about the sun and the stars.
This morning I woke with these thoughts.
The sun is still shining at night.
The stars are still shining all day.
I’m made of the same stuff as stars.
We all are.
They were nice thoughts.
The Sun and the Stars
The In Between
about how we mark time.
Yesterday way my son’s birthday.
Two weeks ago he started his first job after college.
In May, he graduated.
We mark such big events. Weddings, birthdays, graduations. Births. Deaths.
But we live our lives in the time in between.
This weekend as travel to work a project,
I’m going to remember . . .
that it’s the in between I value most,
that’s it’s the in-btween I find myself wishing back.
If a Tree Falls . . .
about that old question . . .
I must have been as small as 8 years old, when I heard that old, philosophical question,
If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear is there a sound?
Even then, even now, from the first time I heard that question, my response wasn’t what it was meant to be. Rather than imagining the sound, I was immediately in the forest with that falling tree.
I watched the tree fall. I heard the sound. I thought of myself falling down. I was 8 years old. I wondered.
If I saw a tree fall in a forest and no one was around for me to tell, did it really happen?
That’s what I thought. . . . most of my life.
Most of my life, some things weren’t real unless I had someone to tell. In some way, describing an event was like making sure someone heard the sound of the falling tree. It was proof I existed. It meant I wasn’t alone.
It took precious time to retell my life.
I still do it now, but not to prove I am real. Now I’m there the first time around instead.
Now when a tree falls in the forest, I’m singing about the sound of being alive.
Change the World: Learn How to Be Alone
Alone
I sit back in my chair, exhausted. I stare. Silence is all around me. It’s a fine, harmonious sound. It’s broad and clear. I can hear myself. I can hear myself thinking.
A cell phone wouldn’t dare interrupt.
A loud voice doesn’t exist.
I can feel my heart. I can feel my heart beating.
I remember when I used to not like to be alone.
Then I learned how.
Learning how to be alone is as easy as learning how to feed yourself
and just as messy at first.
I think of the softly lit stars. I feel the silence of their being. I feel a home in the universe. I’m hospitable, joyful, forgiving, and generous.
A friend once said, “The universe shall not be thwarted.” So I stopped trying to rearrange it, stopped trying to change it, stopped trying to put myself in the center.
Instead I sat in the dark and listened. Silence is a harmonious sound.
I can hear myself. I can hear myself thinking.
I can feel my heart. I can feel my heart beating.
I’m reflective, thoughtful, and filled with meaning.
I learn how to be alone.
It makes me better when I am with other people.
We can change the world — just like that.
–ME “Liz” Strauss
Moving Dots
Connecting dots with The Idea Dude
They say that the Internet has made the world a smaller place, you can reach any location with a click of the mouse. Blogs have made the world a more meaningful place, you can reach a heart with a click of the mouse.
This week’s collection of dots have 3 things in common.
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Each dot has a heart.
Each dot has a story.
Each dot is on a journey.
These dots are moving dots.
This week starts with Karaoke Diva. Her blog entry Remember a year in the life is a YouTube video about her family’s challenge with infertility. As she puts it, they have been trying for 15 months for Kid 2.0. She made a soundtrack of a life, and I saw other lives touched by it. This is beautiful! . . . I will never listen to the song thinking about anything else again. It drew me to the many people whose thoughts and hearts have moved me when they speak of their journey at TheGoodBlogs
As I look down the list one that stands out is Child Lost. I find something Pat was moved to write in response to words she inspired. She reflects on her life as a mom to an addict son. Yet she talks about gratitude. I have a purpose in my life whereas there are so many others who have no purpose and their days are filled with loneliness. I also hear hope. Her story begins again every day.
Then there’s Karen, a deaf mom. She shares her world where many family members suffer from hearing loss. Beyond being a resource for those who are deaf or hard of hearing, Karen blogs from the heart. Heartfelt words in response — But I try, my friend’s [sic] try, our baby sitter tries, and that is the best we can do. — show the welcoming place she has made. Karen was at SOBCon. I remember her smile.
Shannon shares with us her daughter’s world. Gabi has Down’s syndrome. Her blog is a way to share Gabi’s progress with her family and friends. But it is more, it’s love and courage. This is one part of Gabi’s journey. Sometimes a response, I’m so proud of you for doing this remarkable Blog, is from someone already connected to the story we tell.
I chose these dots because they represent the spirit of blogging. Stories told from the heart, inviting us to join their personal journeys. I’m struck both by the honesty and the dignity with which the stories are told. From their hearts, they inspire and move others to respond.
I’m thankful they move us.
May the dots be with you!
Talking in Our Hearts and Our Heads
about the conversation in the comment box.
About three weeks before SOBCon07, as I was planning what I would say. I sat in my darkened bedroom imagining the time and the place. When I did, a stunning thing struck me, overtook me, I finally saw the whole group.
The image was even more than I had been ready to receive. I suddenly realized the room would be filled with people who had generously shared their minds. It was amazing, electric. I was overwhelmed at the idea that a roomful of people could know each other so well.
The reality was even more than that. . . . How could it be possible?
Research says that 50% of how we communicate is nonverbal – it’s in the tone, expression, body language, such things. One study showed that 84% of communication on the telephone is vocal and 16% is verbal.
How could these people — we, who never met — know each other so well?
It was trust and safety. . . . like it is every morning here.
That’s not to say that it never comes out just a little wrong, but so often it’s so much more than right. We learn and discover. We laugh and cavort. We design, narrate, create like conductors, feel for each other, play. We talk words into meaning. We have world-size ideas.
How do we crawl into a comment box and turn off the rules of 3-D?
Maybe it’s that we know that we are listening. Maybe it’s that we take time to think. Maybe it’s that we know that our words are everlasting.
Maybe it’s that we’re not in a box at all . . .
Maybe we’re talking in our hearts and our heads.
I hear your voice when you type what you think.
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