Remembering Infinity: BOO!

BOO! Happy Hallowe’en!

Hallowe’en has always been one of my favorite days of the year.  When I was a child of 7 or 8, and perhaps even younger, I’d enjoy dressing up in a costume and going to school.  I always admired and appreciated the creativity of the other kids and their families as we’d circle the schoolyard for our annual Hallowe’en Parade.  There were ghosts, goblins, witches, and super heroes.  There were clowns, mummies, princesses, and draculas.  The variety seemed endless!  Some kids would have the usual store-bought costumes, but the ones I enjoyed most were the clever, homemade ones.  I’ll never forget one fellow in my 5th grade class painted a big cardboard box (very accurately, I might add) and came dressed as a big box of laundry detergent!

My mom was always struck by the Hallowe’en spirit too, for she’d always decorate our small city apartment with pumpkins, indian corn, and autumn leaves.  Their bright, cheerful colors always seemed to make things better, no matter what family drama might have been going on.  Before I became big enough to do things on my own, Mom would help me create my costumes.  Whether I’d be in the guise of a swashbuckling pirate, a civil war cavalry officer, or an old west sheriff, she’d sometimes work into the late hours on the night before Hallowe’en, sewing, gluing, and painting.

But no matter what the costumes might be, the highlight of the day would always be when we’d go trick-or-treating on those dark and spooky autumn nights.  We had a wonderful tradition of going to my cousins’ house, where we could scarcely wait for the sky to darken and the moon to rise.  We’d fuss and fidget all through dinner, pestering our parents with every bite.

“Is it dark enough yet?”

“What time can we go?”

“Was that the doorbell?”

“Can we go now, puleeeeeeeese?”

Finally, with an exasperated shake of the head, an eye roll, and a knowing grin, one of our parents would surrender!  Like curled, dry leaves fleeing the cold wind, my cousins and I would don our masks and race from the house.   With empty sacks waiting to be filled with all manner of candy and treats, we’d fly through the neighborhood.  Racing from house to house, the three of us (and many other neighbor cretins) would trample across lawns and stumble shamelessly through any flower beds that might find themselves along our darkened way.

Some homes were “haunted”, of course, and those were the most fun.  Witches and demons crouched behind their doors, all waiting for innocent and unsuspecting fingers to press on doorbell buttons.  Surprised by the frightening spectacles that greeted us, we’d shriek in delight, forget to collect our candy, and run, giggling breathlessly, to the next house.

Now that I’m all “grown up”, my teenage son and I have turned the tables.  It’s our turn to scare the daylights out of the neighborhood trick-or-treaters!  Sometime during the week before Hallowe’en, our front yard turns mysteriously into a graveyard with an abundance of realistic gravestones, creepy creatures, and human remains (all fake, of course!).  A low-hanging fog, flashes of lightning, and some spooky sound effects (mostly thunder and scary music) send scores of the more adventurous souls screaming down our driveway–and I suppose our stumbling zombie characters do a great deal to “help” them along their way!

It’s sometimes difficult for some to imagine, but there are some who truly fear Hallowe’en.  From its history, they feel it is a practice that feeds into satanic or negative ideals.  While there may be a slight element of truth to this, I prefer to think of it as an opportunity–an opportunity to help us embrace and even overcome some of our deepest fears.  When we can face the “monsters” of our own making, learn to make “light” of them, and appreciate the experiences and lessons they bring, we often discover that we no longer fear them.  We find that they no longer have any power–because we are the ones who can choose to not be afraid!  When we find our own power under the light of this Truth, things like darkness, death, and the unknown lose their fearful sting.  In their place, we are often able to discover balance and a newfound sense of peace.

So be not afraid!  Face those “demons”!  Then pat ’em on the head, shout “BOO!”, and toss a piece of candy in their bag.  If one chooses to look at things in that way, Hallowe’en can be a whole lot of fun–for kids of all ages!

With Love (and lots of candy),

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Remembering Infinity: Born to Fly!

Like a caterpillar, one day, we too may be surprised to find that we were born to fly!

I‘ll never forget one of my grandmother’s favorite stories–one she would often tell us grandkids when we were small.  We’d usually be in the park or her rather overgrown backyard when she’d spy a wooly caterpillar on a bush or a butterfly flitting by.

“Oh,” she’d exclaim excitedly,”look at that!  How beautiful!”  Then she’d laugh to herself and say to us, “That reminds me of one of my favorite little stories.”

As we’d gather around to watch the little creature going about its business, she would begin.

“Once upon a time, there was a little caterpillar.  Every day, he’d wake up, creep out from under the shelter of his little home among the rosebuds, and begin munching away at the leaves.  Soon he’d be joined by several other caterpillars and they’d all enjoy each other’s company as they ate.  Weeks went by and, one by one, the plump and happy caterpillars would each spin a chrysalis to begin their transition into a butterfly.

Before too long, there were only two little caterpillars left.  One day, as the two chatted and ate, a beautiful butterfly floated by, gracefully fluttering its wings in the warm sunshine.  One of the caterpillars stopped eating and stared in awe at the glittering, brilliant flashes of color on its wings.

‘Wow…would you look at that?’ He stared in amazement.

His friend glanced up briefly and returned to his meal, unimpressed.  ‘That’s nice,’ he replied, ‘but you’ll never get me up in one of those things!'”

It was at this point that Grandma would always break out in laughter–and all of us would too, for we all well knew that the silly caterpillar was destined to one day spin his own chrysalis and become a butterfly himself!

As I’ve grown older, I’ve grown to appreciate Grandma’s caterpillar story even more–for it reminds me that, in order for us to truly grow, we must expand our thinking and open our minds and hearts to new possibilities and change.  One of the important things to remember about the nature of Life is that things will change, whether we want them to or not.  If we let our doubts, worries, or fears stop us from trying new things, we may never know how many of Life’s greatest adventures we might miss.  It is only through looking past our fears, opening ourselves to new opportunities, and embracing the idea of change that we may discover these experiences are actually wonderful!

So the next time you see a caterpillar or a butterfly, why not take a moment to appreciate the mystery and magic of Nature?  If you keep your mind open to all kinds of new and exciting ideas and energies, you may one day discover that your own metamorphosis has been just as miraculous as theirs!

With Love,

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Remembering Infinity: “Let It Begin With Me…”

        Let there be Peace on Earth.

Ever since I was young, I’ve always felt that I was somehow a little different from others my age. I was shy and withdrawn growing up, never quite fitting in with others—and I still have a tendency to be that way, even some decades later as an adult.

By all outward appearances, I was a typical tow-headed, spindly-legged kid. What made me stand out the most however, were the rather obvious facts that my mom cut my hair herself and that I was dressed quite a bit differently than anyone else. While most kids my age were sporting t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers, I had to wear more conservative button-down shirts, slacks, and leather dress shoes with brass buckles. Unfortunately, these differences and my quiet nature seemed to make me the perfect target for bullies.

Since both my parents needed to work to make ends meet, I grew up  as a “latch-key kid” in a working-class neighborhood in San Francisco.  Often left to manage on my own, I’d walk the several blocks to and from our 1920’s brick apartment building to school.  Most afternoons after school let out, I’d let myself into our empty apartment using a key my parents had hidden near the back kitchen stairs. Unfortunately, my daily travels took me past a smaller stucco duplex where a classmate named “Raymond” lived. Raymond and I had been friends in kindergarten, but somehow the passage of the next grade or two found us bitter enemies. As the result of some undoubtedly childish disagreement—the details of which completely escape me now, Raymond apparently made it his personal mission to taunt and threaten me any time he could. Most days, I would try to avoid crossing paths with him by racing out of school as quickly as I could or by unpredictably changing my route home.

Sometimes however, these efforts didn’t work—and on those days, Raymond and his friends would follow me home from school, shouting insults and even throwing things at me the entire way. Then, when I was almost home, they would quickly surround me like a pack of snarling wolves. Raymond, who was a full head shorter than me, had small scars on his face from previous altercations with others. He’d ball up his fists and glare contemptuously at me. “Come on, pussy!” He’d shout angrily. “Come on…do something! Fight me! You know you want to!”

Rumors around school were that Raymond and his friends carried pocket knives, so I had no desire whatsoever to be involved with any of them. And, truth be told, I was terrified. Most of the time, they would simply knock my textbooks out of my hands and laugh as they walked away. Sometimes they would push me down and jostle each other roughly as I picked myself and my books up and ran home in tears. And, if things weren’t bad enough, it was even more humiliating when there were other kids (especially girls) around.

I couldn’t understand what I had done to deserve the kind of treatment I received and, to make matters even worse, my own household wasn’t immune to discord either. I remember many nights, lying in my closet-like bedroom with my hands over my ears, crying myself to sleep because my parents were screaming at each other on the other side of our thin apartment walls.

In the end, my parents’ temporary “cease-fire” and the city’s new policies on mandatory interschool busing (where troubled kids were sent to different schools in an effort to curb school violence) forced my parents to move. They bought a comfortable home in the suburbs, where things were much better. I still had trouble fitting in as “the new kid”, but at least the kids in my new school were a bit more tolerant of those who were different—that and the fact that I’d finally had enough of being a victim. When I finally began standing up for myself, the few bruises and black eyes I received thereafter were but a small price to pay for the peace I eventually found in knowing I that would be left alone.

In recent years as I’ve looked back on these experiences, I’ve come to understand and see things a bit differently. One of the things I now recall was that Raymond had come from a troubled home himself. With an abusive father and older brother, he had learned to fight—not just for survival, but for his own self-esteem. And, in being bullied himself, he had learned to become a bully. Another personal revelation was the discovery that these episodes were important catalysts for my eventual growth. While I would not want to relive them, nor would I wish these kinds of situations upon anyone else, I’m nonetheless grateful for their bitter lessons.

Through these and other new understandings, I’ve been able to find forgiveness for Raymond—and indeed, for all the others who seemed to find pleasure in my pain. And I take great satisfaction in knowing that I’ve done everything I can to stop the ripples of conflict, hatred, and retribution that such violence often perpetuates. I’m quite thankful that I’ve been able to let these kinds of behavior stop with me.

It struck me as being rather strange, but as I was writing the last few lines of this post I suddenly remembered a song I learned for a holiday performance in the 4^th or 5^th grade. The song, written by Jill Jackson Miller and Sy Miller and popular in the early 1970’s, was called, “Let There Be Peace on Earth”. It begins and ends with the words, “Let there be Peace on Earth, and let it begin with me.” These are important words, for if we were all to live them, no more children would have to run home in fear—and no more mothers or fathers would have to bury a child killed in violence or war.

So why don’t we all agree to take a stand for Peace? Right now—and in every new moment, let it begin with us.

With Love,

Note:

I had an unusual dream last night and, while I hadn’t intended to publish this for a week or two, something about the dream prompted me to post it today instead. In my dream, it seemed as if the world had descended into utter chaos. Parts of the city were burning around me and large numbers of people were fighting one another in the streets. Others, terrified, were fleeing the violence and their homes.

In the midst of all this destruction, one person stopped. He stood in the middle of the street and looked about with tears in his eyes. Quietly at first, but with growing strength and compassion for those around him, he began to sing the words of the song mentioned above. Soon, his powerful voice was carried with the wind—and others, touched and inspired by his courage, stopped to join him. The wave of emotion from their heartfelt song drifted through the urban canyons, soared to the heavens, and gently touched the hearts of all could hear.

And then, something wonderful happened.

Those engaged in violent struggle stopped. They dropped their weapons and fists, suddenly overcome by feelings of sadness and shame. Those in headlong flight no longer felt afraid, so they stopped running. In that brief moment, everyone finally understood that what they did to another human being, they ultimately did to themselves. In that brief moment, all their hate, anger and fear faded away. And instead of fighting and hurting one another, they began helping one another. They treated each others’ wounds. They shared food, clothing, and shelter. They helped put out fires and began to rebuild.

In my dream, all it took was one small miracle—in the form of one person and a song, to change the world. And things would never quite be the same again.

For those who don’t know the song, a wonderful version sung by Vince Gill may be found here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_DxNpW1kHQ

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Remembering Infinity: Thank You!

   Thanks so very much to all of you!

Upon my return from a recent “break” from writing, I was amazed to discover that my one-year anniversary with WordPress had come and gone.   I could hardly believe that much time had passed since I had written my first post!  As I looked back on that time, it occurred to me how much my life had changed for the better.  I felt extremely humbled and grateful for these changes—and indeed, for all of you.  For you are the ones who have made this experience possible and I consider you all to be a part of my “online family”.

Several years ago, when I began my search for “eternal” Truth in earnest,  I often thought about many of my loved ones who had passed away—grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends.  It seemed that with nearly every new discovery I made, I’d recall one of them and wish they were still here in physical form.  I missed being able to call, drop by, or take some time over lunch just to talk with them about all the wonderful things I was learning.  I desperately missed having the opportunity to sound them out—to find out what they thought about things.  It also struck me as being quite sad that so many of the past stories, ideas, and observations they once shared with me were already lost to the ravages of time and my fallible, human memory.

It was then that I began to write what I thought would be a collection of my own thoughts, experiences, and suggestions for living.  My intent was to one day share these with my son, perhaps in book form, so he’d have some remembrance—something that he and perhaps even his children could hold in their hands.  Something so they could read what I had experienced or pondered and written in my own words.

It never occurred to me that such thoughts might have a broader appeal or generate any interest at all from anyone outside my family, until an online acquaintance commented that she greatly appreciated a number of thoughts I had expressed in some emails.  She suggested that I share them with others by starting my own blog.  Since I had been following a number of websites and blogs myself, the concept wasn’t exactly foreign to me—but I hadn’t given much thought to developing one of my own.

As with most other things, once I decided to give “blogging” a try, I dove headlong into the project.  I was amazed at how quickly things seemed to come together—the theme, the focus, the graphics, and my overall vision for what I hoped to accomplish.  I was doubly amazed at the wonderful response and outpouring of encouragement and support I received from so many others—people I didn’t even know!  In the brief period since July of 2014, I’m so pleased to find that I’ve not simply attracted folks who are interested in my writing, I’ve actually made friends.

This morning it occurred to me that I should do something to commemorate the first anniversary of my blog.  So today I wanted to thank you, each and every one of you, for visiting, sharing your very kind words of encouragement, your ratings, “follows”, and “likes”—and most especially for sharing a part of your life with me.  I’m deeply honored and grateful that you’ve decided to spend some of your valuable time here.

As we move on to a new year here at Remembering Infinity, please know that I intend only the very best for each of you and that I deeply appreciate and look forward to your continued sharing.  May you find all the Peace, Love, and Light your heart can hold—and as we move along Life’s path together, know that I am always right there with you in Spirit, every step of the way!

With Love,

PS:  And to my wonderful soul friend Grace (from Amethyst Road and The Earth Plan) who convinced me to give this “blog thing” a try, from the bottom of heart I offer you my most profound gratitude.  This post is especially for you!

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Remembering Infinity: Blank Pages

The fresh, blank page or canvas in front of you isn’t the insurmountable challenge you may think it is.

This post is dedicated to my friend, “Bookworm”.  May she find the inspiration she needs to become the next great sci-fi/fantasy author!

Blogging has been an interesting experience for me.  Through the discovery of many like-minded people here at WordPress and other blog providers, I’ve had the opportunity to explore, learn, and express myself through the simple exchange of thoughts and ideas over the Internet.  I’m consistently amazed by the inspiring creativity of others—and it’s wonderful to be able to engage people from all over the world in such a constructive and meaningful way.  While I’ve only been blogging for a short time, I’ve come to know a number of truly special people and I’m grateful to find that I consider so many to be my friends.

Now that I think of it, I can remember as a child, when my mom would write long letters to her “pen pals”.  These were long-distance acquaintances with whom she would exchange letters or photos in the mail.  Many of her pen pals lived thousands of miles away—in other parts of the United States and sometimes even in other parts of the world.  Back in those days, a letter could take at least a week or two to make its one-way trip, so correspondence was extremely slow by today’s standards.  Many now take instant electronic communication for granted, since that is all they’ve ever known, but I can truly appreciate the speed with which we may all stay in touch today.

While our modern communication methods are indeed terrific, I’ve found that blogging does have its challenges.  The one I seem to be facing lately, I like to call “Blank Page Syndrome”.  While this affliction may be better known as “Writer’s Block”, the challenge is still the same no matter what one may call it.  As much as I may want to write, I’ll sit down, pencil and pad in hand (yes, I still write my drafts the old-fashioned, low-tech way) and stare at those smug, blank pages.  I’ll typically begin to write with hesitation, sometimes a sentence or two, perhaps even a paragraph, then I’ll find that I’m completely dissatisfied with what I’ve written.  I’ll try again and again, often in fits and starts, only to wind up with two or three pages of eraser-scrubbed, lined-out gibberish.   Many times, I tear the pages off my pad, crumple them up, and toss them away in frustration and self-disgust.  How can it be that, at some times, the words flow forth with ease and fluency—and other times not so much, if at all?

So to my online blogging friends and the faithful few who follow “Remembering Infinity”, please know that I’m still here, reading and appreciating your creative posts, commenting and supporting where I can, and seeking inspiration wherever it may be found.  I’m not letting “Blank Page Syndrome” get me down, for I’m sure that many others experience it too—and I’m sure it’s only a temporary phase for all of us who are so afflicted.  I simply take it as a sign that my focus is meant to be elsewhere for the time being and work on some of the many other things that seem to require my attention.

If you’re a fellow blogger or an aspiring author and you find yourself staring at empty pages or a vacant computer screen as I’ve been doing lately, take heart.  Know that you’re in good company and you’re not alone.  There are lots of us out here in a similar situation and state of mind.  So don’t be discouraged…and above all, don’t give up! For this too shall pass. The fresh, blank page or canvas in front of you isn’t the insurmountable challenge you may think it is.  Just consider it to be the birthplace of the world’s next great masterpiece—and get started on it!  Before you know it, you may be surprised to find that the words have begun flowing through your pencil, pen, or your keyboard with the force and momentum of a mighty river.

Hey, would you look at that? I think I may have finally written something that’s worth sharing.  Will wonders never cease?  I suppose I’d better get this posted right away—before those pesky second thoughts get in my way!

With Love,

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