When is laughter not good?

For the most part, laughter is good, welcome, wonderful. Laughing is good for the body—it shakes up your internal organs. It’s good for the environment—a lone laugher can stir an entire busload of strangers into a guffawing fit. We can assume it’s good for the soul. Although, I suppose that could be argued who can prove it? So, when is laughter not good? It’s not good when one—okay, I confess, I’m talking about myself here—has a weird sense of humor (apparently.) 

I can’t crack a smile at slap stick humor. Practical jokes annoy me. I cringe at the videos of people or animals caught in acts where they barely escape something dangerous or painful. But, just let someone drop a sloppy, gooey, cheese-covered, full-on lettuce, tomato, onion Burger King hamburger in the middle of his lap, in the middle of the parking lot, in his new, spanking clean truck and I’m off. Fits of snorting, hooting, hand-covering-mouth, clutching stomach, rocking laughter.

 “Mom. It’s not funny.”

Snort, snort. “I know. But”—snort, hoot, wipe eyes—“it will be. Some day”—guffaw, snort, rock wildly holding stomach—“you’ll laugh about this.”  I wave a limp hand at the ketchup sprayed on the dashboard, pick up a wad of mushy lettuce and a glob of cheesy bun, slop it onto the limp, tattered, cardboard tray. There are two of us in the truck and it’s clear from the look on his scowling face, I’m the only one who is remotely amused.  He’s swiping at the slimy globs of goo with the one tissue-paper thin, gum-wrapper sized napkin so generously included with his burger. My napkin is beyond use from wiping my eyes. Hoot. Hoot. Snort. Rock wildly, kick feet. Hand fisted into my mouth to keep myself from laughing. Useless. Laughing so hard, I can’t get my breath. “I’m not laughing”—snort, hoot—"at you.”

“Mom.”

“I know. I know. It’s not funny.”  Snort, hoot. “But it will be.” Ha ha ha. “Some day. You’ll laugh about this.”

It’s been four years. I still laugh about it. I don’t dare ask if he thinks it’s funny, yet.

Some day …

Listen to the Whisper in Your Heart

Sometimes, it’s not helpful to hear “be positive” or “smile” or “there’s a silver lining in every cloud” when your world is crashing around you. Slapping a smile on your face doesn’t change the facts of mental, physical, or emotional wreckage that periodically erupts in life. So, what might help? Being realistic about what hurts, acknowledging “what is,” feeling the pain or disappointment, and then settling into the moment of “now” and allowing the peace in your heart to speak or sing. It might be a whisper, but trust that it’s there and wants to be heard.

Words Can Hurt

Words can hurt.

From a young age, I heard the adage ‘Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can never hurt you’ and knew it was a lie. The sting of cruel, unkind, insulting, or angry words can last far longer than a slap, can wound for a lifetime, can linger, unforgotten and sometimes unforgiven. And a lie told about you?—don’t get me started how that can fester and harm forever—reputation and soul.

Yesterday, I was in a funk—feeling aggrieved, bitter, and sorry for myself for reasons I won’t go into. They’re not important for what I want to say. I felt closed in, cut off, misunderstood, half crazy, strangling with what I wanted to say: my words would have caused resentment, would undoubtedly been misunderstood, would have wounded and hurt. They needed to be said—to me.

In that miserable funk, I wrote a poem. I titled it “I Knew a Girl.” I pored out my heart in pathetic, whining, “poor me” poetry in (imperfect) iambic pentameter for two pages in Word. Writing it was cathartic. It allowed me to laugh, to reflect, to remember “that girl who used to sing”—"that girl with hope in her heart.”

My words hurt no one—and they won’t. I wrote it for me, no other, and it helped. I knew a girl and she is me—filled with hope for a better, more peaceful world.

What Do Bears, Badgers, Eagles and Tigers Have to Do with Meditation?

I was scouring through my files in preparation for "The Wondering Mind" newsletter about ESP, meditation, and shamanism when I came upon the following notes, hastily sketched after a silent, group meditation on a summer's night in 1991.  I had received the images and understandings that night, prior to any of the events that later unfolded. This information came...

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ESP Every Day

ESP every day. How do you enhance your ESP?  It happens to you.  For some reason, out-of-the-blue, thoughts about a person you know pop into your head.  The phone rings.  Surprise!  The person about whom you were thinking is calling you.  Or, you're in the kitchen humming a song.  You turn on the radio and that same song is playing. Or perhaps you're driving your car, hurtling along toward a blind corner, when suddenly you get a sense of danger and

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Attitude and Gratitude in a Sweat Lodge: A Personal Perspective

The following is a true story.  It's not meant to be a commentary about Sweat Lodges or Spirituality. Nor is it meant to minimize, criticize, or poke fun at the sacredness of the Sweat Lodge. I wrote it purposely as partly serious, partly tongue-in-cheek. That's my approach to life. Partly serious. Partly humorous. The story is meant to describe what it was. An experience. My experience. Then. Was it profound? No. Truly profound experiences are rare. Was it useful? Yes. I have since participated in dozens of “sweats.” Each experience has been different. It is

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Practicing Painting Portraits

The portraits that I include in this post are not from photos that I have taken. They are from the internet and were chosen purely for my own practice in learning how to paint a portrait. These “practice paintings” have not been done with an intention of selling them or distributing them in any way for market purposes. They are strictly for my learning how to paint.

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