Asamee Blog

I am standing at the top of some marble stairs. There are twenty-one wide steps leading downward. I used to go down these stairs all the time but I haven't in a long time. I've been going elsewhere.

I take three deep long breaths. Slowly, I move my right foot forward and step down onto the twentieth step. I pause briefly then step down with my left foot onto the nineteenth step. I block everything else out and feel myself descending. Slowly, with my right foot, I step down onto the 18th step. I'm not really looking at anything but rather concentrating on each and every step I take down the stairs.

Down I step to the seventeenth step then the sixteenth then the fifteenth. With each step down I find myself getting more relaxed and more focused on my descent. With my right foot I lower down to the fourteenth step and then the thirteenth then twelth. The light is getting darker and there seems to be a mist. Down to the eleventh, tenth, ninth, eighth... I feel myself lowering. Seventh, sixth, fifth... I seem to be getting lighter and time seems to have disappeared. Fourth step, third step... My breathing is very light as in sleep. Second step then first step.

Then I step down off the stairs and stand still for a moment. Before me are two steel doors that swing open like hospital doors or restaurant doors. I slowly put out my right arm then I push the right door open and walk through.

I walk into a corridor that is perhaps ten feet wide and ten feet high. The walls are made of cut stone blocks and the floor is flagstone. The lighting is dim and there is a very light mist in the air. It's almost like a tunne. I walk down the corridor and notice the many doors both on the left and on the right. The doors are heavy steel doors and they are unmarked. When I come to the third door on the right I stop.

I know that behind this door is a movie theater and I also know that if I keep going down the corridor that I would eventually get to that door that opened out to the beach. I reminisce a moment on my fond memories of that beach. But then I reach out my hand and turn the doorknob on the metal door before me.

I enter the movie theater and seat myself right in the middle. There are only about fifty or sixty seats. What I like about this theater is that the seats are extremely comfortable. They are like Lazy Boy recliners. You could be so comfortable watching the movies that you would forget all about your body. I set my seat in the reclining position and I am instantly comfortable as I look up at the big blank screen.

In this theater the movie up on the big screen does not come from a projector behind me but rather it comes from my own mind. All I have to do is focus my attention on something and then the movie will start at which point it is no longer necessary to focus. One merely needs to watch.

So I am ready to start watching a movie but I don't know what to focus on to start the movie. Unable to focus, my mind wanders. I am so comforable in my chair that I just let my mind go. I don't care what shows up on the screen. I surrender to the stillness and the comfort and the peaceful vibration. Before long, images begin to appear on the screen.

Landscapes begin shooting past from left to right as though I were on a train although it's not a train. It's too smooth; like I'm floating through the air. I'm not moving too quickly. It's a slow and steady pace; perhaps around forty miles per hour.

The landscape is flat without any mountains or hills and with only occasional trees. There is a lot of tall grass and it is being blown into waves by a strong breeze. The land seems to stretch forever.

I get a feeling of peace from the land but also some sadness. It feels like I'm looking at the land from the eyes of a small child. There are memories in this land yet it felt like I was seeing it also for the first time.

I sense the approach of something just beyond the horizon. I wonder where I was going. Before long I notice that the grass appears to be getting thinner and I spot a few small sand dunes. There are high puffy clouds in the sky and the air is thick with moisture.

Quickly, the dunes become larger and more frequent. I find my motion through the air is slowing and I am coming to a stop. As I stop I turn and face forward into the direction I had been traveling.

There before me is the ocean. All the sunlight glistening off the water forces me to squint my eyes for a moment until my eyes can adjust. As I look around me I see that I am on a sandy beach but it isn't the beach that I used to go to down the corridor. This is a different beach in a different place in a different time. I stare out over the water and see an armada of boats.

A knowing overcomes me that those boats are the only way out of this land. I feel that some day I will be on one of those boats and I will leave this place forever. But for now I am intensely happy just looking at the majestic schooners and the endless water and sky.

The camera in the movie now focuses in on a lone seagull flying over the waves crashing on the beach. I can hear the flapping of its wings and its occasional caw. I can feel it as it stretches its wings and glides on the wind. I watch the bird fly round and round for a few minutes then I look back down at the scenery around me and it is suddenly totally different.

Now I am in a mountain meadow, standing among wildflowers and grass. The camera slowly turns in a circle revealing snow-capped mountains all around the meadow. They are tall, beautiful, and rugged peaks and I suddenly get the feeling that the only way out of that meadow is to go over those mountains. I am in no hurry to leave the pristine state of the meadow, though. I walk around and around the meadow luxuriating in the smells and the textures and the birdsong. Eventually, I lie down in the grass and stare up at the clouds drifting across the sky.

I merge with a cloud and follow it over the mountains and away through the sky. I look down at the land below as I float over it. I see the mountains turn into hills and rolling farmland and forest. I see farms below and animals and rivers with boats and I see dirt roads with horses pulling wagons. Ahead, I see a city. There are many white buildings with red clay roofs. People mill through the streets and horse-drawn wagons clippity-clop on the cobblestone streets. I see laundry hanging on lines and children and dogs playing.

And now the cloud that I have merged with is suddenly coming apart. I then begin gently raining on the city.

A fox I chanced to meet. She was all laughing triangles. Elegant in black stockings and fox fur coat. Jaunty in her gait. She gave me just a glance, her pink tongue extended in a vixen's smile. She did not care that I was there.

As I stood by her side, Lady Lake tossed as though in restless fever. Crept up onto the rocky shore, brief forays from her bed and subsided again.

I watched the dust rise and whip away as the wind gathered handfuls of sand and let it run through icy fingers.

A flock of maple leaves, crisped brown and curled ride the current keeping company with a pair of loons indifferent to their passing.

A buck, unaware of human presence steps out from a stand of white pine and lowers his head to drink, a single drop of water hangs pendulous, shining from tawny muzzle; he shakes his head, turns and vanishes back into the trees.

A raccoon hurrying by stops to stare, a look of comic puzzlement in his clever eyes.

A red squirrel climbs high, perches on a Maple branch, shapes his tail into a question mark of disbelief and announces my intrusion.

A Blue Jay confirms the sighting with a raucous call and flies to spread the news.

A band of chickadees provide a merry escort as I make my way back home.

Once there was a winged seed who lived high up in a maple tree. She was so happy there, floating in the breeze. She thought that life could only get better and better. All her seed friends were giggling around her and she felt loved and content.

But then one day a big wind blew and that little winged seed lost her hold. She spun down from the tree, her one wing fluttering and being torn by the force. She then found herself upon the cold wet ground, her wing broken, her hopes shattered. The rain forced her deep into the mud of the earth and she hurt more then she had ever hurt before. Never had she known a cold so cold, nor a silence so deep.

As she lay there she lost all hope of ever seeing light again, because the sky seemed so far away. But after a time she discovered something, in the place where she had once worn her wing, there was something else. She was sprouting roots, roots which traveled deep into the earth and brought nourishment to her. And she was also sprouting arms, arms which she could reach up from the earth with and peek to the surface.

And then it began to dawn on her that she was not dying, that all hope was not lost. She was still filled with pain but she began to wonder at the signs that she was getting that the one winged seed that she used to be was becoming something else, something quite different from a seed. Something with roots growing deep in the depths of the earth and arms reaching up. And so she began to have hope that one day she would be touching that sky again, not as a seed but as a tree.

One day while I was outside filling my bird feeder I began to notice the array of feathers strewn on the lawn. Chickadee, Grackle, Blue Jay and more. I collected a few of the best to keep and wondered at the fact that, even though I have many Cardinals who come to visit there was not one red feather to be seen. Not even the rusty brown ones belonging to the females. I began in some peculiar way to covet what was not there. I love Cardinals and I thought how sweet it would be to have just one feather to gaze upon when my little friends were absent. That set me to thinking about what I felt I deserved but was not receiving. Very selfish thoughts and I admonished myself over it.

The following day I repeated the excersise of filling the feeder. I heard a rustle close by and looking up spied an especially beautiful male Cardinal. They are usually very shy and don't come too near if they see people close by; but this one did not seem shy at all. He looked at me from his crab apple tree perch just above my head. We admired one another for a moment; then with one clear whistling call he flew from the branch up over the rooftop of the house. I watched him go and couldn't help but smile to myself. I had enjoyed his presence. As I turned back to my little task my eye was caught by another flash of red. There, against the emerald grass lay a single jewel, a ruby coloured feather. I still have that feather and will always keep it. It reminds me to be happy with what I have instead of being unhappy with what I don't have. A lesson from a Cardinal and a treasured gift.

The following article is a story about the author of this piece. It is about a little miracle that was performed and of which, at the time, the author was completely unaware. Little miracles happen all the time and I, like most people, am not aware of the miracle when it occurs. Still, I have time to ruminate and when I'm reviewing events from the past, I discover that I have benefited from little things that logically should not have happened.

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Jim's mind was in turmoil. This Labor Day weekend was supposed to have been a time for relaxation, but it had turned into a time of mixed emotions and no solutions. Jim had played golf with his brother-in-law that morning and things seemed to be OK. After the barbecue lunch, while the others were cleaning up and playing board games, Jim went off by himself to consider the plot in the western novel he was writing. As he was reading the last few pages he had written, there it was: THE PROBLEM. The problem was that the hero had fallen in love with the heroine, an event he had not planned to put into the book. When the book ended, the hero was supposed to get on his horse and ride off into the sunset.

Of course, on the surface, it wasn't really a problem. It was what was behind the scenes that created the problem. Jim identified very closely with the hero and the heroine was, of course, created in the story as the perfect woman for Jim. Still, in and of itself, that didn't create the problem. The real problem was that Jim had used his secretary as the model for the heroine. The real problem was that now he realized he was in love with Hank.

He had given her the nickname as a joke when he first met her. He had told her at that time she was a good-looking hunk of woman. She admonished him, saying, "Men are hunks. Women are not."

"OK. Then you are a good looking hank." He responded.

"And where did you get that?"

"From the Jimmy Rogers song about a hank of hair and a piece of bone."

"I guess that's acceptable," she said.

And she became Hank to him and to all the people in the office with whom he dealt on a regular basis. Her real name was Helen, but then his wife and mother were also named Helen and he did need something to discriminate between them when talking to or about them.

He hadn't even started writing the book when she came into his life. It was a couple of months later when he asked her if he could use her as the model for the heroine in the western novel he was about to try writing. And just to make a connection, he used the name Henrietta for his heroine since he was calling her Hank. He promised her first reading of the manuscript when it was finished so that she could recommend edits about the heroine if she felt the reference was unflattering.

So now, fifteen months later, he was in love with her simply because he had written descriptions of her in the book. With the realization that he had fallen in love with this other woman, he was in turmoil. It was against his personal code of honor for him to be in love with another woman. He had taken his marriage vows twenty-three years earlier and he was committed to honoring them. It simply wasn't allowable in his frame of reference for him to be in love with another woman.

For the next four days, Jim was in constant anguish over this turn of events. He did his job like an automaton and took care of his home duties just as mechanically. At night, he tossed and turned, but slept very little. For him, this was a major crisis and he couldn't see any way to change the situation. Hank was at work everyday, so he was constantly reminded of his feelings for this enigmatic woman. Hank was an attractive person who kept herself well groomed and who had a personality that attracted men from all over the office. Everyone in the office knew Hank as a lovely person with whom they enjoyed even casual associations. She was just that way.

On Friday, Jim went to work bleary eyed and weary from lack of sleep. He started the day just as he had the previous three and was going mechanically through the motions of reviewing and signing paperwork without really being aware of what he was signing. Just before ten, Hank came to the door of his office and said, "You have a visitor."

She escorted Jim's older sister into the office and then went on about her duties.

Jim was surprised, "Hi Susie. What are you doing here?"

"I'm not sure. I was driving by here on my way to see a client and I got the oddest feeling that you needed to see me."

Jim and his sister were not close. He hadn't really had much contact with her since she had married when he was eighteen and moved to another city. Now they both lived in the same city but they seldom saw each other. They really had nothing in common except that they shared the same set of parents. She had divorced her first husband after twenty years and remarried. With her new husband's support, she started her own business selling hearing aids and was doing fairly well. Jim had gotten his college education including a Master's degree and had followed the corporate path to a management position in the corporate offices. With their separate interests, they had no reason to interact and, when they did, it was usually at a family gathering. But here she was because she had a feeling that he needed to see her.

"OK," Jim said. "Let's go up to the cafeteria and I'll tell you my story over a cup of coffee."

They rode the elevator up to the sixth floor and Jim outlined his problem in cursory terms that gave her an idea of what he was facing. When they were seated with their drinks, he finished the tale of his predicament and then she said,

"Well stupid. You have to detach. Get out of the damn book. You are not the hero and Hank is not the heroine. In books, the hero is supposed to fall in love with the heroine. But you are the author and Hank is a girl who works in the office where you do. Reason it out. Detach. Get out of the book and wake up to the real world."

There it was. The answer. Get out of the book. That was all he had to do. It really was OK if the hero fell in love with the heroine. He hadn't broken his marriage vows so things were wonderful. After his sister left, he was back in his office when Hank came in and announced that there was to be a happy hour this evening at a bar with a dance floor on the other side of town. She was trying to find out how many would attend. Jim said he would go, but that she would have to drive him to the place and his wife would meet him there and drive him home.

He called his wife, told her of the plans and she agreed to meet him at the bar since it was just a short distance from where she worked. He told her that he was going to get drunk and she would have to drive him home. He didn't tell her why. He didn't tell her that he needed to let go of all the stress he had built up during the past week and that was now ready for full release. He hadn't told anyone of the problem he was facing until Susie showed up today.

At the happy hour, Jim got himself high with three drinks and then he released all the pent up energy he had bottled up inside. He was dancing with anyone who would dance and was generally the life of the party. It was so unlike him that all the girls wanted to dance with him and all the guys wanted to know what he was on. He couldn't tell them. What he said was, "I'm just happy."

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Why did Susie show up? She drove by his office twice each week. She had been doing so for several years and had never found any need to go and see him before. Why did she get that feeling that he needed to see her on this particular day? The only answer is that God provided one of life's little miracles.

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Copyright © 2004, by James Bassett. All Rights Reserved.

James Bassett: After spending the majority of my life trying to be a success as defined by society, I finally achieved a measure of that success. Then I found that it wasn't what I expected and began to look elsewhere. Now, at 65, after twenty years of looking, I think I have discovered what success is. Now I just strive to be happy with who I am and where I am. As a writer, my main focus is western fiction, but I stop occasionally to jot down a few spiritual notes.

by easywriter
Haying time again. Mack Finn was probably the only man left in the county who used horses to bring the yellow bounty in from the field. These days everyone was using state of the art machines to do most of the work. Not Mack though, and the village children loved him for it, they would trek up main street in groups and pairs, head about a mile down highway 7 to meet ol' Mack and hitch a ride the rest of the way to the shorn meadow; the ancient wagon bouncing over the rough shoulder of the road, rocking to the sweet rhythm of plodding Bess and Dobbin. Mack always liked a helping hand when it came to haying. The children had been there to help with the cutting too, carrying armloads of the sweet grasses and laying them across the racks to dry. How many baby birds were cradled in those calloused hands when he was busy with the mowing to be gently placed into the tender clasp of children weeping for the ruined nests? "A few, a few" Mack would state with a nod of his head if anyone had cared to ask.
"Take care now." Mack's voice was a soothing rumble. "You're all the Momma that baby's got now and no help for it child. The hay's got to be brought in." He would continue wiping streaming cheeks with an old hanky that he always kept in the pocket of his overalls. "You dry your eyes now and after we're done here we'll go make a new nest and you can keep watch over that little bird until it's strong enough to fly." At that comforting speech the sunshine would return to brighten tearful eyes and Mack and the children would buckle to with renewed vigor 'cause there were more important things waiting to be done.

It is cold out here. I am alone. The moon has hidden himself away and the stars have veiled their bright faces with torn and ragged clouds. I saw your light and followed; you welcomed me. It is warm in here. I will learn and become strong because of you. I am grateful, I am not alone.

Namaste

How many reasons can you think of NOT to experience joy? How many guilts are awakened by the thought of experiencing true joy? Does joy awaken a fear of what might come next? Will joy take us out of our comfort? Are we worthy of joy? Will we be able to handle it? Will our expression of it alienate us from those around us? Will joy keep us from fulfilling our obligations to the future or some plan? Will joy break our routine? Will joy remind us of past sorrow? Could we possible explode from too much joy?

There are ten thousand excuses for not experiencing joy. Unfortunately, they all work.

Joy, however, needs no rationalization, no reason, no excuse. To experience it is a natural expression of our true self. The only things keeping us from realizing and understanding and being our true selves are all those reasons we come up with NOT to experience joy.