Reap Just What You Sow, #SoCS #LoIsInDaBl

IT’S LIKE THIS…I HAVE A CONFESSION TO MAKE.

PLEASE READ THE LETTER – ROBERT PLANT & ALISON KRAUSS

#SoCS/#LoIsInDaBl

Ooh, I get to combine two stream of consciousness prompts today:

LOVE IS IN DA BLOG

&

STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS SATURDAY

It’s a story of one of my favourite things: love letters.

Well, with the invention of all the modern technologies nowadays these don’t exist like they once did, but I still will always love the old fashioned letter, love letter in particular.

The most romantic thing one can do is write one. A few times, this has happened to me, in my life. Ah … aw, just like from some distant romantic memory, of a time, when letters were one person’s best way they could think to make another aware of the affection they held for them.

Well, my fifteen-year-old self sure thought it meant something special when a boy wanted to learn a new skill, not just simply to write a letter, love or otherwise, but to learn braille so they could communicate with me, even as email and other growing technology was becoming common.

It was like a secret code between us, one the other students couldn’t simply get a hold of mistakenly, allowing the private words between the two of us to spread through the school, as the sharing and airing of young love and laundry tend to do. Being that our declarations were in braille, this would be virtually impossible.

Every few days I would get a new one delivered at my locker. The little slate and stylus device and the card with the braille alphabet was all that boy needed and soon I was getting letters, which grew, right along with his confidence, in length of sentence and page count.

This went on for a while. I read and reread each one, deciphering what was being said, the sweet compliments and teenage relationship conflicts, always and forever immortalized in a series of raised bumps.

So strange to read these now, years and years after the events of these letters took place, to look back at the girl I was then, compared to who I have become, how far I’ve come. That’s what a letter is really good for, for the owner of a love letter. It’s a window on a time long gone.

I love my crazy batch of teenage secret code letters.

More than ten years later I had another one of those letters in my possession, this time, as an adult. Oh, how times had changed.

Different sender. Different person was I who received it, or so it often felt like. It wasn’t only the specific words, but the time and care it took the letter’s writer to craft it that made it so meaningful and valuable.

Just one this time. Email had become a much too convenient mode for communicating, but one Christmas gift was this single letter, again written in code, of which only a select few could decipher.

Oh, the time writing, translating (with the help of an online translation tool, from print word to braille dot combo). All those evening hours at work, waiting for a phone to ring, but when silence fell in the rest of an office building, the hours of work to write this one letter were painstakingly applied.

I held onto this precious gift for as long as I could, all the newness of a budding relationship laid out in its three pages. I would hold tight to this expression of feeling for as long or longer than I’d done with the teenage ones before it. Surely I would.

And then the chaos of a game, later and fondly known as “Musical Houses” would commence and, in the shuffle, the letter was lost.

Oh, how the recipient would search, high and low, in box after box and everywhere else she could think of, but that letter would never show itself again.

So much guilt. So much hope. So much bitter regret and disappointment, self pity and self loathing, but all this would not bring that lone secret document/love letter back from its hiding place, in and amongst the secret space it stayed hidden.

Maybe it was meant to stay hidden anyway. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was a sign from the universe that some things, some just aren’t meant to be, some things that are lost are not meant to be found again.

Or maybe it will show up one day, some day far ahead into the future. It’s got to be somewhere, right? It lives in the past, for now, along with countless more love letters of days gone by.

Some things should probably just stay buried away, in time or space or place. Maybe it’s time to let them go, let go, right along with the guilt and all the other swirling feelings that a letter could always bring up again, in some far future moment, up ahead, years and years from now. Who the hell knows.

Will anyone ever take the time again, think it worth their precious hours, to learn the secret code? Will just such love letters die the same slow death, disappear into the oblivion of things that are no longer and can never again be? I must not let it get to me, all those “what if’s”.

I mustn’t!

In The News and On My Mind: Sticks and Stones

“Watching the news in the evening is a bit like being on an emotional Tilt-aWhirl. “Isis now sets people on fire.” “Harper Lee has a new book out!” “Some oddballs are bringing measles back because they’re scared of autism, which is a bit like saying I’m worried about birthday candles, so let’s start a forest fire.” “It’s going to be gorgeous this weekend!” “Look, a politician being deliberately rude.” “And also, look at these adorable puppies!” My limbic system does not work that fast!”
–JEG

Here we are again, going in circles.

Again, President Obama, Stephen Colbert, and John Oliver are compelled to speak about gun violence.

And, I guess, so am i…

President Obama Speaks At Press Conference For Oregon Mass Shooting

There are more causes with days or weeks or month recognition in October than I could shake a stick at.

😉

This week I focus on mental illness, because it is the week to recognize that people are suffering and, once more, we are forced to talk about it because havoc has been caused in its name.

In my Facebook newsfeed, I can’t keep track of the causes and their turns to be highlighted, but most of it hits me hard, has touched my own life in some way.

I’ve been rereading some Harry Potter lately and I began to think about weapons in that magical world. They have their wands, which are like our guns, and then there’s Hagrid’s trusty bow and arrow.

Okay, so just this week, in Toronto, a man was found dead after being shot with an arrow. It happens, in all sorts of ways. We kill each other and we can’t seem to stop.

I think about the way it was, hundreds of years ago, when there were arrows and swords.

Now we have guns.

People are going to die, be it from an arrow, a bullet, a blade, or a drug.

Those who feel alone or have no support will lose the battle sometimes. It’s up to those who have had the support, to give that support right back to others.

Stephen Colbert said, “Insanity is changing nothing and pretending something will change”.

I hope we never lose the humour, his type of humour and honesty, in the face of these hard and harsh realities.

The LAte Show, Stephen Colbert – Some Thoughts On Pretending

Rowling’s wizards could and did horrible damage and caused horrific cruelty with their wands, but this was mostly due to evil groups such as Lord Voldemort’s Death Eaters.

Law abiding wizards used their wands, more than we use guns, specifically speaking in Canada, but still I say you could compare it to the world a lot of people want to live in, most often in the US. They want a gun accessible, for a feeling of security and a way to protect themselves and their loved ones, in the case of a dangerous intruder threatening them.

Whether it’s a bow and arrow or a shot gun, hunting was and is a way of life for people, for need or for sport, in Canada and elsewhere.

I don’t know a lot about guns and I don’t know the laws and the loopholes. I do know that the battle is between us and them, one side against another and I don’t like it. It’s about one side saying “they” want to take “our” guns away from us.

Then the other side says they want less mass shootings.

I can’t help but think of a time when settlers came to this continent, us against them, and guns were introduced.

Us and them. Us and them. Us and them. It never ends.

It never ends and I’m sick of it.

I know which side I am on, but then I realize just how futile being on any side is. Where has it gotten us? Why can’t any sort of compromise be reached? Why are humans so stubborn, immovable, and unwilling to bend at all?

And then the two sides fight over mental illness.

Mental illness or guns?

Where does that put the people with those illnesses, the vulnerable? How do they feel?

This week is Mental Illness Awareness Week and my next post will be one I’ve wanted to write for over a year, but I couldn’t resist including John’s clip here because it is part of this conversation.

Last Week Tonight With John Oliver – Worst Time To Talk About Mental Health

His idea is a radical one, a drastic one, and one the one side would totally discount, but again his honesty in the humour he dishes out is worth listening to.

I’ve enjoyed John Oliver since I first saw him with a role in the show Community, but take a look at John’s segment because I want to do more for mental health, as my next post will continue to demonstrate.

I think we need to not focus on one over the other. We need to focus on both. Why oh why are we always so quick to pick one side, divide, separate? Why do we go to extremes?

Don’t we use the term “extremist” for violent and evil terrorists?

Someone who would storm into a classroom, movie theatre, shopping mall with a gun or guns able to take down many people is committing an act of terrorism, aren’t they? They are terrorizing people.

Are they mentally unstable, ill, sick, disturbed? Call it anything you like. It’s an extreme and it is terrorizing.

Oh, but those people are going to the extreme of an extreme, right? We all like our extremes, our sides, but we aren’t like them, oh no.

Most people with mental illness aren’t ever going to shoot up a place. Some could commit an act of violence, but mostly it ends up being on themselves, as with conditions like self harm, cutting, or suicidal ideation.

When a mother drowns her three children and then herself, that makes the news. When the mother kills her children and not herself, we see her face as she stands before the judge and jury to accept the verdict.

We condemn her for hurting the innocent, but how do we prevent that from ever taking shape to begin with?

As with the latest mass shooting, we hear about it for a long time and the ripples can be felt spreading out, in every direction. People do use these occasions to back up whatever facts or points they want to get across, for their own reasons. It becomes political instead of social or humanitarian. Then we do move on, or most of us do.

We don’t hear about the every day struggles of mental illness in someone’s life. We don’t want to, we choose not to, would prefer to avoid hearing about that part of the story, the ugly, that part that comes before the possible tragedy. I read a lot of these stories on the blogs I come across. The ones I read about are the stories that will hopefully have a happy ending.

Like this one, for instance.

When suicide can be and is avoided, it’s a wonderful thing, but it is an ongoing struggle for most people. We need to be aware of it, be honest about it, find humour in the good parts of life to help combat it.

I don’t know why we listen to the news or a press conference really. Can what’s being said really mean anything lasting or practical? I must, like everyone else, try not to let the negative futility take over my thoughts.

Like John says, we owe people more than just words. We owe them a plan.

For me, here, words are the plan, but I don’t know the answer for a plan to prevent tragedy like we see again and again and again.

I am not afraid. I don’t live in a dangerous part of town. I have support and love in my life. I don’t live in poverty.

I do not fear for my life. I do not carry a gun. I think you would probably agree that not being able to see and guns don’t mix and I would agree too.

🙂

I wish they weren’t in the hands of anyone who couldn’t be sure of being proper and safe, but are any of us truly guaranteed safety with a gun in the picture?

Some would say yes. They would feel powerful and in control. Us against them. Me against them.

😦

Then another shooting makes my television’s news program and the insanity continues.

An eleven-year-old boy shoots an eight-year-old girl.

And I curse guns all the more. They didn’t keep that little girl safe. They didn’t keep her alive. They won’t permit her to grow up and have a future.

I can’t find a smidge of humour in that, honestly.

Dear Congress – Sincerely, A Mass Shooting Survivor

Not only has this particular, firsthand account received a huge amount of attention, but even my comment I left, from my perspective as a Canadian has received several likes, more than I would normally get.

We need different perspectives and we need to pay a little more attention and learn a little something from all of them.

I see a climate of fear and one that perpetuates violence. I see that being so deeply ingrained in US culture specifically.

I may be blind, but I am not blind to what things might be like here in Canada. I know it’s not my experience, but my somewhat sheltered life has put me at a greater position of hopefully having a better understanding, somehow and somewhere among all the chaos.

Nothing will change, as fatalistic as that might sound, as long as this deeply ingrained fear persists, if the “them against us” view of the world continues, no matter what country is in the headlines.

As the well-known rhyme says, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”.

Sticks. Stones. Words. Lies.

Then there was the story that just broke about a comedian/actor who told an awful lie. He’s been busted and a lot of Americans would like to see him hung out to dry for it.

Words. A few little words and a story of exaggeration, told in a small group of people, and nothing more might have come of that, if it weren’t concerning the sensitive subject of September 11th.

Steve Rannazzisi Comes Clean About 9/11 Lie

He speaks about this to Howard Stern and Howard listens, gives the guy the chance to explain and to begin to apologize, but does not take calls. Probably a good idea. There’s always Twitter and the rest of the Internet for that.

I wasn’t involved in 9/11 and so I’m not quite so raw over the matter I guess.

That September 11th, it seemed bigger than I could possibly comprehend on that day, but these things happen in the world.

I am a fan of The League, ever since I was introduced to it by someone a few years ago. Who would have thought that a show about fantasy football would be my kind of show, but when I actually sat down and gave it a chance, I liked the humour and the guys and the characters they played.

Steve didn’t directly hurt me. I can give the guy a break. Others can’t. Outrage and anger for some. Forgiveness for others. Compassion from me because I am able.

Listening to the interview was interesting. With my interest in psychology, it is fascinating to hear someone explain, justify, rationalize something so irrational as pretending they were involved in something so horrible. What kind of a person would or could do that? A lonely one. An insecure one. A misguided, attention seeking, weak guy in a weak moment.

I just recently saw a program about a woman who insinuated herself into online grief chat rooms with 9/11 survivors and the families of those who lost their lives.

She did it for money or for a hole inside. How is Steve all that different?

People’s intentions matter. Their actions, for some, matter more.

Compassion is the way we should be leaning. Anger is the tempting route to take. Violence and weapons go hand in hand. Hatred and anger feed off of each other.

Guns kill. The line, guns don’t kill people, people kill people has been bandied about so much. It’s becoming a cliche. People kill other people with guns. I am not for banning things altogether because I know, like with drugs, that doesn’t solve the problem. I am for compromises, understanding, and care..

Terrorism kills.

I firmly believe we can not bend under the pressure, snap, and let the hate win. Words can be used for good, for positivity, for kindness. I use my words for that.

Next week, for In The News and On My Mind I will talk more about immigration, refugees, and the federal election here in Canada.

Do I vote? Will I vote? Will it make any difference whatsoever if I do or don’t?

Unfinished Story

To A Future Writer: building a more creative world

Today would have been Anne Frank’s 85th birthday and who knows, if she hadn’t been murdered by the Nazis, what she might have contributed to the world.

She started as a child with a diary. That was not so unique for a young girl, but she went into hiding and became a writer. She was learning what that meant while she was still young enough to believe she could do or be anything she dreamed of. That is something most of us lose as we grow into adults. Sadly, the thing she lost was her life.

As she leaned harder on the support her diary and her writing provided her in that hiding place, she learned how to harness her creative strengths. She taught herself how to edit and polish her words and thoughts, crafting something into something more.

While the 60th anniversary of D Day has been celebrated lately, I celebrate the young writer who never got to grow up and live her dream.

I consider it a great honour to be able to write anything at all and I can see where I started at the age she was taken from the world. I want all people to express themselves, starting from any age, women specifically. We have a lot to say, this is true, and as we grow and mature we learn how to take control of our individual voices. I hope my own niece will do whatever it is she feels will show off her true self. It is a great tragedy when potential is squashed.

I waited too long to speak my truth and take a risk on what I knew I had to contribute to the world. I believe it is never too late, but suddenly it might be. I realize the inconsistency in this thought, but both are true. I know I am lucky to still have a chance when others have not been so lucky.

It was National Novel Writing Month which gave me the motivation to start to really write and today I wanted to participate in this social media initiative. I don’t know if they meant it to fall on the birthday of one of my writing idols who never got to see what her future as a writer might have been, but the two are connected for me.I hoped to be one of those future writers and I look forward to seeing what other future writers have to say. I have so much hope for the next thirty years of my life and can’t wait to be able to look back on this time and see how far I’ve come.