When I was in grade school, apple orchards held Chelan together like stitches in a quilt. They were part of our neighborhoods and defined the edges of my world. My life was unfolding within their rhythm of bare branches nipped over snow-covered ground, blossoms singing in spring, green leaves cooling the summer air, and then red and golden nestled in trees and ready to be picked.
At first it’s an occasional sighting, but, by sheer numbers, rats become unwelcome guests very quickly. While English soldiers were away stopping Napoleon’s armies from spreading across the Continent, rats from Norway were invading their homeland.
It was bad news for those who were having their animal feed raided and their own food stock plucked. It was good news for those who embraced the new occupation: rat catchers. Some entrepreneurs found business where they lived, eking out a living. Others were employed by municipalities while a few lucky men found themselves elevated to royal catchers working for the king.
Survivors of childhood sexual abuse are bound to bump into the howling, painful recognition of being alone in their experience. There was no protection… no soft, understanding place to go when they needed it the most.
Though we would like to think our thoughts, intentions, and actions can let us interact with others without having them affect our personal spirit, every person in our life has a unique flavor of energy they bring into our relationship. There is nothing that can stop the two energies from merging together.
It might be nothing more than a moment with a stranger on the other end of a phone call. Yet the vibrating energy of the beliefs, feelings, and thoughts of both of us will spontaneously blend… like watching two rain drops on a windshield form a larger drop that flows across the glass. It’s not good or bad, but being aware of this can empower us as we shape our days.
Americans were introduced to television at the New York World’s Fair in 1939-40, but TV’s didn’t begin to dot the landscape across the country until the 1950’s. By the time it came to my house, it arrived with all the flash, thrill, and excitement of three different stations! Oh yes. We could jump up and turn the knob to choose shows on ABC, CBS, and NBC.
They were the “Big Three” and the beginning of my adventure with managing technology. Learning how to tell time was essential. Little hands learned to be steady and patient to stop the occasional rolling images or to adjust the shades of gray. And then there was sharing. With so many choices, negotiating with siblings and parents became part of the experience.
For a young lady in Jane Austen’s England, getting to know a gentleman was a challenge requiring ingenuity and daring. Her society demanded she never speak without a proper introduction. It insisted she have a chaperone at all times. She was taught her feelings and thoughts were not appropriate topics of conversation.
Like every young adult throughout the ages, those who were dating or simply wanting to flirt found a way to share what they were thinking in spite of the adults who would guard and fret. Today it is cell phones and text messages. Back then it was fans and gestures.
An ordinary memory sits like a photograph in a family album. It’s always available to visit by thumbing through the album. A trauma memory is not pasted in the photo album. It’s relegated to the attics of our mind to be stored in the unconscious. Dissociation happens when a trauma memory is ripped into pieces and locked in a vault without our knowing the photo was taken.
When I remember everything is energy, I see the many small events scattered throughout my day with different eyes. Sometimes that’s empowering. It can be insightful. It’s often an opportunity to create the feel and flow of my life.
I think any interaction takes place in a bubble of converging energies bouncing off each other, but I set the tone for my experience by what I was thinking, feeling, and believing before I arrived in that moment.
There’s a kind innocent freedom in lack of awareness. Each generation experiences it in what they take for granted. I grew up in the 50’s and 60’s assuming my community would always be surrounded by acres of apple trees singing to the sun with the tap, tap, chorus of sprinklers. It’s now surrounded by vineyards with silent irrigation.
A glacier-fed lake nourished those years I shared with Ed Sullivan and Howdy Doody. I played in it with the same abandon as the lawns I ran across in my neighborhood. In the fall, the water level fell as the dam released the warm vacation playground, but each spring my endless swimming pool would fill up once again with fresh water from the snow-filled mountains at the head of the lake.
Wealthy wives of early 1800’s England had busy days that often went late into the night.
Wearing the most stunning and appropriate wardrobe to properly represent their husbands’ status in society not only required hours of shopping and fittings at the dress-makers, but there was the constant changing of clothes throughout the day. A lady did not show up to break her fast in the morning without being appropriately dressed and styled by her ladies maid.
It was bad news for those who were having their animal feed raided and their own food stock plucked. It was good news for those who embraced the new occupation: rat catchers. Some entrepreneurs found business where they lived, eking out a living. Others were employed by municipalities while a few lucky men found themselves elevated to royal catchers working for the king.
Survivors of childhood sexual abuse are bound to bump into the howling, painful recognition of being alone in their experience. There was no protection… no soft, understanding place to go when they needed it the most.
It might be nothing more than a moment with a stranger on the other end of a phone call. Yet the vibrating energy of the beliefs, feelings, and thoughts of both of us will spontaneously blend… like watching two rain drops on a windshield form a larger drop that flows across the glass. It’s not good or bad, but being aware of this can empower us as we shape our days.
They were the “Big Three” and the beginning of my adventure with managing technology. Learning how to tell time was essential. Little hands learned to be steady and patient to stop the occasional rolling images or to adjust the shades of gray. And then there was sharing. With so many choices, negotiating with siblings and parents became part of the experience.
Like every young adult throughout the ages, those who were dating or simply wanting to flirt found a way to share what they were thinking in spite of the adults who would guard and fret. Today it is cell phones and text messages. Back then it was fans and gestures.
October 23, 2011
I think any interaction takes place in a bubble of converging energies bouncing off each other, but I set the tone for my experience by what I was thinking, feeling, and believing before I arrived in that moment.
A glacier-fed lake nourished those years I shared with Ed Sullivan and Howdy Doody. I played in it with the same abandon as the lawns I ran across in my neighborhood. In the fall, the water level fell as the dam released the warm vacation playground, but each spring my endless swimming pool would fill up once again with fresh water from the snow-filled mountains at the head of the lake.
Wealthy wives of early 1800’s England had busy days that often went late into the night.
