Forgiveness

“Bozos on the Bus”

Posted on by cdjcollings

Each person has history, much of which can seem to be unremarkable. Each day a new day but for the most part, very similar to the day before. But then suddenly, colliding with the synchronicities of someone else’s life, there is a meeting of souls. It is unprovoked, unexpected and out of sync with the rest of one’s current situation. But it is stunningly impactful and intense, taking the place of whatever either person imagined to encounter. Everything is the odd thing, but there seems to be familiarity, and things and experiences that are common to both. What is this? What does one do with this strange collision of souls? Well, there is only one way when it concerns love. Either one is all-in or one is not. There is no half way to have this experience.

But is it possible that this “connection” though is more simply be “the art” of a manipulator, a man who, on first encounter recognizes something in the other person and uses the gift of gab and charm as weapons to reflect the feelings of this other so that it passes as connection? Could he be someone who has learned how to turn every experience with another soul into food for sustenance for his ego? Things are rarely so perfect. Hmmm.

Ego distorts and self-directs all actions in love relationships. It consumes all of the energy from them. And the person behind the ego can never experience the love potential with another human being. Actions are not authentic but all trickery and strategy, which after so many years is well-honed for implementation on most of the people encountered, poor love-sick souls with no understanding of what it is to truly love someone. The circumstances of this meeting were unexpected and not result of an active search.

I had a very good friend who used to refer to people as “bozos on the bus”, which is the title of a 1971 comedy album by Firesign Theatre. When I complained about some senseless act that someone might have done, in response he would say, “Ah, we’re all just bozos on the bus.”; using this reference for everyone because it allows us to forgive our foibles and not to expect so much of each other.

Forgiveness, it is extremely powerful and one of the very best things that we can do for other people and for ourselves. So I forgive when I need to because after all, we are all “bozos on the bus”.

Truth is Beauty is Love is God

May this new year bring love and light to everyone,

Char

Dedicated to “M”.

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A few years ago, I was grappling with a health condition which defied understanding of several medical professionals. After extensive online research, I myself would come to discover what was keeping me ill. The process was draining and exhausting. One day, at my desk wondering where else to look for answers, I folded my arms and rested my head. I seemed to be falling asleep as a memory from my childhood, of a summer that I visited with my grandparents at their farm in Virginia drifted into my mind. It was a very clear recollection of what happened so long ago so I started to write everything that was coming to me.

Here is an excerpt of what turned out to be a 50-page novelette.

This is the 4th chapter where I tell of the night my grandfather picked up my mother and me from the train station in Fredericksburg, Va.

4

My grandfather’s forest green Buick was quite the automobile with plush seats that reminded me of our living room couch. It was round like cars were then, with huge chrome grill adorning the front of it. The doors closed with an impressive sound, firm and solid, and inside there was a slight scent of musk from having been parked for long periods of time, I imagined, in reserve for special occasions. Buffed to a high sheen and with the occasional scent possessed by new cars, we made our way through the dark night under a sky as I had never seen it; so filled with stars with practically no space at all between them. “We don’t get to see so many stars back home do we? Isn’t it beautiful?” she said. I turned to the rear window. The entire sky seemed to defy the passage of the vehicle as did the farmhouses, trees, and roadside mailboxes. I began to feel very small and insignificant as I turned back around and closer to my mother.

From the highway the tires ground onto a narrow dirt road. As we rumbled along the air became moist, cool; filled with the many unfamiliar scents of the countryside. The startling awareness of skunk was somewhat softened by the sweet surprise of wild honeysuckle that my mother said grew wildly along the length of a fence. The Buick’s headlamps captured husks growing low on towering cornstalks. The crop had grown out over the sides of the road threatening to swallow the car as well, but only the sound, reduced to a soft rumble was forfeited, as it flumped up and over the bumps in the road and in and out of the ditches. With yellow cones of light showing the way, the night was teeming with fluttering ethereal life forms darting in and out, and the relentless sound of a million crickets. 

Through the darkness we walked along a small path toward the light of the farmhouse to find my Grandmother waiting by the kitchen door. Her smiling eyes were mere crescents above cheeks like apples and her braid was coiled and pinned back. She was shorter than she seemed from the stories my mother had told about her. I remember never having been as completely hugged as I was that day within her full bosom, smelling of the coconut cake that was at the center of the table in the old country kitchen. I felt known and loved in the most reassuring way. And I thought that she must have heard many stories about me as well, and that eventually I would discover somewhere in this house without mantels, the baby-in-pink with-teddy picture that other seldom visited relatives all seemed to possess. After a glass of lemonade and a piece of the coconut cake, I was shuttled off to bed as the elders lingered over a pitcher of tea. I remember that the smokehouse hickory seemed to be everywhere, even in the sheets with the little red roses that I slept on that night.

Two Little Girls by Charon Diane

Available through my publisher, Booklocker. 

  http://booklocker.com/books/4718.html

and:

Barnes & Noble

https://barnesandnoble.com/w/two-little-girls-charon-diane/1022157163?ean=9781609101374

You are amazing!  Create something beautiful today!

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My Father

Posted on by cdjcollings

It is probably not a good idea to anticipate approval from other people.

They will resent you for this.

Harsh but true, they may even have contempt for you.

If it exists at all, your value is a self-determination. If people are drawn to you, they have the assumption that you are self-assured, just as they are self-assured. Otherwise, with the feeling that they may not be able to trust their instincts, they will loathe having taken notice of you.

If you are a mature adult, why would you look toward others to inform you of your value?

Respect that this is self-work and part of what people notice about you, especially when it is missing.

I’m writing this after finding a note to myself written a long time ago about a friend, a beautiful woman. She was never pleased with herself, no matter what she wore or how she styled her hair. I didn’t understand the problem until I noticed her interaction with a man that she wanted to know.

We were out together with another girlfriend. There was an attractive man walking toward where we were sitting. It was clear that he was focused on her. Though she already had his attention, she proceeded with swinging her hair from side to side, and sitting provocatively, more animated, etc.. She was embarrassing and so obvious that I looked toward the guy to see his response to her. He actually looked disappointed as his wide smile softened by the time he reached us. He probably expected a different response, perhaps just a little more reserved. He was polite and generous, ordering drinks all around. He stayed long enough to finish his drink and make a graceful exit back to his friends.

She was one of my best friends. And I remember that she had a terrible relationship with her father. He was never pleased with anything that she did. He was cold and critical.

Finding and reading this note to myself from so long ago, I think of how my dad was with me. He has been gone for a long time now. Though I have never given any thought about our relationship in comparison to my friend’s with her father, I think of it now.

May dad was a quiet man, so it is easy to remember the things that he said, and the consistent and reliable support that he was for me. Being the last of six children, it seems to me now that my father was aware of how I could get lost in the crowd of our family. He let me know that he could see me. One of my favorite memories is that at the end of the week on Friday evenings, so that I wouldn’t miss his arrival, I colored in my coloring book on the living room floor, waiting for him to return home from work. He’d walk in and without stopping or saying a word, he’d toss a Clark bar onto my coloring book. This was the rare thing as there were no extras in our family of 9.

My father was a busy and hard-working man with a lot of responsibilities to our family. And he also made time to let me know that noticed me. Just between the two of us, that Clark bar was a powerful gesture. It is an amazing thing that thinking about those times, I can still feel how I felt then, when I was 6 years old. My father always reminded me of how I could become whatever I could imagine. He said that often.

I don’t think my girlfriend got that message about herself.

My wish is that those of us who feel empty or unseen by the world could realize that we are amazing, every one of us is an amazing human being.

Parents provide this awareness through their love for us, but sometimes they themselves are also injured in the same way, by their parents. They don’t know how even if they want to be a better parent for their children. Unfortunately, feeling inadequate to give what the child is so needing, a parent’s reaction to this may be criticism and ridicule, for what they didn’t realize was missing in themselves. It is a desperate and harmful reaction for sure. Both the child and the parent are at a loss for understanding and both experience pain and longing.

But the truth is that we are made in His image, in the image of God, The Creator. If we believe this, then we can heal ourselves and we can forgive others. With this knowing, we can repair our hearts and love ourselves and those that have hurt us.

So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.

Genesis 1:27

Everyone of us is beautiful and amazing, every one.

Remember this about yourself.

Love,

Char