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.

Writing, a Silent Witness

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.

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 immediately slow down.  Rounding the bend, you see an accident and, had you not slowed down, you would have plowed into it. Events like these happen to all of us at one time or another.  Often we shrug our shoulders and think its just coincidence.  But is it?  Or is it evidence of a human sense, often referred to commonly as a "sixth sense" or as extrasensory perception (ESP), that we do not fully understand?  Further, do we need to "understand" something to be able to effectively use it?  I think not.

We don't understand a great deal about the way our brain works and yet, we think, we plan, we wonder.  And even though most of us when we move an arm, wiggle a toe, or take a breath, don't have an in depth understanding of the incredible complexity involved in these functions, we manage to navigate through our days without that conscious knowledge.  Likewise, a lack of understanding about how our innate ESP abilities work need not dampen our enthusiasm for using and perfecting them.  We can develop and strengthen our ESP through practice, just as we can develop and strengthen any other skill or ability.

ESP is an ability to receive or send information above and beyond what may be attributable only through our five objective senses of sight, sound, smell, taste, or touch.  Hence, the term "sixth sense."   Lyn Buchanan, in his book, "The Seventh Sense: The Secrets of Remote Viewing as Told by a Psychic Spy for the U.S. Military makes a case that the sixth sense is not psychic, but is a "sense of ambience."   Buchanan presents compelling arguments for viewing ambience separately from the other five senses.

Buchanan notes that ambience is often experienced or felt, "sensed",  in a similar manner among people in certain places or situations. For instance, ambience is walking into a room and feeling the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, or entering a huge cathedral and sensing a reverent hush, or entering a building and feeling repelled and in danger. Some people are more aware of ambience than others; but, as with ESP, ambience can be taught. Buchanan asserts the psychic sense is a seventh sense that incorporates all the other senses with ambience.

Similar to Buchanan, Jose Silva, founder of the famed Silva Method of Mind Development and Stress Controlhad his own spin on ESP. Some people might remember the original title of Silva's work as "The Silva Mind Control Method", also the title of one of his many books. The name was changed due to misinterpretation of what was meant by "mind control" and how it was intended to be used and, so the story goes, due also to a military interest in how said mind control might be engaged for military purposes.  I digress. Jose did not like the term extrasensory perception as he did not believe that ESP was "extra" and he did not believe that it could properly be termed as "perception."  He coined the phrase "Effective Sensory Projection" - ESP. Part of the curriculum The Silva Method teaches is that we do not simply perceive, but that we actually project our awareness to where the information is; remote viewing, in essence.

In Silva we do not teach people to be psychic.  We operate from a premise that we know they are psychic.  We teach exercises and techniques to tap into that innate ability.

Although I honor the work and research done by many of these great thinkers and see merit in most of the theories about ESP, I tend not to want to separate ESP into neatly packaged, defined categories. Separation, by definition, splits wholeness, thereby interfering with or obstructing a free-flow of information within the whole. Witness the attempts by modern medicine to extract or separate mind from body; and even further, separate the body into various body parts, separate from mind; as if there were no flow of information between them.

The nature of ESP is free flow of information. For instance, to me ambience is not so much a clearly, separate sense from our five objective senses, but is more of a collective sense. For me it's cohesive and inclusive of visual, auditory, olfactory, et cetera, sensory cues, of beliefs and values, and of the environment. It's a "feeling" sense with a kick or a hint of spice or, well, you get the picture.

If you feel that you cannot use your ESP unless you can easily and fully dissectwhether you're using a sixth sense, a seventh sense,  an effective sense, or ten cents (I know - bad joke), the market is flooded with some good, some not-so-good, books about ESP, remote viewing, et cetera, that you might want to peruse.  I suggest, in choosing useful, interesting, enlightening, or entertaining books that you use your ESP to help you in your search.

For example, before you walk into a bookstore, have in mind that you will receive some kind of "knowing" about a book or magazine that will prove useful for you about whatever topic you have in mind.  Then, let that thought go.  Enter the bookstore and browse.  People have reported various experiences with this exercise.

One woman related to me that, after asking her inner wisdom for help in choosing a book and, admittedly skeptical about the process, she strolled into the designated store, walked near a shelf of books, only to have a book fall off an upper shelf, drop to the floor at her feet, and open up.  She had not touched the shelf, nor had she seen the book before it fell.  Astonished, she picked it up and realized the opened page had information about which she had asked!

Ask.  It can be that simple. Information doesn't always come in such dramatic fashion as happened to the woman noted above; it can often be subtle or partial or enigmatic. So ask again. And again, if you need to. You may have a niggling feeling about a person or a situation that makes you uneasy. Pay attention. Pay attention to seeming coincidences.  Notice what is going on around you, your surroundings.  When the phone rings, take a moment to "sense" who it might be.  As you flip through a magazine in a doctor's office, periodically test to see if you can sense what is on the next page; what colors, objects, topic, ad, or whatever. Use a deck of playing cards and practice "seeing" what the card is before you turn it over and look at it.  Most of all, relax and have fun with it.

Most people, if not all, have ESP abilities in varying degrees.  The ability is often likened to other types of talents, such as, musical ability, athletic ability, artistic ability or mathematical ability.  Some people are naturally gifted with some talents and easily excel in them.  Others must learn and practice and work to become adequate or accomplished.  But nearly everyone can learn how to play a musical instrument or ride a bike or draw a picture.  The same holds true for fine-tuning and perfecting psychic abilities.  Practice. Practice. Practice.   Perhaps as important as practice, if not more important, is to acknowledge that you have ESP ability.

ESP generally consists of five categories:

• Telepathy - a mind-to-mind communication

• Clairvoyance - seeing events or objects or both through an inner sight

• Psychometry - an ability to learn about an object by touching it (i.e. who it belonged to, where it's been, life events about the owner, etc.)

• Precognition - seeing events before they happen

• Retrocognition - seeing or viewing past events

Play around with ESP as part of your life, every day. Use it. Don't lose it.

While wandering through your wondering mind whether in a shamanic journey, a dream, a guided visualization or any other form of information gathering, consider the following:

• SET AN INTENTION (ask a question, ask for a healing, etc) .

• REMEMBER EVERYTHING YOU CAN :

  • where (home, school, forest, distant planet, backyard...?)

  • who (friend, family, stranger, archetypal figure, rock star...?)

  • what (objects, events, situations... what's happening?)

  • when (nighttime, 503 BCE, your six-year-old birthday party..?)

  • feelings (fear, happy, confused, angry...?)

• TRUST YOUR ABILITY TO INTERPRET YOUR INNER GUIDANCE

• KEEP A JOURNAL. Record your dreams, journeys, etc. You'll be amazed. I recently read through a journal about shamanic journeys I did nearly eight years ago and was astonished at the relevancy and immediacy my notes still held for me.

"ESP Every Day" is an article written by Sue Jamieson in April 2007 for "The Wondering Mind" newsletter on her former website, highland-shamanism.com.

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 what it is. Some are very hot. Some are miserable. Some are gentle. I get out of it what I need at the time. Or I don't. It's a sacred ceremony; a spiritual experience; a tool. It's neither an end all, be all, must do source of self-discovery nor a fast-track to God, The Great Spirit, or the Divine. It's a way. Not the way.

I repeatedly see what I term “The Divine Bovine.” Seekers of Divinity settling for “bovinity.” The herd. Plodding along, hypnotized by the fly swishing tail of the follower presently in front of them. People, who out of frustration, desperation, fear, curiosity and/or ennui lose themselves in the latest “New Age Rage”, or cult, or revivified/rejuvenated ancient tradition, or traditional religion, and, with glazed eyes, hail it as the only way. There are many ways. Whether it's a medicine man in a sweat lodge, a guru, a minister, a priest, a rabbi, a Jehovah's Witness, or a cricket in a brass cage, pay attention to whether or not you're blindly, vacantly following or whether you're being inspired.

I fiercely support a person's right to his/her Spiritual practice of choice. The operative word here is “choice.” True choice comes from within. If you choose to follow, so be it. Go for it. But, be aware. Be alert. Pay attention to what type of follower you are. There are multiple definitions of “follow.” Webster lists at least 14. They include: (9) to take as a model, act in accordance with, imitate. (10) to accept the authority of, obey (11) to support or advocate the ideas, opinions, etc of, and (12) to watch or listen closely. We all follow something, someone, sometimes. Follow with vigilance. Follow with awareness. Follow with choice. Sometimes being a “perfect (10)” isn't what it's cracked up to be.

Sue Jamieson, 1999

Healing the Heart in a Sweat Lodge—

I've been invited to participate in a Sweat Lodge ceremony. I've never done one and I'm excited, yet, nervous, as I have no idea what to expect. The night before the ceremony, I have a dream in which I find myself sitting in a lodge, men on one side, women on the other, with the leader sitting on my left next to the door. The woman who invited me is not sitting next to me, which I find odd in the dream. As we sit in the circle, the leader passes around a cup for each of us to drink out of. When the cup comes to me, I look into the bottom of it and see the word “MANAWA.” I awake from the dream wondering what the word means.

I recently met the woman who has invited me to the Lodge and have never been to her home. In the morning I go to meet her and several people who also are going. I walk into her home and see a poster on her wall listing the seven fundamental principles of Huna Shamanism. The fourth principle is “MANAWA” which means, “Now is the moment of power.” I feel exhilarated to receive an answer to my dream so quickly. I'm off to a good start.

Mid-afternoon, we arrive at the site of the Lodge, where several people have already gathered and are making “prayer ties” to hang in the Lodge. The Lodge is a round structure constructed of saplings tied with cloth and covered with heavy tarps and blankets. When it's time to begin, we line up to be smudged with sage, women first, then the men. The doorway is low so that we have to crawl in on hands and knees. We crawl in clockwise. I find myself sitting in the Lodge exactly as I dreamt the night before. It's crowded with more than a dozen of us sitting on the perimeter around the fire pit in the middle. All is quiet as the “fire keeper” brings in the hot rocks that have been in the fire since six A.M. Each rock is placed in the fire pit by use of two deer antlers. Herbs are sprinkled onto them. The Lodge is small so the fire pit is less than a foot away from our knees as we sit cross-legged. Quickly, it becomes very hot. I'm sweating so much that my clothes are stuck to my body. The smoldering herbs are aromatic, but smoky, making it difficult to breathe.

I question my sanity about why I'm doing this. It's crowded, hot, and hard to breathe. I can see that in a few minutes the flap is going to be closed and I'll be sitting in total darkness with total strangers, with no fresh air. Water is going to be poured onto the hot rocks, which will create steam and a more intense heat and make it even more difficult to breathe. My brain is screaming “panic.” We have each been given fresh cedar boughs to hold in front of our noses to help breathe. I bury my face in them. I must have imprints on my face from pressing so hard. I'm contemplating bolting, thinking that the leader would be surprised as I flatten him in my haste to leave.

He asks if anyone has any questions before he has the doorkeeper close the door. I ask if it's normal to be afraid and disclose that all my fears are up… the dark, not being able to breathe, close quarters with strangers, etc. He laughs and says it is. He says to pray. And pray. And pray some more. Then, really, pray. And finally, pray.

He announces that once he closes the door, no one is allowed to leave. Okay. That seems reasonable. He then says that in between the four rounds, when the door is opened, we must ask permission to leave and he will decide who may go outside to cool off and who may not. This statement is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. One of my less than charming traits is an intense problem with authority when that authority tries to impede my right to choose. My belief in the right to be independent and to exercise freedom of choice is absolute. I'll gladly help anyone when asked, but my natural inclination is to challenge being told what I can or cannot do. It's an attitude that has little basis in physical practicality as I stand 5'5” tall, weigh 112 lbs., and couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag. I have about as much physical clout as an enraged butterfly.

The less than charming part of having a problem with authority is the way it manifests itself in me. I bristle like an agitated porcupine. Porcupines are docile creatures by nature, unless they're threatened in some way. Then it's, “Go ahead, big guy. Take a bite out of me!” Since I resist authority so much, I repeatedly find myself in situations where I have to face it and get all “bristley”. I'm annoyed that I'm facing it now. I calmly think “Yeah? You and whose army is going to stop me if I decide to leave?” I'm hoping it won't be necessary for me to be confrontational. I dislike confrontation, but I know the choice I will make.

My fears dissolve and “attitude” steps forward. I think about a variance of this attitude toward authority that is another less than charming trait that my father used to refer to as “pig-headed stubbornness.” I prefer to euphemistically refer to it as tenacity. Euphemisms. Sugar-coatings. Is what I see in others as being a martyr, what I see in myself as being tolerant?

I carefully choose to what, or to whom, I commit, since once I commit, it's a matter of personal integrity. I won't back down. I won't quit just because something is hard. I won't ask for mercy. If I say I'm going to do something, I do it. If I say something, I mean it. With that attitude, it seems prudent to be somewhat phobic about making commitments. So, I admit I'm sometimes a stubborn, pig-headed, commitment phobic martyr with an attitude. So what and who cares. You got a problem with that? We all have our moments. Most of the time, I'm a real “peach.”

I'm puzzled by this lapse into a tour of my “dark side” and surprised by the intensity of feeling it evokes. Psychobabble for looking at what's uncomfortable and not pretty about myself. I think too much. So, naturally, where do I go with this? I decide I would rather die in the Sweat Lodge than leave. I commit. My choice.

The “powers that be” must love this one. They must be sitting around chortling. Be careful what you ask for because very likely, you'll get it. I get it.

The door is closed. It's so dark I can't see my hand in front of my face. Water is poured onto the rocks. The steam is so hot it sears my lungs and my body feels as if it's being boiled. I gasp for breath. My heart is pounding so hard from the heat, I'm afraid I'm going to faint, if I don't have a heart attack first. The leader is chanting, singing, and drumming. The sounds are coming to me as if I am in a well. I fight my panic. I wiggle around until I'm face down in the mud. Trying to find somewhere that is cool. Somewhere that I can breathe.

As I press my face into the damp earth, I feel the beat of the drum against my face and body. Entombed in the darkness, I imagine that I'm experiencing the heartbeat in the womb of Mother Earth. I feel the need to be with my body. To comfort it. To cradle it. To love it. I start to cry. Not silent dry tears that slide down behind my eyes, like I usually do. Real salty-tasting tears, stream down my face and into the earth. And, I pray. For my sons. For others. I don't pray for myself. Not yet. I struggle with the desire to pull away from myself. To not feel. I can soar with the eagles. I'm a great escape artist… a regular Houdini. I can pull myself away so that I don't even experience my body, so that I don't feel pain. So that I'm not here. A dubious talent.

Time mercilessly crawls by. It's been an eternity or two since the door was closed. I can't stand one more second of this. If he sings one more song, I'm going to stuff a sock in his mouth. I pray. For myself, now. I pray for my body. I pray to live. My heart is erratically pounding from the heat. My chest feels like it's going to explode. I concentrate on the beat of the drum. The drum comforts me. Always has. There is nothing else. Just the drum.

I press my body into the ground to feel the pulse. My heartbeat slows down. Regulates. Mimicking the drum. I time my breaths to the beat of the drum. Nothing matters but the drum. My lifeline. My anchor. I feel it. I hear it. I'm present. I'm here. No attitude. Just here. This Lodge for me is about being here. Fully. Body, Mind, and Spirit. This is about being present. Now. I can do this. I will do this. This is about power. My power. MANAWA.

Mercifully, the first round ends and the door is opened. Cool, fresh air fills the Lodge. The leader invites everyone to go outside, saying this is one of the hottest “sweats” that he has experienced in a long time. I derive some dubious comfort from this revelation. We all crawl out and lay on the ground. I'm exhausted, but euphoric. I'm alive. I can do three more rounds of this. I do. It's my choice.

Everything Is Light

Everything Is Light.

About thirty years ago, I had a life-changing experience.   One night while I was sleeping I became conscious that I was floating above my body while I was in bed still sleeping.  Instantly, I knew that ‘the real me’ was not sleeping.  I was awake and conscious.   My mind, my consciousness, my astral body was floating above my sleeping physical body.  In wonder, I looked around my bedroom and observed that every single item in my room was pulsating with light; the lamps, the chair, the carpet, the walls, the bureaus, socks on the floor, everything.  Everything shimmered with an aliveness of inner light.

I was astonished.  I raised my left hand up so that I could look at it and saw that I was a being, a form, of pulsating, shimmering light. As I observed my light form, I clearly heard a voice say, “You are light.  Everything is light.  There is nothing to fear when you can fall to the sky.”  I understood the meaning of that cryptic message as it related to my light form, the essence of me that was able to rise up out of my sleeping bod— to ‘fall to the sky.’ I understood ‘there is nothing to fear’, that I was, I am, a conscious living being of light within a conscious universal light.

Still floating and dazzled as I was by the brilliance of the light of my raised ‘hand’, the light of the objects around me, and the voice, I was stunned when suddenly a brilliant light swept into the room and merged with me, filling me, surrounding me with what I can only describe as pure ecstatic love.  I have no words to adequately describe the sense of peace, well-being, acceptance, and pure love that I experienced in the presence of that Being of Light that I found myself immersed within.  It was pure rapture that I wanted never to end. 

But, of course, it did end.  Eventually, I woke up, looked around and observed the objects in my room and myself.  Everything looked as it always had in ordinary reality. I remembered that I had been so amazed at the shimmering light of my astral body and all the objects in the room.  I remembered thinking that comparing my shimmering light with the brilliance, the blinding luminosity, of the Being of Light that swept in was like comparing a 25-watt bulb with the sun.  That being said, in no way did I feel diminished.  I felt blessed. I had been shown a part of the mystery, the beauty, of conscious aliveness. 

That experience has helped sustain me through the trials and tribulations and the joys and accomplishments of everyday living. I know that I am so much more.  I know that we are all so much more.  I know that we are all part of a universal loving light. I share this story in the hope that someone might be inspired, or comforted, or even just relieved.  

Words are powerful.  Images are also powerful. My desire in each painting that I produce is to capture that essence of light that I observed, to portray the brilliance, the shimmering light of all. I have played with various art media and like all of them for different reasons, but I found that for me, for now, the medium of choice is digital art that is allowing me to play with light in fascinating ways.  I have only begun to play with digital art in the past few weeks.  I have a lot to learn about how to paint with it, but I intend to immerse myself in bringing light into my paintings in the hope of bringing more light and joy into this not-so-ordinary world in which we live.  I invite you to stay tuned.

Appreciative Visioning

Appreciative visioning: powerful and empowering could change the world. We have a responsibility to appreciate what is good, what works, what is valuable and vital.  We have the power to envision and create a better world.  Let's make appreciative visioning to go viral.

Last night, while lying awake thinking, I had found myself spiraling into a state of worry and fear concerning events in the world; the economy, the civil unrest, the unsettling weather patterns, the lack of work for so many people, and so on. I was pondering the fear that goes viral from the news on the networks and internet and the immediacy of that fear. I found myself feeling the fear and despair in my own body and wondering, "What can I do?"

That question triggered the words, "appreciative visioning."  So, I began with myself. What do I appreciate about myself? My body? My mind? Health? Talents? Attitudes? Accomplishments? Abilities? It felt good to appreciate myself, as I can be my own worst critic. Any thought that was not "appreciative," I let go.

I then moved on and began to think about what I appreciate about my father, my mother, my husband, my son, everyone else in my family, friends, and co-workers who came into my thoughts. I appreciated my "things"; my car that gets me where I need and want to go, my home, my pets, my work that brings in the money that allows me to get the things that I need and want, my food, the air I breathe, the water I drink and wash with, the beautiful flowers in the yard, the amazing country that I live in, my government that I believe does fundamentally strive for democracy and freedom, the beautiful earth that nurtures us. I went on and on in the process of appreciative visioning. I found myself relaxing and feeling hopeful and at peace with myself and my world.

The powerful process of transformation through appreciation is not new to me. I had the opportunity a few years ago of participating in the program "Appreciative Inquiry" taught by David Cooperrider at the Case Western Reserve University's Weatherhead School of Management in Ohio. Appreciative Inquiry focuses on what works, rather than focusing on what doesn't work or "the problem." Appreciative inquiry dialogue elicits an envisioning of positive outcomes and positive changes.

And several years prior to that, I participated in the Learning to Listen, Learning to Teach: The Power of Dialogue in Educating Adults by Jane Vella.  LLLT is a program designed to help educators discover what mature students want and need to learn in order to co-create teaching opportunities that have relevancy and immediacy. It is about dialogue between teachers-learners as teachers are learners and learners are teachers. Dialogue engages participation and co-creativity, whereas, monologue is a form of presenting information to a passive audience, with little if any expectation or desire of engaging participation with that audience.

Sitting in front of a TV listening to the news can be considered a form of monologue directed at a passive audience. It would be easy to complain and blame the news reporters and networks about their incessant focus on tragedy, strife, misery, mayhem, and the downfall of the rich and famous. But, who is the audience? Maybe it is simplistic thinking on my part, but I do believe that news agencies pander to the public interest, or to what is perceived to be the public interest.

Most news programs invite public opinions; opportunities to dialogue, to become involved, to be heard. Being informed about what is going on in the local community and in the global community allows us to make decisions, to become involved, to increase our knowledge and understanding. I appreciate having the news available at the touch of a finger. But, I would like to see and hear more news about what works, about what is good, helpful, and positive that is happening everywhere around the world. I would like to see more of what appreciative visioning about, of, for, with our government, our lawmakers, our corporations, our educators, our medical professions, our cities, our countries, and ourselves could and would do to make this world a better, more sustainable place .

Positive Words Crafting – Let’s Be Creative and Uplift Our World

Black Cat

Positive words uplift our moods, encourage growth and transformation, and soothe our sorrows. Words are fascinating, creative, and powerful. They express feelings, actions, ideas. They may comfort, educate, placate, agitate, irritate, excite or incite. We are encouraged to use positive words to manifest positive outcomes. In the midst of my first cup of coffee one morning, finding that I needed more inspiration than the cup of java was supplying, I got the idea of creating a list of positive words for each letter of the alphabet.  Energized by enthusiasm, I procured pen, paper, and the tattered 2,000+ page, 4 1/2 inch thick, Webster's Deluxe Unabridged Dictionary, 2nd edition and settled in at the table in the chair across from my husband.  As he was only half way through his first cup, he peered at me through sleepy eyes and asked me what in the world I was doing. I chirped gleefully about my early morning project, to which he smiled and mumbled something to the effect that  maybe I should “get a life.”

Undaunted I began thinking about the possibilities. The letter “x” immediately came into my mind as being a challenge for coming up with a positive word, but as for the rest of the alphabet, I assumed it would be a simple task. A perusal through the “x’s” in the dictionary uncovered the words “xenial” and “xenium”; meaning respectively, “hospitality” and “gift to a guest”.  I was off to an auspicious beginning.

I listed the alphabet down the page and next to the letter “a” wrote “abundance”; a positive word that has become somewhat of a buzz-word with the gurus of manifestation. Abundance is a wonderful word, as are “adore”, “amaze”, and “awesome”. Wondering what other positive a-words I could glean, I again perused the dictionary under the letter “a” with the expectation, a misguided expectation I was soon to learn, of listing dozens of positive words beginning with “a”.

I expected a proliferation of neutral words which proved to be the case as I perused the first few pages of the dictionary. However, I was aghast (an a-word, you notice) at the paucity of positive words compared to the numerous “negative” words. For example, in the first pages I considered aal (a plant), aam (a liquid), aardvark (an anteater), aardwolf (a carnivorous quadruped), aba (a fabric), abaciscus (a mosaic tile), abacist (one who uses an abacus), abactinal (situated at the opposite extremity of the mouth), and abacus (a counting board) to be neutral words.

One might have a personal negative or positive reaction to an aardvark or aardwolf, for instance, but in and of itself, neither is negative or positive. However, abacinate (to destroy the sight of by placing a red-hot copper basin close to the eyes … Yikes! horrifying thought), abalienate (to estrange or alienate), abandon, abannition (banishment), abase (to reduce to a low state), abash (to disconcert, make ashamed), abate (to beat down, lessen, overthrow), abattoir (a slaughterhouse), abdicate, abduct, aberrant, abet (once used to encourage, sanction, help; now used in connection with a crime), abhor, abject, abominable, abscond, and so forth have distinctly negative connotations.

Within the first three pages, I realized I needed to focus on verbs and conceptual words that evoke positive actions or imagery. The first positive verb within the “a” section was number 150, “abet”, which as noted above has come to be more commonly used in a negative manner and finally, at the bottom of the page, “abide” ( to rest or tarry). Three pages into the dictionary, 160+ words, and only a couple that had a positive meaning. I was astonished. Words and language describe and define how we perceive and experience our world.

Further perusal through the dictionary demonstrated the same imbalance of far more negative words than positive words. I began to think about the word “love” and how we use it so indiscriminately, which is lovely in essence, but does the excessive use of the word “love” relate to a lack of words in our language that imply or mean “love”.

For instance, we say or hear, “I love chocolate. I love my cat. I love football. I love to ski. I love my child, husband, wife, lover, backyard, sunsets, sunrises, mocha latte, and time off.” What do we mean by the word, love? Do we use that particular word because it has more a powerful emotional punch than adore or enjoy, for instance? Do we use the word love out of laziness; not thinking of another, possibly more appropriate word? Or, do we in fact use the word love because there truly is a lack of positive words that describe what we mean?

I suspect it probably is a little of each. Wouldn’t it be interesting to create words that communicate what we mean to say? Languages change and grow to accommodate our accumulation of knowledge and our experiences of our world. One only need listen to a group of teenagers having a conversation to experience the elasticity of our language. I can hear the groan of linguists worldwide at the suggestion of creating words, but what fun!

So, what do I really mean when I say, “I love my cat or I love chocolate?” What distinguishes them? The experiences of each are decidedly different. I savor the flavor of chocolate and the soft consistency as it melts in my mouth and I enjoy the aroma of chocolate as it wafts toward me.

Aroma, flavor, and melting in my mouth do not come to mind regarding my cat, thank you very much. I’ve witnessed enough regurgitated hairballs and held my breath while cleaning stinky kitty-litter boxes to identify my love for my cat in other than the flavor and aroma categories.  The sound of a cat’s purr is soothing to me; it’s such a gentle sound of appreciation. The soft, silky feeling of his fur against my leg as he slinks and winds around me in response to the lure of the can opener makes me laugh.

To coin a word for loving chocolate because I savor the flavor and the aroma, I might say, I “savaroma” chocolate or I “meltsavaroma” or I “savorflavor” chocolate.   For my cat, maybe I “purrfur” my cat or I “feelpurhappy” my cat. Then again, something seems lame and lost in the translation.

What do you think? Come up with positive words, original or made-up that describe the various nuances of “love” and e-mail them to me. They must be printable and in the spirit of positivity.