Jumbojava's Blog

              Many years ago I was a nurse aide on the pediatrics floor at a hospital. One morning I arrived to find that a few hours before a 3-year-old boy had arrived on full life support. His mother's boyfriend had sexually assaulted him then thrown him against the bathroom sink, shattering the child’s skull. The pediatric ICU was a madhouse.  Doctors, specialists, administration, the police, the hysterical mother and her family were all there. Every professional was already present, furiously trying to save this little curly blond haired child’s life.  All morning I felt the strong urge to be able to go in and silently say a prayer over the child. Yet being only a CAN, I had no reason to be in there unless I was sent for. I strongly felt I needed to pray over him or at least try and touch and send this child some healing energies. After several hours it was clear I would never be able to get near the child so I decided to walk past the ICU doors and ‘throw’ a prayer towards the child. I reached the doors, glanced in and mentally said a simple prayer of healing.

 

What I saw next left me stunned. As I ‘threw’ the prayer time seemed to pause as I was literally in mid step. The ICU doors and the whole ceiling of the ward had vanished, revealing a multitude of color and light streaming down. The entire room was suddenly filled with Angels. They were everywhere! They were of every color of the rainbow, their energies flowing around and amidst each other and all within the room. They had wings but they were more extensions of their vivid colors as they flowed and moved. There were several Angels for around every person in the room. I could sense more than hear a myriad of voices and song; voices from the thoughts of all the people, song and singing from the Angel.  The intricacies of all the energies in the room was incredible, like an improve symphony.  The song and energies of the Angels was a deep sense of love and devotion. Even though the humans were in a frenzied state of panic and action, the Angels were pouring incredible Love and Healing upon all there, assisting the people as they fought to save this little toddler. Dozens of Angels surrounded each doctor, nurse, police officer, family member, and admisinstator. They hovered and flowed around their person sending Loving energy and song into every one. Some Angels seemed literally to merge with their person, working through the person’s hands. The incredible Love and Joy these Angels were pouring into everyone was overwhelming. All was awash in a brilliant Light shining down from above which also emanated with its own vibrant music and singing that was much too high for my senses to interpret.  I was speechless for all this for I was seeing this with my physical eyes. I felt, sensed the Singing within my very being, down to my core, my soul and it sang back in recognition. I was held in place, frozen in mid step, in mid breath; caught in that place between times, between realities.  I was astounded, astonished, yet also felt a strong familiarity and my heart was leaping in Joy for I remember this Song! I could also sense my own Angels around me hovering just out of sight, singing Love and Joy to me also. As I witnessed this incredible scene unfolding in front of me I noticed that there were no Angels with the little boy. Perhaps sensing my concern my attention was drawing to my right and I understood why the Angels were not around the child;

 

To my right I saw a gently rising ramp or path glowing like gold, extending upwards to disappear within the Light. There, halfway up the glowing golden ramp surrounded by numerous Angels, was the little curly blond haired boy. An Angel was on each side holding his hands, pointing towards the top of the ramp where a beautiful brilliant multi-color Light streamed down upon them. It was breathtaking! An Angel came and hovered in front of me. It smiled brilliantly, sending the same Love and Light directly into my heart and mind, washing trough me like a warm tide. I still recall the incredible unfathomable Joy that radiated from this brilliant being, this Angel. "It is okay,” the Angel sang to my soul, sending Light and Music swirling around me. "We have him now. He is going Home. We thank you for your prayers. Your prayers are always strong and always welcomed!"

 

Then abruptly, it was over. The room returned to normal and my feet finished the step I had been in. Immediately I turned to duck into the Staff lounge, went into the bathroom and cried for several minutes as I digested what I had just witnessed.  Many times I have felt Angels around me, but this was the first time I had witnessed such an event. I felt blessed yet sad for I knew I could not yet share what I had seen.  I straightened myself up and went back out to the ward, knowing what was going to soon occur, and it did; within the half hour the child passed away for he had gone Home.

 

This is not the first time I have seen the Angels.  I would see them many times over the years, including when they took my older brother Home after he suffered a massive coronary and passed away many years ago, and also when my Father went Home.  I have seen others escorted Home and each time it fills me with joy for there is no real death, only a transition of worlds. We all will one day go Home and we celebrate along with the Angels our return.

 

The Divine views each individual on this world as very unique and incredibly precious, regardless of faith, religion, life style, culture or mentality. The Angels work with everyone from all walks of life for they and the Divine knows every heart. The Divine deeply loves all equally and eternally, never forsaking anyone for any reason, constantly sending Love and Healing Light into each and every single one of us.  The Divine and the Angels are working with us always, gently, softly guiding us in our life walk upon the Earth They view as very important and an honor is . And sometimes, when you least expect it, They may reveal Themselves to you and you too will recognize the Song the Angels and the Divine is constantly singing to us with its simple yet profound message: You are Loved and always have been.

 

So, the next time you go to bed, and in that briefest moment before you fall asleep and your mind is between worlds, when your mind drifts into that twilight space, sometimes you are dreamily aware of a warm Light and you hear Song of Home singing within your heart. And you smile for you know intuitively and without words that you are Loved beyond measure.

 

I share this now for I think it is time for it to be shared.  This is a messiage of Hope and Love, of Potential and of Peace.  We each and all have the capablity to  Loving and have Compassion for each other and all things. This is a call to remember who we really are and strive to walk in a good way, to be the Love, be the Peace, be the Healing, be the Forgiveness we want to see, what we need to be.  We can do it for the Divine has faith in us.  Now is the time. The Divine and all the Angels are here to help.  We can do it.

 

Be the Peace,

 

~jj

Just curious....

It's that time again; the time of year where we decide it's time to tackle what we all have. And we have loads of it. We have it stashed everywhere. It seems to accumulate when we aren't looking, growing like a weed we seem to miss every time we mow - growing, multiplying. Before long it's out of control, spilling out, taking up more space. What is it?

I call it "stuff."

You know what stuff is. Papers, magazines, toys, tools, clothes, photos, knickknacks and baubles, scraps of this or that, you name it. Stuff is what we decide to keep, for it might just come in handy some day. Sometimes we have plans for our stuff, plans that seem to keep getting pushed back or forgotten. Lots of stuff we keep for there are memories attached that we don't want to forget. We've got boxes of it, piled on shelves, stacked in closets, shoved under the beds. We stuff our stuff in all available corners of countertops, cupboards, garages and basements. We stash stuff into the attic, pile it in the garage, stack it in the corner of the office or the desk, stick it in the spare room that we intend to turn into a den or extra bedroom someday but never seem to get around to. Stuff is everywhere.

Sometimes we even rent out space to stuff our stuff in, or keep at a friend or relative's place. We cling to our stuff like dryer lint on the screen. Oh, and we can sure be possessive with our stuff! "I want that stuff for a reason so hands off my stuff, bub!" So we hang on tight to our stuff, not quite willing to let it go, cluttering up our space.

So, I found myself faced with the daunting job of going though my own spring cleaning, surrounded by the rather heaping mounds of out of control stuff spread out all over the bedroom, back room, basement and the shed out back. And I wondered as I stood there, with sweat on my brow, other boxes ready to stuff more stuff into, stacked teetering, threatening to spill their stuff all over the floor: just what is this stuff anyway? Why am I keeping all this stuff?

Meditating on this, I was struck with how our stuff often reflects our life. We are clingers, or, "cling-ons", if you will. We cling onto a lot of stuff, much of it emotional. Often we hold on to for it gives us a sense of hope; someday this will happen, someday I will do this, some day I will have this and then I will be happy. There is the stuff of happy times, memories that make you smile and laugh, warming your heart. This can be good stuff, and can be beneficial. But there is other stuff that seems to gather in the corners of our lives, clogging up our hearts and minds, often overshadowing the happier memories: the painful kind.

This is the stuff we carry around the most, the stuff that clutters the heart: the hurts, the wounds and the injuries done to us throughout life. We've all been victims at one time or another. The pain of these wounds can be difficult to work through. Sometimes these are accidental, like sitting at a stoplight and suddenly being hit by a driver not paying attention. Sometimes (and these to me are the hardest) are the intentional hurts. We are targets of another's anger or pain, sometimes accidentally by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes it is intentional. And, perhaps the most difficult of all, the pain of when we have hurt another. All these we seem to carry the longest: the intentional wounds and the guilt.

All these can leave deep scars, deep wounds of body, heart and spirit. We tend to carry these long after the body has healed. Healing of the heart and spirit can take much longer. Often we tend to cling to the hurts.

To let go of all our stuff is the spring cleaning of our spirit, the soul, of our hearts.

There are many ways and techniques to helping ourselves heal from our wounds. All of it takes time, each working with their healing in their own timetable. Eventually though, comes the time of letting it go. This most always requires us to do the most difficult thing: to forgive.

Forgiveness has been referred to as a gift we give to ourselves. And I agree. It can be the single most liberating thing we can do to foster our own healing. This is especially important for the hardest form of forgiveness, the forgiveness of self.

Most of us carry our guilt like Atlas carrying the weight of the world upon his shoulders, as something we feel we must do alone lest we do it again or forget. Can we ever forget the pain? I don't think so, but we can come to grow beyond it. We may still carry the scar, but we can let go of the pain. Odd as it may sound, scars are sometimes needed. They can be reminders of pain we've endured, and in this we share with many. That shared understanding with another who has been though similar pain can be the catalyst for the healing to begin and forgiveness possible.

This to me is the most empowering thing that is needed in our healing, the knowing that others understand and are willing to help us carry our pain.

So, as we begin preparations for that spring cleaning of the garage, the closet and attic from all the stuff we've accumulated and held on to for so long, maybe we should also consider the spring cleaning of our self and learn to let go of the stuff cluttering up our hearts.

Spring is just around the corner. So is healing. So is forgiveness. Oh, it can be daunting, facing that mound of clutter and stuff. But we can do it. All we need to do is start by simply letting it go.

I wrote this back in August of '06. Enjoy. ;)


Back in late summer of 1996 I returned home to the Midwest to take care of my aging parents. Nestled in your typical small Midwestern town my parent's place was small; a converted three-car garage; just too tiny for the three of us. After living there the winter and spring, the landlord had a bigger house come available that a few blocks away and we moved in.

As we were moving into our newer place with two lots and two nice big trees, I immediately noticed the next-door neighbor's privacy fence between our lot and theirs. It was big, old and an ugly red fence and it made me a bit defensive. The landlords said the man and his wife that lived there was not all that nice. Their opinion and my defensive feelings seemed quickly justified when we noticed the neighbor regularly let their unfriendly dog out each morning to do its business, usually on our side of the fence. We had our own dog that we never let out without being on his lead and his dog seemed to want to pick a fight with ours, so it became a routine gripe with my folks and myself. Discussed amongst friends and family it became common knowledge that this neighbor was just a jerk.

Winter came and it was a bad one. One morning I noticed with admitted smugness that the recent round of nasty weather had brought down a big section of the neighbor's big old, ugly red fence. He repaired it withing a day, but it was only time before it would eventually come down completely.

In early spring, I come home from work and was surprised; the big, old, ugly red fence was gone. In its place was a bright and shiny four-foot chain link fence with two gates. I was impressed for it really looked nice, and our lawns seemed to merge together naturally giving both a spacious and warm feeling.

Then it happened.

My neighbor and I started to talk to each other.

It began innocently enough one morning while we both were walking our dogs. We waved across the fence "Morning, neighbor!" As the spring and summer blossomed, so did our friendship. We leaned on the fence with him and his lovely wife and chatted. "Nice day! How is your garden coming? Those tomatoes are looking good. How's work? How are things going with y'all?" We swapped vegetables and stories of our lives. Even our dogs got along. No longer were we strangers, separated by a big old ugly, red fence. We were neighbors.

In the late summer of 2000, we had a torrential rain overnight and we flooded. Our neighbor and I woke up at 4:30 a.m. to find three feet of water at our doorstep. Without hesitation, we went down the street alerting our other still sleeping neighbors, I taking the alley that was still above the water, my neighbor wading down the street in the opposite direction up to his hips. By midday, the rain had stopped and the waters receded. Everyone checked on each other. Many shared sump-pumps, sandwiches and coffee and help salvage things out of each other's basements. Despite the fact of property lost and damage everyone was in good spirits. No one had been injured; we still had our homes, and most importantly, our neighbors.

Looking back I realized the old ugly red fence had been nothing more than a fence. The division that first existed between our neighbors and us was a result of assumptions and conditioning. Fences and walls say loudly "Stay away from me!" thus I reacted in kind; "I don't want anything to do with you!" I made the classic and age-old mistake of assuming without first knowing. I assumed my neighbor was a jerk because I was told he was a jerk. I believed it without question. I reacted toward him in the same manner: I was a jerk. In reality I didn't even know him. When the fence came down and we found ourselves face to face for the first time, we found that we were what we had always been: neighbors. We had the same needs, dreams, and desires; to live a healthy and happy life with our loved ones and friends, in a safe place we can call home. The fence was never an issue. Our perceptions of each other was. There is only one thing that was for certain and I failed -no, I refused to see it at the time for I felt I was right- that we were the same.

I feel this lesson has been demonstrated repeatedly to all of us the last several years; the most recent and striking close to home and heart: the storms of the last couple weeks.

Whether they are physical, cultural or psychological, these fences and walls are often unquestioned and taken as the norm. Many are set in place before we arrive, added to, perpetuated and passed on to the next. Take away all the things we put up between us; status, prestige, money, processions, culture, history, and we quickly are reminded that we are all the same people, of the same tribe: the Tribe of Humanity.

The fences, walls and barriers are changing worldwide. Some greet this with welcome and reach out to greet their neighbors, while others react with fear and rebuild their fences and walls. Now, perhaps timidly at first yet steady and sure, I feel more and more of us are beginning to tear down our old fences and walls, extending across a hand, smiling and saying, "Morning, neighbor!"

~jj

A few years ago, my mother and I were heading down the road to do some shopping at the next town. We live in fairly rural county, so jumping in the car and going shopping in a town 20 miles away is a daily activity. On the way just out of town, we passed the local roadside flea market. You've seen them before. Usually a worn out little building in dire need of repair or a bulldozer, overflowing with stuff you can't even unload at a yard sale. So naturally, we decide to stop in.

Mom went inside while I checked out the various piles outside on tables in the parking lot. This was the stuff that is usually so worthless that it should be tossed completely. Badly chipped dishes and glasses, rusty parts from unknown machinery, tarnished and bent silverware, old and rusted tools, faded toys and weather worn books, you name it. I didn't expect to find anything. But hey, it's always fun to look around anyway. You never know when you'll find a treasure.

I was about to leave and join Mom inside when I glanced in one last, old cardboard box. I picked up a little black leather bound book, badly worn by being outside in the elements for who knows how long. I flipped through it, thinking it to be a Bible and found it to be a diary instead, written in faded pencil by a hand that seemed to find writing a challenge.

I stopped and closed it, feeling a bit guilty for having intruded onto someone's inner most thoughts. I felt foolish next, telling myself the owner must be long gone or else it would not be on this table. I opened it again and looked randomly at a date, the 1940s. I put the book down back into its box. Inside it I noticed that there were a few items that obviously belonged to a man. Cufflinks, rusty shaver, tie clips, broken glasses and the diary.

Inside this box were the remnants of this person's life. Everything he ever was, now reduced to a few discarded and useless items. His diary, normally a very personal possession, was now nothing more than a molded forgotten flicker of memories, long since gone. All his achievements, hopes and dreams, his entire life, now just an old box of useless yard sale trinkets left out in the weather to rot.

I stood there and stared for a long moment. A strange feeling had me. Questions flooded my mind like a strange, surreal waterfall.

Who was this forgotten man? What was his name? Where was his family? Why had they let his diary lay out here in a box on a warped wooden table in a parking lot on the side of a rural road? Why had they abandoned the last things left of his life here like junk?

I heard Mom call over and I finally, almost reluctantly left the table. She had found a purchase and I was soon checking out the items in the shop. A few moments later, we left and headed on our way to go shopping.

But the box with its little black book held my thoughts for another week. I felt that I should have bought it. Doing so would give this man some honor in a way, I felt. Even though I knew I would probably never read it and put it on a shelf somewhere. But at least his written thoughts of his life would live on a little longer. It seemed the least I could do. I had to go and get that little black book. So I did.

I was shocked to find that the little roadside flea market had closed up and cleared out. It was all gone, including the box with the little black book and remnants of someone's life.

But its effect had not left me.

I find myself sitting and looking at all that is me now. Surveying all that I am and what I have accomplished. I stare at all that I own and wonder where it will all go when I am gone. I have no family, so there are no children to distribute my once prized and precious possessions. My brothers will inherit my things, if they find a need for them, either emotionally or practical. Will they find my odds and ends useful, meaningful and memorable? Will they take care of my cats and dog? Will they tend to my plants and bushes I have spent years cultivating? Since I rent, will the next tenants find them pleasing or weeds to be pulled?

Will my clothes be passed on or left at a thrift shop? What of my books and furniture? Who will get those? Where will all of it end up?

And what of me?

Will my memories end up in a box as well some day? I don't keep a diary, so my deepest thoughts and insights will go with me. If I write them down, will they be cherished and remembered? I have written out a few of my ramblings on my computer. Will they be saved or the hard drive wiped for newer programs? Or will all I leave behind end up in a box on a table out in the weather in a parking lot alongside the road? Or simply end up in the trash?

What will I leave behind?

And what of my future?

Do I really need that big house on the hill I sometimes wish I had? Do I really need a big fancy car or appliances? Do I really need a huge entertainment center? Do I really need designer labels and accessories? Do I really need all the latest and greatest gadgets and garments out there?

When I am gone, it will all mean nothing to me then. It is now stuff to be sorted through and dispersed, sold or discarded.

All these questions have been on my mind for several years now. I find myself constantly re-evaluating my life, my goals, my needs and intentions.

I have come to a few simple ways of looking at things I am and do now:

What am I doing now, at this moment?

Am I doing something meaningful, fulfilling, enjoyable?

Am I accomplishing something necessary and helpful?

Am I being true to myself and honest with my endeavors?

Am I helpful to others?

Am I being the best human being I can be?

Are the inanimate objects that filled my life with the goal, or just necessities I needed to fulfill the above questions?

When all is said and done, what will be left behind that was myself?

When all is said and done, will I be content in the knowledge that I have done all I could do with what I had available to me?

Am I happy?

I ponder these daily. For the most part, I go to bed feeling that I have spent my day in a meaningful way. Some days I feel I could have done better. And some days I know I could have done way better! All in all, I think I am doing the best I can.

For that is what matters.

I can only hope that the things, thoughts and memories I leave behind will be meaningful for the family and friends that have known me. My hope is that I will have lived well, helped much, laughed often, loved always and strived to never let myself one day become a discarded life in a box.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As we near this time of year that we call Thanksgiving, I find myself along with many reflecting on just what the holiday means. This past Sunday afternoon at our regular weekly meeting of friends and family I brought this up and asked them to share their thoughts. Beyond the traditional teachings of pilgrims and Indians and the feast of turkey, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, what did Thanksgiving mean to them? The one overwhelming observation shared by all was summed up in one single word: "gratitude." Gratitude is a powerful word. For me it asks you to think and reflect, to be honest with yourself. The dictionary says gratitude it is a feeling of thankfulness and appreciation. What exactly does that mean? How does one practice the act of gratitude, of being thankful, of giving thanks? Reflecting on this I am reminded of the quote from the Shawnee leader Tecumseh: "Live your life so that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about his religion. Respect others in their views and demand that they respect yours. Love your life: perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and of service to your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day you go over the great divide. Always give a word or sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, or even a stranger, if in a lonely place. Show respect to all people, but grovel to none. When you rise in the morning give thanks for the light, for your life, for your strength. Give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault is in yourself. Touch not the poisonous firewater that makes the wise ones turn to fools and robs the spirit of its vision. When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so when their time comes, they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song like a hero going home." Powerful words to live by. Harder still, to live up to. Gratitude for me is more than just an attitude or a feeling and much more than celebrating a single holiday out of the year. It is a way of life. Imagine living your life giving thanks for all of it all the time. The good, the bad, the joys, the pains, the accomplishments and defeats, the gains and the losses. It's not weighing one against the other, which experiences are more important, were more painful, the most joyous, for all are meaningful. It's being grateful, appreciative and thankful for all of it, equally. Each and every day has shaped our life, our world and how we live in it. Gratitude is a way of living by being thankful for all of it all of the time. Difficult to do? It can be, and perhaps, maybe it should be. Living a life of gratitude calls us to constantly be aware of your thoughts and actions; to be honest with oneself. It requires a lot of looking within, reflecting and pondering on what shapes our world. All this requires humility, diligence, dedication and honesty. It requires us to look at life and how we are living it. Are we living in a healthy and humble manner? Are we living a life worth sharing, one worth passing on to our young ones? What is the path we are walking? What is our life teaching others? Are we being real? And perhaps this is the crux of living a life of gratitude: being real. Being real is about being honest. It's about the willingness to put aside the ego, the willingness to see beyond what we think we know, to admit to ourselves that we don't know everything. In fact, in the scheme of things, we probably know very little. Life isn't just about PhDs and degrees behind our name. It isn't about all that money we may have in the bank and 401(k)s. It isn't about the big fancy RV we use maybe twice a year or that diamond ring we keep in that lock box that only comes out for big parties. What are those things anyway? What are those all about? Is that what you are going to share with others? The stuff we've accumulated? All those things aside, what is it that is real that you have to share and live for? What is it that you have lived and experienced that you give thanks for? Is it the things in our life? Or is it your life? Or is it the living of life? Living a life of gratitude is giving thanks for each breath with each breath. All we have is the moment. Give thanks for that. Give thanks with each breath, with each heartbeat. For in reality that's all we really have. Everything else, all we own, all we think we know and have figured out, all of it in any given moment can be swept away, leaving only ourselves standing alone to face the storm. Gratitude is giving thanks for the moment, giving thanks for the storm and the sunshine. For the storm is teaching you how to be strong, not to break you down. The storms of life are to keep us real and help us understand the sunshine in our lives. Each and all of it has shaped us, and will continue to teach us. That is life. We learn by living it. Share what you have learned, your wisdom, your pains, your joys, your sorrows, your life, others lives. All of it is worthy, all of it precious. When's the last time you gave thanks? Gave thanks for the sunrise? Gave thanks for the rains? Have you gave thanks for your cashier at Wal-Mart? Have you given thanks for the guy who just cut you off in traffic? For that fall leaf that you found on your doorstep? For the food on your plate, for all the hands that took to get the food to your plate? We are all interconnected with each other; we are reliant on each other in some way. Whether it be the farmer who raised the food on your plate or the cotton in your shirt, the trucker who brought it to the factory, the workers who prepared the food or garment, the delivery driver, the un-loaders, the stock boy, the cook, the waitress, the cashier, to the food and plants themselves. When is the last time you took in consideration how they all have helped you live your life? When is the last time you gave thanks to all of them? Life is full of wonders, some of it good, some of it not so good. All of it is a blessing, even if we don't think so. Giving thanks is the act of being grateful. Are you willing to give thanks to all of it, for each and every minute of it? What are you grateful for? What would you like to share? On this coming day where we will gobble 'til we wobble, remember to give thanks for the rest of the year, the rest of your days, for your life, for every breath, for every heartbeat, in you and in others. Give thanks for all of it, honor it, and share it. Celebrate it! Happy Thanksgiving! ~jj

Just saying 'Hi!'. ;)

More when I have the time to write....

~jj