tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24307162562017615012024-02-07T13:11:08.309-08:00JALFWhere laziness of thought and accepting things 'because everyone says so' is unacceptable
Where Science maybe right at times, but because of its rigidity in thinking [plowing on like a horse with blinders] and human personnel, it's bound to make big mistakes at times. Science has no right to dismiss older fields of (medical) research just because it doesn't fit between its own blinders. NB: I AM COVID vaccinated and NOT believing in QAnon stuff
JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.comBlogger131125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-65743473242399956822018-02-28T11:58:00.003-08:002020-12-03T08:44:25.336-08:00The Empty Room<br />
<b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">I</span></b> know of a room that is a happy room. Really, if you just open the door a little bit and poke your head in, you will smile.<br />
Light is flooding in through a window that's as wide as the room. There's so much sky to see, and trees too. And inside the room are sweet looking dolls and animals. Both old and new ones.<br />
There are glass jars for water to rinse the paintbrushes that are in a vase behind the jars. The paint is on that same table. Acrylic paint for paper and canvass, and even more paint for textile, you know... t-shirts, blouses and pants.<br />
Light, colors and toy friends. A room full of spirit. <br />
And magic! For a real white cat spends hours up there. Black cats for black magic, white cats for white magic, right?<br />
<br />
The sad thing is ... the owner never enters the room. She furnished it, put everything in place while smiling at the thought of many hours to be spent here. Then she went downstairs , to her "living" room and never walked back upstairs.<br />
How can anyone hide from happiness? Happiness is like an essential nutrient: without adding it to your "things-to-do-diet" you die. Mentally.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Unable to enjoy happiness</b><br />
<br />
Yes, how? Let's dive into the woman's past to look for a clue.<br />
At school she was not allowed to play with the other children during breaks, when she hadn't written down all the sums. [She was very good at arithmetic, but <a href="http://joanne-lakefield.blogspot.nl/2018/02/the-psychology-of-handwriting.html" target="_blank">terribly slow at writing</a>]<br />
At home she was not allowed to do what she liked if she hadn't done her homework first. And only after finishing a dinner she disliked, was she allowed to have desert.<br />
<br />
The adults of her childhood probably thought they were training her well, make her suited for life in a demanding world. It was supposed to teach self discipline.<br />
Alas, the actual message they sent, said "Happiness is not unconditional. It's a treat that is to be earned and can only be enjoyed when there is time left over."<br />
For those who like lists, here's a breakdown of the message:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li> Happiness comes at a price; To be paid up front</li>
<li> You have no right to be happy, but you may earn bits of it</li>
<li> Happiness is no more than a treat: not essential, but an extra</li>
<li> Happiness is so unimportant, you may only enjoy it when there is time <i>left over!! </i><br /> For Time is actually intended for serious matters [that rarely bring joy - how come?]</li>
</ol>
With that message in mind, a room dedicated to hours of happiness becomes a threat. It requires a huge entrance fee and it makes the person entering it into a felon, stealing Time that was meant to be spent on serious matters. On tasks that matter more to others than to oneself.<br />
And one should put others first, because "what am I anyway" ? Someone who doesn't even have the right to be happy....<br />
<br />
So <i><u>especially</u></i> when the woman is tired, burned out and feeling down... the price of entering the room has become way too high. For she is much too tired to pay the price required to be have a happy hour. No, for the woman it is best to stay away from happy places...<br />
<br />
<br />
Actually, her generation was brought up that way and many of them get a burn out when they are somewhere around 50. These people are compulsory in delivering whatever is demanded by others and great at neglecting their own health. As a consequence. they do not recharge their battery often enough .... by being doing something that makes them happy.<br />
<br />
I am searching like mad to find a way to rub out those bad lessons, so the woman can enjoy being happy without feeling guilty over it. But it's a difficult puzzle.JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-44553301865108104812016-11-14T14:20:00.007-08:002017-12-27T12:56:37.515-08:00Reconnecting with the Soul<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The Soul-woman within me</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">should be resting</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">in my sacral cradle.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Make her mystic meals</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">in the abdominal cavity</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">and do her life's work </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">right here from the heart.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">But she is not</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She is held captive</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">high up in the tower </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">past its ivory gates</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I'll have to drive my dragon-bike</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">from Chicago to L.A.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">breaking barriers to set her free</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-43305126236441650512016-07-16T01:23:00.001-07:002016-07-16T01:35:48.459-07:00Animals needing help.<br />
I got another urgent mail from Michelle of the L.A. Rabbit Foundation. It seems that bunnies keep coming in at the shelter. From the Netherlands it's hard to help, but maybe you, dear reader, can?<br />
<br />
Please visit: <a href="http://myemail.constantcontact.com/RABBIT-FOSTER-or-FOREVER-HOMES-NEEDED--PLEASE-HELP--CROSS-POST-.html?soid=1102084408065">http://larabbits.org/</a><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgigZkd7TcAMqwjVVNyBQZfvZzvNlQ7Qi1MCGDXH5_TBgYi-NJcLzMFGAZ4Dx0o5oxmzFhaqCtbnLlCHR-H4DwPWlOsL6rfQUf9xCig1nkBB3tDcizBKTv7SR72PpXjoqDGPmoLr_oMD4Y/s1600/larabbit+bunny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgigZkd7TcAMqwjVVNyBQZfvZzvNlQ7Qi1MCGDXH5_TBgYi-NJcLzMFGAZ4Dx0o5oxmzFhaqCtbnLlCHR-H4DwPWlOsL6rfQUf9xCig1nkBB3tDcizBKTv7SR72PpXjoqDGPmoLr_oMD4Y/s640/larabbit+bunny.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-44578365042996682992016-03-01T15:22:00.002-08:002018-05-16T04:27:57.186-07:00Strictness does not create powerful childrenHave you been raised by the rule of finishing your plate, to be allowed your desert? To finish your home work before being allowed to play?<br />
<br />
This is supposed to turn children into adults who do not shrink from duty, even if it's not a nice thing to do.<br />
But that's not the outcome....<br />
<br />
It implies that all nasty tasks will pay off in something nice. But life is not like that. Sometimes you work your a.. off and you're NOT rewarded, life just keeps on sucking.<br />
<br />
You were trained in task setting being done for you and that rewards are also coming to you from outside... you were trained to depend on the world around you.<br />
<br />
If you were raised wiser, you would have been allowed to follow your own instincts, so you could learn where your judgment failed you, so you could sharpen it. You would have learned to trust your own heart and that your ideas matter. The self confidence that we need as adults.<br />
And as for rewards... you should have learned that the joy of working on something that's connected to your soul and pride over your own endeavor, are the rewards... Even if you tried and failed.. so you may try again!<br />
No dependency on the society or world around you! It doesn't make a person anti social, but simply more confident. And confident people are healthier and function better. <br />
<br />
The adage of finishing your plate first, and do your homework first can have even worse consequences ....<br />
It may spoil your joy of doing something totally unimportant but fun... because oh, you haven't done anything boring before that. Which is your habit. Or there are unfinished tasks lying around... <br />
And you may be a habtiual teeth grinder, working hard at finishing the job before resting... causing a burn out at age 50.<br />
<br />
Play first and use the energy it gives to do what really must be done later on. If it still needs to be done! Some matters solve themselves over time. JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-85133492604514572882016-03-01T15:15:00.000-08:002018-05-16T04:29:59.807-07:00The Bringer of Good TidingsThe bearer of bad news takes the risk of being killed.<br />
But what about the bearer of good news?<br />
<br />
It's easy to mistake the messenger for the message. Or at least to see them as a package deal.<br />
I mean, we're only <strike>human</strike> mammals. Like the dogs of Pavlov, who knew the bell and food were connected - for a while at least. Until the bell tolled but there was no food.<br />
How long did it take the dogs to stop thinking of food at the sound of the bell? <br />
<br />
How easy is it to lose your heart to the person who brings good news. Someone who makes you happy tends to become special, especially if you are surrounded by negativity ... but it was the message you had to cling to, the information was something to incorporate in your life.<br />
The messenger may hang around for a while. For a rest, or out of curiosity. But as a general rule (s)he is not connected to you nor to the message and thus is not meant to stay in your life. Be smart and don't focus on the bearer of good tidings while letting what they delivered grow stale.<br />
Because ... do you have any idea how much it may cost you to get over letting go of the messenger?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-33618147824330967552015-11-26T16:02:00.004-08:002016-07-02T04:34:24.255-07:00A new backpack<span style="font-size: large;">In Dutch there is a metaphor in which a backpack signifies the load of life experiences or physical complications one carries into the future. Sometimes the backpack is replaced by a suitcase but the metaphor stays the same.<br /><br />I have been having some real backpack troubles a few weeks ago. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My favourite backpack was a blue-green one that I bought one or two years ago in a time in which I saw how my relationship with my mother had truncated my own personal development. Now it was time to work on my own life and I loved the coincidence of owning a new backpack while making a new start.<br />Over time I started to embellish the backpack with artificial flowers. It was a game with a very simple rule: the flowers should not have been bought, begged for or stolen. I would either have to find them or receive them as a gift. As it turned out they were all single flowers, lost by their owners, lying bedraggled on the sidewalks or in the grass borders along the streets. A colourful mix of rejects showing off their worth on my bag. I fear I identified myself with them.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And now the zipper had given in... just while I had no money to have it repaired and wasn't able to repair it myself....</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But no problem... I kept the bag for show and dug up an old backpack I got through the food bank, upon which I depended 5 years ago. Not exactly a favorite, but still pretty good.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">That's what the cat thought too, when he used it instead of the litter box, making it totally unsuitable for buying food. Even carrying other stuff in it didn't sit well with me...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In only a couple of days I had lost two backpacks. My shopping tour for an affordable one did not pay off, so I settled for using my other bags instead. Who needs a backpack? </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">A little while later.... just when I was not looking for a backpack, but only for comfort by visiting a dear friend and going out shopping together... did I run into it... the perfect backpack: the right size, beautiful color and a not too common design. All this and still fitting well within my budget. I took it from the shelf thinking how I didn't need it... I was doing pretty well using my shoulder- and handbags... but suddenly my heart leaped and I saw Serendipity smiling at me from behind the store's rack, whispering that it had a different value... worthy of a new blog post.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I saw what she meant. A new start. Letting go of old views and values. Even better: a backpack is not for carrying around old pain, it's for carrying what you can use to build the best possible<i></i> future. It's a tool bag!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">No longer asking<b> Why</b> but<b> How</b>...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">For so often I have analysed <i>why</i> I have stranded in the here and now. I think I did find the answer. But it's only of use if I see its lesson, get off my ass and walk again. Carrying only the new wisdom, not its history, with me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I shouldn't put my dysesthesia and tinnitus in my backpack and definitely not the story of how I got them.. But the new life style, the techniques and list of good foods that are beneficial in my current physical condition. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And I have a lot of new 'things' -sorry folks- to put in my backpack: from dog walking and yoga to a whole bunch of new friends. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The hike would no longer be about looking back to see which stone has "made" me trip (huh huh.. I tripped over it) but about looking around to enjoy the view and looking forward to see what should be my next step. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If you pack your backpack that way, you are traveling as light as you can. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Hm, wonder what the beautiful cognac color of this new bag might signify :)</span><br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>Here -in Dutch- the solution Brigitte Kaandorp found for her life's suitcase ... leaving it behind. If you like it, you can keep it, but you'd better not. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-52903953217416024652015-10-23T16:54:00.000-07:002015-10-23T17:30:09.780-07:00Teaching Social Skills<i>Alan Rewines sighed mentally, facing his class. It was the 6</i><sup><i>th</i></sup><i>
and final grade of his primary school. 28 pupils who formed quite a
manageable class, the usual mixture of popular kids, easy going boys
and girls and the few odd ones. 28 pairs of eyes were looking at him
expectantly, some were even bursting with tension. No wonder, two
days ago over half of the kids stayed after school to do a test for
joining the team that would represent the school in the game show
“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyLfom0lsv0" target="_blank">Runaround</a>”.
A large number of multiple choice questions and the 5 pupils with
the highest score would form the team. </i>
<br />
<br />
“Runaround” was a TV show in which two schools would compete
by answering multiple choice questions. There were things to be won
for the school and each team member could take his personal Runaround
T-shirt home as a trophy. There would be the returning guests: a magician and the
curator of mammals of “<a href="http://www.freewebs.com/showbanded/dierenparkwassenaar.htm" target="_blank">Animal park Wassenaar</a>”, bringing in one of the zoo's
animals and interesting special guests. The show was
immensely popular. <span style="font-style: normal;">Alan's class of
two years ago had applied and finally the school was number one on
the waiting list. </span>
<br />
<div style="text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-decoration: none;">
<i>Alan had checked all the test
results and was now going to announce who would be in the team. </i>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
</div>
He had memorized how he would tell the news, because it meant a
slight change of the rules. It involved Hannah, the daughter of a
military officer whom he had moved away from the left row of seats,
along the windows on the right, to the middle row. She was sitting
somewhere at the back of the room, just in front of Jack the class'
artist while John, the class clown and close friend of Jack, was
seated at the end of the row along the left wall with windows. This
way Alan could check on this year's odd one's in one glance.<br />
Hannah was taken away from her window seat because … because she
was staring out too much, day dreaming no doubt. Not that it affected
her work, she had the best grades of her class. But she had been
making drawings of the sunset she had obviously watched too often
during the first hour in school during the past winter months. And of
a dog named Max, who appeared several times per day at the small
window of the apartment right across the street, as she had
explained. Not to mention -here Alan's nostril's flared with anger
again - the wanted poster she had drawn. It read “Wanted, rather
dead than alive. Teaches kids all kinds of mistakes.” Between those
lines was his head. She had drawn his profile, but the likeness was clear. Too clear. Odd, how
could it have escaped him while she had been working on it? It was
her father, laughing over it, who had drawn his attention to the
wanted poster during an “open night” where all parents were
present to look at their children's work. Alan remembered the sting
of this moment of public humiliation.
<br />
Hannah's father should instead have been displeased with his
daughter's lack of respect. The teacher shrugged away the idea. That
would never happen because it was the father who was behind the
disrespect. At the first parent-teacher conference of this year the
man had kept nagging about something that had to do with his, Alan's,
geography lessons. Oh yes... Alan teaches his pupils that the
inhabitants of Libya are called Libyan or Lebanese. What had
aggravated Hannah's father most, was that he had made Alan aware of
this mistake two years earlier, when Hannah's brother was in the 6<sup>th</sup>
grade. And the teacher had obviously refused to correct this. As if
teachers were to obey every hint of the parents...<br />
So the Wanted
Poster was actually the result of what went on at home. Not only was
the girl being taught to be disrespectful to her teacher, the
headmaster, she also had a violent streak in her... <i>rather dead</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
than alive! Maybe military men should not raise children. </span>
<br />
<br />
<i>As the teacher's eyes came to the one-before-last desk of the
middle row, he adjusted his calculation. 27 pairs of eyes were at
him... Hannah, though clearly as tense as the other contestants, had
her eyes on her empty desk. Weak in social skills, and he, Alan, knew
the root of the problem. </i>
<br />
<i>He moved his eyes to the other Hannah. Such a difference. </i>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal;">
She came to this school in 4<sup>th</sup>
grade and quickly became popular. Whereas the first Hannah had never
been able to replace her friend who left school halfway second grade,
due to a move to the east of the country. Now she was chummy with
Jack and John. They even made homework together, Alan guessed. The
boys showed an unexpected improvement in their homework and he knew
they were not being tutored by an official teacher.
</div>
The other Hannah, Hannah 2, was on the list of children who were
to represent the school in Runaround. Because of her spontaneity and
pleasant manners. A pleasant popular pupil, like the other four he
had selected. Of course they were, they all came from nice families
who taught their children about community involvement by setting an
example. The 2nd Hannah's mother was a member of the PTA, together
with Angela's mother, who replaced the father of Daniel, a loyal
member for 3 years, while his wife was still active for the school in
other areas. Of course one didn't have to be a PTA member to teach
one's children about commitment and loyalty. One could volunteer for
events for instance. Like the parents of Michael, who were around
whenever sports events took place and parents were needed as team
captains. Or one could help out with the less exciting jobs, like
covering the new school books or repairing desks and chairs. Robin's
parents managed to turn such an evening into a great get together.
Alas, it was a small circle of parents who did this regularly and it
was important to reward them. They were like a circle of friends by
now and it would be bad for the school to waste such loyalty.<br />
<br />
“<i>OK kids, I know you are all anxious to hear who will be on
our Runaround team. So be quiet and I will read the names.” Mouths
tightened in response.</i><br />
“<i>Daniel. Angela. Michael... Robin and … Hannah 2.”
Chatter, congratulations and five proud faces, glancing round to
classmates. <br />“Sir, we want to know the outcome of the test. Who
was best?” John had permitted himself to raise his voice without
even raising his finger. Why John? The boy who would certainly not be
high on the list and who only joined in for fun. The curiosity of the
class was roused, they all wanted to know who of the team members had
the highest score. Alan Rewines cleared his throat. “Ahum. The
highest score is Hannah's.” Hannah 2 straightened herself in her
seat and admiring looks went her way. “Not Hannah 2. It was Hannah
1.”</i><br />
<i>Now the girl in question did look at her teacher. In her eyes a
mixture of pride, reproach and disappointment. Her mouth opened
slightly but she couldn't speak. It was John who did it for her.
“Master, that's not fair. You said the best would be on the team.”
<br />“That's true” Jack pitched in. “Hannah 1 should be on the
team.” The entire class became noisy, not all of them taking to the
view of Jack and John, but they did want an explanation.<br />Alan
decided to speak to the first Hannah directly. “I am sorry, Hannah.
I know I said the people with the highest score would be in. But you
are lacking the spontaneity the other children have. It just wouldn't
look good for the school, you see? So I selected children who scored
highly and are open and spontaneous as well.”</i><br />
<i>Hannah 1 didn't protest, she just grew pale and took her away
from him. As she didn't seem to object, the class grew quiet again
except for some suppressed protests from John. Ignoring those, Alan
went on explaining the procedures sent to him by the makers of
Runaround...</i><br />
<i> </i>
<br />
<br />
Alan congratulated himself in silence. This was over and done
with much easier than he expected. Since this was not about learning
material, Hannah's father was not likely to protest and everybody
else, including the PTA, was happy over this selection. <br />
As for the lesson Hannah learned today? Well, that was her problem, not his. JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-19850298815414670972015-08-18T00:58:00.002-07:002015-08-18T00:58:23.747-07:00Desperately Seeking ...<i>I have written an article for the Los Angeles Argonaut, but it wasn't published. So I'm publishing it here.</i><br />
<i>Anyone who can help me, please leave a comment or send a mail (be creative, check linked-in or my website or ...)</i><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><u>“<span style="font-style: normal;"><b>You
have given me hope”</b></span></u></span></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's not just long term friends who
can change your life. A short exchange of words with a stranger can
be enough. You may gain a new insight, or new strength to hang in and
fight some more. Helping you win that heartfelt battle. Those
strangers, popping by just once at the right time seem God sent.
Stand-in angels.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Is it thwarting Fate, our Creator,
karma, to try to get in touch again if such an encounter is etched
into your heart?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm thinking of one young man I met on
the corner of Santa Monica Blvd and the 3d Street Promenade in Santa
Monica, May 2013. He was in a wheelchair, at his feet a cute dark
gray little dog and a cardboard with a lengthy text. No doubt
explaining why he was asking for money.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When I see words, I must stop and
read, so I walked over, my son in my wake. Yet my eyes never finished
the first line. The dog was already between me and the cardboard,
begging to be petted, tail wagging like mad, eyes glowing with
friendliness. Dogs being more interesting than written words, my son
and I went down on our knees to rub and pet and compliment her owner
on having such a happy dog.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I call her Love Bug” the man
explained. Was he in his early thirties, or am I wrong, do I remember
a few lighter hairs in his short, well groomed beard? “She means a
lot to me, giving me so much warmth.” I saw gentleness and warmth
in his eyes as well. He thanked me for the banknote I had kept hidden
in my hand until then and started telling us why he was begging.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He's had epilepsy all his life, severe
grand mal seizures with a very high frequency. Debilitating and life
threatening. Only recently had he ran into a specialist who
discovered something vital: the seizures could be kept under control
by a diet. It was all just starting up, the diet not completely
worked out yet, but already the young man had profited from regaining
some strength. No longer losing energy in an endless row of
convulsions and tremors he had managed to obtain a new and better
suited wheelchair and GR. However... the benefit was insufficient for
the special dietary food. The money he got from begging allowed him
to buy that. Not begging meant going back to daily seizures and
tremors.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As he gave me details of the diet I
noticed how well spoken he was and beyond his poverty and desperate
state I saw an intelligent and sensitive man. In a flash I saw him in
a suit, working at an office. It could be true if only...
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If only he would meet that one
employer who did not only hire risk-free people. People who are
guaranteed to show up at their contracted hours, predictable,
available. Yet can one be sure they will perform so well in
unexpected situations, situations that require real originality or
remarkable tenacity?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I am only an intelligent and highly
sensitive person and this condition alone has taught me most
employers prefer to hire workers who come by the dozen.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I told Love Bug's owner how I, in The
Netherlands, had been receiving my food from the food bank for three
years, getting desperate about ever finding work again. But here I
was visiting L.A. because I had ultimately managed to get a job. I
will not forget the change I saw in his eyes. “Thank you, You have
given me hope” he said, from the bottom of his soul. <span style="background: transparent;">With
that he gave me hope in return... that I, my life, does matter to
others. Don't we all doubt that at times?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Once I got back to The Netherlands I
wondered if there could be a way to do more. I have a masters degree
in Biology and though I've never worked as a scientist, I still read
articles about neurology and behavior. Proper information might add
to the quality of his diet or result in a more affordable version. I
might get in touch through the staff of the nearby Italian restaurant
whose staff members I've seen spoiling Love Bug with attention and a
treat while sharing a joke with her boss.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The result of my internet research for
anti-epileptic diets was somewhat ironic.... A very good, if not the
best source of information was an organization founded in 1994 to
advocate the ketogenic diet for children with difficult-to-control
seizures: the Charlie Foundation. Located at 515 Ocean Ave, Santa
Monica. One mile from where we had our talk.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Did Love Bug's owner know, was his
doctor somehow linked to the Charlie Foundation, or did he choose
that corner at the 3d Street Promenade by chance? Odd, to be so
hopeless and yet so close to a solution -geographically.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My letter to the restaurant, asking if
they could help me get in touch, wasn't answered. Maybe it got lost?
Or perhaps ... ? I know epilepsy is a dangerous disease.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I still think of Love Bug and her
owner, wondering how they may be doing. This article is my second try
to hear about them, hopefully <i>from</i> them. I don't know that I
can be of real help, but a little attention is like passing on a bit
of love. And thereby hope. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-72590586621222229482015-07-16T03:42:00.001-07:002015-07-16T03:58:56.485-07:00Is Hope Enough?<b>Hope is the greatest gift</b> is what Danielle Steel cites in her -autobiographical- book about <a href="http://sfhomeless.wikia.com/wiki/Yo!_Angel!" target="_blank">Yo! Angel!</a> her organization for supporting homeless people in San Francisco.<br />
<br />
I know that hope gets me sitting up again, when I'm lying on the bottom of a well. But is it enough?<br />
<br />
A faint flicker that things may turn out right in some distant future, that life does have nice things in store, not just pain and loneliness... Personally I don't think it suffices. I've lived with hope all my life and it made a nice umbrella to keep away the raindrops. But now that I must weather a storm the umbrella is useless.<br />
<br />
Hope may make me sit up again, crawl around a bit ... but I still have to wait for someone to lower a rope into the well.<br />
I need something that makes me climb out of the well all by myself. Something that makes me lean against the storm and walk through it, no matter how slow the progress may be.<br />
What I need is Belief ! Belief that my life <b>will</b> -not: might - turn out 'all right' if I work on it. Belief that my struggle is justified. <br />
<br />
Where is the fire of the blacksmith to forge my Hope into Belief ?<br />
<br />
<br />JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-2345184878387403792015-07-07T03:10:00.001-07:002015-08-18T00:32:17.890-07:00Suicide is not a choice<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;"> S</span></span></b>uicide, some religions or cultures forbid it. Saying it's a sin to take away a life before God says it's time.<br />
Yet if an animal is suffering we condone having it put to sleep. We call it "humane" and tell ourselves that an animal should feel good, have joy in life.<br />
What, pray tell, is the goal of a human life?<br />
Are we obligated to live, no matter how rotten and painful it gets?<br />
<br />
Anyway, let's go back to the subject: when someone, a human(e) being, commits suicide it's called a "bad choice". I question that.... <br />
<br />
My son and I have been going through a rough time simultaneously when my son was 10 years old. One problem led to another, a lot of dominoes falling down.... matters taken out of our hands by powerful people who didn't understand shit of what was going on. They wrecked our lives and we had to try to repair it behind their backs... a very difficult task.<br />
We both used to sigh often "I wish I
was dead." and the next moment felt guilty.... That line must be an insult to
the ones who try to support you. It sounds thankless and selfish. Like
"my pain of living is more important than your pain in reaction to my
death".<br />
So we made a deal: it was alright to use that line, since it seemed to help to let off steam. But the other, who heard the line, had to translate it:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: red;">"I wish I was dead" = "I wish my life was different"</span>.</b></div>
By and by I noticed I made the translation before sighing.... uttering the line "I wish my life was different".<br />
That line points out that there are choices and change is something a person can pursue. It puts your life back into your own hands and makes it look like a painting or some other art work of which you yourself are the creator.<br />
<br />
Beautiful words, right? There is a catch however. We live in a complicated world, sharing it with many others. Rules, regulations, dependencies... we are never for a full 100 % the painter of our own lives. <br />
We are bound by limits... a disease that can't be cured, financial limitations due to lack of schooling or lack of jobs. Not having the support you need in your network... You are never independent, other factors, people, have a say in how you paint your life's picture.<br />
Sure, if you don't like the directions given to you, the boundaries you run into... there's the choice to try something else... like walking down a corridor with many doors. <br />
If one door doesn't open, you try the next door. With trying I don't just mean trying the handle, but fidgeting with the lock with all your intelligence, throwing yourself against the door with all the power you have, hell use dynamite if you must.... <br />
Suicide is always one of those doors. That doesn't make suicide a choice. Not for me. It's the last door I will go through. The door carries the sign "<i>No Entry</i>".<br />
But when all other doors have been tried, really ALL... and you cannot stay in that corridor because the water is rising and you are drowning... You will open that door at the end of the corridor, not by choice but by instinct. To save yourself form drowning.<br />
Drowning? Yes, when life is more hell than you imagine death to be. When your fear of life is bigger than your fear of death. Suicide is what is left when you ran out of life affirming options. <br />
<br />
I'm not the only one who looks at suicide this way, I have people backing up my ideas.... here's an article on animals committing suicide and the idea that <b>suicide is not a choice</b> is backed up by the researchers:<br />
<a href="http://news.discovery.com/animals/zoo-animals/animal-suicide-behavior.htm" target="_blank">Animal Suicide Sheds Light on Human Behavior</a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>D</b></span>on't look down on people who tried to commit suicide, failing or not. They were fighters who gave their all. You don't want to know the hell they went through before they opened that final door.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>S</b></span>omeone you know is suicidal? Open doors. Doors that suit that individual, not doors that you like! <br />
<br />JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-29223903337797158842015-06-04T15:33:00.001-07:002015-06-04T15:33:32.040-07:00BathingBeauty<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Sgj0T0sF7z8" width="480"></iframe>JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-76636370230642643872015-05-10T13:39:00.003-07:002015-07-07T03:12:02.189-07:00Broken Heart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwXfvmnivk-Py4Zf52QnTGPLTZM2IDZgKx13IwjmhHwj2KajONfXJlGgkJrzc7oLF2nLNBcxX0aVXyKdqwJL9blMOXUZgbnAVAZBoWZjJGc998dYQwTgwqAfpZcWMoBzXgcisZ6COA9o/s1600/DSC_0151-uncut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwXfvmnivk-Py4Zf52QnTGPLTZM2IDZgKx13IwjmhHwj2KajONfXJlGgkJrzc7oLF2nLNBcxX0aVXyKdqwJL9blMOXUZgbnAVAZBoWZjJGc998dYQwTgwqAfpZcWMoBzXgcisZ6COA9o/s320/DSC_0151-uncut.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The plant that's flourishing most abundantly in my garden is a "Broken Heart".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The memories connected to this plant I prefer to forget. But the fact that this plant is doing so well after recovering from neglect and next survived -unintended- mistreatment has symbolical significance: <span style="font-size: small;"><b>A broken heart can recover !</b> Not just once.<b><br /></b></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I just wonder how...</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">For days I'm wrestling with the notion, that my dearest dream just cannot come true, that it is silly to invest all my reserves in it and waste what I have here.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Letting go of a dream that runs so deep is as heartbreaking as losing a loved one. I navigated by it, it gave meaning to all I did. Now every movement I make seems useless, dispirited .... and it drains my last bit of energy.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I wish I could go underground, like the Broken Heart did, to heal the roots I've severed. Hibernating until the pain is over, or at least bearable.</span></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr align="center"><td><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdyKndIoobWl6uXDtd8JWS_jT0hTT8AxuzBvAbUzxxGxqxd31Njp7VQx8Q0J1kt_IXE1HKQeoG_g2fuaybIlHR0G8vUh4asKSt0uBEUWlcvoJmp6TGKrCYAyY9dWzKUg7PKOIVxDmwyM/s1600/DSC_0134-cut00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdyKndIoobWl6uXDtd8JWS_jT0hTT8AxuzBvAbUzxxGxqxd31Njp7VQx8Q0J1kt_IXE1HKQeoG_g2fuaybIlHR0G8vUh4asKSt0uBEUWlcvoJmp6TGKrCYAyY9dWzKUg7PKOIVxDmwyM/s320/DSC_0134-cut00.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even before the heart breaks, the tears are already there. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
You can see them in the white part </div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijEU21ayO6tzRgcuXicpPixDUY09gCaljQSrATfxnnhIsoC8yYGI6n5w3-zfiAmTSkZxL4yTeXCUaz4pNZCCTTrR8F8qbYFGpkFFCS3HbwvwUdJbJbKOz3oamwhrdaTxIRkb8UdIcO0vU/s1600/DSC_0136-cut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-11733259045377628742015-03-19T15:32:00.002-07:002015-05-04T14:37:03.209-07:00Afraid to let go of your fear?<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> O</b></span></span>dd ... I was waiting for the bus home from work, in the fading sun light, looking at the tell tale signs of spring all around me... and I felt happy. Not just inebriated by spring, but with a strong sense of belonging. Free of fear...<br />
<br />
That <i>is</i> odd, I thought . I'm counting down the number of days I still have my job and soon I'll be unemployed. I'm not supposed to be happy, I'm supposed to be sad and afraid of this new episode of being poor <span style="font-size: x-small;">[according to the standards of my country] </span>and stuck, looking for work. And a line came back to mind, a line I recently picked as new column theme: "<i>Are you afraid of letting go of fear?</i>"<br />
<br />
<br />
The general thought is that we fear fear. This tight circle can cause panic attacks. And the best way to deal with it is to tell your panic wave to just come, knock you out, because you know you'll survive it. Not giving in to your fear just dis-empowers it. <br />
So, we all dislike fear, right? At it's worst, we are afraid of it. We'd never love it. The catch phrase "<i>Are you afraid of letting go of fear?</i>" makes no sense at all.<br />
<br />
<br />
I dare you... to entertain the idea that we have learned to love our fears. We're clinging to it, thinking it protects us from danger, from doing stupid things. It taught us how to behave and the reward was being accepted by others. Fear is being rewarded!! Fear creates safety, which is valued highly.<br />
<br />
Fear is the fence along the path of human civilization, keeping
weed and dirt off our footpaths, so that we can walk safely and cover
greater distances. But we walk within boundaries, away from the perfume
and colors of flowers and the invigorating scent of healing herbs. <br />
<br />
<br />
We use fear to structure the way we connect to one another It begins with the popular ways of raising our children, by reprimanding, rebuking, isolating, withholding rewards. And we even have universities for it. Where we study law, our venerated consensus about the proper punishment for misbehaving.<br />
Having punishment advocated by our educational system and the law means we accept the use of fear as a tool. how can we ban 'terrorism' when we use fear ourselves as the base for structuring our society. It's a contradictio in terminis. <br />
<br />
<br />
I'm not advocating that we live recklessly and give room to boundless selfishness, but that we replace fear by Joy, Love and Respect. This is what gives strength to our wings, the wings of our hearts, imaginations and souls. It's the root of sharing and helping,<br />
<br />
I'm not alone in this, thank God, and I hope that the "Army" of those who live without fear, and full of compassion instead, will grow in numbers all over the world.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="180" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/VenyDFL7bzE" width="260"></iframe> <br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">“Being empathic means: "To be with another in this way that for
the time being you lay aside the views and values you hold for yourself
in order to enter another's world without prejudice. In some sense it
means that you lay aside your self and this can only be done by a person
who is secure enough in himself that he knows he will not get lost in
what may turn out to be the strange or bizarre world of the other, and
can comfortably return to his own world when he wishes. Perhaps this
description makes clear that being empathic is a complex, demanding,
strong yet subtle and gentle way of being.”
<br /> ―
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/102062.Carl_R_Rogers">Carl R. Rogers</a> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(quote from goodreads.com)</i></span></span><br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: right;">
<span style="color: #274e13;">Our Greatest Fear —Marianne Williamson</span></h3>
<span style="color: #274e13;">
</span><span style="color: #274e13;">
</span>
<span style="color: #274e13;">
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="color: #274e13;">
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.</span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;">Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.</span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;">It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #274e13;">We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, </span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;">gorgeous, talented and fabulous?</span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><br />
Actually, who are you not to be?</span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;">You are a child of God.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #274e13;">Your playing small does not serve the world.</span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;">There's nothing enlightened about shrinking </span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;">so that other people won't feel insecure around you.</span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"> </span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><br />
We were born to make manifest the glory </span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;">of God that is within us.</span>
<br />
<span style="color: #274e13;">
It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #274e13;">And as we let our own light shine,<br />
we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.</span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><br />
As we are liberated from our own fear,<br />
Our presence automatically liberates others.</span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"> </span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><br />
—Marianne Williamson</span>
</div>
<span style="color: #274e13;">
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><i>Return to Love</i>, Harper Collins, 1992.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<br />JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-32410763684409404552015-03-10T10:26:00.001-07:002015-03-10T14:38:07.243-07:00Change of Address<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span> have moved, exchanging my spacious home for a small apartment,
just big enough for myself. Because of it I had to leave many things
behind, but that's no problem. Or rather... that was the whole point!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />My spacious house held many visitors. With the abundance of empty
space they felt free to drop off their belongings, causing a
cacophony of opinions, demands, constraints, rules and reprimands.
So loud it became impossible for me to hear my heart
song or find my own authentic voice.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now I snuck out and moved into this teeny tiny apartment,
overlooking the city, with a gorgeously wide open sky above it. I'll
be staying here alone for a while, to find back my own voice, but
soon the door will be open again. For my real friends. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> They won't
mind the stairs are too narrow for their suitcases, because they
don't want to drag it all upstairs to leave it for me to tend to. Or
to open it up and spill the unwanted content over my living room
floor. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My friends just come for exchanging ideas, comparing
experiences and sharing laughter and tears.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />I hope they will smile and hug me long and honestly as I -and I
alone- will open the door for them. And that when we part it will be
to live through new adventures to share.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
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<h3>
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: ParkAvenue BT, cursive; font-size: x-large;"><b>Jo</b></span></span></h3>
JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-44027547497815350842014-01-28T16:47:00.003-08:002014-01-28T17:12:30.420-08:00Cynicism<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"><b>W</b></span>hen asked</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">to sum up</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">what is going right</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">in my life</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">right now...</span></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I replied</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I think my gold fish are doing well"</span></span><br />
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JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-20494613460748078782013-10-06T05:05:00.003-07:002013-10-07T16:02:50.585-07:00Witch's Cat<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;">W</span></span></i>hoever says that witch's cats are black and black only, is narrow minded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I know a whitch's cat that's white. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Here he is, preparing for halloween. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">His annual ritual.</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic6J2O2m23koHM2FnSjpkoRqgddcc0kqprLB9PIRNjkewfSN6tlVC0PGZRiECS2RxXv3g3SYBGBVlbEfoqLtGvbh6x_hBFaiFhLT_m8v_fouF_d-s0l3iA89HiwRAzc1nDqbVZNgPLf-I/s1600/witchcat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic6J2O2m23koHM2FnSjpkoRqgddcc0kqprLB9PIRNjkewfSN6tlVC0PGZRiECS2RxXv3g3SYBGBVlbEfoqLtGvbh6x_hBFaiFhLT_m8v_fouF_d-s0l3iA89HiwRAzc1nDqbVZNgPLf-I/s640/witchcat.jpg" width="428" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As you can see, the hen-hearted authoress ignored her vows and entered her garden again. Being guarded by the witch's cat, she dared face a possible encounter with the enchanted... frog.</span></span><br />
<br /><br />JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-60534494863127889292013-10-04T06:03:00.006-07:002014-02-19T06:17:26.559-08:00Meaningful Coincidences<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">P</span></span>sychologist Carl Jung heard too many stories of "coincidences that couldn't be mere chance". Happenstance that changed lives, usually for the better.<br />
So he coined the idea of "meaningful coincidences": encounters or events that happen in our lives at a moment we can use it. Things that were not prone to happen if we would heap the event and it's perfect timing on chance and would subject it to <span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps alt-edited">probability calculus. Stochastic Improbabilities.</span></span><br />
<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps alt-edited"><br /></span></span>
<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps alt-edited">But we are part of the spiritual world, given creative powers ourselves. So it is up to us whether such a statistically improbable coincidence becomes truly <i>meaningful</i>. </span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps alt-edited">Suppose you are looking for an interesting and well paying job to finance the fulfilment of your dreams... along the way someone kindly offers you just a tiny assignment, a job that hardly pays more than minimum wages. You can discard it arrogantly, to continue to look for the big solution ONLY. Or you can accept it as a great gift. And without having counted on it, you find that this petty job led you to another job, which led you to a grand connection giving you that prized position you were looking for. To make your dream come true...</span></span><br />
<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps alt-edited">Looking back this small gift turned out to be a meaningful coincidence. Because it came along when my hands were free to accept the gift: had the stranger offered me the petty job before the dream had even formed itself or </span></span><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps alt-edited">after I had given up on it and was working on a new dream... my hands would not have been empty to receive. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps alt-edited">Your hands being empty is the timing needed to make a coincidence more than chance. But your heart has to say yes and make your hands spread out to accept, to open the gift. This is the creative act YOU have to do to make the coincidence a meaningful one. </span></span><br />
<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps alt-edited"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps alt-edited"> ----------------------</span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps alt-edited">Today I've been doing work as copy writer, a contract that I believe resulted from that meaningful coincidence. As I was writing about the beauty of nature showing up in cities I saw shadow moving through my garden... Over the terrace crawled and hopped a strong well built frog, <a href="http://www.awakeninthedream.com/wordpress/catching-the-bug-of-synchronicity/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">green and shiny</span></a>. </span></span><br />
<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps alt-edited">The nature loving authoress shrieked and locked the door, vowing not to enter the garden for the next three months. So the coincidence was sentenced to remain meaningless forever by the hen-hearted choice of this lady. </span></span><br />
<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps alt-edited">Who knows... the frog might have been her prince in disguise in need of a kiss to reveal his truly royal nature.</span></span>JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-45821385668384979322013-09-15T05:08:00.001-07:002017-07-20T09:31:37.773-07:00Soul Selling<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "sans" , sans-serif; line-height: normal; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;">As copywriter, on the look out for more customers, I decided it was time to update my portfolio. So I decided to trace one of my most recently written texts with a plagiarism detector. Lo and behold... I found one. To my dismay someone else had claimed the text as his!! A certain Philip Rutghers van Renkum.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "sans" , sans-serif; line-height: normal; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;">I decided to track him down, the trickster.... after all, I'm a copy writer, not a ghost writer!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "sans" , sans-serif; line-height: normal; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was made easy for me, Philip had attached a link to his name.... <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114694928073801274313/" target="_blank">and there he was</a>... </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "sans" , sans-serif; line-height: normal; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;">All of a sudden I blushed, seeing my mistake.... Philip's the Ghost, not me. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "sans" , sans-serif; line-height: normal; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;">He is only existing by the grace of search engines and the techniques of <a href="http://eboosterpro.com/" target="_blank">SEO specialists</a> to increase the chances of being found on internet.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "sans" , sans-serif; line-height: normal; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "sans" , sans-serif; line-height: normal; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yet it stung..... I, who had sworn never to become a ghost writer, had suddenly become one. For a moment I felt I had sold out my Soul. </span>JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-55161445816282676742013-09-15T04:36:00.001-07:002013-09-15T10:00:12.815-07:00New Hope<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I've dreamt last night that three attempts were made </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">that would make one of my dearest dreams </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">[in real life]</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">come true. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The third attempt was a success.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So I went through my chores today</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">with more hope than I've had of late.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">While I was busy getting rid of the muck and dirt</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">produced by daily life</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> ...</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">a little white butterfly appeared from among the garbage bins.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Even 'though the weather's wet, cold and windy</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">and the butterfly season is over.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This white ethereal creature</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">performed a little dance and settled down</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">on a dark gray tile.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Only one inch from my bare foot.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: ParkAvenue BT, cursive;">J</span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: ParkAvenue BT, cursive;">o</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><big><big><big><span class="textstyle1" style="color: black;"></span></big></big></big> </span></span></div>
<br />JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-55760291698054821672013-09-13T15:56:00.003-07:002013-09-15T04:24:09.484-07:00BusyI'm too busy for blogging. I'm preparing my beloved attic for Short Stay vacations and Bed and Breakfast for people who arrive at impossible hours at Schiphol Airport. I'll list it on several sites. Air BnB for instance...<br />
It means I'm living downstairs from now on...<br />
<br />
<br />
Yet....I did have time for a drawing today.<br />
Did I have <i>time</i>? No, I had <i>a need </i>to do something artistic instead of practical ....<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPLnFqauh9GSxjjK_FHAFPuHBe_YiqTTSYJAemODbWcEdLBESqZAUy0Hupqzt0xCMlJnLn-YFp8hRVwbK7VF6TT5eLhzojLf6dhB9hWANQ1I3SZXJefvmtn2b5MdZHaIJXh2pxOLjesg/s1600/JJ01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPLnFqauh9GSxjjK_FHAFPuHBe_YiqTTSYJAemODbWcEdLBESqZAUy0Hupqzt0xCMlJnLn-YFp8hRVwbK7VF6TT5eLhzojLf6dhB9hWANQ1I3SZXJefvmtn2b5MdZHaIJXh2pxOLjesg/s320/JJ01.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-58156907938561887132013-07-21T11:27:00.004-07:002015-07-07T03:11:06.896-07:00Philosophical Exercise 4<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It is possible to </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">live a rich life </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">with an empty heart </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And one could </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">live a sober life </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">with a full heart</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">......</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Which would you prefer?</span></span></div>
JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-56396087591101259852013-07-19T08:10:00.000-07:002013-07-20T06:44:00.773-07:00Intermezzo: On Obedience<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My “Tangled” blog-post is not
coming along as fast as I'd like. I'm thinking of it every day, but
my days are too crowded now to write such a complex text. Six weeks
from now I'll be unemployed. To get an alternative source of money
I'm writing articles for the high sum of $6,- per article (which
comes down to less than $3,- per hour on which no one can live in the
Netherlands) on top of which I'm reorganizing the house. Moving out
of the attic to live downstairs in the living room, like normal people
do. The attic will be 'let' to tourists, who either want to spent
time in the area of Amsterdam, the Keukenhof or the beach or who
just want to spend one or two nights at my house because of the weird
times at which their plane leaves / has arrived.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In order to stay involved in the series
of Tangled posts, here's a short one that will help explain a thought
that is of great importance in the Tangled series. Explaining it
here, helps me keep the main text shorter.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's not the first time I said it, and
I will repeat over and over because it's so important:</span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: red; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Obedience
is NOT a virtue</b></span></i></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #e06666;">OBEDIENCE</span> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">When
a child makes his homework out of sheer obedience.... it stinks. The
</span><span style="color: black;"><i>act</i></span><span style="color: black;">
of making one's homework isn't bad, but the </span><span style="color: black;"><i>motivation</i></span><span style="color: black;">
is. </span>
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Do you see the distinction? Obedience is not an
act, it's the motivation behind the act. And it's a d..... shallow
one, selfish and dangerous. It's obedience that makes a soldier kill
another human being and it's obedience that makes a civil servant
choose to break a person, rather than to break an [inappropriate] rule
to which said person simply cannot comply. It's the cement of Cults and Sects.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Getting a subject to become obedient requires </span></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">threats </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">punishments</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">keeping the subjects view on life very limited and narrow (withholding the opportunities to experience life in the 'real world')</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">cultivating a negative self image within the subject.<a name='more'></a><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>Taking a good look at this list, I am reminded of sects, Scientology, Communism and fundamentalist </i></span></span><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>undercurrents in world religions... Sending shivers down my spine.... </i></span></span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Every item listed is somehow making use of fear as a tool. Fear for punishment or of getting hurt due to failure. The leading role often being played by either parents, teachers, members of the
social group we want to belong to, the government.... </span>
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As an alternative , the person who has learned to be obedient, enjoying his gilded cage, might maintain his obedience because of a love of ease, laziness; some sort of a manifestation of greed: a selfish desire to lead an easy life, no matter how it will affect others.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">If you are being obedient, you are either not
questioning the consequences of your act, or not accepting your
responsibility for those consequences. When things go wrong, you just
hide behind the rules, set out by the one you are working for. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So obedience has either fear or greed as its
root. Destructive powers.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Let's stick to the civil servant's example,
since it'll be on top of my list soon.... </span>
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">So, the civil servant sends home a person whom
he denied financial compensation, because this person's situation did
not fit the requirements. How the other person deals with it, has
nothing to do with the civil servant's decision right? He acted according to
the rules, so his hands are clean. Maybe he'll even get promoted for
being such a skilled worker. Wrong! He was the one in the situation
to help a desperate person and denied compassion, hope and breathing
space. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"> </span>
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #e06666;">DISOBEDIENCE</span> is usually considered bad behavior but it is not. It is opening doors to other motivations,
those that are good. Like obedience, disobedience is not an act.
And other than obedience, it is not the motivation behind an act.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Now that is complicated.... another example: </span>
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Suppose
I would tell my teen son one day that I don't want him to visit his
friend after school but come home straight away. He decides to
disobey.... It is four o'clock and he has just decided that he is
</span><span style="color: black;"><i>not</i></span><span style="color: black;">
going home </span><span style="color: black;"><i>just
because</i></span><span style="color: black;">
I told him so. That gives him options... </span>
</span></div>
<ul>
<li><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">LOVE: he can go to his friends house because
he wants to make his friend happy. </span>
</span></div>
</li>
<li><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">RESPONSIBILITY: He can go to his friend's house to study together, knowing that he or his friend would benefit and this benefit is worth risking my anger</span>
</span></div>
</li>
<li><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">EXPRESSION
TO CLAIM HIS RIGHTS (called protest, which is a civil right): He
can go with his friend in order to show me that he doesn't </span><span style="color: black;"><i>have
to</i></span><span style="color: black;">
do what I say To emphasise that when he does what I say, he does it
because he loves and / or respects me.</span></span></div>
</li>
<li><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">REVENGE: he could go with his friend to hurt me. This is not loving, not to me nor to his friend, but comes from
sheer hunger for self determination, [ part of his human rights ] A
defect I caused by having been too strict for too long. My fault!!
But if he gets the chance to satisfy his hunger, this
disobedience can free him to act responsible or out of love next
time.</span></div>
</li>
</ul>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Disobedience is simply taking responsibility
into your own hands. It is a key that opens a treasure chest of many
motivations. Mostly based on love, respect and responsibility. </span>
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of course we can't always oversee the
consequences when we have to make a choice. We are not omniscient. At
such moments it is OK to rely on the ideas and decisions of
authoritative figures. If you know them to be worthy of that position
and if you know you can trust them and respect them. Then you're not
being obedient, but consciously acting out of respect and faith in
that person's integrity. And in no way is that an act of fear or
greed.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Recapitulating: </span>
</span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">
Obedience is disempowerment. </span>
</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">
Disobedience is empowering: a key unlocking other motivations and to a full life. </span></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></li>
</ul>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Not an easy life, but a valuable one. </span>
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you don't believe me, here are some more examples:</span></div>
<ul>
<li><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oskar_Schindler" target="_blank">Oskar Schindler</a></span></div>
</li>
<li><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casper_ten_Boom" target="_blank">The Dutch Ten Boom Family</a></span></div>
</li>
<li><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nelson_Mandela" target="_blank">Nelson Mandela</a></span></div>
</li>
<li><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mahatma_Ghandi" target="_blank">Mahatma Ghandi</a></span></div>
</li>
<li><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.saintandthesultan.com/about.html" target="_blank">Saint Francis of Assisi</a> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As a protestant, I'm not into saints. But Francis of Assisi is dear to me. It is he who showed Christians of his time that love is for everyone and there are no inferior creatures, in contrast to the general views of the leaders of that time: the Catholic Church. St Francis helped lepers, accepted women in his congregation and preached for animals. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He went along on the 5th crusade and became the first to talk with a Muslim leader instead of fighting him. He did not convert the Sultan to Christianity but concluded that followers of this religion are worthy of respect and that Christians and Muslims should find a way to live together peacefully. </span></div>
</li>
</ul>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Disobedience is the virtue. Virtus is Latin,
stemming from Vis which means strength.</span></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Alas, it takes a lot of strength to be
disobedient. But don't let it stop you!</span></div>
JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-15104782793937966882013-04-21T12:40:00.000-07:002013-06-28T10:25:00.444-07:00Non-verbal <br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinAhhEl5uikGUbcrWsQvN4U3DI0E67uvVD1UB6vPL6ij1sJKSEwHcj-JaAmtS-EDpKuFoy0KSukkvY-mz1xFz1YU152dgI_vSIwXGE2tG1ZQQsCQku-HyJ0K0P864A_iXO8HduJwg2Kyk/s1485/Sandy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinAhhEl5uikGUbcrWsQvN4U3DI0E67uvVD1UB6vPL6ij1sJKSEwHcj-JaAmtS-EDpKuFoy0KSukkvY-mz1xFz1YU152dgI_vSIwXGE2tG1ZQQsCQku-HyJ0K0P864A_iXO8HduJwg2Kyk/s320/Sandy.jpg" width="288" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Who are the absolute champions of
non-verbal communication? With a great genius for love and
friendship? Dogs.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm thinking of 2 individuals in
particular. First one a retriever who happens to live with his owner
in my street, at the block I need to pass to reach mine. I met the
two of them when were almost home as I happened to pass by, on my way home. The dog looked at me, inquiringly, invitingly and I
couldn't resist. I went down on my knees, literally, and started
patting and hugging this total stranger. Lucky for us, his owner, a
friendly talkative woman, didn't mind. She didn't begrudge her dog
his private life and own circle of friends. [ I prefer that kind of
dog owners. ]
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now this was not so special.... what
makes it special is that two weeks later, the three of us came home
around the same time again. But this time the distance between us was
larger. I still had a block to pass and a street to cross while the
dog with its owner were at their front yard already. The dog looked
over its shoulder before turning to its house... saw me... and sat
down decidedly. He kept on looking at me, wagging his tail happily, determined not to be led to his house by the woman at the other
side of his leash. I walked faster visibly, and the owner smiled,
letting me know with a hand signal -non verbally!- that she'd wait. But it took way too long according to the
retriever. He got up... started to cross the street pulling my neighbor after him. So strong was his impatience for getting a hug from me.
Wow, to be appreciated like that!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The other dog... I ran into him or her
yesterday, on a little walk through my favorite Dutch city: Haarlem.
Walking from the station to the shopping street “Cronj<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">é</span>”
you walk past a park. In it there were... yes a dog, not of any known pedigree, and close to him was his owner. The woman had to be, she was
the only one in his vicinity and carried a plastic 'sling / stick'
for picking up and throwing tennis balls without getting your hands
dirty. The woman was holding a mobile phone to her ear while the dog
carried the tennis ball in his mouth, waiting for the woman to finish her
call. I admired his patience – he looked amused, not bored at all-
and I winked at him. Immediately he turned to me, making a
short movement with his head “Hey, wanna throw the ball for me?”
I imitated his gesture “Sure. I just love throwing balls.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The tail started wagging and two brown
eyes peered helplessly over the ball, that was a bit too big for the mouth...
the dog was looking for a way to reach me on the side walk. I halted
and looked too.... at the tangled bush that separated us. The dog had
already reached it and was now looking for a way through it. But
there was no opening or thin patch to let him pass without getting
stuck. And if I would work my way through to him... his owner would
wonder what kind of person I was and no doubt call the dog to her and
leave. The limits of being a decent human being...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So we stood there for a while with the
shrub between us, looking at each other, negotiating, wishing, and
finally we decided it wasn't meant to be. The dog walked back to his
owner, still on the phone, and I slowly walked off. Whenever I looked
over my shoulder, the dog still looked at me. Just before a row of large
trees would cut him from my view I raised my hand... the dog gave me
that same head gesture again, I'm sure it was his way of greeting.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I like thinking back of our encounter.
I wonder if he does too.</div>
JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-61393969245656774812013-03-18T16:52:00.000-07:002013-04-21T12:38:54.988-07:00Photogenic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMUJClA2pqZBx1zQxa0HQ9VJpcc_ehY8MtRP4iUfw-BdHy0JCmJvIKG_whDtx0wNSNSbWaAUuxPPC3oAWbuL0Vne_br84FAmltOqlIYNAKrPKT5RkuFe4YH6WTIKgHucpPb1vonwWnzlh/s1600/mario+portrait+007A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMUJClA2pqZBx1zQxa0HQ9VJpcc_ehY8MtRP4iUfw-BdHy0JCmJvIKG_whDtx0wNSNSbWaAUuxPPC3oAWbuL0Vne_br84FAmltOqlIYNAKrPKT5RkuFe4YH6WTIKgHucpPb1vonwWnzlh/s400/mario+portrait+007A.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4oapfezL9bXVOimIQnAOw2OmATaK-bTngPO7m6x_fR3dNqH4djL7pWhZ66lC3ErRhOdvlehlvvr1xkqJ54VbDcQQ0sgPJRY0wWSfi5LaaIRhkmka8IIlMqYWdNboQtAVACvQ38wu63DBG/s1600/mario+portrait+011A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4oapfezL9bXVOimIQnAOw2OmATaK-bTngPO7m6x_fR3dNqH4djL7pWhZ66lC3ErRhOdvlehlvvr1xkqJ54VbDcQQ0sgPJRY0wWSfi5LaaIRhkmka8IIlMqYWdNboQtAVACvQ38wu63DBG/s400/mario+portrait+011A.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2430716256201761501.post-58299809248227296292013-03-15T13:56:00.000-07:002018-12-04T01:47:57.943-08:00Jasper - from Beat to Beet.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/PbStnfZAFLI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Another true story</i> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;"><b>I</b></span></span> love Jasper, my sons white toy duck. He's<b> </b>an egotistical and silly vain little cheapskate. But disarmingly open.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> I shouldn't be saying all this about him because... I gave Jasper his voice. And his character. <i> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Though I must say my son can take over very well.As you can see in the video in this post.</span></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Jasper's my representative whenever I feel like acting silly or vent my frustrations. So for years I stuffed him in my backpack whenever my son and I went out. Out to a zoo or a simple trip to the supermarket. A boring moment? Out came Jasper and my son and I had lots of fun with him. </span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I remember one day especially well.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;">M</span></b></span>y son and I were sitting in a bus in Haarlem. The bridge nick named "The P</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">aint Roller</span></span>", spanning the Spaarne, had lifted. In the summer a lot of boats have to pass. Mostly yachts and barges. The line of cars was getting longer and longer. The sun didn't make the waiting any easier...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> In the right lane, just beside 'our' window there was a small car with loud music. It was a miracle the car didn't bounce on the beat of the bass... its driver certainly did. It was at the time that the fashionable "I-don't-know-how-to-dress-code" prescribed that caps should be worn backwards. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Jasper was standing on the thin edge at the window next to my seat in the bus. He was feeling hot and bored when he heard that beat... saw that car... and the bouncing driver with his cap turned backwards... and the white duck felt the devilish urge to poke fun swell up in him. He started an imitation of the young driver with the twisted cap. If Jasper had a cap with him, he would have added it to underline his act. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> But he didn't have to ... his robotic head jerks and congruent steps got noticed by the driver in the car behind the four wheeled sound box. Same age as the person Jasper was imitating but no loud music, no I-don't-know-how-to-dress-code.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Jasper got ecstatic. He had a real audience. And what kind of audience. This young man was shaking with laughter. He nudged his companion, seated next to him. He roared too, instantly. Now Jasper's audience had doubled. So the plush duck increased his antics in size and in number. This was true fame, Jasper thought.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Look, the laughing driver even pulled out his mobile. Would he take a picture? No, he dialled a number and brought the phone to his ear... The next moment the guy in the car in front, the music box on wheels, answered <i>his</i> phone and looked at the bus, at Jasper. Not by accident but directed by his friend in the car behind him. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Jasper finished his last move lamely, then froze. Lucky for him he was just a furry toy. <i>He</i> didn't get a head as red as a beet... while three guys were laughing even more. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>JoAnne LakeFieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16213812802514039714noreply@blogger.com0