The Art of Being Human

Maybe it was because I had been singing a lot of bluesy songs, for whatever reason I had a bad case of the blues. The blues as in let’s have a pity party for one and sing a sad song. The blues as in life is terrible whoa is me. The blues, you know the mood that sneaks up on you to steal your joy.  Sometimes I like the blues, it’s an interesting mood to sing, sing not live.  I wasn’t in the mood for the blues though.  I had a busy week and just didn’t have time for it. Then it got worse, anxiety joined the party, pounding on the door demanding entrance into my life of bliss. What the fresh hell! The anxiety was especially disconcerting because I believed, (for about a half a second), it’s omen of impending danger and doom.  Then in the pause of a breath Grace entered the fray and laid a calming hand on things.  Maybe something horrible was going to happen, sometimes it does, and like a lot of people I will occasionally get a sense of that before it happen...

    The quiet calm of inner peace energizes and revitalizes me the way nothing else can.   I cultivate peace and build time for it into my day. I’m a better person when I live in peace. Mercy and compassion and their acts of personal redemption rise like spring from a deep well. It just feels gooooood.  Peace doesn’t just happen.     It takes determination, discipline, focus and desire for love above all else. Peace matters and it’s worth the effort.   It’s nice when peace flows easily but that isn’t always the case. When it's not    I hold my tongue, which is not the same thing as holding my peace, thank you very much, but it’s a place to start. I take a break, go for a walk, listen to music, pray, eat a good meal.   I walk away from situations and people who vex my spirit and torment my soul.   The problem is I can’t walk away from myself and the wild thing my mind becomes when I’m feeling stressed. This week peace seemed a fleet...

    A short stack of books sit on my bedside table that I can read bits and pieces of before I let the rack monsters have their way with me. A book of Rumi’s poetry and the latest addition of Oxford American keep company with The Bible, a book of short stories and A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson.  I bought A Return to Love years ago without knowing anything about it other than title appealed to me. It sat on a shelf for months until the shelf crashed to the floor. I spent a very nice rainy afternoon sorting through the books and finding them new homes and added A Return to Love to the stack in my bedroom. I’ve picked it up several times since and am always encouraged by what I find.   In the first chapter she says that her negativity was as toxic to her as alcohol is to an alcoholic. We’ve become addicted to pain fueled by negativity and are experts at finding our jugular, the special place where we can do the most damage, create the m...