Musing Interruptus

Welcome, come closer and relax… Thank you for clicking. Today on Musing Interruptus, Lorena visits her grandmother again. There is talk of elements, foundational elements, it’s storytime.

A sonic boom ripped across the galaxy when the star formed, other stars exploded, others are born.. Infant stars. They are made of the stuff of the stars before them. We share that matter.

Trust the elements Lorena, trust what you are made of. In that sense, the most basic things in life can be trusted, for better or worse. When you are in doubt, search for these elements and construct reality as best you can.

Lorena looked up at her grandmother, wishing she could learn from her heart and her experience. As if there were a way to avoid the learning curve… her expectations were always ahead of the learning curve.

The  wide-eyed girl tried to soak up everything going on around her. She wanted to understand it all, she especially wanted to remember everything. She hoped to remember enough to be able to recreate the events with brush strokes and words. She was so present, she felt her molecules expand and dissipate until she became as light as the air, certain that her presence was no longer felt. She felt this was something she was good at. However it was not something she could control. As a child, she often felt that way. It was as if she had the ability to be unseen. Not invisible, she wasn’t an idiot. It was more about the illusion of stealth. As she grew older, it was as if she could become absent from herself. Not exactly daydreaming. Was it the mark of a romantic soul? An old soul, perhaps. A new soul, in awe of life. She had what she felt was the unique ability to find beauty everywhere. Lorena sometimes worried she would space out during an important event or worse, a life and awareness altering conversation. Lorena knew she needed to listen for the teachings. She knew that greater truths were between the lines of what was said. It was a struggle. She would lose track of conversations and time. She considered the prospect of losing herself to that place all together if she didn’t react in time. ¨Pull herself back to where things actually happened. That place of solitude where nothing is happening, and nothing matters, the inside place of comfort, on the wrong side of presence. That might as well be death. She teetered between these two spaces. A pas balancé, to a rhythm she had no control over.

Lorena’s grandmother’s name was Leonor. A woman who lived in her own right. She seemed immune to everyday problems. Life was old hat. Her certainty was founded on experience, not just a set of beliefs. An avid participant of life. Although it was unclear if she navigated life or simply knew how to survive tidal waves. In anycase, life didn’t present a challenge anymore. It was death she was preparing for. Leonor was determined to enjoy her granddaughter. This was part of the sweetness life had offered her. The eldest daughter of her eldest son. She was easily enchanted by her children’s babies. Her heart had enough love to go round. She had her favorites. Lorena was one of them. Since she had Lorena’s ear, she quickly capitalized on the opportunity to impart her wisdom, many times skirting just how she had come to know the things she knew. Today, her mind was set on teaching her granddaughter how to keep a grasp on reality.

Leonor could see Lorena coming a mile away, she also knew what life would have in store for her. [...]

Greetings, and welcome to Musing Interruptus.  Today I offer two choices, they are both a little far out there. Bear with me. One, listen to my words in a traditional way and share your thoughts with me. Which I love. Two. Let this just be sounds and background noise. Similar to when you let your eyes relax out of focus; relax your auditory perception. Tune me out. Either way, welcome, and thank you for listening.

Certain situations in life invite us to turn off the receptive areas in our mind and body. Life’s constant hum can be tiresome. Hum hum hum. Like a machine that is constantly on. The sound comes from the friction of its parts. The pitch of the hum, the volume, the intensity. They all have an effect on us. That, which is happening outside and is received by our core, can be pollution or nutritious energy. Fundamentally that is what it is. Energy. That is how I explain the feeling I have when I look around my neck of the woods or go to the forest. There is a quiet quality to these spaces.

This is a recent discovery for me. I am content to not be invaded by the sounds of the city. I used to need city noises. By George, I had those noises in spades. Grunting trucks and buses that exhale loudly, bellowing for attention. They are spinning their wheels, rushing towards a fainting couch. Interesting how the fainting couch is a cousin of the divan. In both cases, there is a loss and regaining of consciousness. The buses where I used to live will never achieve consciousness… they are so unaware of the havoc they are responsible for in the city. I remember listing the requirement of city sounds to fall asleep. The absence of bustle made me uneasy. Was it an addiction to the creation of neurosis or naming the malaise… needing the malaise? I couldn’t tell you any more than a patient could during open-heart surgery or a passenger on a plane who is asleep. Consciousness is best attained over a soft couch. Running into reality without that comfort can be a nuisance. Speaking of such, a sharp desire led me to live in a place of quiet… hush sounds and pleasantries. The constant hum may or may not be there. On the other hand, being alone with my thoughts is a welcome novelty. Those are the inner sounds. Sometimes soft and others towering symphonies. Symphonies… well… something.

Quiet solitude soothes the soul and provides the space to be who one is, without the struggles and noise that distract attention from what is most important. The construction of life, and more specifically, life on our terms. I admire those who work on higher and more visible planes, who practice a political life and shape power relations. Something is obviously not right, as the hum of injustice is strident as ever. There is a time to be in the thick of it.  There are people who have the constitution to endure those processes. Agents of change. Changers of strident hums of the world. Then again, there are people who take on smaller parts, who work to enact change elsewhere, in quiet places, people who prefer anonymity. They are no less relevant, just less visible. They change the hum as well. They just don’t have very good PR. ...

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. A space where the many things on our minds get to be said out loud, to people, who are listening. Is that an oversimplification, or what? Today, there are many ways to say I love you. How do I love you? Let me count the ways.

People say it all sorts of ways, in different languages, and spaces, they sing it to the tune of their favorite song, they might send letters with hidden messages, other times they are overt messages, in plain sight, or maybe they are hidden in plain sight, some people use their voices, perhaps in undertones, speaking words from across the room, relying on their stare to carry their messages, like carrier pigeons beaming out eye sockets… there are people who use their hands,  maybe signing messages that are bursting from the heart, others send out vibrations to the universe. They, me.. Who knows.

It’s fresh coffee at 6:00 am, a delicious breakfast, a hug given at our most vulnerable, to keep the sensitivity from spilling onto the kitchen floor. A game that has no name that you just play. A phone call out of the blue, you know… just because. Listening quietly, or expressing indignant outrage in solidarity. Asking questions. Making the perfect gift, or even just remembering to bring a gift. Proposing with gigantic letters from the first major skyscraper in Mexico City, did you see that? Or a secret indecent proposal you blurt out, out last.  A friend showing up at a funeral, or any given Sunday to shoot the breeze. It’s patience and the colors purple, red, and teal. Going out of your way to give a ride. Going out of your way for someone else, period.

Lord knows it's not easy being green. Some languages seem more prone to love than others. Portuguese’s namorados, who in Spanish might say te amo, and chase it in French’s with a Tu me manque, you are missing from me. In psychoanalytical terms, I accept you and your neurosis… isn’t that the basis of honest friendship? True partnership. True love. That level of acceptance is special. I embrace you and your need for reassurance, thank you for not forgetting mine.

It's a love revolution and people are sharing themselves more and more. Closeted lovers of people and life manifest in the streets, wearing face masks. Thinking of the other and not just him, her or themselves. It's the student that becomes the teacher, perpetuating a virtuous cycle. Realizing you have the vocation to serve humanity, somehow, somewhere. Childcare, medicine, education, parenting, policing, studying… idealist bastards of a heartless production system, indeed.

Well then, let's have it, how do you say I love you? Who do you love? Do you have a favorite love song? I’m listening.

13. 13. 13. Lucky 13. Welcome to Musing Interruptus. Today, episode 13. There is great hope for inspiration or a rockin list of idiomatic phrases. Sometimes we are unlucky that way, because inspiration to write or act are not readily at hand. I do appreciate, dear listeners, that you tune in… click, rather. Without you, I am just a woman, standing in front of my screen, yelling at a volleyball. Thank you. Today: Dumb luck or Bust?

Numbers, my dear, can give you information about your personality and what life might have in store for you. From that perspective, so much rides on the day you were born. The luck of the draw.  Seems as unfair as being directed by the sun, the moon, the planets.. Something is rising or ascending… The house of the rising sun? No, no… that is a song about prostitution. Being born under a star is a shoo-in for a charmed life. What cosmic fuckery is this planet about? Paul Simon calls it being born at the right time. Being lucky in love and unlucky at cards. Seems like the universe totally balanced that one out. Let me tell you, I pulled an all-nighter with some friends… The poker game of the century, from where I was sitting… I mean, I wish the stakes had been high. We played till four in the morning. I won the whole pot. The implications that it was a friendly game, and that I walked away a winner with empty pockets must mean something! So, what does it mean?

Is it possible to change your luck?, regardless of the numbers, the planets, and God forbid getting the evil eye. I decided to look into it. You can! For just 99.99 you can change your luck forever. Seriously, just call. An operator is standing by to take your call. But I digress… Is it possible to change your luck? You can bury the bourbon, knock on wood, make a wish at 11:11 or 4:20.. Either way, something good is sure to happen. What happens if you walk under a ladder, in reverse or glue together a shattered mirror? How about crossing a black cat’s path… that’ll show them! Drink four-leaf clover tea or mix it in with your yerba mate. I wonder if wearing horseshoes will improve circulation.. A good bleed might be all you need. Keep rosemary by your garden gate, so you don’t forget to use it when you are making chicken. In that case, keep all the herbs you need close by. To not have them is obviously bad luck. At least, untasty.

There is another approach to changing your luck. Just go in the opposite direction of what you have been doing. Say yes to life. There are movies around that, self-actualization literature and yes, surely a couple of gazillion podcasts on it. There might be something to it. Just say yes. It’s obvious to me that when you say yes you get to do new things, new challenges. Heck, at least you won’t be in the same place as the bad luck. It’s just good common sense. As most old wives’ tales prove to be. I’m an old wife. Cheaisus  meri end yosef.. . because that is what we say when we realize truth. Another approach is to create synergies. This is also quite pragmatic. I have recently started a letter-writing campaign to get the cogs a-movin'. My first letter was to John… Dear John, I have a new bicycle and your services are no longer required. Have a great life. Sincerely done with you. 

Wait, the synergy would be with the bike... Ok, another letter. Dear Prince of Nigeria, Thank you so much for reaching out. I have always felt a piece of my heritage was unaccounted for. Thank you, and thank you for the wealth. I will deposit what you ask and make preparations to away to your side. Please prepare the spare room. Or castle? I’m not picky. Your faithful relative…

Well, enough about the secret to my success. What do you do? Do you believe in luck? Are you feeling lucky, punk? Are you? I’m listening.

Welcome to Musing Interruptus; a place of reflection and sometimes irreverence. Thank you for listening and sharing your answers. Also, thank you for liking and sharing the podcast, to all 46 of you. I am very lucky and grateful. Today: Mistakes or Life Lessons? Read along if you find it helpful.

I am thinking of a cartesian plane to organize the mistakes or mishaps (an unlucky accident) in life. Where do mistakes come from? Whether it is ignorance, lack of perfection or plain and simple humanity. Mistakes happen. Sometimes we walk right into them, with our eyes wide open, alarms going off, left and right. Others we are completely blindsided (unexpected). On the spectrum from ignorance to I meant to do that, I imagine all my mistakes. They can be on the x or horizontal axis. I’m not sure what I would put on the “y” axis. I might need your help on that one. Maybe the degree of shame and the ripples (small waves in consecutive circles) the mistake makes in your memory. Heading towards minus infinity on the y axis might take us to an altogether different plane of experience, it might be the pre-experience plane. But I digress (speak of something different than the main subject).

Mistakes, some have made a few, I’ve definitely made more, countless mountains of faux pas (embarrassing mistake in a social situation), I’ve put my foot in my mouth (to say something without tact and foolish), swallowed my words, gotten red in the face, broken things…I’ve accidentally made cigarette holes in car interiors, twice.. sent messages that were better off in my diary, forgotten to do things, gotten caught looking in the wrong direction, overshared, and under shared. I’ve overstayed my welcome and given too few hugs. That’s life, right? Live and learn.

How we approach life and mistakes makes a difference.  I think it would be wise to learn how to make mistakes so they become learning experiences and life lessons, instead of the causality to punitive measures. I mean, within reason and the law, of course. When it comes down to brass tacks (the basic facts), it is not that easy to break the law in a heinous manner. No, this is not a challenge. Do not unsheath (take the sword out of its case) that sword, yet. I’m really focusing on the mistakes that feel a lot bigger than they actually are. What a horrid word, mistakes. What horrid people who revel in your mistake. It says a lot about them. Beware. Holding oneself up to extraordinary standards and expecting others to live up to them, with the sole  (only)  alternative of punishment, is downright sadomasochistic. Yes, it takes two to tango. I have so appreciated the people in my life who have reminded me that it is human to err  (make a mistake), it is the mark of great learners and success to have the humility to learn, execute, fail, and learn. Get back on the metaphorical horse, in some cases, it's a real horse. Whatever is in front of you, learn to ride and learn to fall. That not only takes the sting away, but it might also make for better living. The Judeo-Christian approach includes absolution. Why not allow that for ourselves. Get rid of the Y-axis altogether. Just live and learn, without the attachment of punitive measures, shame, and mental anguish. God, how I love the voices who made those moments alright, bearable, and even pointed me in the direction of learning. Those natural teachers. I salute you and thank you.

What have been your worst mistakes? Were they really that bad? Have you had an amazing teacher in life who has shown you to live, humanly? Do you help others do this? I’m listening.

There you are! Come closer, take a load off (sit and relax), join me as our musings interrupt us, and take us to other places with our thoughts and words. Thank you for listening. Today, streetlights and shadows captivate (hold, attract) my attention as I overlook (see from above) a lake and the evening overtakes the last rays of sun.

Dusk (the darkest part of night) arrives with rain pouring and battering the windows, howling winds push the sun into the ground. I could clearly see the path I longed (really desired or wanted) to take when I arrived. Certainly, it was drawn in my brain. How complicated could it be to remember a path?  I had been there once before. How difficult would it be to walk down that path as night erased it?

Would I dare venture into the darkness, relying solely on my memory? Would there be obstacles to trip me? Would the rain create a slippery (smooth and wet) path? If I slipped, would I slide straight into the cold, dark lake? What sort of creatures come alive when the sun goes down? So many questions. Only one way to answer them. Or was there?

With the flip of a switch, a bulb amongst the trees lit up. Our own private moon, I thought to myself, since no one else could share my mind at that time. Shadows were born and questions were answered. Relief (feeling of calm) spilled over me, rolling down my nose and chest, down my back and calves, out my fingertips, like light. What is that in my pocket, a pocket full of cookies or apocryphal (not real) cookies? The light helps discern reality from the props (accessories) left about.

That bulb was the voice and the blessing I didn’t know I needed, but so gracefully accepted. I was among chiaroscuros, not (just) light, not (just) dark. Shadows are tricky, seeming one thing, maybe a scary, frightening thing. To confront the matter (material) they are really made of, takes the mystery away and creates friends where foes (enemies) were thought to be found. Inhale bravery and exhale freer. Stomp, stomp, wherever I was going, I would be sure to go on purpose. Stomp, stomp. If they find me, they will tell from my footprints that I did not tread lightly nor pusillanimously (not bravely).

Each step I took, I focused on light, crisp air, raindrops, and the sound of my breath. Sheer (pure) happiness inside was met with the joy hiding in the dark, just waiting for a playmate.

Some of the finest people and moments are found where our sight seems to have failed and our senses must kick in. What do you call a light, seemingly misplaced, which fortuitously (luckily) is switched on when you need it the most? A metaphor which can have many interpretations, names, faces, places or things, you know, nouns,  which become examples of serendipity and synchronicity.

My dear listener, tell me about your moment of illumination. Where were you? Do you think you would have made the same decisions? Would you have arrived at the same place? Did the light make your travels any easier? Were the trials and tribulations lessened? I’m listening.

Hi, come on in. Please, make yourselves at home, pull up a chair or get your walking shoes on. I will go off on self-deniers of a basic human experience. Welcome to Musing Interruptus. The time is now and the place is wherever you are. Thank you for listening. Today, oversharing (to say inappropriate things about ourselves or someone else), regret, and living to overshare another day…

Elegant, sleek (stylish), poised (graceful), well-dressed, coifed (nicely done hair), well-mannered (polite), and highly educated. She always has the perfect thing to say, a topic laced (mixed) with the right amount of amusement. He moves around his environment without hesitation. Nothing can stir (excite) or disturb (bother) them. Animatronic androids. Fuck you and the horses you rode on. White steads, for sure. Stay in your coffee commercials and James Bond movies. I have no time for you. My love and admiration go out to the everyday people who share and invite you to share in the experience of life. That is one of the most basic experiences of them all.

Being invited into the lush greenery of life, luminous, loving, my goodness, the joy, and excitement. That is fun and invigorating (energizing). Nobody regrets that. Nobody comes up with archetypes out of happiness and comfort, you don’t need them. Ah, beware, there is a part of life that we are taught not to share. To do our best not to show. Because #architype. Life is not a shampoo commercial. We do not live in Pleasantville, however much our instas try to show we do. The best parties, food, food, food, my god the picture of food, families, perfect smiles, even grief has the perfect picture. Nonetheless, the pictures and excerpts are there. They are so telling of our need to connect and share.

There, within the rough stuff, dark thoughts, lapsus (when we say something unintentionally), pain, the undeniable reality we live, we feel, we hurt, we make mistakes, say the wrong thing at the wrong time, desire that which is out of reach, the things we do to reach. Laughter revealing reality. Making a joke that comes off mean and is misunderstood! That space, otherwise reserved for therapists and sometimes a very close friend.

What happens when you are careless and blurt (suddenly speak) it out to the wrong group. Ohhh I’ve overshared all over again! Right in front of the mean girls, the shallow, beneficiaries of an unguarded moment. Work people! Noooo! Humanity at work! Save me now! My humanity is showing! Panic. Clammy hands. A knotted-up throat. Seething with regret. Of course, this has an internal component, the responsibility and the capacity to live and accept ourselves. This is fundamental. There is also the component of who is listening. Who is there? Who is receiving our humanity? Is there compassion and empathy on the other side? We might not feel we have gone on a word binge, sidestepping altogether the shame hangover, if the right person is on the other side.  Let’s get serious here for a minute. People could be nicer to each other.

Are you doing your part? Or are you a heinous (absolutely hateful and morally wrong) repressive critic of the people who surround you and their most human and delicate vulnerabilities? No judgment! :P Are you capable of true kindness? Which comes down to your capacity to be accepting of yourself, humanity, and darkness. Are you listening? Because I am…

Hey there! Thank you for clicking. Welcome to another installment of Musing Interrupts. The auditory experience that hopefully leaves you wanting to ask questions and maybe even share your answers because this isn’t even half of the conversation. Today, Making Friends after Kindergarten. Is it possible and/or even desirable?

I’ll start with the practicality of making friends after your 30s. It’s not. People are generally not forthcoming, their guards are up, Shields up, Scotty! I have a few choice words, not politically correct, which come to mind. Basically, several adults are pusillanimous and prove we have never actually escaped Hobbes’ state of nature. Whatever is behind this is more of a chicken and the egg situation. The question might be: were people hurt and therefore decided to shut the world out, or are people intrinsecly meanies? Either way, it seems that life Sucks. The underlying issue is trust and motivation. Can you trust the person who smiles at you? Are they motivated to get something from you? Are you just a means to an end? Can your boss be your friend? You won’t truly know until the power relationship is gone. Don’t get me started on car salespeople. Is there friendship after psychoanalysis? I’d never thought much of the situation until someone indicated my classes were like talking to a friend. Like? I thought I was a friend.

Kindergarten was easy. Wanna play? Here’s my truck, can I play with your blocks? Parents would set up playdates, we played, we fought, we lived to play again another day. There was no need to be friends with everyone. If it didn’t work out, that was life. Then, elementary school came along and along came the bullies. These poor children most likely suffered abuse and abused others. We still have a problem with that at schools. Nobody seems to know how to get a handle on it. At that age, kids know where they stasnd. Friends are crucial during those years. Those friendships were honest, there was no second-guessing involved. If you said, let’s be number one best friend forever, you were. I still think of my number one best friend from time to time. We are Facebook Friends.

So many types of friendships happen between kindergarten and our twenties. Real friends, new friends, old friends, friends who are old,  fake friends, friendly friends, fickle friends, fierce friends, disappearing friends, Facebook friends, Frenimies, On Wednesday’s we wear pink,  the six chicks, the pink ladies, Breakfast Club of Misfits, the friends you go to the Coffee Shop on Tuesday’s with (CLAP, that is supposed to be the clap that you know), the friends you go to the pub with, which are not the same friends you go pub crawling with, abooga booogada boogada hahaha (that is another reference), friends you talk about sex with, friends you have sex with, army buddies, dead poets that join a society, friends who will stand by you, and friends you complete your bucket list with, oh wait… the friend you sit on the porch with as you age.  My early twenties were great, it was so long ago for me that it might as well have been kindergarten. I’m that old now. Beware of my sneezing, old. Friends were easy to make. Between Friday evening and Monday morning, legends and friends were made. I wonder what the forties and on have in store. I’m just going to jump over the thirties because I’m still processing the whole Did that really just happen? Factor. In any case, difficult or not, making friends at any age is worth it, not just because of the opportunities to remake certain key movie moments, but because of the potential of making your own epic stories that have never been told in that way, through the eyes of happiness, laughter, solidarity, a part of your home.

Do you like your friends? I mean, really like them?...

Hello friend, how are you? My dearest listeners, today I welcome you to this space of musing interruptus to go off on a veritable rant (communicate in an impassioned manner). I appreciate your listening and sharing your thoughts with me. Today, it mutates, evolves, and is alive… it is language.

Language allows us to name ideas, people, and things. Objects come into existence through recognition (identification) when we name them. We create and destroy realities and perception with words. Needless to say (it is obvious), words matter. For a writer, words are everything. For a child, it is the difference between getting attention and getting exactly what he or she wants. Setting aside the matter of actually knowing what you want… knowing how to ask for it, is the most important thing. It’s not just a matter of assertiveness, but word selection.

The words we choose to use indicate our ideological stance (belief), education and expertise or lack of expertise on certain topics, where we come from, maybe even where we are going. The way I see it, the words we use communicate much more than the idea or image of something; through words, we present elements of who we are. Naming things into existence, like stories, is an amazing phenomenon. It’s fantasy, something unreal that undeniably exists when we repeat or read the stories. Our parents named us. That name holds energy, hopes, and some might say, a part of our destiny.

You may or may not like your name. I love mine, by the way. Some people prefer (like better) to change their name because it doesn’t become them (be suitable/appropriate). We are allowed to do this because we deserve to feel represented. Who we are, is all we really have. In practice, most of us discover ourselves through experience and reflection and struggle with social impositions. I wonder what type of world we would live in, if people were provided a safe space to discover themselves and were not forced to fit into molds. It’s revolution baby, the molds have been broken throughout history. It’s nice to be nice in a world which elicits (bring out, prompts) defensiveness; a place where we are ready to protect ourselves where the State cannot. Words matter. When something is named into existence, there is a better chance to create laws to defend and protect people and the environment, culture. Childhood and adolescence were not always a thing, much less protected… just ask the workers with less than 10 years of existence in factories during the Industrial Revolution (of course, this is not a thing of the past… enforcement of the law is another topic). Now we have the rights of the child and even concepts such as late adolescence… in your late twenties. The fact of the matter is, creating words that are better suited to a person, group, situation…  can result in rights, like human rights, labor rights, and the right to be who we discover we actually are. Doesn’t everyone deserve to be who they are?

Language evolves with the discovery and understanding of our surroundings and ourselves. I like to think about the inventions that we have left behind, along with many words that have been slowly forgotten. I’ve never had a rolodex, my contacts are floating in a beautiful heavenly cloud, I think, and I have only used a fax machine once. I never called a flight attendant a stewardess. Picture shows and penny arcades are places I’m sure I will visit once I have my Delorean up and running (functional). The ice box in old movies and black and white shows had an actual block of ice...My refrigerator doesn’t need a block of ice, it gives me little cubes of ice that I use to cool my martini, shaken not stirred. VHS could stand for very horrendous streaming,  [...] What do you think about words? What are your favorite words? What are your least favorite words? I’m listening.

Welcome back to Musing Interruptus, thank you for clicking, thank you for listening. This is a  space for reflection on diverse and mostly non-transcendent things. You can read along. It might be useful.

Today, a story… or maybe just the start… An Education and a Fascination.

Listen, she said. Listen and you can hear the universe expand and contract. Like breathing. We are all part of it. The woman’s voice was impossible to dismiss (not consider), you could hear the years, you could see them in her crinkly (wrinkled) hands. Her granddaughter listened intently (with great attention), she knew there were truths she would not learn anywhere else. She also knew that it was the only place she would confirm if magic was real.

Lorena was 14. Her surroundings felt dull, the air stale. The old house was built in the seventies, it was the nineties. The walls were covered in yellowing wallpaper. She was eager (really wanting to) to learn the secrets of the house and the people who lived there. She was used to ferreting through (looking, rummaging) her parent’s things; her grandmother’s house held a promise of treasures yet to be discovered. Of course, as most stories between a granddaughter and a grandmother, the greatest treasures were found in the companionship, friendship, complicity, and bridge to the past.

Listen, the old woman said. You can do what your heart desires, it is there for the asking and the taking. Look beyond what you think you know and trust in the connection you feel. The closeness you feel with me, the memories we have made, let that be part of the energy you send out to the universe, be part of it, let your particles dance. Don’t be afraid.  She took Lorena’s hand in hers. Close your eyes, the old woman’s voice was soft. Lorena shot out a  guarded (not wanting to show her thoughts) and wary (cautious) smile. This is probably one of her stories, she thought to herself. She can’t be serious. She is the oldest adult in the family.  Her grandmother began to breathe in and out deeply. A humming noise from the back of her throat. Lorena imitated the breath. She could smell the years on her grandmother’s exhales. She tried to control the breaths. Breathe in now, she thought to herself, shortening her exhale. Now they were breathing in time. Lorena couldn’t focus on her breath anymore, her grandmother’s hand felt so fragile. Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice…

Move your energy from the inside out, put your feelings in it, send the feelings out, project them like a light, hold your focus on your energy, hold it there until you feel it is constant. Lorena started to feel it, she felt it and imagined the places it was going, she sent it to the trees, she sent it past the neighborhood park, she sent it to envelop (cover/surround) her best friend. She sent the best of herself, imagining she was sending protective energy. She also couldn’t get away from the image of colorful bears fighting evil with their belly powers. Lorena didn’t laugh. She wanted to…

The next day at school, she looked at her friend from the other end of the classroom. She wondered if it had worked. She knew her friend needed to be protected from something. How she wished her energy were enough. Would her friend think she was crazy if she said all of this out loud? She had until recess to think about it. That gave her four classes to make a decision.

So there you have it, gentle listeners. Tell me, does Lorena’s experience ring true to you? Or is it all just fun and games? I’m listening.