comes sight<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><i>With sight comes wisdom</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><i>With wisdom comes grief</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><i>With grief comes service</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><i>With service comes exhaustion</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><i>With exhaustion comes brokenness</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><i>With brokenness comes letting go</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><i>With letting go comes Freedom</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><p class="MsoNormal">© 2023 by Karina. All rights reserved. Use with permission and/or a link to this blog post.<o:p></o:p></p><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><i></i></span></div>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-21332745016007907542023-04-27T17:17:00.001-07:002023-06-25T20:42:20.435-07:00To live like Water ~ Lao Tzu<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) -->
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<p><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans; font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"> When life is in flux, or it's time to let go, or change is the only constant, or all of the above, the wisdom of ancient eastern sages offers perspective. </span><span style="font-family: "Pontano Sans";">Here's Lao Tzu, Stanza 8, according to</span><a href="https://cpb-us-w2.wpmucdn.com/u.osu.edu/dist/5/25851/files/2016/02/taoteching-Stephen-Mitchell-translation-v9deoq.pdf" style="font-family: "Pontano Sans";" target="_blank"> Stephen Mitchell's translation</a><span style="font-family: "Pontano Sans";"> of the </span><i style="font-family: "Pontano Sans";">Tao Te Ching:</i></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i>"The supreme good is like water,<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i>which nourishes all things without trying to.<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i>It is content with the low places that people disdain.<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i>Thus it is like the Tao.</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i>In dwelling, live close to the ground.<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i>In thinking, keep to the simple.<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i>In conflict, be fair and generous.<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i>In governing, don't try to control.<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i>In work, do what you enjoy.<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i>In family life, be completely present.</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i>When you are content to simply be yourself<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i>and don't compare or compete,<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i>everybody will respect you."</i></span></span></div>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-55487702857251221042023-03-24T11:11:00.003-07:002023-12-18T11:25:48.476-08:00Letting Go, Part 2: Life without Hands<!--Google tag (gtag.js)-->
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <span style="font-family: Merriweather;"> One
day you’re on the go, vibrant, athletically active, and doing heavy labor for a
landscaping project. The next day, your
teenage daughter is dressing you, bathing you, and tying up your hair. Both of your hands and wrists are bandaged
up. In the coming days, she and your 21
year-old son will be opening the fridge for you, pouring your water, making you
sandwiches, tying your shoelaces, clipping your fingernails, driving you
wherever you need to go, and cleaning whatever you and they agree to, which is
not much, leaving you with a home and a yard in much disarray. You have to Let Go.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"> That
was me in August, 2022 after I had fallen six feet from my kids’ play gym while
clipping tree branches from it and the beam I was leaning against gave
way. Thankfully, I immediately fell into
a dream-state which cushioned the force of my fall, spared me from pain, and
protected me from shock for the first 90 minutes after my fall, as <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2023/01/letting-go-part-1-fall.html">described
here in Part 1</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"> It’s
said that physical pain is mental, something I now know first-hand. For the first hour and a half after I fell, I
was in a dream-state and unaware of pain. Once I began to regain normal consciousness, I
became aware of a mild headache. As it
grew, I complained of it and asked for some pain medication. The doctor said I could have no medication
until the CT scan had been completed and examined. To me, he seemed nonchalant to my growing
headache, but he was probably smiling to himself that I was not complaining of
pain in my two broken wrists (or the yet-to-be discovered crushed ligaments in
my right hand). Not until about three
hours after my fall and a half hour or so before I received pain medication did
I begin to feel the pain in my wrists and hands. Quite how much physical pain that dream-state
spared me from I will never know. But
for that and much more, I will always be grateful.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"> “Thank
goodness I had no concussion,” I texted my mom and two best friends the
following morning with my working fingers.
“Back & neck OK, I can walk and 4 working fingers. And 2 kids who are awesome – much to be
grateful for.” By divine mercy, I was
also naïve about how little I could actually do and how long my recovery would
be.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"> A
week after my fall, I texted them again with my orthopedist’s warning to do
barely nothing through August, and closed, “I’ll heal, but this is hard. Thank goodness I didn’t injure myself more.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"> “I
know taking it easy isn’t your style,” one friend replied, “I hope you find
ways to relieve your anxiety. Healing
takes time and better to not re-injure those delicate bones.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"> I
agreed. ”I’m working to keep it all in
perspective, especially that I wasn’t more injured. The orthopedist was surprised my injuries
were minor compared to what they could have been.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"> But
I didn’t agree enough. I kept improving,
able to do a bit more each day, and kept wanting to try something new every day. Two or three weeks after my fall, “new” meant
simple tasks like sweeping the floor, straightening the blankets on my bed,
pouring water, wiping up the water I had just spilled, making toast and
spreading margarine on it, cleaning a few dishes, heating soup in the
microwave, and making coffee. That last
one turned out to be harder than expected.
My coffee maker has its own reusable filter that needs to have the old,
wet grounds knocked out and cleaned before scooping in new grounds. In addition to opening a lid, pouring water,
and scooping new grounds in, I also had to knock out those old grounds, a
simple task that sent pain surging from my fingers to my elbow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"> I
was counting on good news at my four-week appointment with the orthopedist, but
she informed me my x-rays showed that while my left wrist was healing, but my
dominant right was not. “Our bones are
like twigs,” she warned me. “Too much
bending or stress builds on the break.”
Again, I texted my trio: “my body is not invincible and I have a very
hard time releasing myself of that delusion!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">That I am not
invincible was just the start. Life
without hands showed me I had much to learn:<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><b>Humility:</b>
when your teenage daughter is bathing you and your college student son is
clipping your fingernails, you have to become very humble very quick.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><b>Take nothing
for granted: </b>when you celebrate a thumb that works so you can dress
yourself, you start to see how much you’ve taken for granted. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><b>A gentle
touch: </b>You don’t realize how hard your touch can be until every touch brings you pain. You’re starting to get better, so you’re now
opening doors, pressing the walk button at a crosswalk, closing your dresser
drawer, shaking someone’s hand, patting your teenager on the back for a job
well done, squirting out hand cream, and knocking out those coffee grounds:
those things you’ve done every day for years and taken for granted, and now
they bring pain. You wonder if your
touch has been too hard, and then you wonder if your speech has been too hard,
and if you need to seek a more gentle way to touch, to speak, and to live.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><b>Forgive
yourself:</b> You were foolish and you
fell. Now forgive yourself and learn.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><b>Release
yourself from other people’s expectations:</b> there are those who think you should
heal fast and get back to life. But your
body knows, and it tells you. Listen to
your body and set yourself free from those who think they know your body better
than you do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><b>Show
compassion:</b> If you find yourself impatient with anyone, remember they might
have just fallen. Maybe they can’t use
their hands. Maybe there’s something
else they can’t do that you can’t see.
Show compassion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><b>Slow down! </b>You’ve forgiven yourself – good. But if you don’t want to re-injure yourself,
slow down! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><b>Let Go! </b>No matter where you are, where you’ve
been, how hard you’ve fallen, nor how stupid you were when you fell, let it all
go.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.25in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"> By
the time of my fall, I had already and very recently had to let go of more than
I ever thought I could. Within the past
year, I had already lost both my marriage and my teaching career, both of over
two decades, and both so seemingly strong.
My marriage had been a strong partnership for service and home projects,
parenting, and friendship and concluded itself amicably, after turmoil and grief
along the way. In my teaching career, I
was continuing to excel, even with my office and classroom moved into my
bedroom for the pandemic, but I was caught in a political drama outside of me,
a pawn by top administrators, mostly new and from far away. I learned that no matter the excellence of my
own performance, I am not invincible. To
release a career I was passionate about and my marriage all at once called for super-human
strength in Letting Go.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">I discovered a
remarkable truth, one that people say, but you have to discover for yourself: there
is much freedom in losing and letting go.
When everything we’ve thought we need to do and need to be is taken from
us and we can’t do and can’t be what we’ve thought we needed to, we discover we
don’t need to do that or be that. We
have the freedom to let go of all of those expectations we’ve placed upon
ourselves and that we think others have placed upon us. We also discover that whether or not others
have in fact placed those expectations upon us doesn’t matter. Either way, we have the freedom to let go.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">As we let go, we
also learn one of life’s greatest lessons: Life will work for you if you let
it. This is true even when you lose what
you love. As I was learning to literally
let go during my life without hands, I had no knowledge that before the year
was out, I would have to let go yet again, also of something very significant, from a fire to the place where I worked and played, a story I hope to share in
a third part in a few months.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The universe
provides what we need for our own growth and, ultimately, for our abundant
life. Security and being in control
might be what I had wanted, but they were not what I needed. What I did needed: to surrender, slow down,
and Let Go!</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Return to <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2023/01/letting-go-part-1-fall.html" target="_blank">Letting Go, Part 1: The Fall</a></span></span></p>
<p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: right;">© 2023
by karina. All rights protected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please
use with permission and/or a link to this blog post.<o:p></o:p></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-40676060485592174382023-02-27T10:35:00.007-08:002023-07-16T11:07:00.763-07:00Letting Go: A Return to Hibernation<!--Google tag (gtag.js)-->
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<p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"> <span> </span><span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">In August, I fell six feet from a
play gym while leaning against an insecure beam to clip tree branches.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Only a miracle protected me from being no
more injured than two broken wrists and soft tissue damage to my right
hand.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Still, without hands, I had to let
go.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The metaphor of my injury – losing
the use of my hands – fits so perfectly into the season of my life.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">In 2021 and 2022, I lost my career, my
marriage, my two kids off to college, my next place of work destroyed in a
fire, and in the middle of those losses, the use of both of my hands.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">In each of these, I had to “let go,” and in
one of them, literally.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Last month I began
a series </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2023/01/letting-go-part-1-fall.html" style="text-indent: 0.5in;" target="_blank">here, with the story of my six foot fall</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> on “Letting Go.”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;">Currently, I’m drafting “Letting
Go, Part 2: Life without Hands,” to describe the experience of literally
letting go of everything, what it was like, and what I was learning from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To do so takes some time, and I hope it will
be ready in March.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, I’ve been marveling
over the preoccupations that began to capture my imagination during the
pandemic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should I be chilled or awed by
the prophetic nature of some of my posts in the past couple of years, like <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-way-of-zen-through-pandemic.html" target="_blank">this one</a>, <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/12/todaywe-live-out-longest-night-of.html" target="_blank">this one</a>, <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/11/quietest-before-dawn.html" target="_blank">this one</a>, and, especially, at the start of 2022, <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/01/" target="_blank">this one</a>.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span>Little did I know in January, 2022
quite how much “Hibernation” would mark my coming year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here is a repost of this poem from a year
ago; then below the poem is a small sneak peek for the experience and the
lessons of “Letting Go.”</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span>Hibernation</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">The
creatures of </span><a href="ant:61f19fefb0d71d07cb28eb66"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;">fur</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"> follow
the signs of Nature</span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">We
creatures of skin run to and fro</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">no
matter Her works of beauty or terror</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Snow
coming, forecasters warn</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">The
furs, ready, hibernate</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">The
skins, deaf, go about their day</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">All
afternoon, snow surprises</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">dumping,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">dumping,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">softly,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">quietly,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">deceptively</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">The
day still young</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">the
sky turns black</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Snowflakes
stream,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">glistening
the darkening sky</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">in
lights of white</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">haloed
in orange</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Any
who slow themselves</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">who
sit</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">who
watch</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">fuse
with the flakes in stillness</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">5
am, calls go out</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Schools
are closed</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Businesses
are closed</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Roads
are blocked</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">All
are snowed in</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">What
if </span></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">calls come the night before?</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Or
before quittin’ time the day before?</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">When
the creatures of fur,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">with
no forecasters,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">are
already nestled in hibernation?</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><a href="https://biblehub.com/matthew/11-29.htm" target="_blank"><em><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">“Take My yoke upon you,”</span></em></a></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">says
the master,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><a href="https://biblehub.com/matthew/11-30.htm" target="_blank"><em><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">“For My load is light, and My burden
is easy.”</span></em></a></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Racing
about, we wonder how</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Could
we </span></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">hear the wisdom of the furs</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">who
follow the signs of Nature</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">and
work when it is time to work</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">play
when it is time to play</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">rest
when it is time to rest</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><a href="ant:61f1b439b0d71d07cb299520"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and who</span></a></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"> know
there is a season for outings</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">and
a season for </span><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><a href="ant:61f228b6b0d71d07cb2d9689"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">hibernation</span></a></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">?</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">I
of skin,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">used
to the race,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">am
paralyzed, mute</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Could
</span></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">I learn from the furs?</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Could I
learn</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">of
a time to speak,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">a
time be silent,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">a
time to walk,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">a
time to rest,</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">and
a </span><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">season
to hibernate</span></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">?</span></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p 0in="" margin:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
think this is precisely what I’m learning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although August and September were hardly months for “Hibernation,” they
were for me, when I could do little and go nowhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like Life was saying Let Go and
Hibernate, and while you do, you’ll reflect and learn the beauty of letting go.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a sneak preview, some of this is that
I am not invincible; to have humility, gratitude, a gentle touch, and take
nothing for granted; to forgive myself and release myself from others’
expectations; to slow down and let go!; and to build compassion and sensitivity
for others in whatever limitations or trials they may have.</span> </span></p>
<p .5in="" 0in="" margin:="" style="text-align: right;" text-indent:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p .5in="" 0in="" margin:="" style="text-align: right;" text-indent:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;">Letting Go:</span></p><p .5in="" 0in="" margin:="" style="text-align: right;" text-indent:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2023/03/letting-go-part-2-life-without-hands.html" target="_blank">Letting Go, Part 2: Life without Hands</a></span></p><p .5in="" 0in="" margin:="" style="text-align: right;" text-indent:=""><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2023/01/letting-go-part-1-fall.html" target="_blank">Letting Go: Part 1: The Fall</a></span></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-60674883893865887812023-01-22T11:37:00.003-08:002023-06-21T09:42:15.929-07:00Letting Go (part 1): The Fall <!-- Google tag (gtag.js) -->
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</script>
<p> <span style="font-size: medium;"> <span style="font-family: Merriweather;"> “Did
I call you?” I asked my son, unaware of whether I was awake or dreaming.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
did.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My son, home from college, spoke
in a voice firm but gentle. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That
was smart of me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My voice felt wistful,
barely audible, yet demanded much strength.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
was very smart of you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Seeming
to open my eyes that were likely already open, I found myself lying on
a wheeled bed-cot in a clinical room with my son sitting in a chair next to
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A steel rail guard to my side, as
high as my upper arm, separated me from him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To find my way between its beams to reach for his hand would require an
energy I lacked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Saddened, I looked down
to my hands instead and saw them limp, dirty, and injured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized I could not move either hand
anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i>The
Emergency Room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Clarity was dawning,
but I wondered if I was dreaming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hoping
so, I mustered the energy to speak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I
dreamed that I fell from the play gym.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
may have dreamed it, but you also did it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My son’s voice was quiet and caring.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
must have been sleepwalking,” I said, wistful.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Maybe.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Did
I call you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
did.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That
was smart me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
was very smart of you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">I didn’t know it
yet, but an hour and a half had passed from my call to my son to that moment in
the ER.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remembered my activity before
the fall, the call to my son, and very little else, but wondered whether all of it had been a dream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My son was entering his senior year of
college and home for the summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had
a swing set and play gym in our backyard that he and my daughter, about to be
head off to college, no longer needed, and I had a friend had shown interested
in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ll cut off the branches from
the tree and then you can come see it,” I texted her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If she and her family would dismantle and
take it away, they could have it for free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I, at least, needed to make it accessible by cutting off the
branches from the nearby tree that were now enveloping the play gym.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
began the project on the ground, beneath our gorgeous but looming maple tree,
and I clipped many branches from there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
with my limited tools, other branches could be accessed only by climbing up
onto the play gym itself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many more I clipped
by standing on the wooden structure, beginning with those to the side and then
to those in front, some of which were further out, but still very much in the
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The play gym had not been used in a
long time and had weathered many of our region’s harsh winters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should have checked the stability of the
wooden 2 x 4 beam, nailed into the wooden beams to my side, before I leaned
against it to cut these further out branches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The wooden beam gave way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m
going to fall,” I thought. “It’s okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve dreamed many falls.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
entered the dream state and let go, then fell six feet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
next memory has me lying flat, face up, on the grass in our backyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remembered that my son was home and my
daughter was at work, so I screamed his name, and kept screaming, but neither
he nor any of neighbors heard me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do I
have my phone?” I wondered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reaching for
it in my back pocket was a strain, but it was there!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With much strength, I pulled it out and
clicked Contacts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thank goodness he’s
an ‘A,’” I thought as I scrolled for my son’s name and clicked the call button.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After
that, including the call itself, I remember very little until I found myself in
the ER.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My other clear memory of events
was seeing my daughter next to me, driving our car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My son was in the back seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that brief moment, I knew she was driving
us – me -- to the hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">The following morning,
back at home with both of my hands and arms bandaged (later to receive
orthopedic casts), my son told me why I knew: he had told me many times his
sister was coming home, “and then we’re taking you to the hospital.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was at work and had the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had called her to come home and informed
me of this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also told me what else he
had done: how he had lifted me up at my armpits from my fallen state, walked me
to our patio swing, got me some pillows and water, brought me inside to my own
bed, propped me up there, and kept talking to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once my daughter was home, they both helped
me to the car, and my son buckled me in while saying, “We’re taking you to the
hospital.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">I didn’t remember
any of these events, and I thanked him for handling my rescue and my care so well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also told him I was astonished by the text
thread on my phone, used by him <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to share
the news of my fall and give updates to his dad (my recent former husband), my
mom, and my two best friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My phone
recorded details of what had transpired, complete with time stamps: my entrance
into the ER, my tetanus shot, the doctors’ concerns, my CT scan, my x-rays, the
report of my CT scan as normal, and my responses along the way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t remember any of that until I was
wheeled in for x-rays,” I told my son, shaking my head. Then I smiled. “I most remember learning the good news that my CT scan came out normal.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">I then shared with
him the misty memories I had just after the fall, not only calling him, but
also the interaction about it -- that I had asked him if I had called him, that
he said I did, that I said that was smart of me, and that he replied it was
very smart of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My son laughed and
said that interaction was “a broken record,” something I had asked many times,
always the same way, always with the same replies from him, and always with the
same reply from me, something he now found charming and amusing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
chuckled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I really thought I was
dreaming.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
know,” he interrupted with another chuckle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“You kept saying, ‘I dreamed . . .’ and I kept saying, ‘You might have
dreamed it, but you also did it.’”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Another
broken record,” he said, laughing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
joined him in laughter and praised him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had
he complained that my repetitive question had already been answered, he might
have thrown out me of a state of mind that was protecting me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
seemed to calm you,” he replied, “so I kept doing what seemed to be working.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said he didn’t mind my repetitions as long
as I was speaking and awake, but it was worrisome, and the doctors were
concerned about a brain injury.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My own
sense was a very dim perception of a possible concussion overlaid with the
continued sense that I was dreaming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although I lost memory of most of the actual events, I shared with my
son what I remember of my thoughts, that part that thought I was dreaming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I call my “whispers of mystery” were
coaching me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>You’ve injured
yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stay alert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep talking</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talking took enormous energy, and I was too
delirious to say anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My whispers
kept encouraging me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Keep talking.
What do you remember?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My strength
was waning, but I continued to comply, succeeding only in a couple of broken
records.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But importantly, with my son’s
loving replies, I succeeded in what most mattered: staying enough awake to maintain
consciousness. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
wasn’t until I was informed of the good news from the CT scan that my thoughts
became clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By that time, my daughter
was with me in the ER.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Due to COVID
protocols, the hospital permitted only one guest in the patient’s room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my dim memories in the ER was asking
the nurse if my daughter could come in too and hearing her apologize that only
one guest was allowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I understood, but
was sad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I heard my daughter on the
other side of the wall say, “But I can hear you, Mom.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That comforted me; I told her I love her, and
heard her say the same to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could
breathe better having heard her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then,
while I was away for the CT scan and the x-rays, my kids switched places.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was wheeled back into my room, I saw
my daughter sitting there, another moment I remember, still with dim
dreaminess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was happy to see her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t recall what she and I talked about, nor
how long we waited for the health care workers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I do remember the moment the nurse shared the news that no damage to
my head was shown on my CT scan. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
whispers returned. <i>You can relax now</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The nurse checked my vitals, left the room, and I took in a very deep
breath of relief. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I can relax
now.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">“Did they tell you
that?” my daughter asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew my
daughter’s pronoun “they” referred not to my whispers, but to the health care
workers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I respond?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doctor then arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Maybe he can tell us."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doctor reported the test results: I had
shown symptoms of a concussion, but the CT scan showed no physical evidence of
one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But you broke both of your wrists.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t yet ready to take in what that might
mean and thought, “At least I still have my head.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">We didn’t ask him
whether I could now relax, but I knew I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ironically, that was also the moment when my need to strive so hard ceased.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found myself awake, no longer in the
dream-state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I needed to hear that
my head was fine before I could fully wake up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">The dream state protected
me in ways that chill me to consider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
had fallen six feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I broke both of my
wrists and injured my right hand, but I broke nothing in my legs, nor my feet,
nor my back, nor my neck, nor my head. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Miraculously, I walked in and out of the
hospital, never needing a wheel chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
had limped my body into a dream state, lightening the force of my fall.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">In dream mode, I had
let go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in a season of letting go:
letting go of my husband through the official end of our marriage four and a
half months earlier, letting go of my kids off to college, letting go of my
teaching career through early retirement the prior year. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, instantly, I would be called upon to let
go of much more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was entering a time
in my life without the use of my two hands, about to learn what it literally
means to “let go.”</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">Continue to <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2023/03/letting-go-part-2-life-without-hands.html" target="_blank">Letting Go, Part 2: Life without Hands</a></span></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-2274249358207959712022-12-21T14:49:00.005-08:002023-06-25T20:45:31.129-07:00Winter Solstice 2022<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) -->
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<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"> The longest
night of the year. The least
daylight. And this day does feel bitter
cold. In my town, temperatures are
forecast to reach down to -5˚F. Our
freezing temperatures are matched across the country, with freezing and blizzard
conditions coast-to-coast. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Today is
also the day for my Winter Solstice message, now the third in an annual tradition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had begun
journaling and brainstorming ideas for this message in November, mostly
the lessons I had been learning while paralyzed from doing not much at all,
braced in both arms from a six-foot fall in August that broke both of my wrists
and injured my right hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My message,
with more specifics and less metaphor, was to mimic my poem, <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/11/quietest-before-dawn.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Quietest before the Dawn</span></a>, posted on
November 30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the day I posted it, I
really felt that I was arriving at the “dawn,” and feeling its hope. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Two days
later – yes, only two days – a significant calamity hit, one that impacts many,
and me especially.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought the dawn
was here, but it is not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Winter is here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So is <a href="http://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/01/hibernation.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Hibernation</span></a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began the year in hibernation (see <a href="http://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/01/hibernation.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">post here</span></a>), and I end the year in
hibernation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank goodness I’ve been
learning the beauty of hibernation.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It seems
that we collectively may also be in a season of hibernation, begun in March of
2020 to “stay at home” and now in nationwide snow, ice, freezing temperatures,
and winter storms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I reflect back on my
first <a href="http://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/12/todaywe-live-out-longest-night-of.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Winter Solstice message of 2020</span></a>, when I
cited the Prophet Daniel envisioning a future time of people running to and fro
and knowledge increasing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daniel was so
overwhelmed by this vision, he laid dormant on the floor for three days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over these past few years, I have been
learning much about the need to slow down, to cease running to and fro, to stay
at home, to rest, to hibernate, and to take one day at a time. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At this
moment, when I am feeling the cold and the dark, I lack the words of hope in my
<a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/11/quietest-before-dawn.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Quietest post</span></a>, or my <a href="http://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/01/hibernation.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Hibernation</span></a> post, or my <a href="http://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/12/todaywe-live-out-longest-night-of.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Winter Solstice 2020</span></a> message, but we humans
also need to learn to allow ourselves to enter into the darkness and to be
honest that we feel it, and that it is hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Could it be that I keep entering the darkness because I try so hard to
hide that darkness exists and that it is hard?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If so, I admit today I feel the darkness, and it is hard. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In much
gratitude, however, I have been glimpsing mysteries of humanity and have grown
in ways that are precious and priceless and can never be taken from me,
<a href="https://biblehub.com/matthew/6-20.htm" target="_blank">“treasures in heaven where neither moth nor rust can destroy.”</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps in January, I will begin a
Hibernation or Winter or Quiet series that shares some of what I have
experienced and some of what I’ve learned. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"> For now,
whether you are feeling the warmth of the holiday or the cold of winter, I send
my own warmth and love to you for this long night, this holiday season, and
this coming year, and bless you to soak in Panadonix's amazing rendition from their Christmas CD of <span style="color: #2b00fe;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gdVjVtpr55M" target="_blank">The Sound of Silence</a>.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">See also:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><a href="http://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/11/quietest-before-dawn.html" target="_blank">Quietest before the Dawn</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><a href="http://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/01/hibernation.html" target="_blank">Hibernation</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><a href="http://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/12/todaywe-live-out-longest-night-of.html" target="_blank">Winter Solstice 2020</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;"><a href="http://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/12/winter-solstice-2021-what-year.html" target="_blank">Winter Solstice 2021</a></span></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-18427649005829535332022-11-30T10:11:00.002-08:002023-06-25T20:46:13.365-07:00Quietest before the Dawn<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) -->
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It's darkest before the dawn</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">we’ve heard<br />and know<br /> but don’t<br />or forget<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>Do we hear?<br />Do we know?<br />It’s also quietest
before the dawn<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>You no longer hear
the crickets<br />or the owls<br />or the bats<br />nor yet the birds<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>The only creatures
you might hear<br />but might not<br />because they are
moving<br />careful, cautious,
silent<br />are the fishermen<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>You see not<br />You hear not<br />You feel<br />your heart pounding<br />your spine tingling<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>The fishermen too?<br />Do they feel<br />their hearts pounding?<br />their spines tingling?<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>My uncle was a
sailor<br />sometimes a
fisherman<br />a reluctant one<br />resisting the early
rise<br />Sometimes, though,<br /> he dredged himself up<br />from
the warmth of his bed,<br />because, he said,<br />there’s nothing like
a sunrise<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>The fishermen know<br />They remember<br />Just before the
sunrise<br />comes the stillness
before the dawn,<br />a chilling<br />fearful<br />yet magical<br />moment<br />when all of Creation
is<br />Quietest before the
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<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-43320347576976343222022-10-25T14:15:00.006-07:002023-06-25T20:46:58.712-07:00Davie's Return, Part 2 (Conclusion to "Just like Eve")<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) -->
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<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <i style="font-family: georgia;">Dear readers, this is it, the final selection of </i><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">"</span></i><span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Just like Eve!"</span><i style="font-family: Oxygen;"> </i></span><i style="font-family: georgia;"> If you are joining us now, you could start at </i><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/04/big-news-after-four-years-of-putting-my.html" style="font-family: georgia;" target="_blank"><i>the beginning</i></a><i style="font-family: georgia;">, begin with Jasmine’s </i><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-inner-feminine-life-giver-life.html" style="font-family: georgia;" target="_blank"><i>most recent discoveries</i></a><span class="MsoHyperlink" style="font-family: georgia;"><i> </i></span><i style="font-family: georgia;">or with </i><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/07/jasmines-serve.html" style="font-family: georgia;" target="_blank"><i>Jasmine’s serve</i></a><i style="font-family: georgia;">. For Davie’s processing, see his conversations with his mentor </i><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/11/they-lied.html" style="font-family: georgia;" target="_blank"><i>here</i></a><i style="font-family: georgia;">, </i><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/04/thats-lot-on-your-plate.html" style="font-family: georgia;" target="_blank"><i>here</i></a><i style="font-family: georgia;">, and </i><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/11/" style="font-family: georgia;" target="_blank"><i>here</i></a><i style="font-family: georgia;">. For Jasmine’s, see especially her later insights </i><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-inner-feminine-life-giver-life.html" style="font-family: georgia;" target="_blank"><i>here</i></a><i style="font-family: georgia;"> and </i><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/08/a-truly-new-new.html" style="font-family: georgia;" target="_blank"><i>here</i></a><i style="font-family: georgia;">.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>Storyline: "Just like Eve" </i></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>follows the forbidden love story and the spiritual quest of married heroine Jasmine, ordered out of her church for a kiss with the youth pastor, Davie, also married. Jasmine and Davie both contend with their unfitting marriages, their forbidden love, the rules of the church, and the conventions of marriage and divorce. Meanwhile, for the kiss, Jasmine is accused again of being “just like Eve,” a phrase she heard at eleven for asking why Noah let God drown the world. </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>She's prompted to investigate the figure of Eve from its original Hebrew text and discovers not only that Eve is seeking wisdom (to be admired), but also that the Hebrew word for serpent is linguistically tied to the word for messiah, and that the Hebrew word </i>ezer<i>, translated as “helper” for the woman, is closer to “life-saver,” a play on words for Eve (</i>havah<i>) which means “life-giver." She first notes even the plain text in English presents Eve as cursed not only with child-birth, but also to “desire her man” who "will rule over her.” Unwittingly, Jasmine turns Augustine’s interpretation of Eve, still widely accepted today, on its head, liberating Eve, herself, and women from "centuries of misunderstanding."</i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">September 27, 2012, Glendale Racquet Club, Colorado Springs, CO</span></i></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 24px;"><i><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><a href="http://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/09/davies-return-part-1.html" target="_blank">Davie’s Return, Part 1 conclusion</a>:<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Kristina is now on Jasmine’s side of the net, muttering, “Speak of the devil.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>How is Kristina standing here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Didn’t I just see her on the other side of the net, about to flip her racquet?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine had not realized how deep in thought she had been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, sorry, I guess I shouldn’t say ‘devil,’” Kristina chuckled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">BD, in a voice bold, deep, and victorious, snaps Jasmine out of her trance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"It looks like we no longer have a perfect eight!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Jasmine sees her partner glancing over to the corner of the furthest away back court, raising his arm high with a thumbs up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">A surprise is leaning against the wall, with one foot crossed over the other leg, the casual stance of a figure who belongs right where he is.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Davie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><i>And now, for the final conclusion of </i>Just like Eve<i>, Davie’s Return, Part 2:</i> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Davie is four tennis courts away, but to Jasmine, he feels so close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They haven’t seen each other in seven months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2019/09/18-love-30-part-4.html">their kiss</a>, the church elders sent her out of church and told him, their youth pastor, to quit their tennis group’s Mixed Doubles Night.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Davie returns BD's thumbs up, pushes himself away from the wall, and turns his head to Jasmine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her heart, flushing, feels like it’s doubling in size.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a slow pace, Davie begins to walk toward her; she matches his pace and meets him between the second and third courts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They stand together silent, breathing in rhythmic synchronicity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a warm smile, he hugs her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems she is right where she belongs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">In a quiet voice, Jasmine breaks their silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They finally let you go.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“I finally quit.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Davie’s voice is also quiet, but with conviction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Three weeks ago.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">The same time as her divorce?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">BD pats Davie on the shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s been a long time, Bro. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Partner with her.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stepping back, he says he’ll sit the first four games out.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“Let’s skip the racquet flip,” Kristina says, offering the serve to Davie and Jasmine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Davie shakes his head, says he hasn’t played in a while and asks them to serve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite his absence, Davie holds his serve, as do all the players.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re tied up 2-2, but with nine players, it’s time to rotate BD in.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“Where has Davie been?” Stephen asks once the players have all gathered with BD at the bench for a water break. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He turns to Davie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And what are you doing now?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“Where I’ve been is complicated,” Davie replies, but now he’s teaching high school PE and Health. The school is taking a chance on him, because he doesn’t have a teaching certificate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wanted someone more qualified, but no one came forth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was called in at the end of August and given a substitute until he was ready.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I started Monday.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“That’s a big change.” Jasmine’s smile indicates her pride.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Davie shifts his weight from his right foot to his left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has an even bigger change to reveal, but needs to build up to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve been learning a lot about myself,” he says, bowing his head, and whispering into Jasmine’s ear, “since <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2019/09/18-love-30-part-4.html">our kiss</a>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span>Jasmine blushes, but the other players don’t see the whisper or the blush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re calling out to Jaime, a tenth player walking onto the court, who BD invites to partner with him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Davie smiles and suggests to Jasmine they play singles. As they</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> walk onto a new court, Davie tells Jasmine he wanted so much to be “good” that, without realizing it, he let his family and then Pam make his life decisions. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Until all the pieces of my life started to fall apart.”</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Davie looks up to Jasmine, one of those pieces, and then bounces two balls to her.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“You serve first.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">She plays a powerful game, takes him to two deuces, but still loses her serve and doesn’t mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> How</span> appropriate on the day of his return, his return breaks her serve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s returned, and he's left his job, what might come next?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">At their water break, Davie pulls a sheet from his pocket and holds it up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My resignation letter.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He opens it and begins reading. “Jesus said spirituality is simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://biblehub.com/context/matthew/22-37.htm" target="_blank">Love God and your neighbor as yourself</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we pastors complicate it with rules and doctrines just like <a href="https://biblehub.com/luke/11-46.htm" target="_blank">the religious leaders Jesus condemned</a>.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“You’re the pastor people need,” Jasmine says quietly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And you’re leaving.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Davie casts his eyes down with sadness, then returns to his letter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But maybe what Jesus said is not that simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How ‘simple’ is it to love ‘God’ when you don't know who ‘God’ is?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And how can we love our neighbor before we’ve learned to love ourselves?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And can we love ourselves before we know ourselves?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“Most people don’t ask those questions.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Davie replies that’s something he really admires about Jasmine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s starting to, and said so in the letter, quoting a phrase he’s heard, “You can't know who you are until you find out who you are not.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“I’m starting to learn who I am not,” he reads. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am not a pastor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am the son of a pastor, who wanted me to carry on his occupation, one that involves preaching doctrines I don’t believe.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What don’t you believe?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">With a smile, Davie says he almost put that in but refrained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He doesn’t believe in Original Sin, in a God who kills, in hell, nor, looking up at Jasmine, he adds, “You’ll like this one, a ‘Rapture’ or people ‘Left Behind.’”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Jasmine laughs, recalling <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2019/07/16-love-30-part-2.html">their jokes of bumper stickers on Noah’s Ark</a>, satires on those like “If the Rapture comes tonight, where will you go?” or “In case of Rapture, this car will be de-manned.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They could be mad, but instead they take to humor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Davie quotes one of their satires: “If the Flood comes tonight, will you float or drown?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine holds her tummy, laughing as she did that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Davie chuckles with her, then returns to the end of his letter. “I could also list my grievances for injustices, but they no longer matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They led me to what does matter. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't know who I am and I need to find out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“That’s big.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m also starting to find out for myself,” Jasmine replies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Grievances?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“You. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kicking you out of church for our kiss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2019/09/18-love-30-part-4.html" target="_blank">I kissed you</a>, and <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/04/big-news-after-four-years-of-putting-my.html" target="_blank">they kicked you out</a>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘<a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/11/they-lied.html" target="_blank">What Would Jesus Really Do</a>?’ Not that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span>Jasmine blushes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Davie stuck up for her, even quit his job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Attired in the wonder woman shirt and skirt from their friends, it seems she’s wearing the wonder she feels. H</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">e places a ball into Jasmine’s palm, while touching the top of her hand beneath.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Time to play.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">This time, Jasmine holds her serve, perhaps because he lets her or perhaps because she doesn’t care whether she wins or loses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After seven months apart from Davie and now divorced -- barely, but divorced -- she most wants to hear more from him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Davie must feel it too, as he lingers with her at their next water break.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“I finally had to make my own choices,” Davie tells Jasmine, shifting into his bigger change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only did he let his parents decide his career for him, he also let Pam decide for him who he would date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In college, he wanted to date Pam’s friend Jenny, but since Pam was pursuing him, <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/11/they-lied.html" target="_blank">he found it easier to date Pam than ask Jenny out</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Shaking his head at his laziness, he admits he might have been hiding behind his rational exterior, <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/04/thats-lot-on-your-plate.html" target="_blank">not yet aware of what he really felt or longed for in a wife</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looks upward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Did you know that Greek has multiple words for the English word ‘love.’”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Jasmine nods. Her eyes are inquisitive over his change of subject.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Davie says he finds it ironic the New Testament was written in Greek, but its many words for the concepts of love all get translated into a single word in English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Greek has a word for unconditional love like a parent for a child.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“<i>Agape,”</i> Jasmine smiles.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“Right.” Davie beams, unsurprised she’s aware of these Greek words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And one for friendship.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“<i>Phileo.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And one for affection.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“<i>Eros</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Davie nods, smiling. “You can will yourself to <i>agape</i> or <i>phileo</i> love anyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you can’t will yourself into or out of <i>eros.</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">The church wouldn’t like this perspective, Jasmine thinks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too inconvenient. But true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“Affection comes to you,” Davie continues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You don’t ask for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can’t will it to come, and you can’t will it to leave.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Even more inconvenient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine chuckles to herself that Davie thinks at odds too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe that’s what “thinking at odds” really is: thinking what’s inconvenient, but true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or at least valid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People don’t like what’s inconvenient, but if they can’t offer a defense, they’ll either ignore you or mock you.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Jasmine asks if he’s shared any of this with the church leaders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has, but they confuse affection with lust because sexual desire is usually intertwined with it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But lust is fleeting,” he adds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If affection stands the test of time, you can’t call it lust.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span>Jasmine coaches her quick-pumping heart to slow down. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Their bond has</span> withstood the test of time. “Lust is superficial,” she says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Affection is real.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> H</span></span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">is eyes on her suggest he agrees, but for the church to believe it would be a tall order.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“I willed myself to love Pam unconditionally and in friendship.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Davie pauses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But I can’t will myself to love her in affection.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">This conversation is getting heavier, Jasmine thinks and asks whether Davie would like to head to The Alley, Glendale’s sports bar, early.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He smiles, nods, and calls out to the other players to meet later at The Alley, where he and Jasmine are now heading. T</span><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">hey walk up the stairs in silence, find a booth, and thank the server for the water she brings them.</span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Jasmine takes a sip and asks how Pam feels.</span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Davie takes a deep breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He finally mustered the courage to tell his wife how he had let her lead him into marriage, despite what his heart had most longed for, and to hear this was very hard on her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She feels all three of the Greek forms of love for the man she thought she married.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“Thought she married?” Jasmine wants to be sure she heard that right.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">She did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In marriage counseling, <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/11/" target="_blank">Pam came to discover the Davie she wanted was the one he was pretending to be, but not who he really is</a>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Davie pauses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She also doesn't want to be married to a man whose heart is with someone else.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span>Jasmine’s heart flutters. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Davie adds he can’t go backward and change his previous choices, but he can go forward now, especially before he has children. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“It’s time now to make my own choices.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“You need to choose for yourself,” Jasmine replies, connecting their stories, “and I need to think for myself.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She reminds him she was mocked for <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/08/thinking-at-odds.html" target="_blank">“thinking at odds,”</a> so she started letting her family, and then Tim, think for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mimicking Davie’s statement, she says “It’s time now to think on my own again.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“You don’t think like the church,” Davie smiles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s one reason why I love you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Jasmine’s heart stops.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“Jazzie, BD hinted to me that you and Tim may be splitting up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to interfere with your marriage or wherever you are in your process, but if you ever become available—”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Jasmine lifts up her left hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her ring finger is bare.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Davie lifts his too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His fingers are also bare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He takes her left hand into his, clasps it, and gives Jasmine’s hand a gentle squeeze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine’s heart flushes hot.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Jasmine shares her own discoveries of her husband Tim like a rock, while she is more <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-inner-feminine-life-giver-life.html" target="_blank">likea ball rolling down the hill further away from him</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their marriage counselor had encouraged them to create a “<a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/08/a-truly-new-new.html" target="_blank">truly new new</a>,” but she came to realize Tim was an authentic rock, a good one, and she could never come into her own true self with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“With Tim, I’m stuck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With you, I thrive.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“With you, I thrive too,” Davie smiles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re willing to ask hard questions, to get mad at God when He’s not fair, and keep pressing until you find the answers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will put your life on the line to reach for that forbidden fruit: the knowledge of God.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Davie grins, “You’re just like Eve.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span>No one could have paid her a finer complement.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/09/davies-return-part-1.html" target="_blank"><b>Return to Davie's Return, Part 1</b></a></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-inner-feminine-life-giver-life.html" target="_blank"><b>Return to Jasmine's most recent discoveries</b></a></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/11/they-lied.html" target="_blank"><b>Follow Davie's story, starting here</b></a> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></o:p></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">© 2022 by Karina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All rights reserved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please use with permission and/or a link to this blog post.</span></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-47149140249295801082022-09-30T13:11:00.007-07:002023-06-25T20:47:55.781-07:00Davie's Return, Part 1<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) -->
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<p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><i>Dear readers, welcome to the conclusion of </i>Just like Eve <i>(the first of the two-part conclusion). If you are joining this series now, you can <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/introducing-just-like-eve-karinas.html" target="_blank">read an overview</a>, or <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/04/big-news-after-four-years-of-putting-my.html" target="_blank">start at the beginning</a>, or at <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-inner-feminine-life-giver-life.html" target="_blank">Jasmine's recent discoveries with her friends</a>, or if you'd like to read the story from Davie's point of view, you can start with <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/11/they-lied.html" target="_blank">the first of Davie's three selections</a> and follow the links for Davie's portions from there.</i></span></p><p><i style="font-family: Oxygen;">September 27, 2012, Glendale Racquet Club, Colorado
Springs, CO</i><span style="font-family: Oxygen; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">"Jazzy
in that new skirt, Jazzie!" Gabbie winks at Jasmine, as she enters the
yoga room at Glendale Racquet Club where the friends warm up before their mixed
doubles tennis.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">"Jazzier
than I felt last week," Jasmine winks back with a chuckle to Gabbie and
Kristina, the two masterminds of the previous week’s surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only are these friends Jasmine and Mindy’s
favorite opponents for women’s doubles, but they also play Mixed Doubles Night,
where they are now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gabbie and Kristina
had been rooting Jasmine on to independence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Today, she is three weeks single.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s her term.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others call her
divorced. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">After
playing mixed doubles last week, the friends made their way, as usual, up the
stairs to Glendale's sports bar, The Alley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Located above the office and the restrooms, the Alley provides booths to
the left, tables in the center, the bar with its barstools to the right, and
three large screen TVs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Jasmine
entered The Alley, she found the center tables pulled together into the full,
long one set up for the Mixed Doubles Night players, as usual, but the table
was not set as usual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the center were
a bouquet of tulips and gold balloons floating above of the flowers, along with
a single balloon in black.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Staring at
them, especially the black one, Jasmine wondered what the special occasion was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Seeing
Jasmine’s confusion, Kristina put her hand on Jasmine’s arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Gold for power and black because it’s also
okay to be sad.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><i><span style="line-height: 150%;">Gold
for power?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whose power?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i><span style="line-height: 150%;">Jasmine wondered
whether any of their favored tennis players was known for the color of gold,
and if a tennis tournament was happening that she wasn’t aware of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or could the many gold balloons represent hope
for a win and a single black one represent acceptance over a loss?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Looking
for clues, Jasmine glanced over to the big screen TVs set to ESPN, but they were
showing two lively commentators in big earphones and quick cuts to baseball
replays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine whispered to Mindy, who
chuckled and announced to everyone that Jasmine wanted to know if the balloons
were for a tennis tournament.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Did
Mindy have to blurt that out</i>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">"No
Girl!" Gabbie grinned, "This is your divorce party!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><i><span style="line-height: 150%;">Divorce
party? Do people do that?</span></i><span style="line-height: 150%;"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other than her tennis friends, everyone has
responded to Jasmine’s news with either sympathy or judgment, all supposing she
must be grieved over a “failed” marriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Jasmine doesn’t see it that way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
learned much from her marriage, still cares about Tim, and knows she made the
right choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, her emotions run
through a mixture of grief from the past and joy for the future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her grief is less for what people think -- the
loss of Tim -- and more for the years she let her family and then her husband
draw her away from what matters most: her own compassionate and intuitive nature
that </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/08/thinking-at-odds.html"><span style="line-height: 150%;">thinks
at odds</span></a><span style="line-height: 150%;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">As
Kristina handed Jasmine a gift bag, also in gold, Jasmine looked inquisitively over
to her best friend Mindy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">"I'll
be surprised as you,” Mindy chuckled, shaking her head. “I just got you a card."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Jasmine
pulled out a gold headband crown with a red star, a red sleeveless athletic shirt,
a navy blue tennis skirt, and tennis ball band for her waist, in gold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>How did they find a ball band in gold? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Smiling in pride, Kristina lifted a piece
of the gold ribbon she sewed on to the ball band.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"See, all you'll need to do is take a
seam ripper to the ribbon, and you've got a new tennis band."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">With
a hearty nod, Jasmine promised she would, and lifted the clothes up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Wonder Woman?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Wonder
Woman with a <i>real </i>shirt, a <i>real</i> skirt, and <i>not</i> a bathing
suit,” Gabbie winked. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“And
no stars on the skirt!” Kristina laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Or
gold cups for your boobs!” Gabbie exclaimed, adding that they were keeping Jasmine
in the 21<sup>st</sup> century: classy, not a sex object.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Still,
with the crown and ball band in gold, Jasmine felt sheepish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She'll have to pass that booth of racquetball
guys, while wearing a crown and a ball band in the conspicuous color of gold?
Her friends say gold represents her power, but Jasmine has spent years in
hiding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mocked for thinking at odds,
she’s learned silence and modesty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was
she ready to emerge as a Wonder Woman in gold?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Seeing
her friend’s hesitation, Mindy shared with Jasmine what she most admires about
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You are a woman filled with
wonder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now spin yourself into Wonder
Woman!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mindy is blessed with a mouth so
full she still has her wisdom teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
could Jasmine resist a smile that fills her best friend’s whole face?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or a gift so clever?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taking a deep breath, Jasmine coached herself
into power. <i>You can do this, Jasmine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Step into your power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do as Lynda
Carter: transform yourself from ordinary to powerful. Spin yourself into Wonder
Woman!</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">While
walking down the stairs to the restroom to dawn her new attire, Jasmine also reflected
on her friends’ sensitivity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since her
family and most of her other friends thought she should have only one emotion –
grief -- she had wondered whether her tennis friends would also think she
should have only one emotion -- joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
these friends had included a black balloon, told her it was okay to be sad, and
still helped her celebrate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They not
only let her think at odds, they also let her feel at odds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Now, a week later,
Jasmine is grateful to be wearing the new tennis skirt, athletic shirt, ball
band in its proper color of black, and nothing in gold. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s proud of her new power, but she also
likes another truth of Wonder Woman: the ability to step back into normal life
as a normal woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All superheroes are
like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the time, they blend
into ordinary life, appearing as no one special, and Jasmine realizes they
probably like it that way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She does too.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Jasmine finishes
stretching and joins the others now milling in a circle at the center of the
yoga room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Steve glances at his watch,
casts his eyes around the circle, counting the players, and announces, “It's
perfectly seven and we have a perfect eight” – so perfectly Steve, in his
steel-rimmed glasses, who spends his days crunching numbers as an
accountant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he adds, “even a
perfect four mixed doubles teams.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">BD
extends his arm toward Jasmine, palm up, offering himself as her partner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had never been so chivalrous before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine is honored, but curious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’ve been regularly partnering together at
Mixed Doubles Night for seven months, ever since youth pastor Davie was told by
his church to quit coming after his kiss with Jasmine. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BD is Davie’s best friend, in spite of and
probably because of, BD’s differences from everyone else Davie had grown up
with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The oldest son of a pastor of a
white, conservative, evangelical church, Davie had been groomed into the
pastorate himself and the culture that accompanies it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tennis had been Davie’s escape, the one place
where he could hit hard his strokes and slam dunk his overheads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In time, with BD’s help, he even learned how
to curse, swear, and spit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BD, African
American, is a baseball player first, tennis player second, and it was at his
first sport where he had learned how to spit really good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now, enjoying himself so much at Mixed
Doubles Night, he sometimes teases that he <i>might</i> make tennis his primary
sport, if everyone else learns how to spit <i>and</i> they buy him enough beers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">The
week after Davie’s departure, BD told Jasmine about Davie’s request that BD
step in as Jasmine’s new mixed doubles partner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He said he had promised Davie he would, if she also agreed to it, and added
his reply over the church’s order that Davie quit coming: "You church
people are cracked up!" <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine was
charmed by BD’s "cracked up" assessment, appreciated Davie’s attempt
to look out for her, and took in her new mixed doubles partner gladly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“You’re
still Wonder Woman,” BD said to Jasmine as she accepted his palm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You serve first.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BD usually served first, and usually at
Jasmine’s request.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If their Mixed
Doubles group had been competitive, BD would always serve first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The server has the advantage, and that’s why
players flip their racquets before play to decide on the serve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your goal is to “hold” your serve and “break”
your opponent’s. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In competitive mixed
doubles, the female needs to be a wonder woman because the opponents are
working hard to keep the ball away from her partner that she has her work cut
out for her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a tight set, the first
server in doubles will serve twice, and the second server once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the physically stronger male partner serves
first, he can more easily put those opponents on defense and hold his two
serves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Glendale’s Mixed Doubles
Night is casual and doesn’t carry this competitive edge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All players serve first sometimes, including
Jasmine, but she’s modest and usually gives the first serve to her partner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tonight, BD insists, and she agrees.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">But
first, the two of them, and their opponents, Steve and Kristina, need to meet
at the net to flip their racquets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
they are walking toward the net, Jasmine wishes it was Davie by her side, feels
her heart flush hot for him, and reflects on the journal she wrote on </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/02/the-five-stages-of-grief-in-forbidden.html"><span style="line-height: 150%;">forbidden
love</span></a><span style="line-height: 150%;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Has she reached "acceptance?" <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If she has, "acceptance" looks quite
different than what she had anticipated. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not about "getting over" a
forbidden love -- she will always love Davie -- it’s about embracing the love
within herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now that Davie has shown
her how loveable she is and how much she can delight in thinking at odds,
Jasmine has found a joy and a love within herself even in Davie’s absence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She still longs for him, still loves him and
always will, but she has landed upon an “acceptance” that feels unlike anything
she had expected. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Like
her attire from ordinary to wonder woman, Jasmine’s longing has also been
transformed. She no longer longs as an ordinary woman who needs, but as a woman
of wonder who surrenders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through the
test of forbidden love, where love cannot control, where love must release
every day, Jasmine has discovered a love without attachment, a love capable of
letting go, a love that surrenders, filled with wonder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">It's
a love like that poster at Gabbie’s apartment, the one that shows a strong horse
in deep brown with a mane blowing in the wind, galloping through a field on a
bright blue day, that says, “If you love something, let it go. If it comes
back, it is yours.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The type of love
depicted in that poster is considered by many to be the hardest type of
love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, Jasmine muses, isn't there a
love that is even harder? What if the something you love you never had to begin
with?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if you have to release every
day what you never had but could?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t
people say, “It's better to love and lose than to never love at all”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that case, wouldn’t the love that releases
something it could have but doesn’t be an even harder form of love?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Gazing
ahead, as if in a trance, Jasmine confirms to herself that she has learned the
hardest type of love, and it is this love that has brought her into the deepest
type, the love within herself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Kristina
is now standing next to Jasmine on Jasmine’s side of the net, muttering, “Speak
of the devil.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>How is Kristina standing
here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Didn’t I just see her on the other
side of the net, about to flip her racquet?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Jasmine had not realized how deep in thought she had been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, sorry, I guess I shouldn’t say ‘devil,’”
Kristina chuckled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">BD,
in a voice bold, deep, and victorious, fully breaks Jasmine’s trance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"It looks like we no longer have a
perfect eight!" <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Jasmine
sees her partner glancing over to the corner of the furthest away back court,
raising his arm high with a thumbs up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">A
surprise is leaning against the wall, with one foot crossed over the other leg,
the casual stance of a figure who belongs right where he is.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Davie.</span><span face="Eras Medium ITC, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="text-indent: 0px;">© 2022 by Karina.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0px;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0px;">All rights reserved.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0px;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0px;">Please use only with permission and/or a link to this blog.</span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/10/davies-return-part-2-conclusion-to-just.html" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;" target="_blank">Continue to Davie's Return, Part 2</a></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/04/big-news-after-four-years-of-putting-my.html" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;" target="_blank"><span>Start at the beginning: Why did Noah let God drown the World?</span></a><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-inner-feminine-life-giver-life.html" style="font-family: arial; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;" target="_blank">Start at Jasmine's most recent discoveries</a></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-inner-feminine-life-giver-life.html" target="_blank">Start the story from Davie's point of view</a></span></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-15553874948652426182022-08-25T17:08:00.016-07:002023-06-25T20:48:50.965-07:00Jasmine's Journal: Liberating Eve<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) -->
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<p class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><i style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;">Dear friends and readers, the concluding selections to </i><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;">Just like Eve</span><i style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"> are now back. If you are new to this series, you can get <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/introducing-just-like-eve-karinas.html" target="_blank">an overview here</a>, or <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/04/big-news-after-four-years-of-putting-my.html" target="_blank">start at the beginning</a>, or <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-inner-feminine-life-giver-life.html" target="_blank">start at the recent set of selections between Jasmine and her friends</a> for her most recent discoveries. </i></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><i style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><i>Colorado Springs, CO, August 5, 2012</i></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><i><span>“The wise or
knowing nature” of the “healthy woman” </span></i><span>is </span></span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">to speak and
act on one’s behalf, to be aware, alert, to draw on the innate feminine powers
of intuition and sensing, to come into one’s cycles, to find what one belongs
to, to rise with dignity, to retain as much consciousness as possible.”</span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">(Clarissa Pinkola Estés, <i>Women who Run with
the Wolves</i>, p. 10)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 150%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">"To retain as much consciousness as possible. Jasmine records the final phrase a second time into her journal, after quoting </span><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">Estés’ classic, recommended to her by Gabbie.</span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“To
retain consciousness or gain it back?” Jasmine writes into her journal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Didn’t I have consciousness and then lost
it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was chided for ‘thinking at
odds’?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine lifts her pencil and
wonders whether “retaining consciousness” means triumphing over
conditioning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Perhaps
a very few brave or lucky children never lose it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Jasmine wasn’t among them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the years of her adolescence, chided for
thinking at odds, or seeing eyes roll over for her questions and insights, or
scolded for being just like Eve, little by little Jasmine permitted herself to
be conditioned into silence. At first, it wasn't silence but delayed speaking,
carefully considering her words and delaying her insights. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She still saw heads shaking and shoulders
shrugging and eyes rolling, and she trained herself into silence. In time the
silence of her mouth also grew into silence of her mind. She coached herself to
quit thinking at odds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">In
college, away from her family, Jasmine began to think at odds again, and sometimes,
she made the error of speaking her thinking. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remarkably, among some of her college friends,
that was okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She could speak her mind.
But perhaps their encouragement gave her too much confidence and she forgot,
and spoke her mind again at home or at church, and this time, the chiding
turned to scolding. She's a young adult. Shouldn't she know better by now what
she can and cannot say?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">So
Jasmine rebuked herself, vowing to think at evens, yet unsure how she could
learn such a trick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she met Tim,
the archer, who was very good at thinking at evens, and he liked her too, and
his body felt delicious as he stood right behind her, touching his whole body to
hers, teaching her to position every limb and every part of her body for
perfect aim. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With him, she could shoot
that arrow straight into the bullseye. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With
him, perhaps she could also think at evens.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">And
now the very quality that drew her in is sending her away. Tim may have
succeeded for a time to help Jasmine think at evens, but such an target, that
he didn't even know he’d been given, and nor did she for that matter, carried
with it a deadly side effect: the loss of Jasmine's own wise and compassionate
consciousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Then
Davie came along -- after Jasmine had already married Tim, and after Davie had
already married Pam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Davie helped
Jasmine recover her own consciousness, her thinking at odds that he loved. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Davie’s celebrated her thinking, Jasmine
could see the loss of her consciousness began with her inquisitive and
compassionate spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had wished to
know <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/04/big-news-after-four-years-of-putting-my.html" target="_blank">why Noah let God drown the world</a>: a question of compassion, for which she
had been scorned, called “just like Eve.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">She
and the church, Jasmine has come to realize, have differed on their fundamental
value system. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The church values
obedience at all costs to the authority it believes in, while Jasmine has valued
compassion and has questioned the value of obedience without it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of the church, however, she remains
perplexed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the churches truly believe
in “obedience,” would they not wish to obey their master?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Wasn’t it Jesus who said, </span><a href="https://biblehub.com/luke/11-9.htm" target="_blank"><span style="line-height: 150%;">‘Ask, seek, and
knock’</span></a><span style="line-height: 150%;">? And didn’t the writer of Hebrews call for us </span><a href="https://biblehub.com/hebrews/5-14.htm" target="_blank"><span style="line-height: 150%;">to discern between
good and evil</span></a><span style="line-height: 150%;">?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“Isn’t
<i>Elohim,</i> who forbids such knowledge, inconsistent with them?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine has already learned the character
called ‘God’ is <i>Elohim</i> in Hebrew, with its feminine root, “power” and
its masculine plural to translate, essentially, to feminine and masculine
“powers.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again thinking at odds,
Jasmine makes a radical break from her tradition and reads this figure as a
simple character in a simple story whose name is <i>Elohim</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Their
own church, terrified by the attraction between Jasmine and Davie (Pastor David),
sent Jasmine out of church and ordered Davie to quit attending their Mixed
Doubles group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now that Jasmine is out
of church, she figures they think however they do; they can think <i>Elohim</i>
is “God” and stay blind to the inconsistency of this character with the one
Jesus calls “Father,” who encourages questions and compassion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">For
Davie Jasmine longs every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her
divorce with Tim is almost final. She prays Davie returns to their tennis group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But even if he does not, and even if he stays
with Pam, Davie has given Jasmine a priceless gift: he has given her the key
that opens the door to redeem her consciousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And now Clarissa Pinkola Estes is walking
with Jasmine through that door, confirming to her that she has found the right
place, and that many have gone before her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Through
myths and legends, Estés relays the stories of the feminine version of the
hero’s journey, and Jasmine decides to read Eve’s story the way Estés reads the
stories she relates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The myth most like
Eve’s is called “Bluebeard,” after the groom who woos the youngest of three
sisters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon after they wed, he departs
for a trip, hands her a set of keys, and tells her she can use all but one, which,
of course, is the one she most wishes to use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When her sisters come to visit, they make that their mission: find the
door that uses this key. When they finally succeed, they find a room full of
corpses: Bluebeard’s ex-wives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the
help of her two sisters and their three brothers, the young bride’s next task
is to escape before he kills her too, and she succeeds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="line-height: 150%;">“’Bluebeard
forbids the young woman to use the one key that would bring her to consciousness’</span></i><span style="line-height: 150%;">
(Estés, p. 47).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isn’t that what <i>Elohim</i>
did?” Jasmine asks into her journal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Forbid Adam and Eve not only from knowledge, but also from something
Eve perceived would come that is far more valuable?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><a href="https://biblehub.com/genesis/3-6.htm" target="_blank"><i><span style="line-height: 150%;">Wisdom</span></i></a><span style="line-height: 150%;">?
When I read the story of Eve in its plain text, its message is clear, but
disturbing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But only if we think the
figure who forbids is ‘God.’”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Jasmine
smiles at Estés’ analysis of Bluebeard, who looks very much like <i>Elohim</i>,
both of whom forbid consciousness: “<i>If she attempts to obey Bluebeard’s
command not to use the key, she chooses death for her spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By choosing to open the door to the ghastly
secret room, she chooses life </i>(p. 47).” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“She chooses
life.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another final phrase gets written
twice into Jasmine’s journal, first from the quote and second from herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is life also not what Eve chose?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Elohim</i> said eating of knowledge would
bring death, but wouldn’t both choices bring death?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either extermination or non-life in blindness,
lacking in wisdom?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Jasmine
sets down her pencil, reflecting that not only compassion, but also wisdom, are
values far higher for her than mere obedience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She beats to a deeper drum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She,
too, wants wisdom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So she asks
questions. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Starting to feel vindicated,
Jasmine adds into her journal what Estés says about questions:<i> “Asking the
proper question is the central act of transformation—in fairy tales, in
analysis, and in individuation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The key
question causes germination of consciousness. . . . Questions are the keys that
cause the secret doors of the psyche to swing open” </i>(48).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“For
Eve, the question was prompted by the serpent, who told Eve <a href="https://biblehub.com/genesis/3-4.htm" target="_blank">she would not die</a> for eating
the fruit,” Jasmine writes into her journal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“He suggests Eve does <i>can </i>choose life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will come at a cost: her ‘<a href="https://biblehub.com/genesis/3-7.htm">eyes will be opened’</a> to her
vulnerable nakedness and to evil and to suffering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But she will also gain a real, authentic life
with wisdom.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Who
is this serpent in Hebrew? Jasmine wonders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’s already learned the Hebrew word translated as “God” is <i>Elohim</i>,
and the word translated as “helper” in Gen 2:18 is <i>ezer,</i> better
translated as “life saver,” and the word for Eve is <i>Havah</i>, or “life-giver,”
making Eve’s name and title a play on words that has been lost in translation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">To understand
the serpent in Hebrew, Jasmine knows she must turn to Jewish resources, and
from the Jewish mystics, she makes an astonishing discovery: the serpent, <i>nachash</i>
in Hebrew, shares an energetic affinity with messiah, <i>mashiach</i> in
Hebrew, in their system of gematria. In Hebrew, every letter is also a
number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scholars add up the letters of a
word to form a number, and words of the same number share an energetic
affinity. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Nachash</i> (Nun, 50 +
Chet, 8 + Shin 300 = 358) and <i>mashiach</i> (Mem 40 + Shin 300 + Yod 10 +
Chet 8 = 358) add up to the sa energy of 358.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“The
serpent carries the energy of the messiah?” writes Jasmine, stunned. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If any biblical figure is more demonized than
any other, it would be this serpent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
Jewish mystics connect this figure with messiah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thinking very at odds, Jasmine continues
journaling: “Like a liberator? I suppose so. He liberated her from the non-life
of blindness into an authentic life, one with both pleasure and pain, with joy
and suffering. For better or for worse, the serpent-messiah offered Eve a full,
authentic life.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Jasmine
wonders why this remarkable clue into the serpent as a messiah figure is not
well known.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then again, she remembers
even <a href="https://biblehub.com/genesis/3-16.htm" target="_blank">the second two curses to Eve</a>, written clearly in English, without errors of translation, are also
not well known.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">Perhaps
later Jasmine will also connect this <i>nechash</i> to </span><a href="https://biblehub.com/asv/numbers/21-8.htm" target="_blank"><span style="line-height: 150%;">the saving force
Moses calls upon for the Israelites in exile from Egypt</span></a><span style="line-height: 150%;">,
or to </span><a href="https://biblehub.com/john/3-14.htm" target="_blank"><span style="line-height: 150%;">the
one Jesus tells Nicodemus must be lifted up to enter the kingdom</span></a><span style="line-height: 150%;">,
or even to modern medicine’s familiar image of the caduceus with two snakes
wrapped around a pole, representing the kundalini energy that heals the body
and opens the mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But today, Jasmine is
early in her discoveries.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">It
will also be time before she learns that her quest, like that of Eve, is that
of the sages of all time, like the Norse god Odin, who sacrificed his eye for
all-seeing wisdom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nor does she know
that many who have gone before her have been persecuted. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those in power, perhaps not consciously
realizing it, are threatened when people start thinking for themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They might lose their positions of privilege
and authority.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hence, many of the texts
that liberate into consciousness have been lost, buried and burned, most
infamously in 48 BCE from the fire of the library in Alexandria. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, many of those retained, either
written or oral, have been carefully repackaged to undermine liberation and
embolden the authorities of the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But the mysteries can be unburied, as Jasmine has done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many scholars have interpreted the story of
Adam and Eve in many ways, almost all of which are far more rational than
Augustine’s, villanizing Eve, that still permeates Jasmine’s tradition. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">But
Jasmine need not examine those, for her journey has been for those like her:
raised into the paradigm of her religious tradition and its reverence for the
Bible and methods of reading it: literally, but consistent, and with a study of
the words and meanings in the original text.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hers is a simple quest: to see the ways this story interpreted as she's
been taught is not only internally inconsistent and harmful to wisdom, but even
relies on the mistranslations of its principle characters and concepts from its
original Hebrew text.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In essence, the
evangelical interpretation of the story of Adam and Eve violates the very rules
the same tradition teaches to read the Bible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Into
her journal entry, Jasmine concludes, “The church leaders might have intended
an insult when they called me ‘just like Eve,’ but now I see a woman who
bravely risks her life for something more valuable: wisdom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her ‘eyes were opened,’ and, therefore, she
suffered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truth is painful, and so is<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> w</span>isdom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don't see without a cost, but it is worth the cost to suffer <i>and</i> live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps Eve still should have done as
Abraham: challenge <i>Elohim</i> for a better deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But if her only two choices were existence in blindness or wisdom with
open eyes and suffering, Eve made the better choice, and I find her vindicated.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium; line-height: 150%;"><span>Jasmine
closes her journal, deeming herself also vindicated. No longer insulted by centuries of
misunderstanding, Jasmine is grateful to be just like Eve, to think at odds, to
be a ball rolling down a hill, and to beat to a deeper drum. Tim, her family, and her church can join a
marching band together and drum in obedient conformity, while she strums to her
own rhythm. A sly smile comes across her
face, one that can be seen only by others who also beat to their own drum.</span><span face="Eras Medium ITC, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/09/davies-return-part-1.html" target="_blank">Continue to Davie's Return, Part 1</a> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-inner-feminine-life-giver-life.html" target="_blank">Start at Jasmine's newest discoveries</a></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;">© 2022 by karina.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-spacerun: yes; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;">All rights reserved.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-spacerun: yes; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;">Please ask
for permission and/or link to this blog post.</span></span></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-71545322923837986312022-07-22T16:11:00.012-07:002023-06-25T20:49:39.287-07:00Jasmine's Serve<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) -->
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<p><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><i>Dear friends and readers, the concluding selections to </i>Just like Eve<i> are now back. If you are new to this series, you can get <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/introducing-just-like-eve-karinas.html" target="_blank">an overview here</a>, or <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/04/big-news-after-four-years-of-putting-my.html" target="_blank">start at the beginning</a>, or <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-inner-feminine-life-giver-life.html" target="_blank">start at the recent set of selections between Jasmine and her friends</a>, or click the hyperlinks within the text for the selections referred to. </i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><i>Saturday, June 30, 2012. Glendale Racquet Club, Colorado Springs, CO.</i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><i><o:p> </o:p></i><a name="_Hlk109395206"> “Tim
and I have made a decision.” Jasmine is bouncing a ball onto the court she’s
walking onto with her racquet. She and
her partner Mindy are switching court sides with their friends and opponents,
Kristin and Gabbie. It’s Jasmine’s
serve.</a> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109395206;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Mindy
smiles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She knows Jasmine’s news, but
their opponents, Kristin and Gabbie, are waiting in anticipation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could she be pregnant?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moving?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Splitting up?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109395206;"></span>
</span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">At the baseline, Jasmine adds that
she and Tim have been to seven marriage counseling sessions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She positions herself behind the baseline,
bounces the ball three times, says, “We’re getting a divorce,” bounces the ball
one more time, announces the score 5 to 4, tosses up the ball, and serves a
fast spin to Kristin’s backhand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kristin
can’t reach it with any part of her racquet. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An ace.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What?!”
Kristin shouts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You can’t say that and
then serve one of those!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mindy chuckles,
Gabbie smiles, and Kristin groans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can
she re-serve that point, Mindy?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You could
have returned that serve, Kristin?” Mindy catches the ball Gabbie has just
tossed back to her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Too good.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gabbie shakes her head. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Your point.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“All
right.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kristin relents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A round of daiquiris on me, Jasmine, if you
give us the full scoop at The Alley.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Perhaps
having thrown off her opponents, Jasmine serves a love game, winning the set
6-4.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kristin has no complaints, just
curiosity.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p><i>The Alley, Glendale’s sports bar</i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p> The friends find seats at their
favorite table at the back of the sports bar.
Kristin orders a round of drinks and turns to Jasmine. “A divorce?
Are you sure? How do you feel?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Relief, mostly.”
The sweat on Jasmine’s face after playing tennis seems to reflect her relief
after the uphill battle of her marriage. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Kristin enjoys
breaking rules in the religion that raised her but knows that’s not Jasmine’s
habit. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are there any more surprises? Kristin
asks, “even like you and Davie getting together?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I haven’t
seen him since February.” Jasmine reminds her friends that Davie is a youth
pastor, still married, has been ordered out of their mixed doubles group by Quail
Canyon Church, and she’s been ordered out of Quail Canyon altogether for <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2019/09/18-love-30-part-4.html" target="_blank">the kiss they shared</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’d say that adds up to .
. . probably not?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine looks at each
of her friends, hoping any of them might challenge her “probably not” reply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
each offer an ever-so-slight nod, more with their eyes than with their head. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How do you
feel about being single?” Gabbie asks.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“If I think
about it too much, I’m terrified.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Jasmine’s voice is now lower, slower, somber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when she doesn’t think about it, she
feels peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her chest isn’t tight and
her breathing comes easier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My body is
responding to my relief.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I get it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kristin replies quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jasmine can
see in Kristin’s eyes she really does understand, possibly in a way Jasmine has
never really understood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a way,
Kristin had “divorced” herself from her parents, rebelling against them when
she refused their plans to continue homeschooling her in middle school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kristin was so young.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She must have been terrified.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did she muster the courage?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Gabbie leans into the table and
asks Jasmine what she and Tim learned from marriage counseling.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“That we are two different souls on
two different paths who cannot forge a <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/08/a-truly-new-new.html" target="_blank">‘truly new new.’</a>” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">That’s their marriage counselor’s
term for couples with no glaring issues, hurts, or mistakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He says it’s unusual, but has seen it before,
and has created for a goal for such couples: to forge a “truly new new.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Cool.” Gabbie nods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Me too,” Jasmine nods with
Gabbie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not Tim.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 338.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Tim the Rock didn’t
want a ‘truly new new’”? Mindy smiles.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“I, the rolling ball, love it, and
he, the rock, hates it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine chuckles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She reminds her friends that she was drawn to
Tim’s rock-like nature and his archer qualities. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine’s friends all know that Tim’s training
to her in archery has given her an edge in tennis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s told the story often of how he wooed
her with archery, standing behind her so close their entire bodies touched, as
he trained her to position every part of her body to aim for perfect precision,
a skill she has transferred to her own sport of tennis.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“That straight-shooting archer can
hit a bulls-eye on anything. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As long as
you don’t make it too complicated for him,” Jasmine chuckles, “like trying to
create a ‘truly new new’.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But he stuck
with your marriage counselor?” Gabbie asks.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes,
because I liked him so much.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine honors
Tim’s willingness to accept a counselor she likes, even if he had to consider
creating something new.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It was my
mom who really wanted us to get a new counselor, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A Christian one.” Jasmine tells her friends
her mom reminded her of <a href="https://biblehub.com/matthew/19-6.htm" target="_blank">what Jesus said about divorce</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine smiles and moves in closer to her
friends to tell them how she replied. “’To the male religious leaders in the <i>first</i>
century, Mom?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You really think that’s
what he’d say to me?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine shakes her
head as she recalls the conversation and relays her mom’s reply that Jesus’
words were “timeless.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I said, ‘<i>Some</i>
of Jesus’ words were timeless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Some </i>of
his words were <i>cultural.</i>”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leaning
on her right arm on the table, Jasmine tells her friends what she said Jesus <i>did</i>
say that was timeless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <a href="https://biblehub.com/luke/5-37.htm" target="_blank"> </a></span><a href="https://biblehub.com/luke/5-37.htm" target="_blank">“No one can put
new wine into old wine skins.”</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Mindy is sitting fully back into
her chair with her arms are folded in front of her chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She smiles at Jasmine with a single soft
nod.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine can tell her singer-actress
friend is imitating Simon Cowell, with his classic look of “Well done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t think you could pull it off, but you
did.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still mimicking Simon Cowell, Mindy
moves forward into the table, rests her crossed arms onto the table, and looks
straight at Jasmine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is it actually
‘new wine’ if you’re returning to the person you’ve been all along?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“The true me,” Jasmine nods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She’s hard to find beneath all the layers of
what other people say I should be and what I should think.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Have you found her?” Kristin asks.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“I haven’t known her since I was in
the fifth grade.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine shakes her
head. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I let my family, my church, and
my community define who I am, and I married into <i>that</i> definition of me. <i>That’s</i>
who I call ‘old wine. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With each layer I
peel off, I find another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just as
Alice says of her Wonderland: ‘curious and curiouser’ this rabbit hole is.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Mindy nods, soft, quiet nods, all
Mindy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No more Simon Cowell. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A rabbit’s
hole is windy and unpredictable,” Jasmine continues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a game an archer won’t play.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“The rock archer probably doesn’t
play divorce either,” Gabbie says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What
made him decide he wants divorce too?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He heard
my heresies.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Heresies?”
Mindy scrunches her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
what he calls them.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine tells her
friends she decided to be no-holds-bar open with him and told him what she was
learning about Eve, women, the church, what she’s found the Bible to actually
say, and about God, even the sinister way God is portrayed in the Bible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I told him in fifth grade I wanted to know
<a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/04/big-news-after-four-years-of-putting-my.html" target="_blank">why Noah let God drown the world</a>, and that <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/09/eves-test.html#more" target="_blank">I gave Joshua got an ‘F’ forcommitting genocide</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How did he take it?” Mindy asks with
sensitivity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Simon Cowell has left the
room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He asked
me who I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Said he doesn’t know
anymore.” Jasmine takes a sip of her daiquiri.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“I asked him if he loves the new me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“He took on Rhett Butler’s voice
and said, ‘Frankly, my dear, no.’” Tim shook his head, closed the door, and
went for a walk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">A week later, Jasmine confessed to
Tim that her questions were deep, and to be married, she needs a man who loves her
for asking them and no matter what she finds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Then I told Tim I know of one, Davie, and that I’ve fallen in love with
him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jasmine
takes a long sip of her drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tim was hurt
and cynical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said Davie would never come
back and I need to get over him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said even
still, he’s sparked something in me that isn’t going away.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The friends
sit silent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He went to shoot some
arrows and was gone at the archery field all day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They close it at sundown, and he didn’t make
it home until one in the morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tim might
be stubborn, but he’s a good guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Everyone likes him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kristin says
quietly, “This must be hard for him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jasmine
nods, feeling grief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wants him to be
okay, and she wants to be okay too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could
there be an easier way?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">To be with Tim, Jasmine has to stop
caring about what’s deepest in her heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Tim thinks <i>he</i> is supposed to be deepest in her heart, but he
isn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even Davie isn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She longs for Davie, but there are
passions within her that run deeper than both men.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Remember my obsession with that
curse to Eve, <a href="https://biblehub.com/genesis/3-16.htm" target="_blank">‘you will long for your man’</a>?” Jasmine looks Mindy, who
nods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And I thought the curse is the
woman thinking she needs a man to be complete?” <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/10/our-completion-within.html" target="_blank">(Explained more in her journal here.) </a>Mindy nods again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“I know the key now: know myself
and live it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“That’s profound,” Kristin nods, “but
I understand. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re <i>in</i>complete
when we try to be someone else.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“We need to quit trying to please
everyone else, like me listening to my mom who wants me married by 30.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mindy muses. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I wonder if my mom doesn’t feel complete
herself and has never realized that a woman can be complete without a man.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Harmonizing our inner masculine and
feminine,” Gabbie nods, reminding her friends of <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-inner-feminine-life-giver-life.html" target="_blank">what she’s said about the harmony</a> of the individual human’s inner masculine
part with the inner feminine part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Our
problem is everyone else keeps telling us who <i>they </i>think we’re supposed
to be, so we can’t merge these two parts of ourselves.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“If I can
do that,” Jasmine muses, “Can I know myself and live it?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> "You sure can," Gabbie nods. "Read <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Women-Who-Run-Wolves-Archetype/dp/0345409876/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=women+who+run+with+wolves&qid=1659388685&s=books&sprefix=women+%2Cstripbooks%2C196&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Women who Run with the Wolves</a>.</i> You are <i>running</i>, Girl! With the <i>wolves.</i> Keep on running, and don't turn back."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> Jasmine opens into a triumphant smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> She hasn't heard of the book Gabbie just mentioned, but she she'll check it, and she knows h</span>er friends understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She can
think at odds with them, discover whatever she does, and they will always be
with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She might still long for
Davie, but, with or without him, she know herself, live as herself, and be complete.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">© 2022 by karina. All rights reserved. Please use with permission and/or a link to
this blog post</span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/08/jasmines-journal-liberating-eve.html" target="_blank">Continue to Liberating Eve</a></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-inner-feminine-life-giver-life.html" target="_blank">Start at Jasmine's recent discoveries</a></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Follow Davie's story: <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/11/they-lied.html" target="_blank">here 1st</a>, <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/04/thats-lot-on-your-plate.html" target="_blank">here 2nd</a> and <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/11/" target="_blank">here 3rd</a> </span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><br /></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-52274522752490926842022-06-26T16:13:00.005-07:002023-06-25T20:53:47.715-07:00Misunderstanding with Pastor Tired (Part 4 of "Translation Overload" Sneak Preview)<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) -->
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<p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><i>Dear readers, this selection is the fourth and final part of a sneak preview to a future memoire I think I will call "Translation Overload." To start from the beginning of this four-part series, click <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/03/translating-for-daniel.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"> <i>At home in Washington State, June, 2005</i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I think I
have an exaggerated case of ‘reversed culture shock.’”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had just sat down, awkwardly, in the chair
before the senior pastor of my church, mid-50s, balding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s a hiker in good shape, but has been
asking the congregation for prayer over pain from a foot surgery gone
wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s late in the afternoon, 4:00,
and his face looks worn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps he is
tired from a long day or suffering in his feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Had I been more wise and less desperate, I would have suggested we
reschedule. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">I had planned my first line with
him very carefully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least this idea –
that disconcerting feeling upon one’s return from a mission to another country
– could be a simple way to ease into the more challenging dialogue over the
nightmares and the extrasensory I had been experiencing since returning from a
three week mission trip to Venezuela.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was about a month into a 3 ½ month period I would later call my “summer in the
twilight zone.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friends, unable to
provide the council and support I sought had urged me to make this appointment
with our pastor to receive his more expert spiritual council.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">How was I to describe the
remarkable myriad of the extrasensory I had begun to experience in Venezuela,
then glorious, and now continuing, yet with terror?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Venezuela, these had been beautiful: the
waterfall of memories from my toddlerhood in Brazil, the aurora vision, and the
loving whispers of mystery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now at home,
these continue, but they are also tainted with painful memories, nightmares, migraines
and vomiting, and demanding voices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While the whispers of mystery are lovingly repeating Samuel’s words, <i>”Karina,
tú tienes el poder”</i> (you have the power) to encourage me away from the
Prozac and toward the divine forces within me, other voices in a stronger
volume are sending apocalyptic warnings and ordering me to pack suitcases of
supplies for immediate evacuation from some sudden disaster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hoping Pastor Tired can reinforce the
whispers of mystery encouraging me into divine strength, I forged my plan last
night: omit any apocalyptic fears and begin with reversed culture shock, then
move to the memories, then shift to the nightmares, and close with a request
for council and prayer.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pastor
Tired looks blank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No nod.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No expression of understanding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>He’s led mission trips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He must know what reversed culture shock is?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For all of the previous mission trips I had
participated in, the leaders had prepared us not only for the potential of
culture shock upon entering the country of service, but also of the common
experience among many to face “reversed culture shock” upon the return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This happens when you come <i>home</i> from a
mission trip, having accustomed yourself to the foreign country, possibly
loving it and learning from it, and you return a changed person and disoriented
in your <i>own</i> country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 16, when
I returned home from my first church-sponsored mission trip to Mexico to build
houses, I felt my breath leave me as I walked up to my three-story house and
opened the door to exceptional spaciousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our green tiled front entryway was about a third of the size of the
homes we had just built, but this space before me was just an empty entryway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To the left of our entryway were two
staircases, one up to the four bedrooms, bathrooms, and a small linin room, and
the other down to the family room, a third bathroom, laundry, and garage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To the right of the entryway was our kitchen,
ending with a space for the kitchen table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Behind the entryway and straight in front was a living room and to its
right was a full dining room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since the
family room had the TV, we didn’t use the living room much, and it was about
the same size as the full houses we had built for families of six and
seven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Why did my family of three
need this house?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of my
teammates were asking similar questions, sparing me from that lonely experience
of processing these questions all alone, as we supported one another. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Today, sitting in the pastor’s
office, I am twice the age I was then, and I had accurately described my
reversed culture shock as “exaggerated.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This time, it carries the unexpected “waterfall of memories” from my
toddlerhood in São Paulo, Brazil which I enthusiastically begin to share with Pastor
Tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Might he perk up upon hearing of
the flood of memories from the ages of two and three that had poured into me
while I was in Venezuela?<i style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">No, he slumps in his chair with his
head bowed down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still desperate, I
persist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“One memory even goes back to
22 months old,” I tell him, hoping for an eye of interest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And all the memories from Brazil were very
positive, loving, joy-filled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now I
am back in the United States, and I’m getting more memories, but these are from
my childhood in California, and they are painful, making my reversed culture
shock exceptionally strong.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pastor
Tired’s head is now bent even lower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Has
he heard me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>I shift my body in my
chair and take a breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything I’ve
shared he should comprehend. <i>Wouldn’t any pastor or leader of a mission trip
understand reversed culture shock?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>I
have since discovered that many of them don’t. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Four months later, this same pastor took a
mission trip to somewhere in Africa, and he returned to report a cacophony of
obstacles and how relieved he was to be back where the roads are paved and
people don’t make a living by blocking bridges and bribing you to cross
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More open than many among the
white clergy, he advocates for people of color.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But in Africa, he faced no reversed culture shock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I listened to his story, I reflected that
the notion that some of us might be more disoriented upon our <i>return</i>
from a mission must have been as foreign to him as the country he had just come
home from. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The hour
was getting late, 4:30; I had to get to the point. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m not sleeping, and when I am, I’m battling
nightmares that are also haunting me during the day.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Still slouching with eyes off to
the side, Pastor Tired conveys polite impatience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>I’m not crazy and have a genuine need for
support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can he please listen?</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“I’m also vomiting and having
migraines,” I continue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I add a
detail I had not planned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Until now, I
had experienced only one migraine in my life: on the night of September 10<sup>th</sup>,
2001.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I emphasize the “10<sup>th</sup>”
and the “1.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, he turns to look
at me, but with eyes of irritation and in a voice like a teacher to a middle
schooler who had just misbehaved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And
what makes you think that’s relevant?”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">“What I’m going through is not
normal.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">He releases a tired sigh.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><i><o:p> </o:p></i><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">He thinks I’m wasting his
time. How can I prove my need for
support is not superficial, but genuine?
</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Now at home, speaking English to an English-speaking pastor, I
should no longer be suffering the translation overload I was in Venezuela,
where I was translating for teammates who wanted me to translate culturally
inappropriate messages or at times when the culture calls for silence.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">While there, I coined that term, “translation
overload,” though I never defined it like that for my teammates.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I just apologized that I had “translation
overload” when I refused to translate. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">But now, speaking English, I realize I can
also suffer from translation overload in my own language.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Longing to be taken seriously, I
shift to the nightmare of getting lost in the lions’ lair at the zoo, the
reminder of the nightmare to the prophet Daniel in the lion’s den, the name
Daniel of the pastor in Venezuela I was translating for, and the attraction
between me and Daniel, for which, on one day, Daniel needed to take leave for a
couple of hours.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Now I have Pastor Tired’s
attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His eyes, no longer looking
away, dart straight into mine as piercing swords. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You think a pastor was attracted to you?” His
eyes glare at me, and he shakes his head, skeptical and annoyed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And <i>why</i> do you think this?”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i>Why is
he pursuing this extra detail to take us off the trail of our conversation?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m feeling at least as annoyed as his
darting eyes reveal him to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did not
come for Daniel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came for counsel,
prayer, and support for the post-mission trip whirlwind. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, tinged with insulting skepticism, Pastor
Tired is driving us onto an unnecessary tangent. <i>Why had I kept this
appointment?</i> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Finally, I do what I should have
done from the start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let out a deep
breath, shake my head, look at him with eyes just as straight, and reply with
confidence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“His head elder confirmed
it.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">He rolls his eyes, shakes his head
back and forth, and sighs with a groan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His face scrunches up and I can see the question written all over
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Even if true, why would the elder
admit it?</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It is almost 5 pm, and finally I have some clarity about
what to do. I pick up my purse, thank
him, and say, “That’s not why I came. I’m
praying for your feet, I’ll bother you no more, and I’ll look for support elsewhere. Thank you.”<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I wish I
could say that this misunderstood dialogue cured me of my naivete toward the thinking patterns of North American religious leaders, but my
desperation for support ran too deep, and I had been conditioned to believe
they were the ones to provide it. In my
thinking, an attraction, especially a playful bond like the one Daniel and I
shared, was natural and something to be enjoyed and celebrated, not something
to fear or run away from. My heart and
soul, especially with the early childhood memories confirming it, were certain
that something very significant had happened to me in Venezuela, and I had to
pursue whatever it was. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">The whispers of mystery faithfully
carried me through that summer in the twilight zone, and the divine forces
concluded this period with yet another confirmation that arrived on the morning
of August 30: my agonized perception of a disaster occurring at that moment,
while I was camping in Oregon, away from any news reports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After we left the campsite, we learned a hurricane
was flooding New Orleans, and it was about to kill almost 2000 people. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hurricane Katrina.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p> My
perception of Katrina was the final one of a visual or physical nature of that
summer. But the whispers of mystery have
stayed with me ever since, and during that summer, they were faithfully
reassuring me, especially with the echoes of Samuel <i>(Karina, tú tienes el
poder)</i> and Daniel (<i>Karina, soy tu pastor!).</i> Daniel spoke in jest when he called me his
pastor, to prevent me from telling his friends the English word “skinny,” a
word they intended to taunt him with.
But now, the same words, <i>Karina, Soy tu pastor</i> were whispered in
truth and with tenderness by my own divine forces. To them I was to turn, and to the scriptures,
as a solitary seeker. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">That was 17 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I listened to them and I learned from them,
and I have remained mostly silent about this story ever since.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that is changing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside this blog, I’ll begin crafting this
wild story of the summer in the twilight zone, the translation overload, and
the murky workings within the patriarchal evangelical church. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope you’ll join me in encounters like this
with Pastor Tired, including my first-hand discovery of that odd, cultish term
I had my character Ethan explain <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/11/they-lied.html" target="_blank">here</a>
in “Just like Eve”: “entrusted to a pastor.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>With each interaction with a religious leader, I continued to discover
that I was hitting an extra sensitive button for the male clergy in the
evangelical tradition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many carry a
buried fear of what I would call a natural bond of attraction, for which they apply
a very different term: “lust.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh how
childlike my perception was!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> While their inclinations may need to be faced, for a playful bond of attraction,</span> which
view is likely to be more natural, authentic, and grounded in truth?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Childlike I may have been, but today, sobered and triumphant over the unnecessarily
complicated “adult” way of thinking, childlike I <i>choose</i> to remain.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/03/translating-for-daniel.html" target="_blank">"Translation Overload" sneak preview Part 1</a> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"> <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/04/understanding-from-samuel-part-2-of.html" target="_blank">Part 2</a> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/05/remembering-with-mom.html" target="_blank">Part 3</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/what-my-eyes-could-read-from-favelas-to.html" target="_blank">My other story of my time in Venezuela and the memories of Brazil</a></span></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-77199117189630194962022-05-28T11:53:00.011-07:002023-07-11T11:50:05.827-07:00Remembering with Mom (Part 3)<!--Google tag (gtag.js)-->
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<p><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><i>Part 3 of "Translation Overload" sneak preview. Click <a href="http://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/03/translating-for-daniel.html" target="_blank">here</a> for Part 1 and <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/04/understanding-from-samuel-part-2-of.html" target="_blank">here</a> for Part 2.</i></span></p><p><i><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">May, 2005, home in Washington State, talking on the phone
with my mom, in California</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> “You re<i>mem</i>ber
that?!” Mom applies strong emphasis to
the “mem” of “remember” and I can hear the shock in her voice. I am now home from the mission trip I had
taken to Venezuela, where my “waterfall of memories” poured forth from our life
in São Paulo, Brazil, where we lived from the time I was 6 months to nearly
four. I’ve just shared with Mom my
memory of the lead up to my graduation from my crib to what she called my “big
girl bed.” Mom is stunned, almost
shrieking in disbelief. “But you were
only 22 months old!”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> <i>I’m not
crazy.</i> My friends doubted the auditory
and visual extrasensory perceptions, but what about the “waterfall of
memories”? Did they think I been making
those up too? With this confirmation
from my mom, would they listen to the rest?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Most of us can remember only back
to about the age of four.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">That had been
true for me too, and my parents had returned to the United States in time for
Christmas in 1975, and therefore, just before my fourth birthday two days after
Christmas.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Any faint blurs I may have
had from our life in Brazil were little cloudy bubbles.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Nothing distinct.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Then I went to Venezuela, ate those black
beans at Samuel’s home, and the </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">cascada de recuerdos</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> – waterfall of
memories -- came gushing out, in detail.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">On the
phone with Mom, I describe the inside and the outside of our house in São Paulo,
our neighbors’ sticks and plywood shelters across the street, the house of our
close friends the Williamsons, and my preschool, both the outside playground up
a gravel hill from the little classroom, and the one room classroom, where both
the floor and the walls were made of basic wood beams. I relate with joy the memory of driving the
toy push cars at the Williamson’s home with their kids, eating dinner at their
home, our maid painting my fingernails in the front yard of our house, Mom
reading <i>Monica</i> to me at the little table in our kitchen, and this
memory, the earliest, of the big girl bed, at 22 months. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">I tell her I recall being in the
back seat behind Dad driving and Mom in the passenger’s seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were descending down a great hill at night
time into a glorious span of lights in São Paulo in the “il-bu-car” (toddler
for “little blue car” for our VW Bug).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mom turned around to tell me we’d be going out to dinner and I could
order my favorite grilled cheese sandwich and <i>fanta l’arange </i>(orange
pop), and “and then we’ll come home and you’ll get your ‘big girl bed’!”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Mom, astonished, says the memory is
returning to her, and she fills in the details: the hill into the city with its
“city yights” (toddler for “city lights”) was the return drive from the
university Brazilians affectionately call “USPi” (pronounced “oo-sp-ee”), the
highly acclaimed University of São Paulo, where my dad was teaching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had only one car, which my mom needed, so
together as a family we made the daily trek to and from his work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, instead of coming straight home,
my parents would stop at the <i>Clube de Campo</i> (Country Club), usually for
their monthly payment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then they’d stop to
eat at the snack bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom laughs that my
memory from toddlerhood recalls the snack bar as “going out to dinner.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Home now from Venezuela, more
memories are coming, but this time from our early years in San Jose,
California, and, unlike those from São Paulo, these memories are hard and
tighten up my chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t share any
of them with Mom this day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like our
bonding, and I mostly need confirmation that the memories are true, and I am
not crazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I’m still seeing visions
and hearing voices, but some severe, and having nightmares too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few weeks later, I would also be vomiting
and suffering from migraines, unusual for me, and I would soon be calling these
three and half months from mid-May to late August, 2005 my “summer in the
twilight zone.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">But this is late May, before I
conceive this time as a twilight zone, and what I most need is strength to make
it through the nightmares and their chilling daytime effects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one nightmare, my feet had been tied up
and roped to the back of a car speeding down the highway. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I woke chilled, associating the nightmare to end
times persecution within my then-Evangelical consciousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I woke with a recollection of a prophesy I
thought was in Revelation of two prophets dragged through the streets behind a
chariot driven by charging horses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Perhaps my perception of such a prophesy came from a commentator
embellishing an image from Revelation out of a similar image from the prophet Nahum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t find the prophesy now and don’t know
if it exists, but the image fit into my terrified consciousness of the time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">In another nightmare, a few of us are
at a zoo, had gotten lost, were now in the grounds of the lions, and we were
trying to find our way out before the lions noticed our presence.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I awoke, sweating, and connected the dream to
Daniel, the pastor I had just connected with, and the biblical Daniel, deemed
by many to have been another apocalyptic prophet.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Daniel in the lion’s den. </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">What about the
young pastor Daniel I just left in Venezuela?
With whom I shared special a mutual attraction? Is he okay?
What is happening to him? </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I
became terrified for him, and I kept seeing the vision during the day, and my
mind kept expanding upon it and increasing its terrifying nature.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">This vision tormented me.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">These nightmares threw me into Evangelical
apocalyptic terror.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Today, I mostly see
apocalyptic imagery as metaphor for an internal transformation, akin perhaps to
what I was going through at the time.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">But
in 2005, my evangelical consciousness held too much stock in a great global
apocalyptic catastrophe.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">What a time in my life to be
gripped by such fear.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Evangelicals have
been trained to know the group of people expected to face the worst: pregnant
and nursing mothers.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The account in
Matthew said to be from Jesus describes climate disasters, wars, the call to
flee, and the warning to the most dire group to face that time: “But woe to
those who are pregnant and to those who are nursing in those days!” (Matt
24:19)</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Perhaps, I muse today as I admit
this fear with shame, that I might have needed to have that consciousness quite
literally scared right out of me.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I wonder
if that’s what I had needed more than the Prozac, prescribed for my overwhelmed
angst, which my doctor had diagnosed as post-partum depression.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The nightmares were purging out of me this
internal terror I didn’t know had been gripping me. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Could my anxieties have had less to do with
post-partum depression than to evangelical terror of an apocalypse?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">And this was the life moment to
grip me with the greatest terror.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I had
weaned my little girl only six months earlier.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Two of my friends in my moms’ support group were pregnant.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Two others were nursing. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">All with little ones, once a week, we met at
church, chipping in to a pool of funds for two babysitters to watch our
toddlers and preschoolers, keeping the babies with us, while we talked, prayed,
and helped each other through the drama of raising little ones.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I
could not tell them about my apocalyptic fears.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Either I’d contaminate them with my terror, or they’d really think I was
crazy.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Probably the latter.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">But I needed help, and they were the friends
I had been bonding with at that time.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“You haven’t been sleeping,” one of
them replied to what I had just shared of a couple of memories and, without any details, that I was seeing things and battling nightmares. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“It makes sense that you may be seeing some
pretty crazy stuff.”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“And you went off your Prozac.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">That can throw you into some really wild places,”
added another with tired nonchalance.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Really wild. Maybe that can explain some of the
nightmares, but it can’t explain the rest . . . ? </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“How
about you double up on your meds?”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">A third, who had been listening
intently with compassion in her eyes, scrunched her mouth, a little worried
over these replies, especially that last one.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Will she understand? She
seems to get that this is real. Can she
offer support? </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">She took a deep breath,
affirmed that I had obviously encountered some powerful experiences, and even
ones that had brought me back to childhood. </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Can she help them see that this
is real and I need support?</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“I’m not
sure we can help you,” she said, shaking her head.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“I wonder if you could find a counselor, even
one who specializes in childhood issues?”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I sighed, frustrated.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I didn’t want a counselor.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I wanted a friend.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">But this was my support group for new moms,
and what I needed went pretty far beyond how to handle the terrible twos or how
to potty training while nursing.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I
wanted to know how to manage confusing world of the extrasensory, how to confront the nightmares, and how to honor the “gift” Samuel said I had been given, if that was true, and without
getting swept into its never-neverland.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Most
especially, I wanted them to affirm that I wasn’t crazy.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">But I couldn’t tell them any of that.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">So I paused in silence, and then said, “I
hear you, but I want the spiritual strength to get through this.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The friend who had suggested I
double up on my pills nodded.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“How about
talking with our pastor?”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><i><o:p> </o:p></i><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">If they don’t understand, how
will he?</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">That’s what my husband had
been wanting me to do too, but I was recalling one of the pastor’s recent
sermons when he was preaching on one of those passages of the Spirit’s move
among the prophets, and he began fairly apologetically. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Now we today probably don’t understand this
very well, because we don’t see it ourselves, but . . .” and then he continued
with the visions of the prophets.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">If
that’s what my pastor believes, how could he be of help?</i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I gave a slight shake of my head
and remained silent.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I could think of
only one person who could really help.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">And he was in Venezuela.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Samuel.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I had already reached out to Samuel,
twice, first in an email, to which he replied with encouragement, and then, in
a moment of desperation, at 10 pm on the phone the other night.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">He listened with understanding, assured me
that Daniel was okay, offered his encouragement, suggested I find a local
spiritual mentor, and said that I had the divine strength within me.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“</span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Karina, tu tienes el poder.”</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Karina,
you have the power.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">He spoke with
conviction. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Whatever is happening, he understood.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I said I doubted my strength.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Then he spoke again, still in the same warm,
soft voice. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Karina, son las tres de
la ma</i></span><i><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">ñ</span></i><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">ana.” </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Oh goodness.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Valencia is five hours ahead of Pacific
Time.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">It’s three in the morning.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I was horrified.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">How could I wake him like that?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I deeply apologized and wished him a very
good night sleep.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">That conversation at 3
am for Samuel had been about three days earlier, and, as it turned out, it was
my last contact with him.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Hoping to find confidence in the
memories, I’m closing my conversation with Mom with a description of our home
in São Paulo. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I start with the kitchen,
since that’s where we always entered the house, and describe it from the view walking
in.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Our small, square kitchen table is
to the left, against the wall, with three short, steel chairs on each
side.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Our sink is in front of us and the
stove is to its right with a kettle sitting on it.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The oven is beneath the stove and I see Mom
pulling out pots and pans.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mom laughs.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“That’s right!</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The oven didn’t work!”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The fridge is set against the wall to the
right.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Down the hallway to the left was
Mom and Dad’s room and to the right was my room, which I also describe with its
“big girl bed” against the right wall, a little nightstand next to it, and the
closet chest on the left side with my toys at the bottom.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Then at the “back” end of the house was our
little living area with a tweed tan love seat and a big black chair with a
cushion that sunk down so far that we didn’t use it much.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Wow.” Mom can utter
only one word. She is silent. I have one final question for her. All of the homes we entered in Venezuela
opened at the front door to the <i>sala</i>, a little living area, small like
ours, and then led to the kitchen at the <i>back</i> door. “Why did our front door open into our
kitchen? Was that normal in
Brazil?” Mom laughs. “Our front door didn’t work!” The door had been damaged and got stuck. Their landlord had warned them that if they
tried to open it, they wouldn’t be able to close it again, and if my parents
did that, their landlord said with a smile, they would have to pay for a new
door. Mom chuckles, remembering the
smile. It was like their landlord was
hoping they’d mess up, try to open the front door, and have to buy a new door
for that house. “So we always came in
through the back door!”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> </o:p> My mom
laughs again, goes silent, lets out a deep sigh, and speaks again. “Wow. I can’t believe you remember<i> any</i> of that, let alone <i>all</i>
of that!” </span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><i><o:p> </o:p></i><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I’m not crazy. What a relief.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/06/misunderstanding-with-pastor-tired-part.html" target="_blank">Continue to Part 4: Misunderstanding with Pastor Tired</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/04/understanding-from-samuel-part-2-of.html" target="_blank">Return to Part 2: Understanding from Samuel</a><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><a href="http://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/03/translating-for-daniel.html" target="_blank">Start at Part 1: Translating for Daniel</a><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-80268629055310506872022-04-27T13:50:00.005-07:002023-07-18T16:11:46.877-07:00Understanding from Samuel: Part 2 of "Translation Overload"<!--Google tag (gtag.js)-->
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<p><i><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;">Dear friends, what follows is the second of what will likely be a four part sneak preview of a memoire I think I'll "Translation Overload." <a href="http://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/03/translating-for-daniel.html" target="_blank">Click here to see Part 1, "Translating for Daniel,"</a> and if you'd like to see another facet of this time in Venezuela and the memories that accompanied that time, <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/what-my-eyes-could-read-from-favelas-to.html" target="_blank">click here to begin another four part series.</a></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">Beauty and terror. No middle ground. Mother Nature kept changing her mind. Throughout our time in Venezuela, bursts of thunder, lightning, and heavy downpours of rain raged between moments of gentle warmth with blue skies and a brightly shining sun. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I love thunderstorms.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Electrons are popping off in a charged
atmosphere, hence the lightning, and I feel the electricity surging through my
own body.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">None of us North Americans had
thought to bring an umbrella for a mission trip in May, but our Venezuelan
hosts were too kind to us -- too kind, that is, for me.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">A few of our hosts sacrificed their own
umbrella for us us, gratefully accepted by my other visiting teammates. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Please, may no one offer one to me.</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I wanted to walk through the streets
drenched like Daniel and the young men. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">But head elder Samuel, the one who had served
the black beans that ushered in my waterfall of memories, graciously offered
his to me. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">With his round face and big,
warm smile and eyes that dance, Samuel carried a lovely childlike warmth about
him.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">As a grandfather to a four year
old, the age my son had just turned, he felt like a father to me and acted as
one with the offer of his umbrella.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">How
could I refuse? </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I compromised: </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“solomente
si contigo.” </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Only if I join
you.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">He smiled and held the umbrella for
us both.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">If I had to be covered from the
glorious energy of a thunderstorm, at least I did so with my father figure
Samuel.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">At night, I was battling a life-long
familiarity: insomnia.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I had mistakenly
left my Prozac, prescribed for my Post-partum Depression and to help me to
sleep, at home.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">But this time, the
sleepless nights were elaborating on the waterfall of memories, which came to
life more vividly at night.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I was shown my toddlerhood in São Paulo,
Brazil as a place of warmth where I had felt loved and at home. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">There, my family was living a life without
wealth, but a slow and peaceful one, quite different from our later rich and
fast-paced life in Silicon Valley.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">An
epiphany was dawning. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Was this why I had
felt so lonely and overwhelmed in San Jose, wasn’t fitting in, and had to take
summer school to avoid repeating first grade?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Could I have been in culture shock?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Although the memories brought me
healing at night, the day time called for much strength.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">My legs were so unsteady one Saturday morning
while trying to walk into our hotel’s breakfast room that I almost fell, but, thankfully,
my hotel roommate caught me.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Don, our main
leader, witnessed my near fall, pointed to me, then up toward our hotel rooms,
and said, “Rest.”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“They’ll be without a
translator,” I said.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“I’ll call Daniel
and let him know you need to rest.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">He’ll
understand.”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">True. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">He would.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p> While
resting in my hotel room, another thunderstorm erupted. I opened the shade to watch the downpour, see
the lightning streak across the sky, and listen to the bomb-like blasts and
drum rolls of the thunder. I had been
ordered to rest, but wasn’t sleeping.
This was my chance. Free of the
umbrella, I left my hotel room and went outside to the storm. The thunder was loud and the lightning was
bright, but the rain was gentle and the air was warm. As I walked away from the high-rise hotels
and into a residential zone, I was getting wet, but not drenched, and the warm
air tingled on my wet face. Living in
the Pacific Northwest, where rain usually comes with cold air, this warmth on
my wet skin felt invigorating. The
exhaustion of lost sleep was gone, and strength was built into my legs. I almost felt like I could defy gravity and
levitate through the electric air.<span style="text-align: right;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;">When I came to a fairly open field
on the other side of the street, I watched the lightning show of bright lights
streaking from one end of the sky to the other. Then my eyes took on an unknown
sight. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could see beyond the lightening
and into the heavens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Waves of purple,
blue, lilac, and magenta, spotted with little bubbles of yellow and green, spun
together into a stunning and artistic spiral. <i>An aurora borealis?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had never seen an aurora before, and I knew
this wasn’t the time and place for one, but the photographs I had seen by those
who had captured these magnificent heavenly events were the only comparison I
could make to what I was seeing in the skies, but this aurora, behind and beyond
the lightning, seemed like a stage set backdrop for the performers of the
dancing lightning streaks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>No, not an
aurora,</i> I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Heaven.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I marveled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Who is this Choreographer?</i><i><o:p> </o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><i>Yes, Heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Another of those mysterious whispers had
just arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>But you think heaven is
the afterlife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, heaven is here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the same soft
voice that had whispered that I was to be the fourth translator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had been right; no one else had stepped up
to the plate, and, I smiled to myself, I was the right one to be Daniel’s
translator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could I trust this whisper
too? </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
thunder, the lightning, the aurora vision, these new whispers, telepathy with
Daniel, and the waterfall of memories kept building, to my amazement, and
ushered in a three and a half month period that I would later call my “Summer
in the Twilight Zone.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The day
following the aurora vision was a Sunday, Mother’s Day, celebrated as such in
both the United States and in Venezuela.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Daniel’s church put on a grand Mother’s Day celebration, led primarily
by the youth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the mother of two very
young children, one who had just turned four and the other a year and a half, I
was torn between missing them and feeling relieved to be liberated from their
needs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband and I had both felt
this trip would help treat my Post-partum Depression better than any drug, and
that impression was proving itself to be true. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;">The celebration began with a drama
presentation of mime to a song playing in the background.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The scene began to our right with a boy about
twelve lying on his bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like me, he was suffering insomnia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then a woman entered from our left, with a
slow backward jazz walk to the slow paced rhythm of the song.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She began to mime anger through her contorted
face and index finger pointing toward something in front of her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still with a backward jazz walk, she bent her
knees lower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The youth continued to toss
and turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The music picked up and a man
entered also from the left, also with a jazz walk, but this time forward, with
more speed, and straight legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
mimed a fight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The youth continued to
toss and turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;">The scene brought me back to my 5
and 6 year-old self in San Jose of my own parents fighting soon after we had
moved there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wondered if that’s when
my insomnia had begun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>If only we had
stayed in Brazil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>The song
progressed into a peak of quick, strong beats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So did the fighting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the
song slowed, as did the fighting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
parents shook hands and walked to the child, one parent on each side of his
bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each parent took one of the child’s
hands and lifted him up to a sitting position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then they lifted him off the bed and took him into their arms and a full
family embrace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The song closed with the
words <i>Estás en casa.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are at
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;">I was breathless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drama presentation had just confirmed and
reinforced the epiphany.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here, in South
America, I was at home. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fell onto my
lap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Into my journal a couple of years
later, I recorded the moment as feeling “like I had entered a place of Harmony,
as if everything, including me, was interlinked with everything and
everyone.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;">A rocking, rhythmic whooping that
celebrated each mother attending the service concluded the Mother’s Day
Celebration, led by a youth musical team singing, clapping, and playing the
drums and tambourines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Orchids,
Venezuela’s national flower, lined up the center aisle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two teens, a boy and a girl, stood at the
front holding flowers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another young
man, appearing to be about 20, led as master of the ceremony calling out the
names of the mothers one by one, preceded by a special beat of about four
measures, and then followed by another beat as long as necessary for the mother
to dance through the center aisle to receive her flower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mothers were called in alphabetical order
by first name, each starting, lovingly, with “Mama.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half way through this rocking celebration
came my turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The familiar four measures
of beats ran through while the mother who had just received her flower was
returning to her seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mama Karina!”
cried out the young MC, while casting his hand, palm up, toward me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>I was included.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of these young people had met me, but
someone must have cued them to the presence of every mother in the room,
including me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In San Jose, I had been so
invisible, but here, where I thought I was a foreigner, I <i>belonged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>I was <i>en casa, </i>at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A dancer myself, I hopped up to chassé to the
drum beats and finish with a chaine turn at the end to accept my orchid, a
lilac one, reminiscent of the aurora. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After the
service, Samuel, smiling big, approached me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He said the Spirit had prompted him to watch me during the drama
presentation, that he saw my chest fall into my lap, and that the Spirit spoke to
him that I had been granted a gift, a gift of the Spirit, a concept believed in charismatic churches, but not
generally in those of our denomination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His comment came as a surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Were
those “gifts of the Spirit” real? <i>“Viste el cielo, no?”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You saw heaven, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Yes, sort of. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>I thought, still confused. <i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But not in the way Samuel probably meant, and
not at that moment, but the day before, in the sky, during the thunderstorm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do I explain this to him?</i> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></i>I tried
to affirm what he witnessed was a powerful moment for me, and that I had felt
like I had seen heaven, but the day before during the lightning storm when I
saw colors, like a— I paused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>How do
I translate “aurora borealis”?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
said I didn’t know the word in Spanish so I spoke it in English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His eyes and face lit up as he exclaimed, <i>“Aurora
boreal!”</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beaming, he added that I
had received a great gift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t
make sense of Samuel’s expression, but perceived something ineffable taking
place. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;">I was silent for a moment and then
shared with Samuel that I had a question for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of days earlier, Daniel made himself
absent for our next appointment, letting one of the others lead in his
place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the team-members, both
North American and Venezuelan, had also taken a break, me for my near fall and
the others for sickness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Daniel
didn’t look sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he returned, I
asked Daniel if he had been sick, but he assured me he had not been; all was
well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was calm, pleasant, and
returned to normal, except a little more distant from me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could it be, I asked Samuel, that <b><i>I</i></b>
was Daniel’s “sickness”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Samuel threw up
his head and laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“Siii! </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He chuckled.<i> Verdaaad!” </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, that’s right!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still chuckling, he asked if Daniel was also
a “sickness” for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also chuckling, I had
to admit that Daniel was indeed a “sickness” for me too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beneath the whirlwind of my memories and the
paranormal, my attraction to Daniel had been somewhat buried, but his
telepathic eyes of interest clicked my own awareness on that I felt the same
way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my reply to Samuel was simple:
I also love my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“Bueno!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Grinning, Samuel promised that he and the
elders would be praying for me and supporting me right along with their support
of Daniel. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Little did
either Samuel or I realize at that moment just how much support I might need,
and for more than just Daniel, and especially from Samuel himself, for no one
in North America would understand what was about to come for me upon my return
to the United States.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Summer in the
Twilight Zone was about to amp itself up, and like Mother Nature, hold two
distinct states.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beauty and terror.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/05/remembering-with-mom.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: large;">Continue to Part 3: Remembering with Mom</span></a><br /></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-4733011382522764492022-03-31T20:03:00.006-07:002023-11-29T10:48:19.182-08:00Translating for Daniel: Part 1 of "Translation Overload" sneak preview<!--Google tag (gtag.js)-->
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<p><i><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Dear Readers, as promised in my <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/02/embarking-on-heros-journey-while-married.html" target="_blank">last blog post</a>, the
following selection begins my own parallel story of Jasmine, the fictional heroine
of the book I’m blogging, <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/introducing-just-like-eve-karinas.html" target="_blank">“Just like Eve.”</a>
When I finish Jasmine’s story, I hope to write my own – without blogging
it – for future publication. This selection
and the following ones will be an intermission from “Just like Eve” and will
provide a sneak preview of my own story. I also hope, eventually, to significantly develop
and revise “Just like Eve” and self-publish it as an e-book. </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">And now for the first part of what will probably be a
four part introduction to my future memoire:<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">February, 2005</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"> Sunday
morning began like any other: rushing to get our two toddlers, 15 months and 3
years, ready for church and into their nursery and preschool rooms and
breathlessly making it in time for the second half of the worship songs. Settling into my seat, I reminded myself to
follow the New Year’s promise I had made two months earlier. Our pastor had challenged us, in place of a
typical New Year’s resolution, to pray for a character gift. I took him up on it, already knowing the one
I needed, from 1 Peter: a quiet and gentle spirit. Maybe that could get me off Prozac. My children were sometimes a delight and other
times overwhelming. My older child,
frequently throwing himself into rages, threw me into them too, and I was
terrified I would one day lose it and hurt him. Upon hearing my story, my doctor determined me
to have Postpartum Depression and prescribed the drug of the day. It helped, but I hated it. <i>Please, God, get me off this drug.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">A long-time member of our church,
Tom, retired, 70s, was invited up to the podium. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He introduced himself as part of a
multi-church short-term mission team headed to Venezuela. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My ears perked up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had gone on house-building short-term
missions to Mexico, and I had kept hearing of other mission opportunities,
mostly in Asia and Africa, but I had been yearning for one to the country where
I had lived at the very young age of one to four: Brazil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a bordering country, Venezuela was close. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My interest was sparked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“The church is growing Venezuela,”
he said.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Missionaries from our
denomination had recently trained a few young, new pastors who were leading four
new churches the missionaries had planted.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">To assist the fledgling churches, four teams would head to the new churches
for three weeks in May.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Could I make
myself free in May?</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The pastor of
each church would lead each team to meet with families who had requested prayer;
after prayer, the teams would invite the families to come to church.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I preferred to meet physical needs, like food
and housing.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">My interest was waning.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Tom invited any of us interested in
the trip to talk with him after the service. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Then he added one important special request: a
fourth translator.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">With four churches,
four translators were needed.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Only three
were on board.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">My interest was
reignited.</span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><i>Translator?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could I do that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>I had studied Spanish for five years and had studied abroad in Oaxaca, Mexico, enough to achieve some proficiency -- a decade
earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Could I be up to the task now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><i>It’s you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>An unfamiliar voice from outside of me,
yet inside of me, and seemingly so intimately close, whispered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is that? <i>You’re the fourth
translator.</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who is that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">The voice spoke with a confidence I
lacked, but I mustered the courage to find Tom after church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said my Spanish was rusty, but I’d take two
weeks to consider it.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Could we afford the trip?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In May?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’d have to take spring quarter off from my new position teaching at the
university on the non-tenure track (NTT).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But spring is the quarter with the fewest classes, and I was the newest
NTT instructor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t yet know if I would
be offered a spring quarter contract.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
husband and I trusted the money could work out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was more worried about the Spanish.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">My two weeks was up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still hesitant, I found Tom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had a fourth translator been found?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can
you come?” he pleaded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Please, we need
you.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">I bought a bunch of children’s
books in Spanish, mostly fairy tales and others I knew well, so they’d be easy
to follow, and I read them aloud during bedtime story time to my children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t care in the least bit that I was
reading to them in Spanish, were as engrossed in the stories as always, seemed
to follow them just as well, and I wondered whether they had even noticed that
I had switched languages.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Just as that soft little whisper
encouraging me to be the fourth translator was a sneak preview of more to come,
so were the memories returning of my earliest childhood in São Paulo,
Brazil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While reading to my children,
who were the same ages I was while living there, I remembered sitting on my own
mom’s lap at our little kitchen table in São Paulo, while she was reading <i>Monica</i>
stories to me in Portuguese.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Monica was
Brazil’s Charlie Brown, though a girl and very precocious, the favorite cartoon
among Brazilian children of the 1970s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’s much more like today’s Dora: intelligent, sweet, and curious, but
she gets herself into more trouble, and, miraculously, she always gets herself
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was also remembering one of the
Monica stories when she and her friends built a rocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I soaked in the memory, not yet knowing it
was the first of what would become many of my toddlerhood.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">But I also grieved it, sometimes fighting
back tears while reading to my children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had lost Portuguese.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was
six, Portuguese was no longer lovingly spoken in my home, and I lost it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hence, my own decision to read to my children
in Spanish was bolstered, and this language, at least was returning, slowly,
but coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nevertheless, I felt
entirely unprepared to be the sole translator for the church I would be sent
to.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">* *
* * *<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I had nothing to worry about.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I was translating for Daniel.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">At 32, my age, he was young to be pastoring a church, but so were they all of these new churches.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I also soon learned he was engaged to be
married.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I could follow him as easily as
my kids could follow our bedtime stories.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I didn’t need to understand Daniel’s Spanish because I understood </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">him</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Watching his expressions, his movements, his
mouth form the words, and his eyes, everything that came from him landed into
me crystal clear, whether I was on official duty, or we two were alone walking
between appointments, or connecting with other teammates during off-times.</span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Some of
these were fun banter, like the afternoon while our team was at the home of one
of our hosts, waiting for a meal to be served, and a few of us – Daniel, me,
and the 20-something Venezuelan male team-members – were hanging out in an open
area outside the dining room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The young
team-members, wanting to learn some English, were pointing to various things
around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They started by pointing to some
of the objects around us: the water jug, the carpet, the cat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then they began asking for some descriptions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One pointed to my hair and asked, <i>“Rubia?”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hair is strawberry blond, but I made the
translation easy and replied, “Red.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Another pointed to some of the older team-members who were standing away
and engaged in another conversation, and asked, “<i>Viejo?”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I chuckled. “Old.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another pointed to himself and asked, <i>“Guapo?”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, I laughed, and replied with a
complementary tone of appreciation for his physique.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Haaandsome!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Gooood lookin’!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then another
pointed to Daniel, tall and thin, and asked, <i>“Flaco?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Daniel turned to him with a shocked face
and smiled a teasing rebuke, waving his index finger back-and-forth in a clear
cross-cultural gesture of “No, you don’t!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He turned back to me and pointed to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><i>“No, Karina!”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he
pointed again to the young teammate in another teasing reproach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The young men were laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was giggling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daniel commanded our attention. <i>”¡Karina!”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He pointed to me with a strong command in his
voice.<i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“¡Soy tu pastor!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>¡No!”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I giggled and turned to the young man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><i>“Lo siento, no puedo.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>I’m
sorry, I can’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I motioned, palm up,
toward Daniel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“Es mi pastor.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s my pastor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked back to them again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“El me manda silencio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lo siento.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He orders me silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sorry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I clasped my fingers together and spoke very apologetically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Daniel took on a triumphant
smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“Gracias, Karina.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I nodded, came up close to his ear, and
whispered into it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i>No problema, </i>Skinny.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He threw up his head, chuckling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he turned to me with a wink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“¡Recuerdas! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Silencio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Soy tu pastor.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remember!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am your pastor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I giggled,
stopped myself, got serious, put myself into attention, and saluted him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“¡Si, Señor!”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Smiling, he nodded, then bowed his head in solemn
gratitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he looked back up at me
with a warm smile.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">* *
* * *<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p> On other
occasions, like after I shared a description of my home in São Paulo or when he
showed me a neighborhood dump, we spoke no words and communicated just through our
eyes. Our familiarity was magical. <i>Did I know him?</i> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">I also felt this with a few of my
other Venezuelan hosts, particularly with the head elder, Samuel, a new
grandfather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was to his home that we
went for our first lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The meal was
simple but ushered in what I would soon call my <i>cascada de recuerdos: </i>waterfall
of memories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began with what I usually
do: the salad, this one a simple one of carrots, cucumbers, tomatoes, and a
little onion, lightly seasoned and without dressing, as none was needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The special entrée was a small portion of
savory chicken. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But something unexpected
happened when I took a bite of the black beans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Tears rolled down my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
North American partners were embarrassed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>These tears were unexpected to us all, me especially.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The black beans tasted very familiar, but with
a taste I didn’t even know was so familiar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I learned later the South American way of cooking black beans:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>they are soaked overnight, cook for many
hours before they are served, and are seasoned with onion, garlic, salt, finely
cut bacon, and a little vegetable oil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At the time, I didn’t know what made them so distinct, just that I had
known this taste, had loved this taste, but had not experienced it for a very
long time.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">In the coming days, more familiar
tastes arrived, along with the familiar sounds on the streets, the sights in
the neighborhoods, and the interiors of people’s homes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Memories from my early childhood poured like a
giant waterfall, my <i>cascada de recuerdos</i>, and kept building, filling up
my mind with my very early childhood into a remarkably colorful and vibrant
picture, one that explained my life and the struggles I faced in kindergarten
and first-grade with a culture shock unknown to my parents and teachers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These will be shared in the future memoire,
but some of them are already blogged in <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/what-my-eyes-could-read-from-favelas-to.html" target="_blank">my first story of Venezuela and Brazil</a>, especially in <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/05/what-my-eyes-could-read-part-2.html" target="_blank">Part 2</a>.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">My North American team-mates held a
mixture of curiosity and embarrassment over my memories; my Venezuelan
team-mates were charmed; Samuel showed special interest; Daniel was especially
drawn in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept sharing them with
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too many.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">He excused himself when I wanted to
share yet another one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later, we sat
down to lunch, directly across from one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I admitted under my breath, while looking
down at my un-eaten plate of food, that I was sad he didn’t come to see what I
wished to share.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He put his hand on
mine, then tapped it, and gently said, “<i>Karina</i>,” then he made sure he
made eye contact with me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i>Lo siento</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sorry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His eyes said the rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>I like
you too much.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/04/understanding-from-samuel-part-2-of.html" target="_blank">Click here to read Part 2: Understanding from Samuel</a></span></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-49835370650867753282022-02-25T11:32:00.018-08:002023-06-25T21:11:57.006-07:00Embarking on the Hero's Journey while Married<!--Google tag (gtag.js)-->
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<p><span 0.5in="" face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" text-indent:=""> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span 0.5in="" text-indent:="">Alas! To be human! We find ourselves in a constant battle between our need for security, our longing for freedom, and the authenticity of our hearts and souls. These run surface to deep with security demanding our immediate attention, then into our longing for freedom, and eventually, if we're blessed, into our deepest, most evasive layer: our most authentic selves, what I will call our “heart-soul identities.” Beyond this already challenging set of forces, we further complicate our battle with our shadow self (our pride, surface-level desires, ignorance, and so forth), which do provide additional clues to our heart-soul identities, but these are </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">clues</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> and not answers. To discover our heart-soul identities beneath these pressures is no easy feat. It is what mythologist Joseph Campbell has famously called the "Hero's Journey."</span></p><p 0.5in="" 0in="" text-indent:=""><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0px;"> Meanwhile, we’re also called to be responsible, and not only for ourselves, but also for those around us, some of whom may still plead for security. This becomes especially tricky in marriage. We marry for many reasons, usually in our youth, and before we’ve transcended into a place where we can embark on the journey into our heart-soul identities.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0px;"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0px;">Our deeper longings rise up later, and when they do, our need for security starts to fade, while the journey takes center stage. By divine mercy, this process often happens with synchronicity: both partners around the same time are blessed with the chance to grow together into the new people they’re discovering themselves to be.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0px;"> </span></p><p 0.5in="" 0in="" text-indent:=""><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"> But what if
this synchronicity does not happen for both partners? What if we begin it while others still
wish for us to keep <em>them</em> secure?
Or, even trickier, what if they will be really hurt if we long for
freedom? Not wishing to hurt the people we love, we are faced with a true
quandary. Do we follow our authentic self and embark into the journey's murky
depths? Or do we provide the security they are
crying for? Do we show them that we don’t wish to hurt them by
sacrificing our deeper calling?</span></p>
<p 0in=""><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">
No single answer can solve this quandary, and it is this one that Jasmine and
Davie are each facing in the book I’m blogging <em><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/introducing-just-like-eve-karinas.html"><span style="color: black; font-style: normal; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Just like Eve.</span></a></em>
I made my job as their author easier by making both of their marriages
childless. Should they choose to follow their deepest selves, leave their
marriages, and potentially, though not necessarily, come together, they
will not be revoking any responsibilities to any children that neither of them
has. They may, however, be revoking their responsibility to their
spouses, to the vow they’ve been conditioned to believe God wants them to keep,
and to their own wish to avoid hurting their spouses. As their author, I had
also made a promise to myself from the beginning to keep all four spouses
well-intentioned. There was to be no
easy out for either Jasmine or Davie.</span></p>
<p 0in="" margin:=""><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">
These two also face yet another complexity: the distinction between their
surface-level desire for one another (often called “lust”) and their genuine
soul-bond at the root of their heart-soul identities. The church can see
only what it would call their lust, and it can’t see their soul-bond as part of
something much deeper. The Hero’s Journey each of them is beginning (for
Jasmine to be free to “think at odds” and for Davie to be free to follow his
own dreams) are supported by one another, but not by their spouses.
Therefore, <i>their</i> relationship is tied into their authenticity, but
their marriages are not, something their families and church communities are
very unlikely to understand. Both Jasmine and Davie must discover it for
themselves and search for a path toward it that still honors their spouses.
<em>What a task I
have given to myself as an author!</em></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">And little
did I know I might walk into some of this myself. My own marriage is coming to an end,
officially in March. Naturally, my own
life story at this critical moment complicates my work of completing Jasmine’s
story. It seems fitting then, to follow
the suggestion of my writer friends, who have been asking for a spin-off into
my own story. Next month, I’ll do so for
the portion from my own life that is not recent, but goes far back, and is the
only autobiographical parallel that was planned: </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/04/big-news-after-four-years-of-putting-my.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">the
“no-contact” order</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">I will be
quiet about any recent parallels, except what I will now share in this single
paragraph. After a lengthy time of soul searching and marriage counseling, my husband and I made a
mutual decision to shift from marriage to friendship in keeping with mentor
Ethan’s perspective on a “<a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/04/thats-lot-on-your-plate.html"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">successfully completed marriage</span></a>.” Of this, I can express only a piece of my <i>own</i>
part of the decision. Similar to the quandary
facing both Jasmine and Davie, to support and celebrate who my husband is and
how he is wired, I had to stifle an important part of who I am and how I am
wired, including the mystic within me.
Just as </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/08/a-truly-new-new.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Jasmine
says her husband Tim is like a rock and she is more like a ball rolling further
and further away</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">,</span></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"> I
am also a rolling ball. My husband is far more politically progressive
than Jasmine’s husband Tim, and mine is less like a rock than he is a branch on
a tree, able to sway in the wind, but still needing to be firmly fixed to the
tree, which for him remains tied to the evangelical tradition that we were both
married into. Now separated from him and
almost divorced, I am now finally finding myself free to identify myself as a
mystic. I no longer need to straddle, as
expressed in 2013 in </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-evangelical-and-mystic.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">The
Evangelical and the Mystic</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">. The mystic's journey dives into waters that for a traditional evangelical, at least within the context of marriage, are too complex, too "heretical," ("other thinking") -- which, like "liberal" ("open-minded") should be a good thing? I will always
love the man I married as my soul-brother, a bond you can read about in </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/what-my-eyes-could-read-from-favelas-to.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">the
same story</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"> that introduces the pastor for the
autobiographical premise to </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/introducing-just-like-eve-karinas.html"><em><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;">Just like Eve</span></em></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">.</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">This is all I
will say about anything recent. Next
month, I’ll start sharing the story of my connection with the pastor behind the
no-contact order that I received for the same reason Jasmine received hers: a
mutual attraction with a pastor and a request for accountability. This order is the premise of the storyline
for “Just like Eve,” and it’s one I’ve imagined could have two responses from
critics. Some will shrug it off, as I
received quite a few apathetic responses: of course I had been cast out. Why should I expect different? (<i>Uhhh, what the Bible says . . . ?</i>) Others will cry out against the premise as “unrealistic.”
They might say no church would ever order a woman out of church for a
mutual attraction with one of its pastors, let alone if both she and the
pastor, individually and privately, took the very steps the church teaches its
adherents to take: to request support and prayer from the church leaders.
They’ll claim it couldn’t happen. I beg to differ. It
happened to me. I’ve heard I’m not the only one. In my case, it
wasn’t the pastor’s church, which dearly loved me, who gave the order, but the
leader of the church team of my ministry. And I didn’t even get </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2019/09/18-love-30-part-4.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">a
kiss</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"> out of the deal. (Dang!)</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">In fact, any
of the instances in “Just like Eve” of church patriarchy that are most likely
to make readers cringe (</span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/04/big-news-after-four-years-of-putting-my.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">the
no-contact order</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">, </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/10/flee-from-youthful-lusts-andpursue.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">the
prayer</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">, and </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/09/eves-test.html#more"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Dr.
Dobson’s reply</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"> to Jasmine's inquiry) are all
autobiographical and nearly verbatim to the messages I received from their counterparts
(including the actual Dr. James Dobson).
My own leaders meant no harm, but their fear prevented them from a
response in keeping with biblical principles and within the spirit of humanity.
</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"> </span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">You’ve
already </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/what-my-eyes-could-read-from-favelas-to.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">met
the pastor</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"> from my own parallel story, and if
not, you can do so now, while also discovering my soul-brother bond with the
man I married and why I married a soul-brother rather than a soul-mate, and
ready yourself for my own parallel story to the premise, coming here in March .
. . </span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"><br /></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;">© by karina. All rights reserved. Please use with permission and/or a link to this blog post. </span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="text-align: right;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Update, a few days later: I began drafting the story a few weeks ago, but to really tell it, I need to relive the memories. I'm reading through my old journals . . . breathing through my old journals. I may or may not have a piece of this story ready by March. We'll see. As all of us have been learning through this pandemic, we can't expect or plan for anything, can we?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></p><div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1pt;"><p align="right" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></span></p><p align="right" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"><b>Autobiographical links:</b></span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/what-my-eyes-could-read-from-favelas-to.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">The pastor for the autobiographical parallel and soul-brother husband</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-evangelical-and-mystic.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">The Evangelical and the Mystic</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><em><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">Just like Eve</span></em><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif"> links:</span></b><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/introducing-just-like-eve-karinas.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Introduction to Just like Eve</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/04/big-news-after-four-years-of-putting-my.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">The no-contact order</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/08/a-truly-new-new.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Jasmine like a ball rolling away from Tim the rock </span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC", sans-serif">(& her inquiry to Dr. Dobson)</span><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/04/thats-lot-on-your-plate.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Ethan on successfully completed marriages</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2019/09/18-love-30-part-4.html"><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif" style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Davie kissing Jasmine</span></a><span face=""Eras Medium ITC",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/10/flee-from-youthful-lusts-andpursue.html" style="font-size: 16px; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="color: black;">The elder’s “prayer” over Jasmine</span></a></p><p align="right" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></p><p align="right" style="background: white; margin: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></p></div>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-37611612569450552642022-01-27T15:15:00.007-08:002023-07-16T11:09:20.876-07:00Hibernation<!--Google tag (gtag.js)-->
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<p><i><span style="font-family: Quicksand;">Dear readers, in case you are following the book I'm blogging, <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/introducing-just-like-eve-karinas.html" target="_blank"><b>Just like Eve</b></a>, I am close to completion, have hoped to post a selection for it at least every other month (alternating with another post on off months), and this month would be the month for the next selection. However, when I began writing the book in late 2017, I was not expecting I might walk into portions my own fiction. Through much loss and change, I find myself paralyzed, mute. Perhaps I am in a season of hibernation. At the beginning of this month, an astonishing downfall of snow collapsed upon my region. I can't call it a "snowstorm," for it was too quiet, too gentle, too beautiful. But when we all woke up, we found ourselves buried. I reflected on the metaphor of it for me, and here's what came . . . </span></i></p><p .0001pt="" 0in="" align="center" center="" margin:="" text-align:=""><br /></p>
<p align="center" id="t_1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">The creatures of fur follow the signs of Nature</span></p><p align="center" id="t_1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">We
creatures of skin run to and fro<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">no
matter Her works of beauty or terror<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p align="center" id="t_4" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Snow
coming, forecasters warn<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_5" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">The
furs, ready, hibernate<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_6" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">The
skins, deaf, go about their day<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_7" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_8" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">All
afternoon, snow surprises<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_9" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">dumping,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_10" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">dumping,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_11" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">softly,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_12" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">quietly,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_13" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">deceptively<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_14" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_15" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">The
day still young<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_16" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">the
sky turns dark<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_17" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Snowflakes
stream,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_18" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">glistening
the blackening sky<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_19" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">in
lights of white<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_20" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">haloed
in orange<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_21" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p align="center" id="t_22" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Any
who slow themselves<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_23" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">who
sit<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_24" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">who
watch<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_25" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">fuse
with the flakes<span style="box-sizing: border-box;"> in stillness</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_26" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_27" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">5
am, calls go out<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_31" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Schools
are closed<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_32" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Businesses
are closed<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_33" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Roads
are blocked<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_34" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">All
are snowed in<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_35" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_36" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">What if calls
come the night before?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_37" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Or
before quitting time the day before?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_38" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">When
the creatures of fur,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_39" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">with
no forecasters,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_40" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">are
already nestled in hibernation?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_41" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_42" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><a href="https://biblehub.com/matthew/11-29.htm" style="box-sizing: border-box;" target="_blank"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span color="windowtext" style="text-decoration: none;">“Take My yoke upon
you,”</span></em></a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_43" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">says
the master,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_44" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><a href="https://biblehub.com/matthew/11-30.htm" style="box-sizing: border-box;" target="_blank"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span color="windowtext" style="text-decoration: none;">“For My load is
light, and My burden is easy.”</span></em></a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_45" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Racing
about, we wonder how<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_46" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_47" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Could we hear the wisdom of the furs<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_48" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">who
follow the signs of Nature<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_49" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">and
work when it is time to work<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_50" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">play
when it is time to play<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_51" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">rest
when it is time to rest<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_52" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">and who know there is a season
for outings<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_53" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">and
a season for hibernation?</span></p><p align="center" id="t_53" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_55" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">I
of skin,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_56" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">used
to the race,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_57" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">am
paralyzed, mute<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_58" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Could I
learn from the furs?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_59" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Could I
learn<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_60" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">of
a time to speak,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_61" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">a
time be silent,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_62" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">a
time to walk,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_63" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">a
time to rest,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" id="t_64" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">and
a season to hibernate?</span><span face="Eras Medium ITC, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-33822402159434450872021-12-21T13:50:00.010-08:002023-07-16T11:10:17.423-07:00Winter Solstice 2021: What a Year<!--Google tag (gtag.js)-->
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<br />
<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"> Oh 2021! What a year. 😳 Have any of
us made it through these past two years without some battle scars? May
we have mercy on one another, as each of us is not in “PTSD,” but “DTSD,”
<i>During</i> Traumatic Stress Disorder. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans; font-size: large;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>In my own life this year, I faced
two very great losses and changes: my teaching career, much sooner than anticipated, from which I was
thankfully able to retire, and a separation from my husband.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Was COVID involved?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As an
accelerator and exacerbator, it was, and I wrote a poem, “Live Together
24/7” that started like this:</span><span style="font-family: "Pontano Sans"; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans; font-size: large;">Live together 24/7
</span></i></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans; font-size: large;">
<i><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;">But don’t go anywhere </span></i></span></i></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><i><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans; font-size: large;">Don’t do anything </span></i></span></i></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans; font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"> Move your office into your
bedroom
</span></i>
</span></i></p><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Yes, we did move my office and my classroom into our bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids had their rooms while doing school online; my husband had our
little office which he had already been using; and my building was
considered “COVID condemned” and we were ordered in an email typed in
all caps to stay out of our offices and go there only to pick up or drop
stuff off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since the
stories of both my career and my marriage are complex, I’ll just let my
office and classroom in our bedroom serve as an apt metaphor for the
challenges faced in both of them. </span></span>These challenges were dove-tailing and happening all at once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a year. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I
found myself like the child in the “Footprints” poem carried by a
heavenly force from Above.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: x-large; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><span style="font-size: large; font-style: normal;"><span> </span><span> </span>What else have I learned?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I’ve compiled a list, and you’ll see it closes with “Let yourself
mess up with numbers 1-9!”</span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
<u><span><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans; font-size: x-large;">Lessons from 2021</span></span></u></p></span></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">1. Let yourself have mercy on yourself, and on everyone
else. We are all fighting DTSD – <i>During
</i>Traumatic Stress Disorder. Let’s
applaud ourselves for making it through not only 2020, but also 2021, and give mercy to ourselves and to everyone else too.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">2. Let yourself feel whatever you feel. Maybe what you feel is inconvenient. Maybe it messes with your morality. Maybe it could even bring pain to someone
you love. Sit with your feelings. Listen to them. Try to avoid acting upon them or speaking
about them until you can minimize any harm they could cause, and if you mess up
on that too, forgive yourself. But don’t
bury your feelings – no matter how inconvenient, “immoral” you think they are,
and no matter the temporary pain.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">3. Let yourself be quiet.
Rest from the struggles and quiet yourself. In time and with much patience, you will
hear. And once you begin to hear, let
yourself trust.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">4. Let yourself release whatever is not you – those layers of
conditioning sent into you by everyone else over many years and their
expectations of you. Release what is not
you so you can begin to discover what really is you.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">5. Let yourself learn from the obstacles of your life. Obstacles are there for a reason, and they
carry a lesson in them. What does the Spirit
wish to teach you from your trials?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">6. Let nothing be forced – even your marriage or your
career. Follow the Flow of Life, and let
the Spirit guide you. You might discover
the Spirit flowing into unfamiliar territory, but try not to force the flow,
and if it flows into a new place, trust it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">7. Let yourself have the courage to choose what others might
not understand, once you’ve given yourself the space to watch where the Flow
is heading. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">8. Let yourself find new grass.
Sometimes, the grass <b><i>is</i></b><i> </i>greener on the other
side. But you might not see the flowers
blooming over there yet. You might have
to lie down on that grass and breathe a while and let yourself heal.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">9. Let yourself be the new authentic self you are discovering
yourself to be. Not everyone will like
the new you, and many won’t know how to relate to the new you. Let that be okay.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">10. Let yourself mess up on numbers 1-9! We’re learning. We can’t get all of this right while we’re
learning. We all have a learning
curve. Let that be okay too.</span></p></span></span></blockquote><p style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/12/todaywe-live-out-longest-night-of.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Winter Solstice 2020</span></a> </p><span style="font-family: Pontano Sans;">
<p style="font-style: italic;"></p>
<p style="font-style: italic;"></p>
</span><p></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-36484344305367902292021-11-27T16:11:00.010-08:002023-06-25T20:59:52.445-07:00A Head-shaking Lot of Change<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) -->
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<p><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> <b>Black Bear Diner, Colorado Springs, June 23, 2012</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p> <span> </span><span> </span></o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Ethan, remember when you asked me,
‘What will you do?’” </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Ethan remembers
well from his </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/11/they-lied.html" style="text-indent: 0.5in;" target="_blank">first lunch with David in March</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The elders
of the church where Ethan’s former intern has been serving as a youth pastor
had kicked David’s mixed doubles partner out of church for a kiss she and
David, both married, shared.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Ethan also learned
from his </span><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/04/thats-lot-on-your-plate.html" style="text-indent: 0.5in;" target="_blank">second lunch with David</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> that the elders were not budging on their decision.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">All Ethan knows now comes from David’s quick
phone call that he has “a head-shaking lot of change” in his life.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“My mind, at the time you asked, was
building a case for the elders to bring her back,” David continues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I didn’t know the answer to your question
would be that I would quit my job, separate from my wife, and find ways to
start pursuing my <i>own</i> dreams.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“That is ‘a head-shaking lot of
change.’”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ethan smiles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s cupping his right cheek with his thumb
and index, middle, and ring fingers and speaks with calm objectivity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is why David trusts the former pastor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If Ethan is ever agitated by anything David
says that is out of the church’s box, he never shows it. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How do you
like teaching, Ethan?” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I love it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do you ask?” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Cheyenne
Mountain High School is looking for a Health and PE teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Preferably one who can become their new
tennis coach.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And you
want to leave the ministry.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ethan replies
in a neutral voice. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Truthfully, I want to <i>return</i>
to my childhood dream of teaching and coaching.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>David confides that out of laziness, he gave
up on his own dreams and has been living everyone else’s -- his parents’, his
church’s, and now his wife Pam’s. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully, he kept his own dream on the
back-burner and minored in Health Sciences and took some Education
courses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cheyenne Mountain’s principal
told him they’d let him earn his teaching certificate over the next few
summers.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“You need to pursue this, David.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ethan admits that he had never seen that spark
in David’s eyes during David’s internship, and he shares his own satisfaction of
his move from pastoring to teaching Hebrew at college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sometimes university politics are vicious,
but church rules can be worse.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">David’s face pales and he looks
down at his plate with eyes of sorrow. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He hadn’t realized how far out of keeping
Quail Canyon Community Church is with his own values, until Jasmine had approached
the church leadership for prayer and accountability after their kiss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of providing it, they sent Jasmine
out of church and told David to quit mixed doubles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m not going to critique Quail Canyon, but their
way isn’t mine anymore--” David’s voice trails off, “--or maybe ever was . . .
?” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re
finding what you most treasure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep
listening to your heart.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank you,
Ethan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most people, especially in the
church, are trying to force me to live what they treasure, or just believe in.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“That’s because most people live
lives of conformity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They may appear
like individuals on the outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
dress themselves unique, dye their hair unique, make jokes that sound unique,
and put on an exterior of individuality, but they live a life that conforms to
whatever group they find themselves in, and Christians are no different.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Conformity.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>David pierces his eyebrows together in
concentration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Obedience.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He speaks the word “obedience” almost like a
question, with his eyebrows still pierced together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s interesting that you say that, Ethan,
because I’ve spent a lot of time pondering the church’s obsession with
obedience as a moral imperative, when sometimes they are asking us to obey the
wrong thing.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Ethan gives a soft nod while David
continues. “I wonder if ‘obedience’ is another word for ‘conformity.’”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“It can be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not always of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But conformity, and even too much obedience,
can be dangerous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hostages have been known
to take on not on the mannerisms, but even the crimes of their captors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl described
that sort of thing among some of the prisoners who were given guard duties in
his book <i>Man’s Search for Meaning</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They are an extreme example, of course, but conformity in much more
mundane ways is the norm, and it’s been ingrained into us since childhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To overcome it, we have to <a href="https://biblehub.com/matthew/18-3.htm" target="_blank">‘become like little children’</a>
again.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">David replies that a return to
childhood sounds refreshing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time
he was a teenager, he had wanted so much to be “good” that he had forced himself
into ministry, forced himself into the tradition that had been handed to him,
and then forced himself to love the woman who was pursuing him because that was
“easier” than to risk rejection with the woman he really wanted. David shakes
his head in regret.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He can’t go
backwards and change his choice in college; nor can he change his choice to
marry Pam; but he can go forward before children enter the scene.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Ethan tries to catch David’s eyes from
his bowed head to reassure him he can move forward into whichever direction he
is led.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“God did not design marriage to
be a trap.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">David lifts his head and returns
Ethan’s gaze. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Go on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>“Marriage is a tangible, external symbol
of an internal mystery, the union of the masculine and the feminine within each
individual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since our external life mirrors
our internal self, generally when two partners work on their marriage, they
also each grow on the inside too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Has
this been true for you?” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David
affirms that it has and that it has also helped him rediscover who he really is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He adds that he and his wife have been seeing
a Christian marriage counselor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s
intent on saving our marriage, but not on listening to us.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Example?” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Both Pam and I have been
dissatisfied in our marriage, and our counselor insists our dissatisfaction must
be about pride or selfishness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we’ve
been working through that and have both been learning how to love each other
better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’ve learned that the heart
of my dissatisfaction is about truth: the truth of who I am, of who I love, of what
led me into my marriage, of who I was then, and of who I am now.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A spiritual therapist, Maria Chandler
said, ‘The more you wake up to who you are, the more unbearable it becomes to
be who you are not.’” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David fixes
his eyes on Ethan and color returns to his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I needed to hear that.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He takes a deep breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pam has told our counselor she married the
man I was pretending to be, and she’s even tried to change that man I was
pretending to be. I’m neither one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
also admits the man we are learning I am is not the one she would choose to
marry.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ethan nods
with understanding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No fault divorce is
true for some couples.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A deep
exhale runs through David’s body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Finally, someone from the church, his senior pastor mentor no less, has admitted
the legitimacy of his marital trials as no fault by either him nor his wife. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The unified
man,” Ethan muses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The one Paul called
‘<a href="https://biblehub.com/2_corinthians/5-17.htm" target="_blank">the new man</a>.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tradition that raised us both, David, is
missing the gems of wisdom by interpreting as literal history stories that were
designed to reveal the mysteries of the soul.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Like what?” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Like the
union of the opposites within.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are
first shown in <a href="https://biblehub.com/genesis/2-7.htm" target="_blank">the creation of Adam</a>: from the dust -- the earth part -- and the breath of God -- the
spirit part.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That
sounds like the two opposing selves <a href="https://biblehub.com/romans/7-15.htm" target="_blank">Paul talked about in Romans</a>
when he says he does what he doesn’t want to do and doesn’t do what he does
want to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe the earth part of his is in conflict with the spirit part of him?” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is why I enjoyed mentoring you,
David.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re quick, and you’re not
stuck in what you were taught in seminary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What a tragedy that Augustine missed this very important creation of our
opposing parts within and claimed instead that men were born into ‘Original Sin.’”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ethan pauses, puzzled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“His hypothesis has been followed for
millennia, yet the Bible presents us as humans in duality, just like Adam was.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ethan’s
explanation resonates with David.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
shakes his head, remembering his seminary training with its paltry two scriptures
attempting to support “Original Sin.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
marvels that he had been pulled into a career that pressured him to teach
concepts that made little sense to him. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We see the
metaphor of our two opposing selves again and again,” Ethan continues. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Cain and Abel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The twins Jacob and Esau.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isaac and Ishmael.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joseph and his brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The notion of these competing selves
continued in the early Christian church, but the strongest instances of it were
in texts removed by the Council of Nicaea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Did you know, David, that a highly credible gospel that was not included
in the canonical Bible records Jesus to have said this . . . ?” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i>"When
you make the two one, and when you make the inside like the outside and the
outside like the inside, and the above like the below, and when you make the
male and the female one and the same, so that the male not be male nor the
female; and when you fashion eyes in the place of an eye, and a hand in place
of a hand, and a foot in place of a foot, and a likeness in place of a
likeness; then will you enter the kingdom."</i> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>David shakes his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“That statement is a little weird.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Where does it come from?” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“<a href="https://www.marquette.edu/maqom/Gospel%20of%20Thomas%20Lambdin.pdf" target="_blank">The Gospel of Thomas</a>, Saying 22.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“If most of
that gospel sounds like that, I can see why they chose not to put it in.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes, the
Gospel of Thomas is a list of riddles, sort of like Zen kaons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are not for the masses, so the Council
of Nicaea probably decided to avoid confusing their parishioners.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It confuses
me too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What does it mean to you?” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“I see it saying the Kingdom is
about merging the two sides within ourselves into one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The earth part and the spirit part, the
external and the internal, the upper and the lower, and the masculine and the
feminine. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This, to me, is the deeper
meaning of ‘marriage’: marrying the two parts of ourselves within.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Ethan pauses, looks at his former
intern, and adds that it also suggests this: “There is a feminine side within you who
dreams, and a masculine side within you who acts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you suffocate the dreamer from dreaming,
the actor can’t act.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Then I’d better start acting on my
dreams.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>David gazes out the
window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That might be easier said than
done.”<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">“Most certainly,” Ethan
affirms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But worth it.”</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">© 2021 by Karina. All rights reserved. Please use with permission and/or a link to
this blog.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2022/07/jasmines-serve.html" target="_blank"><span>Continue to Jasmine's Serve</span></a> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/04/thats-lot-on-your-plate.html" target="_blank">Return to Davie's 2nd conversation with Ethan</a></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/11/they-lied.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Return to Davie's 1st conversation with Ethan</span></a></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2475726867404602523.post-72299580463418494972021-10-17T23:14:00.010-07:002023-06-25T21:00:51.333-07:00Jasmine's Journal: Our Completion Within<!--Google tag (gtag.js)-->
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<p><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Dear readers, if you are new to “Just like Eve,” the
fictional book I began in 2017, click<a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2020/04/introducing-just-like-eve-karinas.html" target="_blank"> here for an overview</a>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">June 4, 2012, Jasmine’s home in Colorado Springs, CO</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><i> <span>Tim’s not at ease with my questions,</span></i></span><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><span> </span>Jasmine writes into her
journal.</span><span style="font-family: "Lucida Bright", serif;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">Last night, I admitted that <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/09/eves-test.html#more" target="_blank">I gave Joshua an “F” for committing genocide</a>, and Tim looked at me with eyes that said, “Who
are you? Do I know you?” I’m not sure he really does. I haven’t let him know me because I was too
busy trying to find <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/12/chapter-9-you-complete-me.html" target="_blank">“completion”</a> with him.
But something struck me today: I am complete when I am <b>me</b>!</span><span style="font-family: Lucida Bright, serif; font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"><i> </i>Jasmine pulls up her pencil
and pauses over her revelation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
makes a vow, prays it, and records it into her journal:</span> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">No more faking the true me. Help me, Spirit, become complete by being my
true self.</span><span style="font-family: Lucida Bright, serif; font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> She pauses again and reflects
on the difference between how she feels about Davie and how she feels about the
man she married, Tim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since she has been
musing over the concept that perhaps the second curse to Eve – <a href="https://biblehub.com/genesis/3-16.htm" target="_blank">“you will desire your man”</a> – was a curse because the woman feels that she needs to be
“completed” by the man, Jasmine now considers something new</span>: </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">It’s neither Tim nor Davie who
completes me. Davie helps me be
complete, but only because he lets me be me.
Actually, it’s me completing myself by <b>finding</b> myself.</span><span style="font-family: Lucida Bright, serif; font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;"><i> </i>Jasmine lifts her pencil up
to her mouth like a finger that says “shhhh.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Something mysterious is brewing within her that knows this revelation
changes everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She does not need a
man to be complete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She just needs one
who lets her be herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, of
course, she needs to <i>find</i> herself, and this task appears to be baffling
in its complexity, seeming to call for the removal of layer upon layer upon
layer of conditioning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had been
conditioned by her parents, her church, her teachers, her community, and seemingly
everyone to think in a certain way, and when she thought differently, she was
mocked and sometimes even scorned for <a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2018/08/thinking-at-odds.html" target="_blank">“thinking at odds.”</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, to make her life easier, Jasmine
permitted the conditioning of everyone else’s thinking to permeate into her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without even realizing what was happening to
her, she became a person she didn’t recognize anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nor even like.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">A whisper comes to her: <i>Remember
<a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-inner-feminine-life-giver-life.html" target="_blank">what Gabbie said</a>?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The film strip of
her conversation with her friends at The Alley begins to roll, and she prays
for help to remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bit by bit, enough
returns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She recalls Gabbie saying we each
carry within ourselves a feminine principle and a masculine principle within,
and some spiritual traditions teach that the masculine principle is dead
without the feminine principle, and the feminine principle can’t act without
the masculine principle. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gabbie’s
summary now comes back: “our inner feminine and our inner masculine need to
harmonize themselves with each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unless both our inner masculine and our inner feminine are alive and
well, we’re stuck.”</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">It’s
not about human people who might have lived named Adam and Eve,</span>
<span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Jasmine records into her journal.</span><span style="font-family: Oxygen;"> </span><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><i> It’s about finding wholeness within. We discover ourselves complete when our
masculine and feminine parts come together.</i></span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">With this new insight, Jasmine is
eager to re-read the text of Adam and Eve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Will it shed any further light?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Remarkably, it does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The story
carries a theme of unity and separation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Adam was one being, but he was<a href="https://biblehub.com/genesis/2-7.htm" target="_blank"> formed from two parts</a>: dust of the earth
(his fleshly nature) and the breath of God (his spiritual nature), suggesting a
duality and a separation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then a rib is
removed from him to create Eve, and they become two beings. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they still have unity: they are walking in
Eden together with the Creator, united with this divine force.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later, they eat from a tree called “knowledge
of good and evil.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Duality: “good” and
“evil,” or forces that are <i>separate</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Upon these forces, now separate, the man and the woman also find
themselves separate from one other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or,
at least, they <i>see</i> themselves that way, as <a href="https://biblehub.com/genesis/3-7.htm" target="_blank">“their eyes were opened.”</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon seeing differently, one of them blames
the other: <a href="https://biblehub.com/genesis/3-12.htm" target="_blank">“She made me do it.”</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again,
they see and feel as if they are separate. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, they are sent from Eden and find
themselves separate from this Creator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
story begins with unity and ends with separation. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">But are they really separate? Jasmine
wonders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is it simply that they see
differently and think they are separate when they really aren’t?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Jasmine is beginning to land upon a
concept that mystics throughout the ages have called “the illusion of
separation.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We really aren’t separate,
but we think we are, and discovering our unity is part of what this life on
Earth is designed to teach us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Could it be, Jasmine wonders, that
this experience of completion, of unity within, is what Jesus calls the kingdom
of heaven?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus makes this entrance
sound so simple: we just need to <a href="https://biblehub.com/matthew/18-3.htm" target="_blank">become like little children</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, he also adds in mysterious remarks,
like telling us to <a href="https://biblehub.com/matthew/6-22.htm" target="_blank">make our eye single</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peter
is blunt, calling entrance into the kingdom a <a href="https://biblehub.com/1_peter/4-12.htm" target="_blank">“fiery trial,”</a> and Luke says it
comes only by way of <a href="https://biblehub.com/acts/14-22.htm" target="_blank">“many tribulations.”</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">Ironically, one of Jasmine’s
tribulations is that the closer she feels she’s coming to a single eye, the more
she confuses and upsets the man she made a life-long vow to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is that vow one of the layers of conditioning
she needs to peel off?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She shudders at
that notion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That would make for a
harrowing double tribulation of both her marital trial and the trial of shifting
away from one of the most powerful forms of conditioning her culture
enforces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both of these trials terrify her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet another would be even worse: cutting
off the process that has begun in her to become her true self.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> S</span>he has begun to find herself irritated by her former self, the one who had adopted the thinking of other people who
had told her what to think and how to think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The only person within her that she can truly love is the authentic,
complete one, the one who is finding truth and unity within herself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen; font-size: medium;">When she met Davie, he let her
think for herself, and some of the layers of conditioning began to come off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first time since she was eleven, Jasmine has begun to discover her true self.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
marvels that she is also discovering the very completion she had been
seeking, and thought she had needed from a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Perhaps she has begun to glimpse into the kingdom of heaven.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Oxygen;">Jasmine’s mind is spinning so fast
she’s stuck on what to write next into her journal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But she closes with a question she had never anticipated:</span> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">Could
some of the tribulations into the entrance of the kingdom involve not only
thinking, but even living, quite different than what is taught by the very
churches who follow the teacher who pointed the way into the kingdom?</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: medium;">© 2021 by karina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All rights reserved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please use with permission and/or a link to
this blog post.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://whispersofmystery.blogspot.com/2021/11/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: medium;">Continue to Head-shaking Lot of Change</span></a></p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"></span><p></p>karinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865688491756284133noreply@blogger.com0