I am writing this to help myself anchor this realization. It makes me smile and not take myself so seriously. I love when I loosen up--the best things seem to happen then, and they have been ever since this understanding blossomed.
Our eyes are the greatest deceivers.
Close your eyes and take a good deep, down-into-your-lower-ribcage breath.
Open your eyes and now look all around you--including your body.
All of your reality, everything, is merely a SUGGESTION of what can be. It does not have to be WHAT IS.
We were living--acting out--a hypnotic suggestion...that's all. Pretty much the same as a hypnotist telling a volunteer that he is a chicken--and he accepts that suggestion as his truth, and he flaps, struts and clucks about like a chicken.
Sunday, June 9, 2019
Thursday, May 2, 2019
Stop Fighting with Cancer--Use It as a Tool for Greater Self-Awareness
Stop fighting cancer!
I cannot say this loudly enough. I know you feel like you're supporting yourself or loved ones when you jump onto the "Fight this Disease" bandwagon, but you aren't aware that you're actually supporting it staying manifested in reality by struggling and fighting with it.
Fighting cancer is like a fly getting caught in a spider's web. The more it struggles, the more the web attaches its sticky self to the fly, the more trapped the fly becomes, until it's nothing but an empty carcass from which the spider has drained the life.
Shift your point of perspective.
View the cancer as a gift--a TOOL you gave yourself in order to open up your understanding of who you really are--to wake yourself up--and to gain wisdom for your soul.
Lie down in a comfortable position, close your eyes, take some good deep-into-your-diaphragm breaths (beneath your lower ribcage):
Inhale through your nose: 1, 2, 3, 4.
Hold that breath: 1, 2, 3, 4.
Exhale through your mouth: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.
And FEEL into your body. Feel the beating of your heart.
Do a body scan:
Am I feeling tightness in my shoulders, jaws, limbs, back? Take a breath to release it and let the tightness melt away.
Am I feeling pain anywhere? Take another breath and explore and FEEL into the pain, allowing it to guide you to its source and center.
Let the pain tell you its story. Don't judge your feelings and thoughts--let it all out! Icky painful, fearful, angry, sad, regretful feelings and thoughts allowed in your own safe and sacred space won't harm anyone. Let yourself cry, scream, hold yourself. There is no such thing as the right or wrong way to be and feel here:
I am listening...
I am FEELING it all through...
I am allowing myself to just be however...
No more monitoring, no more trying to control or force things...
You actually have never done anything wrong.
No one, no other god out there is punishing you. You just got momentarily lost in a story--an act of consciousness. You haven't done anything wrong in bringing cancer into your life--you just FEEL as though you have.
This disease is in your life as part of getting yourself to ALLOW unrelenting self-forgiveness. It's helping you REALIZE the importance of self compassion--of being kind to oneself for simply being an imperfect human. All of us humans have done dark things because of having such a limited consciousness--we were all just trying to survive in a world where we believed we had to fight and struggle in order to live and be abundant. No more pointing fingers of blame and judgment. We all were just doing the best we knew how to at the time, trying to find our way while feeling so lost, so scared, so alone.
This shift in perspective will help you make decisions on the treatments you choose to use to address the physical symptoms--and you can't make a wrong choice from this place of expanded self-awareness. Whatever you choose is appropriate because you're now ALLOWING your energies to serve you in grace. Instead of radiating out armor and shields and weapons which attract something for you to then fight, your consciousness is open and allowing, and these aggressive energies just flow on by now without attaching themselves to you.
You exist--eternally! You are conscious awareness. You are light. You are here out of love.
We are ALL here out of love, and it's unto love we all return.
Please stop fighting--wars don't work anymore. Have you noticed?
Related Posts:
4 Questions to Help You Feel Through and Release Painful Old Stories
I cannot say this loudly enough. I know you feel like you're supporting yourself or loved ones when you jump onto the "Fight this Disease" bandwagon, but you aren't aware that you're actually supporting it staying manifested in reality by struggling and fighting with it.
Fighting cancer is like a fly getting caught in a spider's web. The more it struggles, the more the web attaches its sticky self to the fly, the more trapped the fly becomes, until it's nothing but an empty carcass from which the spider has drained the life.
Shift your point of perspective.
View the cancer as a gift--a TOOL you gave yourself in order to open up your understanding of who you really are--to wake yourself up--and to gain wisdom for your soul.
Lie down in a comfortable position, close your eyes, take some good deep-into-your-diaphragm breaths (beneath your lower ribcage):
Inhale through your nose: 1, 2, 3, 4.
Hold that breath: 1, 2, 3, 4.
Exhale through your mouth: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.
And FEEL into your body. Feel the beating of your heart.
Do a body scan:
Am I feeling tightness in my shoulders, jaws, limbs, back? Take a breath to release it and let the tightness melt away.
Am I feeling pain anywhere? Take another breath and explore and FEEL into the pain, allowing it to guide you to its source and center.
Let the pain tell you its story. Don't judge your feelings and thoughts--let it all out! Icky painful, fearful, angry, sad, regretful feelings and thoughts allowed in your own safe and sacred space won't harm anyone. Let yourself cry, scream, hold yourself. There is no such thing as the right or wrong way to be and feel here:
I am listening...
I am FEELING it all through...
I am allowing myself to just be however...
No more monitoring, no more trying to control or force things...
You actually have never done anything wrong.
No one, no other god out there is punishing you. You just got momentarily lost in a story--an act of consciousness. You haven't done anything wrong in bringing cancer into your life--you just FEEL as though you have.
This disease is in your life as part of getting yourself to ALLOW unrelenting self-forgiveness. It's helping you REALIZE the importance of self compassion--of being kind to oneself for simply being an imperfect human. All of us humans have done dark things because of having such a limited consciousness--we were all just trying to survive in a world where we believed we had to fight and struggle in order to live and be abundant. No more pointing fingers of blame and judgment. We all were just doing the best we knew how to at the time, trying to find our way while feeling so lost, so scared, so alone.
This shift in perspective will help you make decisions on the treatments you choose to use to address the physical symptoms--and you can't make a wrong choice from this place of expanded self-awareness. Whatever you choose is appropriate because you're now ALLOWING your energies to serve you in grace. Instead of radiating out armor and shields and weapons which attract something for you to then fight, your consciousness is open and allowing, and these aggressive energies just flow on by now without attaching themselves to you.
You exist--eternally! You are conscious awareness. You are light. You are here out of love.
We are ALL here out of love, and it's unto love we all return.
Please stop fighting--wars don't work anymore. Have you noticed?
Related Posts:
4 Questions to Help You Feel Through and Release Painful Old Stories
Thursday, April 18, 2019
Nation's Center News Article: Meet Your Neighbor: Frank Lewton
Meet
Your Neighbor: FRANK LEWTON
By Linda
Stephens
NATION'S
CENTER NEWS
Buffalo, SD
Articles from Wednesday, December 5 & 12, 1984 editions.
Reprinted by
Penny Binek with permission from Wally Stephens. (Mick Lewton)
Friday, November 30, 1984, I
finally got together with Frank to do his interview. We have tried to
get together several times over the last ten months, but every time
we had an interview scheduled, Frank would call and postpone it as
something would come up. Actually, I think he was trying to avoid me,
but finally just gave in…
Frank was the oldest of 12
children born to Jennie Alice (Gorman) and John William Lewton. Only
seven of the twelve children grew to adulthood. They are as follows:
Frank Gorman
was born June 28, 1907 in Omaha, NE. (continued later).
Florence Katherine was
born May 12, 1909. She married Harold Gunn and they live southwest of
Lemmon, SD on a ranch. They have one son and two daughters. Their son
Vince is the County Agent for Perkins County.
Cecil Clare
(May 12, 1911--Dec. 25, 1911) died of spinal meningitis.
Jessie Lorena
was born Dec. 16, 1912 in Liberty, IL. Jessie married Ralph Berg
(deceased--summer 1984). They lived in Hettinger, ND and he worked at
the Farmers Union Station. They had 10 children—1 deceased. Jessie
now lives with a son in Grand Forks, ND.
John Maurice
was born August 9, 1914. He ranched near Chance, SD
Lyle Bernard
was born June 8, 1916. He married Katherine Hunt. They were both
killed May 10, 1970 in an automobile accident north of Bowman on the
county line. They had 13 children, 12 of which are living. They lived
on the old Holman ranch 8 miles northwest of Camp Crook. After their
death their son Larry came home from the service and took care of all
the kids and saw to it that they got through school.
George William was
born June 4, 1918. He married Bernice Palmer (divorced). He is
retired, living in Tucson, AZ. He has 5 children.
Alan Mason
was born Feb. 11, 1920 and died Feb. 16, 1920 of heart trouble.
Henry “Woodrow” was
born April 1, 1921. Woodrow married Elizabeth Exman and they live on
a ranch near
Lodgepole, SD. They have one son and one daughter.
Ralph Edson
was born Dec. 4, 1922 and died Dec. 13, 1922 of heart trouble.
Eugene Paul
was born Sept. 18, 1924 and died Feb. 5, 1926 of whooping cough.
Jerome was
born Dec. 15, 1927 and died Dec. 15, 1927 of heart trouble.
John and Jennie Lewton were
married at Council Bluffs, Iowa, on September 5, 1905, and then went
to Omaha, NE where John worked for the Union Pacific Railroad. He was
a finish carpenter working on the Pullman cars. Jennie had taught
school a few years before they were married, but afterwards worked as
a housewife.
The Interior Department decided
to open up about three million acres of free land to homesteaders.
Anyone with fourteen dollars filing fee and enough money to put up a
homestead shanty could file on 160 acres of free land. If you
qualified with the regulations of building a one-room shanty, digging
a well, breaking five acres of land, and living on this claim 14
months, you would own your claim. At this time John was earning $100
per month from the railroad, and the idea of homesteading appealed to
him.
In the fall of 1907 John came to
Hettinger, ND to locate some land. His homestead was located south of
Lodgepole, SD on the south side of the South Grand River on the old
T.X. Trail that led from Bismarck, ND to Belle Fourche, SD. All mail
for the early settlers in this area first came to Belle Fourche and
someone would ride or drive horses down for it. Later a post office
was established at the Fred Nelson’s Sidney Store, and it was here
the Lewtons got their mail and groceries from 1909 until 1914. From
1914 to 1922 their mail came to Strool, SD. Then in 1923, after
moving across to the north side of the river and building a new home,
their mail was changed to Lodgepole, SD. Both Sidney and Strool have
been discontinued as post offices.
In the spring of 1909 Jennie and
her young son, Frank, came by railroad to Hettinger, ND where they
were met by John. They then rode out to the claim in a lumber wagon.
They lived with Jennie’s brother, Maurice Gorman, who had been in
South Dakota since 1896, running cattle on the wild open prairies
with no fences and no owned land.
While John and Jennie were
building their sod house, they had to keep an umbrella over Frank to
keep him dry as the weather was rainy. The lumber for their roof came
from Sturgis, SD. Frank said, “It was a one-room shack with a
portiere (hanging cloth) dividing the room. Now I suppose you’d
call it drapes or a curtain, but then we called it a portiere. We
also had a cook stove that burned both coal and wood. There also
weren’t any fences in the area, only a little one for the horses.”
Frank continued, “My uncle
Maurice Gorman had come from Quincy, IL and his wife Anna was from
Iowa. They settled on the only land in the area where cottonwood
trees were growing. We lived about ¾ mile from each other. In 1911,
during the drought they moved back to Iowa in a covered wagon. They
had 5 children, but now the whole family is dead. Their children died
when they weren’t very old.”
In 1909 there was a terrible
prairie fire that started in the Slim Buttes and burned to the South
Grand River. The fire burned right beside John’s sod house and
pole corral. There was also a terrific wind along with the fire.
Jennie went out to watch the fire. She was wearing a new bonnet at
the time and a gust of wind blew it off her head. The bonnet was
blown high into the air and across the prairie it went. She never
recovered her bonnet.
John needed a team of horses, so
in the spring of 1908 he took his last $300 and went over to Doc
Hodge’s ranch in the Slim Buttes and bought his first team. Frank
was very proud of that team. Now John would be able to farm and also
have a means of transportation. The horses were high spirited, but
John was a young man and figured he could handle them. He got his
field plowed with a one-furrow plow that he walked behind and held
onto the handles. But, when it came to harrowing the plowed ground
that was another matter. John got in front of the team to fix the
harness when something spooked them and they ran away and pulled the
drag over him. There was no doctor or hospital but John eventually
recovered from the ordeal.
The drought of 1911 was hard
enough to battle, but sickness and death were much worse. Their
little daughter Cecil Clare came down with spinal meningitis. Dr.
Frank Walker of Bison, SD had been out to the ranch home several
times to treat her, but she didn’t get any better. Finally on
Christmas Eve, she was in such pain that John set out with the team
and wagon to bring Dr. Walker. It was a forty mile trip. He reached
Bison with no trouble, but on the homeward journey it was so dark and
hard to see that the horses got out of the trail and ran through a
barbed wire fence, nearly cutting the leg off one of the horses. Dr.
Walker and John took the remaining horse and rode double to the
Lewton home. Nothing the doctor could do helped and she died on
Christmas Day, December 25, 1911. Because at that time graveyards
were so far away, she was buried on the Lewton ranch where she still
lies.
Through the years times
improved, but still there were hardships. The Lewton children had to
cross the South Grand River in order to drive seven miles to school
by horse and buggy. There was no bridge across the river. One night
in early spring, Florence, Jessie, John and Lyle were returning from
school. The river was high and floating with ice, and some ice was
just breaking up. When they tried to cross the swollen river, the
horse floundered, broke through the ice, swam, went down, and finally
got the cart turned around so he could swim downstream with the
current until they finally made it back to shore where they had
started. Taking a sixteen mile detour by the Sidney Bridge, they
finally reached home to be greeted by frantic parents. Florence wrote
a poem about this tragedy called “That Wicked River.”
In 1923 John and Jennie built a
modern home on the north side of the South Grand River and built up a
fine herd of Hereford cattle.
Frank said, “We went to school
part time at our house and mother taught us. Sometimes we stayed at
the school house with a teacher. We had a hard time getting to
school.”
In 1929 the Great Depression
began when so many banks closed and the depositors lost a lot of
money. The prices of cattle, grain and sheep were very cheap. Wheat
sold for 25 cents a bushel. In 1934 the government bought the cattle,
sheep and hogs from the farmers and had them slaughtered and thrown
into a deep trench and buried. The government paid $20 a head for
cattle over two years old and $8 for calves. John took a lot of
cattle to Hettinger, ND and sold them to the government at these
prices. He also sent a car load of the best steers to Chicago and
received $23 each. John and his sons also helped slaughter sheep at
the sheep ranches and brought home carcasses to feed his hogs.
Because of the extreme drought there was very little feed for hogs or
stock of any kind, so farmers and ranchers were forced to sell their
stock to the government.
John was stricken with a fatal
heart attack on August 23, 1956, at Bismarck, ND where he had gone
for a checkup. Jennie continued to operate the 666 Ranch with the
help of her son Woodrow until the fall of 1971, when she decided to
quit ranching and sold her cattle. She then made her home with her
daughter Florence, and son-in-law, Harold Gunn until her death
December 26, 1976.
While Frank was growing up he
raised a little over an acre of onions each year. Frank said, “One
of the first things Dad did when he came here was to build a dam
along with my uncle Maurice Gorman. Each year Dad plowed me up a
patch of ground where it was flood irrigated. We’d put the onions
on a new plot every year, but the big problem was weeds. The flood
water would bring every kind of weed imaginable. At that time we
couldn’t get onion sets but planted them all from seed. An onion
seed looks like a buckwheat seed—it is a 3-cornered seed but about
half the size of a buckwheat seed. I sold the onions as soon as they
were big enough to neighbors, people in town and the Fair in Lemmon.
My onion patch provided me with quite a bit of spending money in
those days.”
Frank recalled seeing his first
automobile. “I was about 5-6 years old and had never seen anything
come in,” stated Frank, “without horses pulling it. I looked at
the hill and here came the mail carrier in a white car. I just
couldn’t believe what I saw! I walked around the car two to three
times looking for the horses! Then about 3-4 years later, the mail
man got some old trucks and used them to deliver the mail in.”
Jello was also quite a novelty
item for Frank. Frank chuckled, “The first time I can remember
seeing jello was when the Fred Nelson’s had it for dinner. They ran
the Sidney Post Office, and I just couldn’t believe it. I was about
6-8 years old and all we had ever had before was gelatin. How here
was jello with all those colors! I remember that Mom sent to Sears &
Roebuck and got jello. It was really a treat!”
The flu epidemic spread over the
country in 1918. Frank was 11 years old and had driven a wagon load
of hogs to Hettinger with his dad. It was a 2-day trip and when they
got back Frank’s dad and then the whole family came down with the
flu, all except Frank. Frank said, “I had to feed the cows and
pitch hay over the fence. I know I sure thought it was lots of cows
that I had to feed. When my dad got well, he went around the
neighborhood and helped many people. I know it was because of my dad
that many people made it through the flu epidemic. Dad’s remedy was
to fry up big gobs of onions and make an onion poultice. He would put
the onions in a flannel cloth and put it on their chest. He also had
them drink hot jello water.”
Frank attended Hettinger High
starting in 1922 and graduating in 1926. During 3-1/2 of those high
school years he worked at Hancock’s Drug Store. Frank said, “I
did everything from keeping the furnace to helping make
prescriptions. One day I was making up 1 lb. packages of Epsom salts
and alum. I had them sitting side by side in two piles, but hadn’t
marked which was which. In those days heavy-set ladies would use
Epsom salts in their bath water which was supposed to help them
reduce their weight. A rather heavy-set lady came in to purchase
Epsom salts and the druggist grabbed a package of alum and sold it to
her instead. Later she told how she had put it in her tub and it had
puckered her up like a prune. I sure felt badly about it, but it
wasn’t my fault really as the druggist didn’t ask me which pile
to get the Epsom salt from.”
After high school graduation,
Frank came home to work with his dad. Sometimes he took the younger
children to school and that was a good excuse to meet the new
schoolteacher—Pearl Myrtle Allinson. Frank also decided that it
would be the neighborly thing to do if he would occasionally stop and
help her build the fire in the school house stove. It wasn’t too
long before Frank was dating the young school marm.
Pearl had a younger sister Opal
who was attending college in Aberdeen, so in May 0f 1928, Pearl and
Frank decided to drive to Aberdeen and visit her. Frank said, “We
had a nice trip down. That evening was beautiful and everyone was
sitting outside visiting. The next day we left to go home. We got
almost to Mobridge when the wind hit. All we had was side curtains on
the car and it got so dusty and dirty we could hardly breathe. I
think we drove off in the worst field we could find and we sat there
for almost 2 hours in the car. We had our good clothes on and when we
finally drove into Mobridge we looked like a couple of mud hens with
just slits for our eyes. There was just a little sprinkle of rain,
enough to make the dirt stick to you. We really looked a sight! To
make matters worse, here we weren’t married and had to check into
the hotel and get a couple rooms to take a bath and clean up. You
never could imagine any two people coming into a hotel looking like
that!” Frank continued, “I know some of your readers will
remember that same wind that hit the Camp Crook area in 1928. The
wind blew 80-90 mph and it tore some of those big trees off the
ridges that had been there for 200 years. It blew lots of lumber down
in the Long Pine Hills. Later, after Pearl and I were married, we
moved to Camp Crook and I cut a lot of that timber for our own wood.
We also made pitch pine posts out of the hearts of many of the large
trees that were blown over.”
Pearl Myrtle Allinson
was born in Adair, Oklahoma Territory, before it was a state, to Anna
(Ridgeway) and Curtis Allinson. She had no birth certificate as she
was born on the Indian reservation. Her parents moved to Harding
County in the early 1900’s and homesteaded on the south side of the
Grand River right north of the Slim Buttes. They had a sheep ranch
and finally lived in an old log house on the river where Claude Olson
lived for awhile.
Jim and John Ridgeway, her mother’s brothers,
also lived nearby. John was married but had no family. Jim was
married and Charles, Betty and Fern were his children.
In 1917 the Allinson’s moved
to a ranch just 1mile east and ½ mile south of Bowman, ND where
Frank presently lives today. They ran sheep here, and also north of
town, south of Marmarth and north of Camp Crook in South Dakota.
In 1917 Anna and Curtis took their two girls Pearl and Opal with them to go check on the sheep. There was something wrong with the car so Curtis took it to the Sampson Garage and they gave him another car to use. The shifting gears weren’t the same and Curtis had a hard time getting used to driving it. They camped all night on a 40- foot bank overlooking the Little Missouri River. They got up, ate breakfast, and all piled into the car to start for home. Curtis started the car but pushed the wrong pedal and instead of going
into reverse, it went forward and plunged 40 feet into the river. They were all crippled
except Pearl. She walked to the Ray Miller ranch to get help. As a result of the
accident Curtis spent the next 17 years of his life in bed as he broke his back and was
paralyzed from the waist down.
Anna took care
of Curtis until 1936 when she died from Tularemia. She had taken Dean
and Gene Lewton, her grandchildren, up on the Buttes behind their
house and had gotten a tick. The tick gave her this disease which is
normally associated as “rabbit sickness.”
After Anna’s death, a lady by the name of Lucy Wolf began taking care of Curtis who was an invalid. She got a trailer house and pulled it with a car. She took him on trips around the country and made several trips to Florida where Curtis’s father was living. They would stay in Orlando, FL during the winter and come back here in the summer. Curtis died the day before Christmas in 1941.
Pearl’s sister Opal attended high school in Bowman and then college in Aberdeen. She married Homer Cornell (Carl’s son—from Buffalo) and they lived at Fort Yates for many years where he worked in Indian service. They later moved to Bismarck where he worked for the State Highway Department. They have now retired and live in California near Sacramento. They have two children. Their son, Alan, is a professor at Berkley University near San Francisco, and their daughter, Joan, is married and lives in Fargo, ND where they own Scheel’s Hardware.
Pearl attended college in
Dickinson for part of a year. She then taught the Ridgeway School
east of Buffalo. She then went to Aberdeen and got her teaching
certificate. The next year she taught the Fredlund School in Perkins
County near Lodgepole. After teaching a year, she and Frank decided
to get married. They were married July 2, 1928 in Baker, MT. Frank’s
sister, Florence, went along and was their witness. Frank said, “It
seems about everyone in those days drove to Baker and got married. I
had a brand new Ford Sport Coupe Model A car that I had bought in
Hettinger for $700. I had it all shiny and polished. While driving
near Griffin, ND on the way home, another car hit a big mud hole just
as we passed by and plastered my car. That sure made me mad!”
Frank and Pearl went to the
Black Hills on their honeymoon. Frank said, “Everywhere we went,
somebody would run us down to look at that car. It was a new model
and they hadn’t seen anything like it.”
Pearl and Frank lived with his
parents that summer and the fall of 1928 they moved 12-13 miles north
of Camp Crook. They lived across the creek from the Otto Burghduffs.
Frank said, “That first winter was the worst time. We lived in a
little tar paper shack. It had plain boards on the outside and red
and blue building paper on the inside with a little cook stove. Alice
Goggins, a lady who lived in Rapid City, had said we could rent this
place from her. She had a nice house there and was going to have it
fixed up. She bought finish lumber, but not the windows, so we
couldn’t live in the house. First we lived in the granary and then
we got into this 8x10 shack that sat kind of kiddy wampus. Alice had
25-30 head of horses that I was to take care of, but there wasn’t
much to do.”
In the spring of 1929 Frank
visited with Gilbert Osheim, a bachelor, to see if they could rent
his place. Gilbert’s mother lived in Kalispell, MT and he said
they’d have to talk to her. Mrs. Osheim decided they could rent the
place, but Gilbert didn’t have any place to live, so he moved in
with them and slept upstairs. Frank said, “Gilbert was just out of
the service and was very bashful. I think if any girl looked at him
he’d run 4 miles. A bunch of the young guys in Camp Crook knew he
had all this money to spend from being in the service so they talked
him into buying a car. Gilbert couldn’t drive it, so they took his
car all over the country. Sometimes they took Gilbert with them and
sometimes they didn’t. Finally I decided I’d better teach Gilbert
to drive so we took the car down on the sage brush flat and taught
him how to drive. He didn’t like to shift. I’ll never forget when
he came to the big creek--he’d gun it and down he’d go and just
swoop right out through the dust like a big bird on the other side.
He didn’t want to have to shift so he’d get up enough speed going
down so he could make it up the other side without shifting!”
In the spring of 1930 Frank and
Pearl moved to the Allinson place just east of Bowman. In later years
Frank bought the place from him.
Five children were born to Frank
and Pearl. They are as follows:
Twins—Dean Clarence and
Gene Curtis were born
May 6, 1929 in Camp Crook at the home of Mrs. Charlie Turbiville.
Frank said, “We took them home and we both had a wrestling match—we
had to pack water to the house and wash clothes with a wash board.
That first year was really something!”
Dean Clarence
attended Bowman High School and BHSC in Spearfish, SD. He married
Leona Kivimaki and they lived 15 miles southwest of Bowman for many
years. They now live in Bowman and Dean is a mechanic and works on
carburetors. They have 8 children: Gary married Doreen Fadness. They
live on the home place southwest of Bowman. They have two
children—Ali and Renae; Jerry married Candice Doe. They live in
Reeder, ND and he works for Knife River Coal Co. They have 1
daughter, Melissa; Steve married Nadine Fadness. They live in Bowman.
He is a small appliance repairman and also drives the school bus.
They have 2 children—Abby and Thaddeus; Mick married Mary Breen.
They live in Dickinson where he works for Hersruds International
Harvester and she is and R.N. at the hospital. They have two
boys—Marcus and Matthew; Laurie attended NDSU at Fargo and has a
degree in Foods and Nutrition. She is presently living at home and
works at Gambles and Bomars; Tim married Cheryl Mollman. He is a
mechanic at the Carburetor Shop in Bowman. They have one
daughter—Crystal; Penny attended NDSU for one year. She now works
at Bennett Drug in Bowman; David is an 8th
grader.
Gene Curtis
graduated Bowman High School and attended BHSC. He then attended
church college in Chicago. He married Marion Empie, a minister’s
daughter from Bowman. They went as missionaries to Kenya, Africa and
have been there since 1954. It soon will be 30 years that they have
lived there. Gene is now involved in building a 90-bed hospital in
Tenwek, Kenya. They have four children: Colleen married Terry Hawk of
Ohio. They live in Honduras, Central America and are missionaries.
They live on a cattle ranch and teach the natives how to run stock.
They have 2 children—Jeremie and Benjie; Kenneth and his wife
Sherry live in Jackson, Mississippi. He is a minister. They have two
boys—Dennie and Joel; Diane has a 4-year degree in nursing and is a
captain in the Air Force; Dwight is a computer technician and
operator living in Oklahoma City, OK.
Gail Lee
was born March 12, 1933 at the farm in Bowman. Frank said he had been
up night and day lambing for two weeks before Gail was born. Pearl’s
folks finally found a hired man and sent him out to help Frank. Frank
said, “He came about 6 PM and we worked until midnight. I told him
to go upstairs and sleep. About 1 AM Pearl poked me and told me I had
to go get the doctor. I was so tired I just told her to roll over and
go back to sleep! Well, she wouldn’t let me so I got out of bed.
Gail was going to be born in the front room so I decided if I was
going to get the hired man out, I’d better do it now. He had barely
got to sleep and I told him what was happening and he’d better get
out of there, so he went down to the shed and slept with the sheep.
I’ll bet he wondered what kind of slave driver I was!” Frank
managed to get Dr. Cornelius to the house. He said the snow was so
deep that it was over the fence. The doctor had to walk downhill to
get into the house.
Gail attended Bowman High School
and National College in Rapid City. She completed her nurse’s
training at the hospital in Rapid City and became an R.N. She married
Delbert “Bud” Murner of Rapid City. They live in Woodland, CA
where he worked for the Fire Department and she is a registered
nurse. They have three children: Linda married Joe Yingst (divorced).
They had one daughter, Amanda. Linda is a bookkeeper at the hospital
and has also taken nurse’s training; Mike works for Pacific Power
Co. and is putting in high lines from the thermal power plants; Larry
attended school in Phoenix, AZ. He has since made it his home and is
an IBM technician and operator.
Sue Ann
was born on Labor Day, Sept. 1, 1936 in the Bowman hospital. She died
in February of 1978 of cancer.
Sue Ann graduated Bowman High
School and attended Dickinson College one year and got a teaching
certificate. She taught Cottage School north of Bowman. Before the
school year was out she married a local rancher Don Burke. They lived
15 miles north of Bowman. They had seven children: Tom married Twyla
Frietag. He ranches on the place with his dad. They have 4 boys—Don,
Matthew, Mike & John; Wanda is married to Ron McKitrick. They
live 7 miles southeast of Bowman. They have 3 children—Amy Sue,
Garrett and Joseph; Bruce married Tammy Teske. They live in Bowman
and own Twin Butte Liquor. They have one son—Ryan Michael; Donna
married Craig Speidel. They live in Bismarck where he works for
Montana-Dakota Utilities. They have one son—Nicholas; Mark married
Kitty Theuer. They live in Bismarck where he is an insurance agent
for American Family. They have 2 children—Sue and Adam; Patrick is
in his 3rd year at SDSM&T but should graduate this
spring. He is presently doing some of his college work for a company
in Cedar Rapids, IA; Ruth is a 7th grader.
Linda Jo was born July
12, 1939. She graduated Bowman High School, attended college at Grand
Forks and Fargo, and then finished in Ames, IA with a degree in Home
Economics. She married Jay Olpin and they live in Frederick, MD. He
is a scientist and has been involved in cancer research for 20 years.
Linda helps him with various scientific projects. They have 3
children: Rebecca is a sophomore at Brigham Young Univ. in Provo, UT;
Ruth is in high school; Tim is in grade school.
Pearl and Frank always raised a
large garden. Frank said that Pearl would can anything that would go
into a jar. Frank also planted and raised apricots, crab apples,
apples and pears. When I was there on Friday we had apricot sauce
that was made from the apricots on the place.
Pearl and Frank enjoyed
traveling. Frank said, “We traveled all over the U.S. by car, train
and plane. We went to Chicago once or twice a year to see Gene when
he was going to college. We have been to Mexico, and to California,
several times. We drove to New York City to see Gene when he came
home from Africa. We flew to Washington, D.C. several times to see
Linda and her family. We’ve been to Missouri to see all the
Ridgeway relatives. The only place we haven’t been is in the real
southern states and the far northeastern states.”
In 1977 Maxine Paulson started
coming to the farm to help Pearl. She has been coming off and on
three times a week since. She was there the day I interviewed Frank
and made us a good noon meal.
Pearl died September 4, 1983
after suffering a series of strokes. She had been hospitalized many
times the last three years of her life.
Frank manages to keep himself
busy on the farm. He enjoys working outside and keeps himself busy.
Frank Lewton is a very nice man.
I’ve certainly enjoyed visiting with him and I’m sure you would,
too.
Tuesday, March 26, 2019
Dear Mom and Dad...With love, Pen
One of the greatest gifts I received from one of my hardest losses, the death of my first boyfriend, was to make sure that no matter what story or disagreement might be playing out at the time, I wanted my loved ones to know that I ALWAYS loved them no matter what.
I was digging through my stash of keepsakes looking for a wedding program for a friend when I found this letter I had written to Mom and Dad. I had forgotten doing it. It was just a flow of thoughts while out on a walk that I'd wanted to capture, so it wasn't complete or polished. but I had just decided to send it to them anyway...and I'm SO glad I did!
I went out for my walk along the creek yesterday, and as I walked I was thinking about the two of you and how profoundly you touched my life--as a couple and as unique individuals. I also determined that I was going to tell you all of these thoughts personally. I didn't want to wait to say them at a funeral. It's important to me that you know this now. You're the only ones I desire to hear this anyway. It's not that I expect you to die anytime soon either. Why should I want to wait until you're gone anyway?
I also realize that my relationship with you is uniquely my own. My brothers and sister would have their own unique perspective, too, which is the beauty of this experience we call life.
As I walked along, it struck me that I was blessed not to have been raised as a member of any organized church. I remember (person's name) remarking on my having a relationship with God when I wasn't even a church-going member. He was impressed, but I know he also couldn't quite fathom how I could ever understand the concept of praying. I hadn't read the Bible at that time, yet I was drawing pictures of kids praying. Mom, I know I've told you this many times before, but this is for the record: I'll always remember you telling me not to judge someone until I've walked a mile in their moccasins. I don't even know whether you were preaching it to me either. In my mind, I see it mostly as a philosophy you lived by, and it made a whole lot of sense to me.
Thank you both for not having me baptized because it caused me to question the validity of that ritual. When other people's kids told me they were worried about me going to hell because I wasn't sprinkled with "holy" water, I had decided that a god who was as petty as all that wasn't my god.
Dad, you challenged me to not believe everything I read or saw until I had run it through my own experience.
Mom, you encouraged me to read and grow. You both stressed being the best at whatever I chose to do--mostly by example and not by preaching--but you never stressed doing it for good grades or for how it might make you appear.
Dad, you never were much of one who liked going to musical concerts--thanks for the ones you did suffer through--but you were ALWAYS there for me when I needed you. I remember calling home sometime around midnight the night I graduated when (person's name) and I got the car stuck. I wasn't afraid to call you and I never felt as though I had to keep my party attendance a secret from either you or Mom. You trusted me first--and that has had quite an impact on me. When your parents perceive you as responsible, you perceive yourself that way, too.
When I called home crying about college, you drove all night and were there the following morning to take me home.
And when my boyfriend died you were with him as close as you could be, and you and Mom were there to hold me the moment I got home. Probably one of my greatest memories of you is the morning you drove me all over the countryside to find wildflowers in the middle of July to be made into a bouquet for Arlen. The word "thanks" just doesn't quite do that one justice.
As a kid, the moments I hold dear to me now are when you were sitting on the couch with your arm around me as we watched TV (an episode of Loveboat comes to mind). And of course, there were all those times you carried me into the house as I pretended to be asleep. I remember the tickle of your whisker rubs on my hand, and getting a sip of your beer and tomato juice when you'd come home from work. Heck, even blowing out your match that lighted your cigarette was a treat! You're still one of my most favorite dancing partners. Whenever I play Steve's song, It's Just Life, or my lullaby I think of dancing with you--they're both waltzes.
I remember standing up for Show & Tell in the second grade and telling my class that my dad was the president of NFO (National Farmers Organization). I don't even know if that was true, but I thought it was at the time. I saw you as someone concerned with the welfare of not just his own family, but of the world and future generations. Kids are taught to think "global" in today's classrooms, but it was ingrained in me in my home. You were gone quite a bit, but I understood it was important for you to do that, and I'm glad you followed what you believed. I perceived you as doing something important and good, not just for me, but for a lot of other little kids out there. I missed you and was always happy to have you home, however.
I remember a trail of people through our home--from strippers to combiners to business associates and longtime friends. I remember laughter of a good kind and acceptance and an openness to hear other people's stories. I always admired your ability to converse with total strangers, especially because I was so shy in those circumstances. It didn't matter who they were--everyone was worthy of having a conversation with. You loved people and it showed. We've all kidded you about your seeming attraction to Gene's and the Gateway, but I loved you for it and I wouldn't have had you any other way. I watch the continual rotation of people through that restaurant booth and I can't help but marvel.
I also remember (name of a young friend) asking me to ask you for some gum. Every kid who knew you knew about the gum in your shirt pocket. Juicy Fruit made it big because of you.
I remember being carsick from riding with you over those hills and around those curves on the way to Newell or Belle Fourche, and to Woody's. I remember long trips with stops along the way to buy an assortment of candy bars.
I remember you drawing pictures for me--the camel off your cigarette package, for one. I also remember being in such awe of the portraits you drew of Mom. I so wanted to draw with the talent I saw in you.
Mom, when I think of you I recall a woman of great courage, patience, generosity and quiet faith. I see a human being who's grown so much, and who's flowed with the changing times with a grace I hope to embrace as my own. You're so much more than a great cook and caregiver. You're an intelligent and strong and capable, loving, gentle woman who has my utmost respect. You're one of my dearest girlfriends and trusted confidantes.
As a child, I remember you reading me stories before our naps.
And hiding the Easter eggs so cunningly the Easter I was sick with the mumps.
I remember sledding with you, and climbing over huge snowdrifts searching for posts to use for firewood when the power was out.
Every time I plant a garden I recall all the gardens I "helped" you plant and harvest and can.
You were also a terrific neighbor, and I loved going for coffee with you.
You also are so creative, and you have the eyes of an artist. I feel my love of sunsets comes from you.
I was digging through my stash of keepsakes looking for a wedding program for a friend when I found this letter I had written to Mom and Dad. I had forgotten doing it. It was just a flow of thoughts while out on a walk that I'd wanted to capture, so it wasn't complete or polished. but I had just decided to send it to them anyway...and I'm SO glad I did!
I went out for my walk along the creek yesterday, and as I walked I was thinking about the two of you and how profoundly you touched my life--as a couple and as unique individuals. I also determined that I was going to tell you all of these thoughts personally. I didn't want to wait to say them at a funeral. It's important to me that you know this now. You're the only ones I desire to hear this anyway. It's not that I expect you to die anytime soon either. Why should I want to wait until you're gone anyway?
I also realize that my relationship with you is uniquely my own. My brothers and sister would have their own unique perspective, too, which is the beauty of this experience we call life.
As I walked along, it struck me that I was blessed not to have been raised as a member of any organized church. I remember (person's name) remarking on my having a relationship with God when I wasn't even a church-going member. He was impressed, but I know he also couldn't quite fathom how I could ever understand the concept of praying. I hadn't read the Bible at that time, yet I was drawing pictures of kids praying. Mom, I know I've told you this many times before, but this is for the record: I'll always remember you telling me not to judge someone until I've walked a mile in their moccasins. I don't even know whether you were preaching it to me either. In my mind, I see it mostly as a philosophy you lived by, and it made a whole lot of sense to me.
Thank you both for not having me baptized because it caused me to question the validity of that ritual. When other people's kids told me they were worried about me going to hell because I wasn't sprinkled with "holy" water, I had decided that a god who was as petty as all that wasn't my god.
Dad, you challenged me to not believe everything I read or saw until I had run it through my own experience.
Mom, you encouraged me to read and grow. You both stressed being the best at whatever I chose to do--mostly by example and not by preaching--but you never stressed doing it for good grades or for how it might make you appear.
Dad, you never were much of one who liked going to musical concerts--thanks for the ones you did suffer through--but you were ALWAYS there for me when I needed you. I remember calling home sometime around midnight the night I graduated when (person's name) and I got the car stuck. I wasn't afraid to call you and I never felt as though I had to keep my party attendance a secret from either you or Mom. You trusted me first--and that has had quite an impact on me. When your parents perceive you as responsible, you perceive yourself that way, too.
When I called home crying about college, you drove all night and were there the following morning to take me home.
And when my boyfriend died you were with him as close as you could be, and you and Mom were there to hold me the moment I got home. Probably one of my greatest memories of you is the morning you drove me all over the countryside to find wildflowers in the middle of July to be made into a bouquet for Arlen. The word "thanks" just doesn't quite do that one justice.
As a kid, the moments I hold dear to me now are when you were sitting on the couch with your arm around me as we watched TV (an episode of Loveboat comes to mind). And of course, there were all those times you carried me into the house as I pretended to be asleep. I remember the tickle of your whisker rubs on my hand, and getting a sip of your beer and tomato juice when you'd come home from work. Heck, even blowing out your match that lighted your cigarette was a treat! You're still one of my most favorite dancing partners. Whenever I play Steve's song, It's Just Life, or my lullaby I think of dancing with you--they're both waltzes.
I remember standing up for Show & Tell in the second grade and telling my class that my dad was the president of NFO (National Farmers Organization). I don't even know if that was true, but I thought it was at the time. I saw you as someone concerned with the welfare of not just his own family, but of the world and future generations. Kids are taught to think "global" in today's classrooms, but it was ingrained in me in my home. You were gone quite a bit, but I understood it was important for you to do that, and I'm glad you followed what you believed. I perceived you as doing something important and good, not just for me, but for a lot of other little kids out there. I missed you and was always happy to have you home, however.
I remember a trail of people through our home--from strippers to combiners to business associates and longtime friends. I remember laughter of a good kind and acceptance and an openness to hear other people's stories. I always admired your ability to converse with total strangers, especially because I was so shy in those circumstances. It didn't matter who they were--everyone was worthy of having a conversation with. You loved people and it showed. We've all kidded you about your seeming attraction to Gene's and the Gateway, but I loved you for it and I wouldn't have had you any other way. I watch the continual rotation of people through that restaurant booth and I can't help but marvel.
I also remember (name of a young friend) asking me to ask you for some gum. Every kid who knew you knew about the gum in your shirt pocket. Juicy Fruit made it big because of you.
I remember being carsick from riding with you over those hills and around those curves on the way to Newell or Belle Fourche, and to Woody's. I remember long trips with stops along the way to buy an assortment of candy bars.
I remember you drawing pictures for me--the camel off your cigarette package, for one. I also remember being in such awe of the portraits you drew of Mom. I so wanted to draw with the talent I saw in you.
Mom, when I think of you I recall a woman of great courage, patience, generosity and quiet faith. I see a human being who's grown so much, and who's flowed with the changing times with a grace I hope to embrace as my own. You're so much more than a great cook and caregiver. You're an intelligent and strong and capable, loving, gentle woman who has my utmost respect. You're one of my dearest girlfriends and trusted confidantes.
As a child, I remember you reading me stories before our naps.
And hiding the Easter eggs so cunningly the Easter I was sick with the mumps.
I remember sledding with you, and climbing over huge snowdrifts searching for posts to use for firewood when the power was out.
Every time I plant a garden I recall all the gardens I "helped" you plant and harvest and can.
You were also a terrific neighbor, and I loved going for coffee with you.
You also are so creative, and you have the eyes of an artist. I feel my love of sunsets comes from you.
Thursday, March 21, 2019
4 Questions to Help You FEEL Through and Release Painful Old Stories
Our body cells are libraries of lifetime after lifetime of our souls expressions. Many of those lifetimes end in trauma and tragedy, and those scarred and wounded aspects find their way into our present lifetime and often influence what our consciousness radiates in our current life. We often have protective emotional guards up that we're unaware of even having in place--and those guards tell the friendly energies in service to us that, "Hey--I'm defending and protecting myself!" And wha-la!--those energies read those signals as you desiring that kind of experience, and so manifest as something in your life that you need to fight and defend yourself against.
If you are experiencing some type of dis-ease, or mental or emotional imbalance, it's possible you are experiencing one of these wounded aspects crying for your attention. They will keep attracting crap experiences to you until you give them your attention and your clear self-mastery presence. By allowing yourself to observe and feel them through, see the wisdom and the compassion that their traumatic experience gifted your soul, you set them free, and they can then integrate into your body of consciousness and no longer haunt you.
The most graceful way I found to do that was to first decide that I was going to allow myself to be an imperfect human and feel it all through with complete honesty.
"No matter what, I am okay."
I give myself a safe and sacred space where I can bawl and scream and hug and hold myself with total unconditional acceptance. As long as I set the intention to do no harm, there is no right or wrong way to do this, and I ALLOW myself to be human. I allow myself to feel anger, sadness, sorrow, fear--all those icky feelings I'd just rather avoid. I allow myself to feel like a victim, even blame others (though I actually know I wanted a betrayer role played out for me, and some loving being did that just for me on this earthly playground).
The whole idea is to feel my way honestly through my Dark Night of the Soul tunnel. And I do it KNOWING this is temporary--that I will survive it--and there is Light, Wisdom and FREEDOM waiting for me at the end.
4 Questions to help you feel your way to freedom:
1. What happened? (Allow yourself to feel angry)
2. What didn't happen? (Allow yourself to feel sad, to grieve)
3. What could happen? (Allow yourself to feel fear)
4. What can't happen? (Allow yourself to feel sorrow, to feel sorry)
Our human facet in all its perfect imperfection is the grandest of gifts to our soul. You are magnificent!
You. Are. A. Gift!
Little One--come out, be free!
Little One--come and play with me!
It's all right--let your secrets unfold,
Cry the tears of pain you've tried to hold.
Come to Me, I'll hold you tight,
And the darkness I'll not let bite.
Shout your anger! Vent your fears--
FEEL your sadness and your sorrows,
Then watch them disappear...
Little One, come fly with me!
I've loosed your shackles--guilt, shame and misery.
Little One, come let your spirit soar
Through wondrous places you've never dreamed before...
(Instrumental)
Little One, come sing with me--
We have a song, a glorious melody.
Little One, come lift your heart in song
Giving thanks for all parts played,
Whether right or seeming wrong.
Hear the thunder, hear the ROAR--
A celebration like we've never felt before!!
Little One, at last you're free!
Little One, come and dance with me.
It's all right--you've let your story be told.
And in the Light of Day, behold!
You're a wonder!
Life's a gift!--
A celebration of ALL THAT IS.
Though you stumble, though you fall--
When it all is said and done,
All there is--
IS LOVE!
All there is IS LOVE, Little One.
All there is IS LOVE, Little One.
All there is Is Love, Little One--
How you've grown into my sun/son!
If you are experiencing some type of dis-ease, or mental or emotional imbalance, it's possible you are experiencing one of these wounded aspects crying for your attention. They will keep attracting crap experiences to you until you give them your attention and your clear self-mastery presence. By allowing yourself to observe and feel them through, see the wisdom and the compassion that their traumatic experience gifted your soul, you set them free, and they can then integrate into your body of consciousness and no longer haunt you.
The most graceful way I found to do that was to first decide that I was going to allow myself to be an imperfect human and feel it all through with complete honesty.
"No matter what, I am okay."
I give myself a safe and sacred space where I can bawl and scream and hug and hold myself with total unconditional acceptance. As long as I set the intention to do no harm, there is no right or wrong way to do this, and I ALLOW myself to be human. I allow myself to feel anger, sadness, sorrow, fear--all those icky feelings I'd just rather avoid. I allow myself to feel like a victim, even blame others (though I actually know I wanted a betrayer role played out for me, and some loving being did that just for me on this earthly playground).
The whole idea is to feel my way honestly through my Dark Night of the Soul tunnel. And I do it KNOWING this is temporary--that I will survive it--and there is Light, Wisdom and FREEDOM waiting for me at the end.
4 Questions to help you feel your way to freedom:
1. What happened? (Allow yourself to feel angry)
2. What didn't happen? (Allow yourself to feel sad, to grieve)
3. What could happen? (Allow yourself to feel fear)
4. What can't happen? (Allow yourself to feel sorrow, to feel sorry)
Our human facet in all its perfect imperfection is the grandest of gifts to our soul. You are magnificent!
You. Are. A. Gift!
Little One--come out, be free!
Little One--come and play with me!
It's all right--let your secrets unfold,
Cry the tears of pain you've tried to hold.
Come to Me, I'll hold you tight,
And the darkness I'll not let bite.
Shout your anger! Vent your fears--
FEEL your sadness and your sorrows,
Then watch them disappear...
Little One, come fly with me!
I've loosed your shackles--guilt, shame and misery.
Little One, come let your spirit soar
Through wondrous places you've never dreamed before...
(Instrumental)
Little One, come sing with me--
We have a song, a glorious melody.
Little One, come lift your heart in song
Giving thanks for all parts played,
Whether right or seeming wrong.
Hear the thunder, hear the ROAR--
A celebration like we've never felt before!!
Little One, at last you're free!
Little One, come and dance with me.
It's all right--you've let your story be told.
And in the Light of Day, behold!
You're a wonder!
Life's a gift!--
A celebration of ALL THAT IS.
Though you stumble, though you fall--
When it all is said and done,
All there is--
IS LOVE!
All there is IS LOVE, Little One.
All there is IS LOVE, Little One.
All there is Is Love, Little One--
How you've grown into my sun/son!
Thursday, February 21, 2019
Are You Short, To the Point--Or Long-winded and All Over the Map?
I SO appreciate those people who can tell a good story or joke. I have family members who are amazing and funny storytellers, but I didn't inherit that particular gift. There is a reason I write my stories down. I can edit and shorten and clarify my points--cut out the excess that otherwise seems to haunt and lengthen my tales.
There's a joke about men using few words to get their points across, and women being flaky, long-winded and off on many varied tangents before arriving at a conclusion--and then apologizing for taking so long. Let's face it--that profile fits me to a T, and the previous sentence reinforces that sentiment.
I've always felt a bit embarrassed and sensitive about this aspect of myself. For years, I struggled with leaving my sentences and thoughts incomplete, dangling out in dead air while I searched for that suddenly elusive word that was JUST THERE, only to give up and mumble to an unimpressive conclusion. Yesterday, as I was sitting in the bathtub (and, yes, this is an important part because some of my best ah-ha!s happen in the bathroom and I thought you should know that), it occurred to me what's actually going on. It's to do with which side of the brain we're predominantly using.
The masculine side of the brain is the LEFT hemisphere. It helps us perceive ourselves as a sovereign, separate entity from the rest of our creation. It's logical, handy with words and language and reasoning. Its awareness is very linear and time/space-oriented. It's a beautiful and important part of us. Its perception of oneself as being a unique individual allows our soul to have all these human experiences which is distilled into compassionate and joyful wisdom.
The feminine side of the brain is the RIGHT hemisphere, and it links us to our spirtual or divine facet--our soul. We intuitively feel and see our connection to everything that is, and divinity doesn't give a crap about time or space.
"My Stroke of Insight" author and brain research scientist, Jill Bolte Taylor, shared her story of having a stroke, a blood clot in the left hemisphere of her brain. Because of only being able to access her expansive, beyond time and space, right-brain hemisphere, she said she couldn't discern her arm or hand from the wall. It all blended together--she was EVERYTHING. (Google Jill Bolte Taylor, TED Talk, "My Stroke of Insight").
So here is why the stories I try to share out loud can get so convoluted and long:
I am using the creative RIGHT BRAIN hemisphere, so I feel and see the connectedness of every aspect of a story. And I often only become aware of the importance of an aspect as I am telling my story. Even the simplest, often overlooked little tidbit suddenly becomes important because like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, every piece helps to create a whole-FEELING picture. Only, the pieces come together from different places in time and space--from the past, now, out of left field, within, without. Basically, I am channelling my soul--that pinpoint of awareness that "I exist!"--where time and space don't exist, where limited linearity is replaced by expansiveness. Getting to the point doesn't matter because I AM THE POINT.
Obviously, both genders have access to both brain hemispheres, but due to old customs and cultures, we often accept as our truth the suggestion that women are more right-brained intuitive, while men are more left-brained logical. We've practiced that suggestion for so many eons it's become one of those "this is just the way men are, and this is the way women are" beliefs. It's time to quit separating them, and recognize that we all NEED, and can access and utilize, both qualities--masculine and feminine/logical and intuitive. Practice being both to get the best of who you are.
Some people can talk circles around me, and, with just a few words, make even the most convoluted, twisted idea seem to make reasonable sense.When this happens, I walk away feeling like I'm not even going to try to share my ideas on the subject because I can feel they are certain their perspective is the only right one. I can feel the wall between us. They aren't seeking to connect--they are seeking to be right, no matter what the cost.
Writing words is a left-brained exercise which, in conjunction with my right-brain-inspired stories allows me to both more clearly and empathetically relate to all of you through story-telling. I'm done apologizing for my lack of speaking prowess. I'm so appreciative and honored by all who so compassionately allow me to express myself safely when I do speak. You are such a gift to me! I don't seek to drain your time or energy. I am simply reaching out to make a connection with each of you--parts of my world and creation that I find fascinating and wonderful. And with practice and a growing self-trust, I get better at being more succinct.
There's a joke about men using few words to get their points across, and women being flaky, long-winded and off on many varied tangents before arriving at a conclusion--and then apologizing for taking so long. Let's face it--that profile fits me to a T, and the previous sentence reinforces that sentiment.
I've always felt a bit embarrassed and sensitive about this aspect of myself. For years, I struggled with leaving my sentences and thoughts incomplete, dangling out in dead air while I searched for that suddenly elusive word that was JUST THERE, only to give up and mumble to an unimpressive conclusion. Yesterday, as I was sitting in the bathtub (and, yes, this is an important part because some of my best ah-ha!s happen in the bathroom and I thought you should know that), it occurred to me what's actually going on. It's to do with which side of the brain we're predominantly using.
The masculine side of the brain is the LEFT hemisphere. It helps us perceive ourselves as a sovereign, separate entity from the rest of our creation. It's logical, handy with words and language and reasoning. Its awareness is very linear and time/space-oriented. It's a beautiful and important part of us. Its perception of oneself as being a unique individual allows our soul to have all these human experiences which is distilled into compassionate and joyful wisdom.
The feminine side of the brain is the RIGHT hemisphere, and it links us to our spirtual or divine facet--our soul. We intuitively feel and see our connection to everything that is, and divinity doesn't give a crap about time or space.
"My Stroke of Insight" author and brain research scientist, Jill Bolte Taylor, shared her story of having a stroke, a blood clot in the left hemisphere of her brain. Because of only being able to access her expansive, beyond time and space, right-brain hemisphere, she said she couldn't discern her arm or hand from the wall. It all blended together--she was EVERYTHING. (Google Jill Bolte Taylor, TED Talk, "My Stroke of Insight").
So here is why the stories I try to share out loud can get so convoluted and long:
I am using the creative RIGHT BRAIN hemisphere, so I feel and see the connectedness of every aspect of a story. And I often only become aware of the importance of an aspect as I am telling my story. Even the simplest, often overlooked little tidbit suddenly becomes important because like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, every piece helps to create a whole-FEELING picture. Only, the pieces come together from different places in time and space--from the past, now, out of left field, within, without. Basically, I am channelling my soul--that pinpoint of awareness that "I exist!"--where time and space don't exist, where limited linearity is replaced by expansiveness. Getting to the point doesn't matter because I AM THE POINT.
Obviously, both genders have access to both brain hemispheres, but due to old customs and cultures, we often accept as our truth the suggestion that women are more right-brained intuitive, while men are more left-brained logical. We've practiced that suggestion for so many eons it's become one of those "this is just the way men are, and this is the way women are" beliefs. It's time to quit separating them, and recognize that we all NEED, and can access and utilize, both qualities--masculine and feminine/logical and intuitive. Practice being both to get the best of who you are.
Some people can talk circles around me, and, with just a few words, make even the most convoluted, twisted idea seem to make reasonable sense.When this happens, I walk away feeling like I'm not even going to try to share my ideas on the subject because I can feel they are certain their perspective is the only right one. I can feel the wall between us. They aren't seeking to connect--they are seeking to be right, no matter what the cost.
Writing words is a left-brained exercise which, in conjunction with my right-brain-inspired stories allows me to both more clearly and empathetically relate to all of you through story-telling. I'm done apologizing for my lack of speaking prowess. I'm so appreciative and honored by all who so compassionately allow me to express myself safely when I do speak. You are such a gift to me! I don't seek to drain your time or energy. I am simply reaching out to make a connection with each of you--parts of my world and creation that I find fascinating and wonderful. And with practice and a growing self-trust, I get better at being more succinct.
Wednesday, January 30, 2019
Quit Using the Words "Try" and "But": You're More Than That
One of the most helpful reminders in this walk of awakening into the realization of who and what I really am was this little practice of eliminating and replacing two simple words from my vocabulary: TRY and BUT.
I realized that when I opted to use the word try, it gave me an out. And I liked having an out when I went into an experience believing I was going to fail. Or maybe I liked the story I had going too much and I wasn't done playing in it. By using the word try, I didn't have to commit fully to the choice. I didn't have to accept full responsibility for my perception of the experience. I tried, but, you see, it was out of my hands.
Well, when you just KNOW (as I did) that you've been creating your own reality all along, albeit unaware of doing it for eons, you can no longer place responsibility for you on anyone or anything other than yourself. I am the Creator of my own realities.
Close your eyes and feel into the word "try." It feels wishy-washy and noncommittal to me. Okay, I'll say it: "try" feels and sounds half-assed and whiny.
For example, if I believe some god other than me is capable of forgiving and forgetting a transgression, I can say things like, "I tried to forgive, but I can't forget." Which is pretty much the same thing as saying, "I am incapable of forgiveness. Alas, I tried, but failed. I am just not as good at this as someone else."
That is your I Am a Pitiful All-Alone Little Human aspect talking, and it's running your reality show. Frankly, you're not giving yourself enough credit. You are, we each and all are more than little humans--we are souls getting to know and experience all that we are via this magnificent entity we call a human being.
As such, on the soul level, we realize there is nothing to forgive, and everything to have gratitude for from the compassionate wisdom gained through all our experiences. You've been forgiving and forgetting all along--you just weren't aware of it at this little human level.
"Try" and "But" are just self-limiting, cop-out excuses. I don't buy them with myself, and I don't buy them with others.
Rationalizing and excuses are just me getting in my own way of creating the things I really desire--me wasting my time.
Use the word "choose" in place of "try"...and then just live that choice out from that moment, forward and backward...no trying about it.
Creator--You are simply having an experience...period.
As the sovereign source and center of your domain, your own realities, you can do that. You, and you alone, can give yourself the freedom to practice being your own master and letting go of things that no longer serve you. Unless it serves you to suffer being an unforgiving person? Again, that's YOUR CHOICE.
If a choice brings you something you don't enjoy, choose something else. A negative experience doesn't mean you did anything wrong--allow yourself to be compassionate with yourself.
Replace the word "but" with "and"...and...it allows you multiple experiences and realities and perceptions instead of limiting you to a very narrow sliver of the experience pie.
Using the word "and" allowed me to release the monitoring and tight control I had over myself. I set myself free of being stuck in the same old, same old story prison simply by utilizing the word "and." It's a great be-attitude: "I am that I am...and...I am this...and...I am that also."
This trade in words is especially helpful when looking in the mirror and feeling a bit judgmental, because I can maybe see myself as ugly...and... know that I am also beautiful. For without the contrast of experiencing the gift of ugliness, how would I discern and appreciate the gift of beauty?
"And" allows me to open myself to perceiving that I have many mansions or realities. The purpose of this human life is to just have experience after experience after experience--a gift from which wisdom is distilled for my unconditionally-accepting, grateful soul, this pinpoint of awareness that I exist.
Replace "try" with "choose,"--
Replace "but" with "and"--
...and...see what a creative difference those little shifts in perspective make in your own life.
I realized that when I opted to use the word try, it gave me an out. And I liked having an out when I went into an experience believing I was going to fail. Or maybe I liked the story I had going too much and I wasn't done playing in it. By using the word try, I didn't have to commit fully to the choice. I didn't have to accept full responsibility for my perception of the experience. I tried, but, you see, it was out of my hands.
Well, when you just KNOW (as I did) that you've been creating your own reality all along, albeit unaware of doing it for eons, you can no longer place responsibility for you on anyone or anything other than yourself. I am the Creator of my own realities.
Close your eyes and feel into the word "try." It feels wishy-washy and noncommittal to me. Okay, I'll say it: "try" feels and sounds half-assed and whiny.
For example, if I believe some god other than me is capable of forgiving and forgetting a transgression, I can say things like, "I tried to forgive, but I can't forget." Which is pretty much the same thing as saying, "I am incapable of forgiveness. Alas, I tried, but failed. I am just not as good at this as someone else."
That is your I Am a Pitiful All-Alone Little Human aspect talking, and it's running your reality show. Frankly, you're not giving yourself enough credit. You are, we each and all are more than little humans--we are souls getting to know and experience all that we are via this magnificent entity we call a human being.
As such, on the soul level, we realize there is nothing to forgive, and everything to have gratitude for from the compassionate wisdom gained through all our experiences. You've been forgiving and forgetting all along--you just weren't aware of it at this little human level.
"Try" and "But" are just self-limiting, cop-out excuses. I don't buy them with myself, and I don't buy them with others.
Rationalizing and excuses are just me getting in my own way of creating the things I really desire--me wasting my time.
Use the word "choose" in place of "try"...and then just live that choice out from that moment, forward and backward...no trying about it.
Creator--You are simply having an experience...period.
As the sovereign source and center of your domain, your own realities, you can do that. You, and you alone, can give yourself the freedom to practice being your own master and letting go of things that no longer serve you. Unless it serves you to suffer being an unforgiving person? Again, that's YOUR CHOICE.
If a choice brings you something you don't enjoy, choose something else. A negative experience doesn't mean you did anything wrong--allow yourself to be compassionate with yourself.
Replace the word "but" with "and"...and...it allows you multiple experiences and realities and perceptions instead of limiting you to a very narrow sliver of the experience pie.
Using the word "and" allowed me to release the monitoring and tight control I had over myself. I set myself free of being stuck in the same old, same old story prison simply by utilizing the word "and." It's a great be-attitude: "I am that I am...and...I am this...and...I am that also."
This trade in words is especially helpful when looking in the mirror and feeling a bit judgmental, because I can maybe see myself as ugly...and... know that I am also beautiful. For without the contrast of experiencing the gift of ugliness, how would I discern and appreciate the gift of beauty?
Replace "try" with "choose,"--
Replace "but" with "and"--
...and...see what a creative difference those little shifts in perspective make in your own life.
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