Turning the other cheek is not the hard part

I've been given insight into an important concept recently that applies to so many areas of life. Of course, my first thought was to write about it. The information came by way of a man that I found on the internet who gives monthly lessons on the radio. His name is Guy Finley, and you can Google his name and find all kinds of links. The one that came my way was this link: Sedona Talk Radio.

Basically, one of his messages is that resistance is futile. We spend all of our energy resisting everything in our lives when we should be surrendering and letting those circumstances change us. Guy Finley tells a story of two angels watching people holding onto ropes that will illustrate this and stick with you forever, so you just have to listen to his talk to get the full impact. This talk is WEEK 1 - “See What God Wants to Give Birth to in You” in May, 2011, at the link above.

At any rate, as long as we resist, the thing we are resisting is not doing its work in transforming us. But that does not mean we have to agree with what is happening, only that we are letting it play out without the usual inner protest, turmoil, and struggle against it. As soon as we let go of the rope we hold in that tug-of-war that goes on, things begin to change.

I'm finding that what I struggled against just dissipates when I stop resisting.

This is exactly the concept of turning the other cheek. The hard part is not turning the cheek, but getting rid of the resistance and fight we are putting up against what is happening.

This has been so graphically illustrated in my life recently when people were turned against me by untrue accusations, yet I no longer am resisting it and trying to do something about it. This has unleashed a growth spurt that has been transforming to such an extent that I am thankful and glad the situation happened. Painful, of course. Intense pain. But the substance of what I am left with as a result far outweighs any pain.

The second stage booster rocket will be igniting

I feel very much as though everything in my life that has carried me along all these years has now burned out like the first stage booster on a rocket. I'm floating in space right now, waiting for ignition on that second stage booster. I don't know where I am going, but it's somewhere.

I am currently transitioning to my maiden name of Grossman. I have to get used to using it again, so I'll start by having it be my writing name.

I'm not now affiliated with any group or radio show, but I am still writing for Examiner.com. I'm a member of a few forums but don't anticipate being active on those.

Change is good, but it surely can be confusing and difficult. I just need to know where this rocket is taking me.

Hibernating

I can't believe it has been so long since I have posted on all my blogs! However, I have been hibernating for a much needed recharge. I'm hoping that by spring, I shall charge forth from my hiding place with a new resolve to keep up with my writing.

Sometimes, you just have to lay things down and lose them in order to want to find them again.

I have been packing a satchel full of books back and forth from the library in the meantime, however, so I have not been completely idle. Much to think about and ponder.

Confessions of a Would Be Novelist

Something is brewing. Fruit is ripening. The initial stirrings of new things are rustling in the rafters of my mind. One of the things that I have always wanted to be is a novelist. Oh, I've written one small novelette and this was to be a series of books. But after writing that, life happened, and I was KO'd and down for the count. The count has been going on for years now. Ten years to be exact since I wrote that book. Now, I am at a crossroads, wondering if I should attempt to do it again. Ten seconds is allowed for a boxer to get to his or her feet after a knockdown. Maybe for me, the number ten was in years, and I am finally gathering my body parts and flexing them to stand.

From all indications, it would appear so. In recent months, my nonfiction writing has jacked up a notch. I am more confident. I finally know that I can write. More people are reading what I have written. But here's the thing. Writing is 10% inspiration, 90% perspiration. My problem is I actually fear that perspiration.

It took me two years to write my first book. Such a commitment! And actually a painful thing to birth characters that will be with me for the rest of my life. These ones become almost like they are real in a parallel world. Writing creatively is much like an altered consciousness. The writer goes into another mode. It affects life around them while they are bringing forth this story.

I feel I must overcome my fear of this commitment. The kind of person that I am dictates that whatever is before me that looms up and begs to be overcome, I have to do it. I must sharpen my sword pen and see how I might slice open the real world with it and insert that which I would create. This just might be the huge wave I am waiting for that will pick up my little rowboat and send it off in a new direction.

Death of the Voice Called Neda

I know that many people in the Middle East hate us and especially in Iran. However, watching the news reports after Iran's presidential election causes me great pain. I think this empathy is occurring all over the world. The infected sore of downtrodden peoples wherever they may be seems to have been lanced by the election tampering there, and pus is spilling out into the streets of that land.

And it is not a worldwide feeling of relief after this lancing. It is only making the wound more sore. It's a feeling of not only unfairness by a ruling factor, but insult after the wounding. They are even poking peoples' eyes out! A Twitter reported this morning that several surgeries have been done where eyeballs have had to be removed after police poked eyes with their sticks.

The Iranian government has unwittingly given the people a rallying point as a result of their violent response to the peaceful demonstrations in the death of the young girl named Neda. I heard or read somewhere that the meaning of Neda is "the voice." In death, this young girl has become more famous than she might ever have become in life.

"The voice" of free speech may even be near death's door in this country as well. Not via a bullet, however. Democratic governments have learned that the way to handle the voice of dissension is to tolerate and ignore it, and if that doesn't work, assassination of character via the news media normally takes care of it.

At this point in history, we may only be able to stand and watch as the end of the voice comes upon us, just as Neda stood and watched the demonstration with her father on the street moments before her own death.

Sometimes the freight train of history creeps along instead of barreling down upon us. Yet it arrives unstoppable.

A Most Fascinating Bird

I continue to be fascinated with the catbird or bowerbird. These birds come in various colors of plumage such as gray, green, black or various others, but it is their mating ritual that sets them apart. Watch this bird make his bower. Completely amazing!

Characters Out of Time

My favorite thing in writing is characterization. A lot of plots and story lines might be forgotten, but when the characterization is at its best, you will never forget those characters. I have read many a book in my day, but when I think upon these, my thoughts mainly focus on the characters. Maybe it's just my age, and I can't remember things as well as I used to, but I like to think that I am remembering what is most important.

I would bet that there are few people who might read this blog who will remember Tambrey Tyree or "Tammy" from the book, "Tammy Out of Time" by Cid Ricketts Sumner. I remember the day I found this book, already old and yellow, in our bookshelf at my family home in Columbus, Ohio. This was a great find on a boring summer afternoon. It had belonged to my grandmother, and if I did Roman Numerals, I would tell you what year it was copyrighted. Later on, Debbie Reynolds played this character in a couple of movies. But the characterization in the book was the very best. I still have this book, around fifty years later, and consider it one of my greatest treasures.

I love the characterization in the short story, "Sitting in the Catbird Seat," by James Thurber as well. I thought of that story and named this blog in honor of it. This got me to thinking about James Thurber and I realized I had not really read a lot of his stuff. Amazon had a used copy of the complete works of James Thurber, so I splurged and bought it. That may be fodder for other blog entries.

Maybe it is just me, but in recent times, I have not come across many characters who become bigger than the page and remain almost like real people who will endure forever. People who made it sad to finish the book because you were leaving them and would never venture upon another story trail with them again.

I think perhaps I have been left behind in a general change of culture where it's "the faster the better," "more action please," and "don't get too deep into their minds." I don't even like a lot of the characters and could care less what they are doing.

The characterization, at least in my opinion, that remains as the best example of creating a totally unique character in the fewest amount of words is C. S. Lewis' Eustace Scrubb from "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader." The first sentence of this book says it all: "There was a boy called Eustace Scrubb, and he almost deserved it."

Gee, I love that kind of talk!