Walls made from materials as various as personalities.
Walls made of loneliness.
Made of fear.
Made of sadness and despair.
Walls made of lost hopes.
Of distrust.
Of insecurity.
Keeping everyone out.
Yet unknowingly
Locking themselves in.
A heart crying out for love
For compassion
And understanding.
Not realizing that it is all there
Before them
Stretching out
With key in hand
Willing to take a chance
And unlock the door
Within the wall.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Interference on the Play
I live in a small town that is regarded as a haven for the famous and sometimes, the infamous. Celebrities of all types come here to live or vacation, as we are known to give them the distance they seek, and are respectful of their privacy; they’re also attracted to the beautiful landscapes, great weather, and the company of other celebrities should they desire it. Once such celebrity lives near my home, he’s a retired athlete nearing sixty. At the height of his fame, I was too young to know of him; however his college career was spent at the same alma mater as mine, so I knew all about him long before we became residents of the same town. He has a face that’s easy to recognize and eyes that still shine when he smiles. When I see him in old photos, I can imagine the charisma exuded when he swaggered into a room.
Sometimes I see him at the grocery store, moving slow due to his numerous injuries and surgeries, or perhaps just easing through life now, without the demands of a constant cheering public wanting his valuable time. It was college gameday last season and I needed a few snacks for friends as we readied for the game (I take college football most seriously). Sporting a t-shirt with my alma mater’s logo blazed across it, I hurried through the grocery store aisles searching for the perfect condiment. As I rounded the end of one aisle, not looking ahead, I ran smack into a cart, hitting me in the side. Embarrassed, I looked up into his eyes and found instant recognition, he, of course, is used to that look and flashed a huge smile at me. “Are you okay, I didn’t see you coming,” he said. Now unaware of my pain, I turned into a 10 year old and yelped, “Do you think we’ll win today?” as I pointed to my shirt. This started a ten minute conversation in which he spoke football terms I’d never heard, and I nodded my head like a true offense aficionado. He acted as if he didn’t want me to leave. I finally became aware of the time and apologized for having to go. He held out his huge hand and introduced himself, as if I had no idea who he was, and asked for my name. I was so taken by his humbleness that I invited him back to our house to watch the game, and he was generous enough to say he’d already made plans.
As someone who is not easily star-struck, especially by sports figures or other celebrities, I was surprised by the effect this interaction had on me. It wasn’t his fame or his charisma, it was something else. It was more his enjoyment of interacting with someone who wanted nothing from him, lingering for a few moments to speak of a commonality in a place so far away from here, and discussing the hope of an upcoming season. The next weekend, due to a thoughtless moment with the media, his face was plastered in every news venue – TV, newspapers, the internet, he was everywhere. I watched as reporters hounded him, announcers made disparaging remarks, and writers ridiculed him, all in the name of getting more viewers to their market, regardless of the cost to his life. It was then that I understood why he lingered with me that day in the grocery store. Perhaps it was in the simplicity of the moment, discussing the team’s offensive tactics, that he, like me, was just a fan of the game.
It made me wonder about other times when this happens. Times when we get so caught up in the idea of something and everything that goes with it, (and wrong with it), that we forget the simple pleasure of just enjoying something of interest. Impressions and perceptions burden our experience to the point that our energy is more focused on what surrounds the event and how it is perceived, rather than just absorbing the pleasure it gives us. I try to keep that in mind now, when I start getting tangled in briars of the extraneous opinions of others, the interference, and forget my true pleasure, playing in the game of life.
--Angela Frisby
Sometimes I see him at the grocery store, moving slow due to his numerous injuries and surgeries, or perhaps just easing through life now, without the demands of a constant cheering public wanting his valuable time. It was college gameday last season and I needed a few snacks for friends as we readied for the game (I take college football most seriously). Sporting a t-shirt with my alma mater’s logo blazed across it, I hurried through the grocery store aisles searching for the perfect condiment. As I rounded the end of one aisle, not looking ahead, I ran smack into a cart, hitting me in the side. Embarrassed, I looked up into his eyes and found instant recognition, he, of course, is used to that look and flashed a huge smile at me. “Are you okay, I didn’t see you coming,” he said. Now unaware of my pain, I turned into a 10 year old and yelped, “Do you think we’ll win today?” as I pointed to my shirt. This started a ten minute conversation in which he spoke football terms I’d never heard, and I nodded my head like a true offense aficionado. He acted as if he didn’t want me to leave. I finally became aware of the time and apologized for having to go. He held out his huge hand and introduced himself, as if I had no idea who he was, and asked for my name. I was so taken by his humbleness that I invited him back to our house to watch the game, and he was generous enough to say he’d already made plans.
As someone who is not easily star-struck, especially by sports figures or other celebrities, I was surprised by the effect this interaction had on me. It wasn’t his fame or his charisma, it was something else. It was more his enjoyment of interacting with someone who wanted nothing from him, lingering for a few moments to speak of a commonality in a place so far away from here, and discussing the hope of an upcoming season. The next weekend, due to a thoughtless moment with the media, his face was plastered in every news venue – TV, newspapers, the internet, he was everywhere. I watched as reporters hounded him, announcers made disparaging remarks, and writers ridiculed him, all in the name of getting more viewers to their market, regardless of the cost to his life. It was then that I understood why he lingered with me that day in the grocery store. Perhaps it was in the simplicity of the moment, discussing the team’s offensive tactics, that he, like me, was just a fan of the game.
It made me wonder about other times when this happens. Times when we get so caught up in the idea of something and everything that goes with it, (and wrong with it), that we forget the simple pleasure of just enjoying something of interest. Impressions and perceptions burden our experience to the point that our energy is more focused on what surrounds the event and how it is perceived, rather than just absorbing the pleasure it gives us. I try to keep that in mind now, when I start getting tangled in briars of the extraneous opinions of others, the interference, and forget my true pleasure, playing in the game of life.
--Angela Frisby
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Inner Peace Battle
The cool, gentle breeze gave flight to my soul. What a gorgeous day!
I inhaled the fragrance of gardenia and exhaled mindless anxiety.
She said, “Just follow the flow of the earth. It makes it all so much easier.”
I know she’s right and I try to remain where I am – centered, joyous, thankful.
As the black illness of worry crouches in the shadows, I send it away with the breath of my lungs.
It departs momentarily, turning to glare at me with the promise of imminent return.
My warrior heart feels relief, for I have a fleeting victory in the fight for inner peace.
I inhaled the fragrance of gardenia and exhaled mindless anxiety.
She said, “Just follow the flow of the earth. It makes it all so much easier.”
I know she’s right and I try to remain where I am – centered, joyous, thankful.
As the black illness of worry crouches in the shadows, I send it away with the breath of my lungs.
It departs momentarily, turning to glare at me with the promise of imminent return.
My warrior heart feels relief, for I have a fleeting victory in the fight for inner peace.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Introspective Cave
Emerging from my introspective cave
Entering the outside world
To explore, expand, experience.
All fodder for my interior fire.
For what is reflection,
If not comparative analysis?
Entering the outside world
To explore, expand, experience.
All fodder for my interior fire.
For what is reflection,
If not comparative analysis?
Friday, January 25, 2008
Worn Beliefs
I believe that spirituality
is not like a beautiful new shirt
that sits in the back of your closet
waiting for the right occasion
to be worn.
Instead, I believe it to be
More like a favorite ring
worn constantly, through all situations
becoming a part of you
so that when it's not on
you feel like you are missing something.
is not like a beautiful new shirt
that sits in the back of your closet
waiting for the right occasion
to be worn.
Instead, I believe it to be
More like a favorite ring
worn constantly, through all situations
becoming a part of you
so that when it's not on
you feel like you are missing something.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Dreamer
Some May Say I’m a Dreamer…
She laughed and called me a “dreamer”. She said it as though I was an adult who had forgotten to put away my childhood toys. I’ve been called that before – and other things, such as idealist, blind optimist, Pollyanna, eternal enthusiast, devoted believer, naïve fool, flower child, utopian devotee, and even a romantic zealot. When I was younger, these words wounded me. I felt defensive as I pointed out instances of when I was pragmatic, level-headed, cynical, and unflinchingly realistic. I would always end my defensive rant with a sharp – witted verbal barb just to emphasize my point. I felt that to be labeled a “dreamer” or similar adjective was something detrimental to my character – as if I didn’t possess the survival skills to navigate life’s uncertain roads. I couldn’t recall one instance when the label of “dreamer” was a compliment to someone – unlike the descriptions of people who were “practical”, “down-to-earth”, “logical” or “analytical”. So I choose to hide my natural nature and began to display the more seemingly desirable qualities mentioned above. As the years passed, I encased my dreamer’s heart in layers of normalness so I could assimilate with the mass majority of those with whom I was surrounded. I assured myself that one day, when appropriate, I would easily unwrap the layers surrounding my dreamer’s heart and would return to my natural dreamer nature. I underestimated how difficult this task would become.
A few years ago I had quite an awakening. I believe most of us do at some point in our lives. An awakening that serves as a catalyst for change as we start to question our lifestyles, loves, and accomplishments. It was at this point that I deemed it an appropriate time to unwrap my heart and return to the idealist that I had always been. I had not anticipated that the layers of normalness had hardened into solid walls of practicality, separated by rooms of fear. I began to slowly chisel away the stone, day by day, as I allowed myself to have lingering thoughts about the possibilities of my life. I began to write again, slowly at first, and I began to have conversations with others, and myself, timidly at first, until the walls started to crumble, brick by brick. I realized that this journey was not without spiritual essence, (I now know that it was required). It took years, but I didn’t give up, determined to reclaim my true nature of trusting myself, others, nature, and guidance from above.
Each day I remind myself of who it is I want to be in this world. Sometimes I stray from this ideal, but I eventually return, some times quicker than others. I now understand that there are more people out there, too, trying to reclaim their dreamer’s hearts, struggling through the difficulty of it. It is my hope that we continue the battle, ban together in this journey searching for our selves – supporting and inspiring each other, laughing, crying, and trusting each other. But most importantly, knowing that to be a dreamer is something special in this world, we hold the hopes of humanity in our hands, something that a pragmatic cannot attain.
She laughed and called me a “dreamer”. She said it as though I was an adult who had forgotten to put away my childhood toys. I’ve been called that before – and other things, such as idealist, blind optimist, Pollyanna, eternal enthusiast, devoted believer, naïve fool, flower child, utopian devotee, and even a romantic zealot. When I was younger, these words wounded me. I felt defensive as I pointed out instances of when I was pragmatic, level-headed, cynical, and unflinchingly realistic. I would always end my defensive rant with a sharp – witted verbal barb just to emphasize my point. I felt that to be labeled a “dreamer” or similar adjective was something detrimental to my character – as if I didn’t possess the survival skills to navigate life’s uncertain roads. I couldn’t recall one instance when the label of “dreamer” was a compliment to someone – unlike the descriptions of people who were “practical”, “down-to-earth”, “logical” or “analytical”. So I choose to hide my natural nature and began to display the more seemingly desirable qualities mentioned above. As the years passed, I encased my dreamer’s heart in layers of normalness so I could assimilate with the mass majority of those with whom I was surrounded. I assured myself that one day, when appropriate, I would easily unwrap the layers surrounding my dreamer’s heart and would return to my natural dreamer nature. I underestimated how difficult this task would become.
A few years ago I had quite an awakening. I believe most of us do at some point in our lives. An awakening that serves as a catalyst for change as we start to question our lifestyles, loves, and accomplishments. It was at this point that I deemed it an appropriate time to unwrap my heart and return to the idealist that I had always been. I had not anticipated that the layers of normalness had hardened into solid walls of practicality, separated by rooms of fear. I began to slowly chisel away the stone, day by day, as I allowed myself to have lingering thoughts about the possibilities of my life. I began to write again, slowly at first, and I began to have conversations with others, and myself, timidly at first, until the walls started to crumble, brick by brick. I realized that this journey was not without spiritual essence, (I now know that it was required). It took years, but I didn’t give up, determined to reclaim my true nature of trusting myself, others, nature, and guidance from above.
Each day I remind myself of who it is I want to be in this world. Sometimes I stray from this ideal, but I eventually return, some times quicker than others. I now understand that there are more people out there, too, trying to reclaim their dreamer’s hearts, struggling through the difficulty of it. It is my hope that we continue the battle, ban together in this journey searching for our selves – supporting and inspiring each other, laughing, crying, and trusting each other. But most importantly, knowing that to be a dreamer is something special in this world, we hold the hopes of humanity in our hands, something that a pragmatic cannot attain.
…But I’m Not the Only One
--Angela Frisby
I Ought to Know
I’m one of those idealistic optimists who will grasp something long after its unused potential has expired. As I’ve aged, it’s been a challenge for me to let go of my perceptions of how things “should” or “ought” to be. Whether it was a friend who “ought” to understand my viewpoint, an employer who “ought” to defend my work, a lawbreaker who “ought” to know better, or someone I loved who “ought” to love me back. Time, offering me the sight of a bigger picture, has helped me understand that to grow, I had to let go of these notions.
I was recently reminded of this lesson when my wayward tabby cat offered a peek at my heart. When he was a kitten, he was very lovable and devoted; the attention he provided was wonderful. However, when he was a few years old, he was hurt and it changed everything about him. He became distrustful and distant, not letting me come within yards of him. I tried to coax him to revert to his previous ways. Over time, he would let me in closer proximity to him, but never less than an arm’s length. I couldn’t understand how a soul could change so drastically and not have an inclination to return back to trusting and loving. In my mind, obstacles only exist for us to fight for and defend our right to freely love and trust. After a year passed, I finally accepted that he had permanently changed, and there was nothing I could do to alter it. I had to adapt my expectation of his behavior, and accept him as he now was, not for something I knew him to once be, or hoped for him.
I realized that I had this same experience when I was younger, with people that I loved. I would cling to the hope that they would revert back to a time where they could freely love and trust, and share that with me. (I saw it happen, but only once-the difference being that person wanted the change before I came along.) Everyone else emotionally struggled with me, tiring of the fight, wanting me to declare surrender and exit the battlefield. As the years passed and I sought self-reflection, I then began to understand that as I changed and expected everyone to accept “the evolved me”, I better understood how others could ask me to accept their altered identity of distance and distrust. In this acceptance, I realized that each day, each of us form who we decide we are, going forward into the future. None of us are ever static, because time has a way of slowing revising us, molding us into the person we either consciously choose to become or letting life’s experiences form our identity. It is in this that I understand the concepts of caring detachment, objective acceptance, and that “ought” can also mean “nothing”.
-- Angela Frisby
I was recently reminded of this lesson when my wayward tabby cat offered a peek at my heart. When he was a kitten, he was very lovable and devoted; the attention he provided was wonderful. However, when he was a few years old, he was hurt and it changed everything about him. He became distrustful and distant, not letting me come within yards of him. I tried to coax him to revert to his previous ways. Over time, he would let me in closer proximity to him, but never less than an arm’s length. I couldn’t understand how a soul could change so drastically and not have an inclination to return back to trusting and loving. In my mind, obstacles only exist for us to fight for and defend our right to freely love and trust. After a year passed, I finally accepted that he had permanently changed, and there was nothing I could do to alter it. I had to adapt my expectation of his behavior, and accept him as he now was, not for something I knew him to once be, or hoped for him.
I realized that I had this same experience when I was younger, with people that I loved. I would cling to the hope that they would revert back to a time where they could freely love and trust, and share that with me. (I saw it happen, but only once-the difference being that person wanted the change before I came along.) Everyone else emotionally struggled with me, tiring of the fight, wanting me to declare surrender and exit the battlefield. As the years passed and I sought self-reflection, I then began to understand that as I changed and expected everyone to accept “the evolved me”, I better understood how others could ask me to accept their altered identity of distance and distrust. In this acceptance, I realized that each day, each of us form who we decide we are, going forward into the future. None of us are ever static, because time has a way of slowing revising us, molding us into the person we either consciously choose to become or letting life’s experiences form our identity. It is in this that I understand the concepts of caring detachment, objective acceptance, and that “ought” can also mean “nothing”.
-- Angela Frisby
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