For Kathryn: A 99c Memorial Special on OUTLAWED HOPE!

Two years ago tomorrow, my dear friend Kathryn, to whom Outlawed Hope is dedicated, passed on after a long battle with cancer.

I miss you, Kat!

To remember Kathryn, and to mark this tender anniversary of her leaving pain behind and freeing her soul to roam the heavens, Outlawed Hope will be offered on Kindle at the special price of just 99c today and tomorrow only–August 28th and 29th!

 

All 5 star reviews! * * * * *

Outlawed Hope cover

Outlawed Hope cover

What readers say:

“Brilliant, enchanting story telling!”, “Marvelously written”, “Thrilling”, “Outstanding”, “A winner!”, “A captivating and addicting page turner”, “an emotional roller coaster”, “wonderful, well written”, “I couldn’t put it down!”, “…can hardly wait for the sequel”, “…her plot design, character portrayals, descriptive prose and artistic use of suspense were every bit as good as (Stephen) King!”

Hurry and get your copy of Outlawed Hope on Kindle for 88% less than the cover price of $7.99! 

 

Outlawed Hope is also available on Paperback for 17% off of publisher price!

Not a Kindle reader? Get Outlawed Hope as an e-book on Nook, iBookstore and Kobo.

 

Kathryn, I am sure you are looking on and smiling … You probably have our mutual and dear friend Carol–more recently passed and so very loved as well–with you nearby. Remember always: “I love you more!”

The Beauty of Awkward

france house

Find beauty in the awkward, 

unexpected,

startling, 

odd.

Find beauty where you thought 

it could not be,

or would not, 

hold.

Find beauty in the merry,

in perspectives,

new and 

old.

Find beauty in the places 

where you thought,

there was no

god.

Find beauty in the softening

of the broken,

patiently outgrowing 

an outdated 

mold.

See all beauty

through the eyes of children,

for they carry

all the futures

of our 

world.

Photo Credit: O.B.

Photo Credit: O.B.

Robin Williams Quote

 

robin williams

 

And so you have, dear funny, tender, brilliant, generous in heart and deep in spirit man.

You have lent the world a whole new way of seeing, and a belly laugh besides.

Your words already changed the world and you have enriched it beyond measure.

No matter what your sorrow told you, may you know that your life mattered, and that your ideas made us all richer. Rest in peace, Robin Williams, comic wizard, angel now.

Small Angels

beach

I was on the beach the other day, breathing in the surf and listening to the chortling of playing children, the call of gulls, the whistle of the lifeguard at too-deep-straying-swimmers, the sound of air flapping through flags and sun-umbrellas. All was calm. The late afternoon sun played hide-and-seek behind the clouds, the light strung rhythms with the shadows and made the water dance.

A woman sat nearby me. I saw her when I arrived. There was a halo of space around her, a sort of boundary that others somehow did not cross even on a fairly populated stretch of sand. She had her beach gear all in line: the chair, the sun-umbrella, the cover-up, the towel, the hat, the shades, the bottle of water in its designated armrest hollow, the requisite paperback. There should have been nothing about her to stand out from the many others on the beach, and yet there was that halo … and something amiss about it. A gloom of sort, a yearning, even. A separation that hung above her, overshadowing the light and sun. The energy of it drew my eyes to her, and I felt pulled in by her need yet uncertain how to assuage it when her posture and avoiding of eye-contact also said “leave me alone” and “don’t ask me anything.”

How does one offer support to another about whom one knows nothing and yet perceives wishes no intrusion? I’m a talkative one, and usually make easy conversation with people around me (family teens have repeatedly rolled their eyes at me for that, asking “do you have to talk to everyone …?”), but sometimes chatting feels like an intrusion and the wrong connection. So I fell back on the good thoughts alternative, sending wishes for ease. In Therapeutic Touch this is a way of using intentional compassion to gently direct some of the universal flow of life and kindness to another, with the intent of healing and restoring equilibrium in whatever way that person needs and can do at the time. It is an offering of compassion for the sake of offering it, without intrusion or attachment to the outcome of how or if it would be used.

Regardless of healing intentions and their acceptance, I hoped that whatever her heartache or process or sorrow,  that she be provided with whatever she needs for relief. If anything I offered did help, it would not be anything I was doing, anyway. Healing never is done onto another. All healing, by its very definition, is an act of making whole, of self-repair.

The surf flowed. Waves licked the sand, retreated, returned. The shadows elongated, lingered. An hour passed, dusk was arriving, some families were readying to leave, others–mostly with small ones that need to keep out of direct sun–were just arriving.

A movement caught my eye. A little guy in swim trunks to his ankles and a full head of (literally) sandy curls was traipsing purposefully on the sand. I looked up, automatically scanning for the caregiver. Protectiveness toward children is hard-wired in me and I have returned my share of wandering tykes to their minders over time. It is rarely a critic of care, really. It is not difficult to lose sight of a small person in the thick of people. Short of leashing the small ones to one’s wrist for safekeeping, all it takes is one second of head turned to tend to another child, to have a little one slip by.

No worries. This one had a watchful mama five steps behind.

I caught her eye, and we smiled at each other, connected over the shared attention to this determined little one, who not once turned to look behind him. He might have been oblivious to being followed or knew with total clarity that there were those who had his back … Maybe both. Sandy-Curls trudged on, little feet sinking in the sand with every sturdy step. He glimpsed at me as he got closer, but his eyes roamed away–I was not his source of interest, just a section of the scenery. His concentration made me smile.

It was the woman, I suddenly realized. He walked right into her ‘halo’, the several feet of space around her chair where no one–no child or adult or stray ball or gull–had yet trespassed. She looked up, surprised and not smiling but maybe curious or wondering whether he was lost, somehow, to come her way.

Oh, but he was not.

The little guy walked right up to her chair, lifted a dimpled arm, and unfurled a sandy fist. There was a shell in it. He moved his palm toward her, offering. A gift. She took it, too startled to smile. Sandy Curls nodded solemnly, then turned and walked away, toward the water and his mom. The mother and I exchanged looks, her eyebrow lifted in amusement. “He does that all the time,” she said. “Finds a shell and designates it for someone …”

He reached her and hugged her thigh and she patted his head lovingly. He looked at me then and I smiled and he grinned back, sunshine dancing in his honey-colored eyes. One hand he gave to his mother, the other he waved “Bye” at me, then turned and waved “Bye” at the woman, who still stunned waved back, now smiling–at him, at me, and his mother. Her ‘halo’ gone.

A little angel in the sand.

 

beach toes

The Breath of Waves

 

100_0227

Let the breathing of the surf clear through you

all the pebbles of despair

or grief.

Let the breathing of the surf refill you

with the rhythm of creation

and relief.

Let the breath of waves remind you

how your own heart beats one in

one out,

to allow the good to flow within you

and the ugly

to retreat

no more about.

Tender

tender care

Reminding myself

why

we care.

Why we

have to tender

care.

Why there is no other

reasonable future

anywhere.

Unless we

hold dear

and remember

the absolute logic

the necessity of

tender care.

tender hand

Light can find the way

Light can find the way

Through the narrowest keyhole

If we hold it

Up.

If we open

Eyes and hearts.

Light can show the door

To releasing darkness

Till it is disarmed

Transformed

Transmuted

Away

Into the light of

a new day.

key light

Difficult, Not Impossible

balance5

Even in the midst of doubt

hold on to possible.

Even on the edge of canyons

of reasons to the contrary

of nay saying and denial

hold on to hope

for balance.

Nature teaches:

It is difficult, not impossible.

balance2

Deep Down, There is No Difference

each other

Because a baby

born

is all human potential

bundled

into hope.

Because a smile of open joy

is recognizable

without the understanding

of a single word.

Because the tears of pain

bleed heartache in all languages.

Because no outward space

or god or faith

bestows on some

more air to breathe

or right to love

and caring growth

than to the babies of others.

Because indeed

deep down

and in all the places that matter

there is

no difference.

compassion1

Being sensitive: A blessing or a curse?

 

In her great blog Adele and the Penguin, Adele Ryan McDowell posts about all manner of lovelies (well worth peeking in!). Her recent post is about sensitivity, about those of us who may be labeled “too sensitive” or “highly sensitive people.”

Adele and the Penguin

http://adeleandthepenguin.com/is-being-sensitive-a-blessing-or-a-curse/

Reading it made me think–and not for the first time (Adele’s blog posts do that–they touch the everyday in novel and eye-opening and heart-opening ways).

 

 

The highly-sensitive people thing? Yep. I can totally relate …

So can many of my little clients.

Personally I don’t see being sensitive as a bad thing. Like any quality, I think the ability itself is neutral. It is how we react to it, what we do with it, how it affects our lives, and whether it adds or detracts from the person we are and can become, that is the most important aspect of it to me.

There seems to be more good than bad in sensitivity. Creative people are often sensitive. Artists, writers, thinkers, inventors. I certainly see more positive than negative in the more sensitive children who come to see me. They perceive the world minutely, they read people amazingly well (even if they don’t always know how to verbalize it), they feel deeply.

They are also, all too often, overwhelmed. There is too much, everything, everywhere, from everyone. In reaction, they snail in, lash out, fidget, shut down, alternate being acutely perceptive and deeply numbed out. They can have spectacular tantrums, meltdowns for seemingly nonsensical slights, go from happy to weepy in a blink of an eye. They get all kinds of acronym diagnoses, sometimes rightfully, often not … They can walk through the days feeling raw, exposed, vulnerable, tender, empathetic, perceptive, disorganized and evocative.

Emotional regulation is a must for all children to learn. Without ability to do so and find a place of calm attention–they will struggle at school, in public, in getting along. All caregivers of children are tasked with the teaching and modeling of emotional regulation to the children in their lives. It is even more crucial for highly-sensitive children … who can tax even the most patient caregiver. The sensitive children need more help, much more help, to learn to regulate, to know when they need to take a break, to recognize the beginning of overwhelm and be able to apply a tool for grounding.

They need more time. To play. To rest. To think. To cuddle. To get bored. To dream. To get used to new things. To gather their courage to try. It is a luxury of time all too many of them do not get these days, in our modern world that does not make it easy to be sensitive.

Our world–and within it the education system and children’s schedules–is currently calibrated for very low sensitivity: there is information everywhere and increased pace galore. Blinking screens, beeping car horns and phone messages, jingles of all manners, multi-sensory bombardment, loud, fast, multitasking everywhere. There is stimulation all the time. Every. Where.

Wake up and rush to school, bend over homework in the car to complete what didn’t get done the night before because there was a birthday party and soccer practice. After a long day at school in a class of 30 and no recess or playground because it rained and a two hour assembly in a noisy auditorium followed by lunch in an equally ruckus lunchroom, grab your bag and gobble down dinner on the way from dance to chess before you go home and try to do homework with the TV in the background, someone angry with tech-support on the phone, the vacuum and the dishwasher rumbling along. Get a math problem wrong and dissolve in tears onto a kicking puddle of misery on the floor. It is not the math problem. It is the everything and that little bump of difficulty simply toppled tolerance. Everyday stuff mushrooming to a thunderstorm.

Sometimes I think that sensitive people may be better calibrated for slower life … for long walks from place to place, bigger nature around them, more connection with animals (and their highly regulating energies), more connection to the earth and its calming breath.

It is not how most children grow up anymore, and it is not about going back to lack of modernity (there’s much to be said for running water, electricity, and even the Internet …). However, it is about helping children–especially sensitive children–learn how to stop, pause, breathe, step away, maintain boundaries.

All children need that. Sensitive children need it even more. Their drama-streak, their tantrums, their meltdowns, their whining, begging, shutting-down are all their ways of communicating to us that they need our help to manage. That they are feeling raw and need a hug, a pause, a hand.

What to do?

First what not to do … It is not about ‘helping them grow thick skin’ or expecting them to ‘suck it up’ or ‘toughen up.’ Shame has yet to heal any sensitivity. Expecting one to be what they are not will not resolve anything other than create a distance and thicker pain, not skin.

What does work?

Try to keep things simple. Establish routines and try to maintain them reasonably consistent (we’re not talking OCD here, just predictability). Make time for quiet. At the very least relegate a certain space in the house that is off-screens: a place to read, do homework, dream. Be aware of competition–of stimuli, that is–if there is much background noise you cannot control, consider noise-canceling earphones for the child to wear when they need to concentrate. Keep it comfortable: temperature and clothing, yes, but also tone of voice and your own emotional regulation. Sensitive kids pick up on your state of mind and internalize it. It filters in. It gets under their skin. They are too young to manage your adult feelings for you … and they already have plenty of their own. Keep it soothing: quiet cuddling, snuggling together with a book or a few precious moments at the end of day, offer comfort when they are distraught. Let them know you see them, hear them, feel for their discomfort. It is real.

Sensitivity is like a fragile gift. It is precious, it is beautiful, it can light up the room and make for excellent potential. It is also delicate and needs some special care. It calls for careful holding in times of transition. It needs a very safe space, for sure.

Have no worries, if you treat your child’s sensitivity (and yours, if you need to) with care and … yes, sensitivity … you will not spoil them. To the contrary, you will teach them how to control and modulate their hyper-acute-perceptions. They will learn from your attuned care how to keep aware without drowning in information, how to keep empathetic without taking on other people’s needs, how to keep their senses vibrating brilliantly without becoming blinded or overwrought. They will learn from you to take time to breathe, to pause, to consider. They will recognize their own cues and clues and find ways to respond to them healthily.

They will blossom like the rare delicate beings that they are. Come fully wonderfully into their own. Sensitivity seen, understood, utilized, known.

delicate2