The Journey

With temperatures soaring past 100 degrees for the past week it's been easier to stay indoors and wrap up projects such as writing, organizing, and thinking. It's the thinking that has been at the forefront of my days of late. Quieting the mind has been a challenge as I've been contemplating life, my personal journey and the road that waits ahead. Our community has lost several people this past week; a 12-year-old local boy drowned in our river, a 35-year-old motorcyclist was hit by a tourist with an RV trying to make a U-turn on the highway, and the passing of a friend from the Ridge. Life is temporary, uncertain, and precious. When it hits you that you may have only so many more 100 degree summers left, the heat becomes much more tolerable. Yet it has had me really wondering about my own life's purpose and in what direction I want to set my sails for the future. Life suddenly seems short.

I watched a video recently about a fellow who was living his life's passion and has created a successful KickStarter campaign to fund it. It's a video about the cicadas. (Watch below - film maker Samuel Orr - He's started a Kickstarter page to raise $20,000 for the project.)

As a young girl growing up in the Texas Panhandle, summer's always meant thunder storms, hot weather, and tornadoes and you could almost mark the calendar for the day the Cicadas came to town. They'd show up in groves, attaching themselves to the bark of the trees that lined my grandparent's property and were almost within reach of my bed at night. I'd listen to their melodical music as I'd try to fall asleep on those hot summer nights and today as I think about their journey, and my own, it seems appropriate to share their story...

They’ve been waiting, 17 years. But on a warm night in spring their journey begins. For a lifetime they’ve been underground, alone. But night after night they emerge together, as billions of cicadas gather into one of the greatest insect outbreaks on earth.

They cannot bite or stink and their only defense is to emerge in the millions. But above all, they climb, to seek a secure perch on which to transform. And so they begin the final few weeks of their 17-year lives.

For the first few days, the new adults rest and recover, waiting for their shells to harden. Soon after, the males begin calling the females. Their synchronized chorus is among the loudest sounds in nature. The mating frenzy 3 to four weeks, but after the first appears but not all survive long enough to find a mate. And billions do survive to find a mate. Soon after the females lay eggs and post hundreds on eggs in tree bark. Their purpose now fulfilled after a life span of 6 weeks. But up in the trees, hidden in the branches are billions of eggs about to hatch, each about the size of a grain of rice. They crawl to the edge of the branch and drop away. Insects force them to burrow underground, not to be seen again for another 17 years.

Life is really short for these insects; much shorter than my own decades of life, not to mention they are waiting underground for 17 years in the hopes that they might be one of a few who will fulfill their life's purpose to mate, reproduce, lay eggs and then die within a few short weeks. So what do I have to be concerned about? 

My shell has hardened, my song has begun, and I have a beautiful community around me, so I think I'll go outside and do some living now. Triple digits be damned! 

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© Cynthia Stewart is an international speaker and the author of several books, which

include Dream Big! and Creating Wealth on The Web. Through many challenges that she has

faced, survived and overcome, Cynthia knows first-hand how to dream big and has dedicated her life to empower other’s to stand-up, step-out, and reach their dreams. She can be reached at

www.CynthiaStewart.com or cicistewart@gmail.com

Conversations with Gianna

Late night conversation with my granddaughter.

"MiMi, where is Grandpa?

     Honey, he died.

Where is he?

     I'm not sure but I think he's in a place called heaven.

That sounds right.

MiMi, where is heaven?

     Honey, I don't know for sure.

It must be really far."

(The wisdom of a three-year-old.)

Boxes of Memories

As some of you know I’ve recently been inspired to clean out and get rid of things that no longer serve me and get them to people who can use these items. You know the likes – boxes of clothing a size too small that one-day will fit again, or coats for skiing when one no longer skis. These things are no longer of value to me, but for another person, it’s just the item they need. It’s been gratifying to let go of these things I’ve clung on to for so many years and to watch as they go to people who really need and appreciate them.

And then there are those things that you forget about, things that have incredible meaning and value, even if only to you. One of the things I found in a storage container last week was the top of a pair of men’s pajamas. They belonged to my late husband, Calvin. Although it’s been nearly 18 years since he passed away, I still remember buying him those pajamas and how he wore them those last two months until the day he died. Green and navy stripes with small red squares that look a bit like a Scottish tartan. Silky fabric.  Floods of memories…

Recently I came down with what I can only think is the flu as I was knocked down into bed for the past 48 hours. I pulled the top out of the drawer and wore it these past two days but it was only today I noticed it… the thing that knocked me down again, this time to my knees in tears. It was so small I might have missed it. A tiny pin attached to the lapel. I couldn’t see it clearly with out my glasses buy it didn’t matter. I knew immediately what it was and when it found it’s home on my husband’s pajamas, and why.

My husband was a good husband and father. His children adored him, all of them, but he had a special relationship with our youngest son, Tyler who was born seven years after our last child. Being older parents perhaps we were more prepared to enjoy him than when we were both working full time and trying to raise several children. Anyway, I digress… The pin.

Tyler had barely turned six-years-old when his dad was diagnose with terminal cancer. He watched, as we all did, his hero shrivel up and disappear. It was hard times for everyone. Dark days. But a light in everyday was when little Tyler came home from school. I could hear him as he ran up the stairs into his father’s bedroom every afternoon. “Hi Daddy”, he would say softly putting his tiny hand on his daddy’s shoulder. Cal would awaken from his near constant sleep and smile. “Do you need some fresh water Daddy?” he would ask. “Yes please,” Cal would respond.  And so it would go day after day.

One day Tyler ran up the stairs to his Daddy’s bedroom and he couldn’t wake him up, so instead he placed his new Boy Scout pin, Bear Cats, on the lapel of his daddy’s pj’s. “So he’ll know I was here,” he said with a smile.

Today, laying in this bed for the second day in a row I noticed this small pin on the pajamas I was wearing and a flood of memories washed over me—some heart wrenching, some sweet.

Life has a way of moving on when you aren’t watching. It’s astounding to me that in less than a month it will have been 18 years since Calvin died. That sweet boy Tyler now has a sweet son of his own.

I’m thankful for the memories, the good ones and the hard ones.  I’m thankful for a husband who gave me a beautiful family and a good life and in spite of all the stuff I’ve uselessly held on to for so many years, I’m thankful today I kept this silky pajama top and the pin my son placed on it 18 years ago.

© Cynthia Stewart is an international speaker and the author of many books, which

Include Dream Big! and Creating Wealth on The Web. Through many challenges that she has fought and won, Cynthia knows first-hand how to dream big and has dedicated her life to empower other’s to stand-up, step-out, and reach their dreams. She can be reached at www.cynthiastewart.com

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Where Is Heaven?

Conversations Near Midnight

“Grandma, where is grandpa?

“Honey, he died.”

“Where is he?”

“I’m not sure but I think he’s probably in heaven.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.”


“Grandma, where is heaven?”

“Honey, I don’t know for sure.”

“It must be really far.”



The wisdom of a three-year-old.

NEW BEGINNINGS

STARTING OVER

My "starting over" time was in January--a perfect time for new beginnings don't you agree? A time when most of us start new diets, join the gym, write a new goal list, and so on. New beginnings, fresh, exciting—a great time to begin again. I spent this past New Year’s Day in my new (old) home which sits on its own little perch in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I just moved home after I lost it to a fire almost 2 1/2 years ago; but that is a story for another time... Today I'd like to talk about starting over and jumping off places. This part of my journey began in 2001 and it has been quite a ride! I found Nevada county early that spring and in spite of driving home on Hwy 49 in a rain storm that rendered me almost blind behind the wheel I couldn't wait to get back up here!! I spent that spring finding any excuse to return and would often drive up alone just to sit by the Yuba and dream... But I couldn't quite imagine how people lived up here. I was completely rooted in my life down the hill. Great job with PBS television, third book just hitting the bookshelves, 18 years of community involvement and relationships. Yet, something in the deepest (and unexplainable) part of my soul kept pulling me up the hill. There just had to be a way for me...

I spent the rest of that spring dreaming about it and the entire summer looking for a place that made sense with my list of requirements. I'd been raising my 5 children alone since my husband's death in 1995 and I still had two young children at home. They were my priority and of course, one of them didn't want to leave their friends. I knew my window for making this move was a small one. If I waited another year or two my son would be in high school, making a move much more difficult. So I spent the summer with a nice realtor looking, and looking, and looking. We never found anything that seemed 'right' and it was getting late in summer and I was getting burned out. Preparations for school were coming up and in light of months trying to make this move work, I decided the message was this - it's not yet time.

So I let it go and got busy preparing for fall and all that comes with it. It was a very early phone call that started me up again. I was half asleep, wrestling with myself to wake up and get moving when the phone rang. The voice on the other end was indecipherable. "Turn on your television!" it said. "What? Why? Who is this,” I asked as I rubbed my sleepy eyes trying to come into full consciousness. It's Susan, "Turn on your television now," she sobbed. "What channel," I asked. "ANY CHANNEL," she said.

My girlfriend had been watching television when the first plane hit the towers and as I turned on my TV and tried to wrap my head around the pictures I was seeing, the second plane hit tower two. I must have yelled out because both my children were in my lap before I knew it and we all were spellbound to that television we seldom ever turned on. Well, you know the rest of that story and each of you probably has your own to tell. This one is mine. That moment, or rather that day, I turned a corner in my life. I realized I had been living in fear--afraid to move, afraid to change, afraid to let go of what I saw as security in my life--but suddenly, watching those towers collapse and people soaring from windows it occurred to me there is no security in this life. Nothing solid. Everything moves. Everything changes.

I'd married my husband twenty years earlier because I loved him and he was my dearest and closest friend... but I also married him because I trusted him. I knew he'd make a great father because he already was one. I knew he adored me because he showed me every single day for two years prior. I knew he'd never hurt me, cheat on me, or leave me. He knew the same of me. What neither of us bargained for is that he would die.

By this time in my life story he'd been gone six years. I'd rebuilt a new life, new career, new friends, etc. And it was good. Why would I leave all of the things I'd worked so hard to establish? To move to the mountains? Alone? It didn't make sense logically, but the pull on my heart was not to be shushed and continued to whisper to me when I was still enough to listen. And then that fateful day, September 11, 2001 and I woke up to the understanding that there was nothing to fear. Nothing to hold on to, nothing to grasp, nothing solid. No reason to fear.

Within two weeks of that day a person crossed my path and led me directly to the house I now live in. Effortless. Easy. Perfect. It was in December, about a decade ago when I packed up my family, my personal belongings, and my pets and moved from our familiar and long-time residence, saying good-bye to wonderful friends, dear family members, and successful business relationships. Leaving a comfort zone I’d lived in for the past 15 years. Why, you may wonder? Because it was time—a time to move forward—a time for change. It was a time for starting over.

Starting over can be scary. Have you ever lost a job, or moved across the country, or ended a relationship? Yes, starting over can be hard and can even be frightening, and even sometimes painful, but it can be the best time of your life. The key is your attitude. While change can be sometimes difficult, change can also be beneficial. New opportunities will be presented for your personal growth and development. It is a wonderful time to re-examine other areas in your life. What other changes might you need to make to live a healthier, happier, and more satisfying life?

Starting over can be exciting! You don’t have to move, leave your job, dump your partner, or change your career to gain the benefits of starting over. You can start over today, right where you are, and begin to create the life you dream of living. When we really understand our ability to direct our lives where we want it to go it’s pretty empowering!

PURSUING YOUR DREAMS
If you are anything like me, you might have postponed making some changes you need to make in your life. What have you put off because you are afraid, have been discouraged by others, or have failed at in the past? Examples might include pursuing an acting career, starting a catering business, or even getting married again. Get up close to your fear and examine it in detail. What is at the root of your fear of pursuing an acting career, for example? Is it your high- school drama teacher's criticism of your acting technique that has stuck with you all these years? Get a different perspective. That was only one person's opinion. Perhaps he/she was having a bad day when they lashed out at you and your work. If necessary, take more acting classes until you feel more confident in your ability.

Honor your dreams. Begin by taking a deep breath and resolving to see it through once and for all. This requires a shift in attitude of course. Act as if your happiness (and your life) depends on it. It does, doesn't it? Promise yourself that you will do whatever it takes to change the things that make you feel like you aren't living up to your dreams, up to your potential to live a joyful, fulfilling life. Do it so that you can look at yourself in a new way - with pride and respect. Prove to yourself that you are not a quitter and that you are capable of creating your own happiness.

REACHING OUT FOR HELP

Sometimes starting over can mean letting go of old ideas, negative thinking, or bad habits. And sometimes that may mean you have to reach out to others for help. The first step in any change is admitting you have a habit or problem in your life that is neither healthy nor conducive to real happiness is, as you well know, the first step to positive change. Whether the habit is smoking, drug or alcohol addiction, or overeating, you may need to get help overcoming it. Physical and/or emotional abuse, while not physical addictions per se, can however be seen as emotional habits which may need outside intervention in order for you to get out of and avoid future abusive relationships.

The second hardest step is asking for help because pride, ego, shame, embarrassment, etc. can keep you trapped in your harmful habits. Someone I know recently said, “My pride and ego are killing me.” And in this case, no truer words were ever spoken. To reach out and ask for help, to admit to others that you can’t overcome whatever it is that stands between you and your happiness or peace of mind can be hard. You need to be very strongly motivated. One way to do this is to keep your focus on the benefits of giving up your habit, of not having to smoke, drink, gamble, or do drugs. Focus on the freedom from your habit. What will you be free to do? Exercise, get out of debt, or pursue a new career?

Your life is up to you. Prove it by kicking that bad habit once and for all. How many of your decisions in the past were made based on whether or not you could smoke, where you could smoke, and how often you could smoke, for example? How much of your life is determined by a habit (or habits) that is keeping you stuck and unhappy? That is even killing you?

DRIVING THROUGH OBSTACLES

It is true that life can throw us curves and it seems that how quickly we can "recover" can often be the difference between crashing and staying the course. I don't know much about racecar driving, but I did once know a driver. He told me that one of the first things they teach you is how to "look forward" and instead of concentrating on the trouble you may find yourself in, look up the road, ahead, to the place you want to go. I have tried to live with a similar philosophy. Not trying to live in the future, but being present in the moment with a vision looking just ahead. Where will I put my next step?

While many people have told me I am strong, I often felt like a coward, without the courage to "live in the moment" when the moment seemed too tragic. I got pretty good at looking at the road ahead. While it served its purpose during those times in my life, those habits or beliefs later created problems for me. I would not describe myself so much as strong as I would brave. Today I too am trying to live in the moment. To look neither too far ahead, nor back, but to sit still in what is… and that is the now. It is a different take on life for me and has required some intentional practice on my part. Old habits can be challenging to break however sometimes the tougher the challenge, the greater the benefit!

My mentor, Arlene, once told me I could start my day over at anytime. Today, if I catch myself ‘acting out’ in an old behavior or bad habit, I can stop and start over right that minute and I must tell you that there have been days I have started over several times!

What about you? If you could create the life you’ve always dreamed of, where would you start? What changes would be necessary to make those dreams come true? What steps would you need to start with? What can you do today? How would you feel at this very moment if you were living that life? Would the effort to make the changes be worth the result?

QUESTIONS TO ASK YOURSELF

1. How do you feel about starting over? Do you see it as a wonderful second or third chance to make your dreams come true? Or do you see it as just another attempt that is doomed to fail? Check your attitude and get to the root of your fears. Your success depends on it.

2. What dream do you want to pursue but have given up on? Why? Be honest with yourself. Do you still want to pursue this dream or will it no longer contribute to your happiness? If not, let it go. But if it will make you happier, resolving to go for it can inject purpose and enthusiasm into your life.

3. What is keeping you from asking for help? Is it pride? Are you ashamed? Are you afraid? Whatever you are feeling use it to jump-start yourself into asking for the help anyway. In other words, instead of feeling ashamed, take pride in knowing that you are taking control of your life.

While you may have once thought that starting over can be hard or even frightening, you will find that the benefits far outweigh the challenges and that starting over can be a new beginning for your new life.

Why not start today?

CiCi

© Cynthia Stewart


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Cynthia "CiCi" Stewart is an international speaker, author, promoter, and literary agent. She has spent the past twenty years developing a writing career and business' that span the globe. Cynthia is a fiction and non-fiction writer and author of several books including Dream BIG! A Woman’s Book of Network Marketing, and Creating Wealth on the Web. Her short stories have been published in New York Times best-selling books, which include Chicken Soup for the College Soul, Christmas Miracles, Stories For a Grad’s Heart, and Heart Touchers. Her books have been translated into 15 languages and read worldwide. Cynthia writes for popular magazines, websites, and various editorials. She has been a guest on numerous radio and television shows including popular morning show, The View, hosted by Barbara Walters. In addition, Cynthia produced a nationally broadcast weekly show for PBS. With over thirty years in marketing, production, and special events Cynthia has created a way to merge all previous business into a creative and highly successful production company. As co-founder of Sierra Mountain Productions, Cynthia is Director of Production and Development.

MARDI GRAS COSTUME BALL AND VALENTINE'S DAY CELEBRATIONS

Dreams in the making…

What does Valentine's Day and Mardi Gras have in common you ask? Read on to find out!

Every February, across the country, candy, flowers, and gifts are exchanged between loved ones, all in the name of St. Valentine. Every February, across the country, candy, flowers, and gifts are exchanged between loved ones, all in the name of St. Valentine.

Gradually, February 14 became the date for exchanging love messages and St. Valentine became the patron saint of lovers. The date was marked by sending poems and simple gifts such as flowers. There was often a social gathering or a ball.

Mardi Gras, also known as "fat Tuesday," this pre-Lenten festival is celebrated in Roman Catholic countries and communities. In a strict sense, Mardi Gras, or Shrove Tuesday, is celebrated by the French as the last of the three days of Shrovetide and is a time of preparation immediately before Ash Wednesday and the start of the fast of Lent. Mardi Gras is thus the last opportunity for merrymaking and indulgence in food and drink. In practice, the festival is generally celebrated for one full week before Lent. Mardi Gras is marked by spectacular parades featuring floats, pageants, elaborate costumes, masked balls, and people dancing in the streets.

There’s a lot of rich tradition, history, and religious significance surrounding the customs of Mardi Gras. There’s also a lot of fun. While there’s really no way to experience the parades, the festivities, and the cooler weather during this part of the year, we at least have one small way to experience Mardi Gras and that’s king cake.

This year, in Northern California a new tradition is formed and history will be made as Sierra Mountain Productions presents “Mardi Gras Costume Ball Valentine’s Day Celebration”. Held in an exclusive estate nestled among ancient oaks and green rolling hills in a romantic private setting history will be made and you can be a part of it! This night promises to be a night that will be a marker for all future Mardi Gras or Valentine’s Day events. Imagine the ambiance of a private estate, exquisite decorations, tables set with linens and flowers, candles glowing, corks popping against original New Orlean’s Jazz sounds wafting through the rafters.

Captivate your sweetheart this Valentine’s Day and join us in celebration for this exclusive and unforgettable event!


© Cynthia Stewart

Back In The Saddle

During a late night discussion with a friend and the subject of love our topic, it became obvious that each of us shared at least a few similar painful past experiences as well as a couple of insecurities. While our stories were different, the end result the same... we both have had relationships that didn't work out and left some residual heartache, but both agreed we gained much from said relationships and were thankful for the experience and the decisions and choices we've since made as a result from the learning and growth of those previous (deemed) failures. My friend was expressing a modicum of frustration with dates that had been less than honest. The idea being how can one get to know another person if there is a wall of lies between them.

My response was, "I think the wall of lies tells everything you would want to know about that person. Besides, I think it's difficult for many people to be honest with themselves so how could you expect them to be honest with you? How can they possibly show up 'real' in a relationship when they can't/aren't even real within? Even THEY do not know who they are!"

As far as insecurities go, do you know anyone who doesn't have at least a few? I guess it comes down to a simple question... are they willing to get back on the horse?



I was born and raised--for the most part--in Texas. When I was about 9 or 10 we moved out of town on a ranch. Besides the chickens and cows, we also had horses and pigs. Now consider this... prior to this moment in my life I was a city girl. We bought our eggs at the Piggly Wiggley and bacon from the butcher and until that summer didn't know anything about roosters and hens much less birds and bees. But what I did know is my step-father, Butch was his nickname, was a master horseman and to this day I've never seen anyone, short of the Olympic Equestrian Gold Medalists, who could be one with an animal like he could with a horse.

Well for some crazy reason he was determined that I would be good with horses too. I think he had me pegged as Isabella Bird, or at the least some sort of Rodeo Queen in the Cowgirl Hall of Fame. I rather liked the queen idea as it suited me, but rodeo? Lots of dirt and animal droppings... anyway, one hot summer afternoon Butch decided today was the day he would teach me to ride. Oh I’d ridden before—lots of times—right in front of him on the saddle with the wind blowing in my hair while he danced the horse around the arena. Lovely it was. But this! This was something entirely different. While my uncles and brothers perched the corral fence he plopped me up on this terribly ornery little horse that certainly didn't want to come out of the cool shade in the barn on a hot summer day, much less entertain a fence lined with whoop-em-up would-be cowboys. Nor did it seem did she want the precious future-Rodeo Queen slapped down on her bareback.

Butch seemed oblivious to this obvious scenario as he stood there giving me directions like some military sergeant and I, being green as you put it, trying to remember everything he said.


Back straight!
Head up!
Heels down.
Shoulders square.
Reins tight but comfortable.
Heels into sides of horse... and whish!

She took off around the corral at a fast gallop. I was barely able to hang on and was so terrified of falling off I hadn’t noticed she’d looped around and was running full throttle for the barn. I looked up just in time to see the barn door as she ran through it and my head collided into it. I fell hard on the dirt and knocked the wind out of myself—my first experience with being unable to breathe. I don’t recall exactly what happened next other than I saw size twelve’s sharp-pointed in my direction and the sergeant shouting orders while I tried to slither away under the fence. But Butch was determined I’d “get back up on er” like a good cowgirl and grabbed me up and plopped me back on. It might have been that day, with dirt grinding between my teeth and the boys all laughing like hyenas on the fence that I decided I wasn’t cut out as the next Panhandle Rodeo Queen, but I’ve been falling on my feet ever since.


So, does one allow their insecurities (fears) to run their life OR are they willing to get real, get vulnerable, and risk the possibility of falling on their face, of being hurt, rejected, and embarrassed OR does one run the risk (quite possibly) of meeting someone really special, of opening to that person, and developing a mutually loving relationship?

Does seem quite simple doesn't it?


CiCi

The Swan’s Song

Love. You don’t fall in love.

You fall down, fall short, fall apart; but you don’t fall in love. Besides, if you are going to do any ‘action’ in love then stand in love… don’t fall. Now I am assuming we are talking about romantic love, the sort of love that is lasting, one hopes. I agree there is a sense of weightlessness when one becomes enamored with a new relationship—there is a euphoria that exists and it is true a certain endorphin is released which might give one a sense of ‘falling’ I suppose. But love? Are you sure you aren’t talking about infatuation?Webster defines love

Love (1): strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties <maternal love for a child> (2): attraction based on sexual desire: affection and tenderness felt by lovers (3): affection based on admiration, benevolence, or common interests <love for his old schoolmates> b: an assurance of love <give her my love>2: warm attachment, enthusiasm, or devotion <love of the sea>3 a: the object of attachment, devotion, or admiration <baseball was his first love> b (1): a beloved person: darling —often used as a term of endearment (2)British —used as an informal term of address4 a: unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for the good of another: as (1): the fatherly concern of God for humankind (2): brotherly concern for others b: a person's adoration of God5: a god or personification of love6: an amorous episode : love affair: the sexual embrace : copulation8: a score of zero (as in tennis)

Verb1: to hold dear: cherish2 a: to feel a lover's passion, devotion, or tenderness for b (1): caress (2): to fondle amorously (3): to copulate with3: to like or desire actively : take pleasure in <loved to play the violin> 4: to thrive in <the rose loves sunlight>intransitive verb: to feel affection or experience desire

Clearly the word love has many different meanings—at least in the English language. Love can mean anything from something that gives one a little pleasure to the score of a tennis match. It’s no wonder so many are confused about love. Even Webster’s can’t narrow down a definition!

So what then is love?

I would like to suggest that, as my fellow blogger put it, “… the move of a beautiful woman’s hair, and the glimpse of a cute smile,” have little, or nothing, to do with the sort of love I think of when I consider long-term mutually loving relationships. Traps he says? How could one equate love and trap in the same subject line?

A few years ago, I spoke to a group of high-schoolers about the idea of love.

"Someone define love," I said.

No response.

"Doesn't anyone want to try?" I asked.

Still no response.

"How about this: I'll define it, and you raise your hands if you agree. Okay?"

Nods.

"Okay. Love is that feeling you get when you meet the right person."

Every hand went up. And I thought, Oh boy!

This is how many people approach a relationship. Consciously or unconsciously, they believe love is a sensation (based on physical and emotional attraction) that magically, spontaneously generates when Mr. or Ms. Right appears. And just as easily, it can spontaneously degenerate when the magic "just isn't there" anymore. As my fellow blogger Rob indicated, you fall in love, and you can fall out of it.

But is that true love?

I’ve had a few relationships where I felt what I deemed was “true love” for the fellow. Some of those moments of feeling love were when we embraced. Others were when we shared intimate personal truths together. And for some of them it was love felt when they left!

How do you define love?

Some say it's mysterious, magical, complex, difficult, imaginary, thought-provoking, inspirational, intuitional, joyous, immeasurable, ecstasy, and undefinable. Perhaps.

In one of Dr. John Gray's audio cassettes he defines love as follows:

"Love is a feeling directed at someone which acknowledges their goodness."

On the same cassette, he refers to the definition by M. Scott Peck:

"The willful intent to serve the well being of another."

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. - 1 Corinthians 13:5-7

My favorite is by ParamahansaYogananda:

"To describe love is very difficult, for the same reason that words cannot fully describe the flavor of an orange. You have to taste the fruit to know its flavor. So with love."

Love itself is a universal experience. Yet, every individual occurrence - while perhaps bound by a common thread - seems absolutely unique. Love is what love is! To everyone it expresses itself differently.

Could it be that Love is a story that can never be fully expressed?

Love is a bond or connection between two people that results in trust, intimacy, and an interdependence that enhances both partners. (quotation by me!)

Love is the ability and willingness to allow those you care for to be what they choose for themselves, without any insistence that they satisfy you. - Leo Buscaglia

Making Love is the highest level and the most loving way we can physically express or demonstrate our Love for our love partner. Everyone knows that the sexual experience can be the single most loving, most exciting, most powerful, most exhilarating, most renewing, most energizing, most affirming, most intimate, most uniting, most stress-relieving, most recreative physical experience of which humans are capable.

Love is More Powerful than Sex

Robert Roy Britt, a LiveScience Senior Writer posted a blog a few years back about a study announced in the July issue of the Journal of Neurophysiology which read:

Sex and romance may seem inextricably linked, but the human brain clearly distinguishes between the two, according to a new study. The upshot: Love is the more powerful emotion.

The results of brain scans speak to long-standing questions of whether the pursuit of love and sex are different emotional endeavors or whether romance is just warmed over sexual arousal.

"Our findings show that the brain areas activated when someone looks at a photo of their beloved only partially overlap with the brain regions associated with sexual arousal," said Arthur Aron of the State University of New York-Stony Brook. "Sex and romantic love involve quite different brain systems."

Well, duh! Most of us could have told you that without a scientific experiment. Or is that what we all were doing all along—a scientific experiment?

So what is love -- real, lasting love?

After all this rambling, I suppose I really can’t define love either. Love must be experienced. I can tell you that the opposite of Love is Fear. Think about it.

Expectations and Demands

Last week my buddy Jim said he and his girlfriend were having some troubles. “I love her,” he said to me. “And that is what is killing me.”

I said, “It isn’t love that is killing you, it is your expectations of the one you say you love. Love doesn’t kill.”

Is it possible to have unconditional love? Love for another simply to love them? Expecting nothing in return?

No expectations - no demands… used to be my mantra. That is until I realized I had plenty of expectations and demands of the ones I loved. I expected my husband to come home at night. I expected my children to honor their parents, and in fact, sometimes demanded it. But isn’t real love simply loving someone without expecting anything in return; no judgments, no restrictions; no limitations; no expectations?

My Buddist friend tells me that true love is loving what is. I’m still working on that one.

To me, I’ve discovered that love is embracing differences and discovering ways in which to build a common lifestyle, share decision-making, and taking equal responsibility for the results. True love has a foundation of integrity, respect, faith and trust. Love is the force that brings about unity and harmony.

Although love is at the root of our basic nature, Love for another human being must be cultivated. It takes time for Love to mature.

Robert Heinlein in "Stranger in a Strange Land" said, Love is. . . "That condition whereby the happiness of another is essential to your own." As one who has a strong affection towards eagles, hawks, geese, and so on; I think they may have it closer to 'right' than we humans do for most of these mate for life. Why then is it so difficult for us, the evolved species, to do the same?

So why is it that love receives less instruction than the average driver’s education class? We don’t learn to drive by crashing until we get it right, but this seems to be how we learn about love.

I’ve had my share of crashes. There was even a time in my life I gave up driving all together. But eventually, like most humans, the desire to have companionship won out over my fear of crash and burn. However the first thing I had to do along my own personal journey to love was to learn to love myself and what a ride that was!

And that is a story for another blog…

© Cynthia Stewart

REBECCA, BUMBLEBEES, AND BELIEF

Father’s Day is a wonderful day and a day of celebration for all who have father’s, or are fathers. For our family the day is a mixed bag of blessings complete with gratitude for having had wonderful father’s, both me and the children, and sad because they are no longer present in our lives, at least in a way we can touch or smell. Since the death of my husband and the father of my five children, I have spent a great deal of thought and energy to create for them a special day. One Father’s Day a few years back I spent the day with four of my five children and friends on a beautiful river outside of Nevada City, California. It was a gorgeous place deep in a gorge, trees reaching up toward the heavens and the calming sound of the river as it dipped and curved around the granite rock outcroppings. The river was clean and cool and filled with wonderful swimming holes much to the delight of my children (and me!)

I watched my youngest daughter as she attempted to swim, unaided, for the first time in her life. Rebecca tried over and over again to keep her little body above the water as she kicked her tiny legs and moved her arms as fast as she could. But time and time again she would stop as she became afraid that she might sink, or worse. After explaining to her that as she was swimming in water that came up to her chest and that she could put her feet down and stand up anytime she needed to, therefore she need not be afraid, her confidence level rose as she began to believe that she was safe and she began to experience more and more success until we had to literally pluck her, blue lips and all, from the water!

While watching my daughter in the river I was reminded once again how we limit our potential by our expectations and beliefs. We get out of life what we expect to get, what we believe is possible, what we think we deserve… and often those expectations and beliefs are the very things that are limiting our success, or our ability to really enjoy life.

When Rebecca thought of the possibility of sinking under the water, she allowed her fears and expectations to keep her from even trying to swim. After all, she wasn’t a fish! She had legs that were meant to walk on the firm surface of the earth, not fins that were mean to move around in the water… or so she believed. Until she changed her belief, she was unable to swim.

This reminds me of a story I once read about the bumblebee. Some time ago, aeronautical engineers studied the bumblebee. They measured its wing span, computed its body weight, scrutinized its oversize fuselage, and concluded that there was no rational reason why a bumblebee can take off or land safely.

See, the bumblebee doesn't know this. It doesn't know that its wingspan is too short, or that its fuselage is too heavy to sustain flight. So the bumblebee flies anyway.

I've got hundreds of true stories about people who have done amazing things because they didn't know they weren't supposed to be able to do them. And I know hundreds of stories about people who didn't do wonderful things because they had it in their heads that they couldn't.

You see, belief puts a lid on your potential. Your beliefs are what determine what you can do in this life. It's not your gender or your intelligence or your personal wealth or your parents or your age or your race or your looks or anything else.

So, if you change your beliefs about what is possible for you, you automatically change your performance to match. And when you change your beliefs and your performance, all sorts of wonderful surprises are in store for you. What can a bumblebee teach you about the relationship between your inner potential and your beliefs? Everything! So spread your wings and fly!

Anything is possible!

© Cynthia Stewart

Through Janie’s Eyes

Over 30 years ago we didn’t have ESPN, or MSBC, or cable TV and 24-hour news, though it wouldn’t have mattered much to me if we had. I didn’t watch TV; perhaps all those hours of cartoons during childhood made television news seem boring. Besides, I didn’t have time to sit still, much less in front of a box and even had I been so inclined, I doubt very much I’d watch whatever news was airing because it made my grandmother cry when she watched it—morning, noon, and night.

I was just hitting my teens, typically self-centered and somewhat detached from the ‘adult world’, I don’t remember what I even knew about war, about politics, about Vietnam… but I do remember when some of the boys started coming home, and I remember when some didn’t.

I remember the look of emptiness in their eyes… blank, vacant, as if they were absent from their bodies in some odd way. I remember the ones who returned in wheelchairs, dismembered bodies crammed awkwardly into uncomfortable and cumbersome contraptions into a world ill prepared for them, or them for it. I remember people staring… I remember I stared too. I remember being afraid, scared of something, yet I didn’t know what. But what I remember most was Jerry.

Jerry served in Vietnam. His sister, his twin Janie, was my friend. She was older than I was, had a job, and provided a safe haven of refuge for a somewhat wayward teenager like me who was fighting wars and battles of my own. It was really through Janie’s eyes that I saw Vietnam for the first time.

Growing up in Texas, the twins, Janie and Jerry, clung together and clawed their way through, and out, of the middle of a family of twelve and into the world side by side. Identical twins couldn’t have been closer than those two. They went to school together, played together, and fought a little too, yet held on to each other through the ups and downs of report cards and rejections, dates and disappointments, elation, divorce, illness, and even death. They were best friends.

As I remember it, from the first day I met Janie she talked about Jerry. Jerry this and Jerry that… you’d have thought she was talking about a new boyfriend or God, or anything besides just a plain ‘ole dumb brother, that is unless you looked into her eyes. Those cavernous blue eyes, echoing the words her mouth couldn’t utter, and the feelings she was unable to release—those dark daunting feelings—the kind that eat their way through you from the inside out. The kind that show up suddenly when a song comes on the radio that reminds you. The kind that rise up in the middle of a sleepless night when you feel too weak, too tired to hold them a moment longer and so you let out the fear, the rage, the unspeakable pain. Those are the stories Janie’s eyes told me when she talked about Jerry, and about Vietnam.

Afterwards she told me many other stories about Jerry. She showed me pictures of their childhood; two towheads turned brunette, plopped in the middle of a mud puddle back yard, white teeth peeping through mud covered heads—pictures of small faces behind gigantic pink ice-cream cones, pink dripping off their chins and down their t-shirts—pictures of the past. Memories anchored to feelings held on paper, and Janie’s attempt to preserve the past, clinging to it, almost as if to postpone the uncertainty of the future. Pictures of perfectly groomed children preparing for first communion. Pictures of birthdays, of holidays, of high-school graduation… two blonde heads with big smiles in the center of a mass of blue robes; pictures of college; and finally of Jerry’s farewell.

As that year passed Janie let out more and more of those dark feelings that wrenched her gut through the day and held her hostage in the dark hours of night. I remember the night she brought in the carved wooden box that sat on her dresser and held her precious mementos. It was a dark mahogany color, carved on the top and sides with roses. I watched her holding it with reverence, as if the contents were more precious than rubies. Her petite white hands carefully unwrapped envelopes postmarked from Vietnam, from places I’d never heard of before, from a world I didn’t know. Letters filled with words I didn’t understand… “Fires in the hole” or “Gooks in the wire”. She read those letters to me from Jerry, her twin, her brother, her best friend; words on paper that evoked a horror and repulsion in me I didn’t even know existed until then. And then she cried. I’d never seen anyone cry so hard, and for so long and in the years that followed I remembered I’d only seen her cry twice. That night was one of them, and when Jerry returned home three years later was the other.

The pain that followed I can’t speak of, it isn’t my story to tell, but anyone looking could read the tale in Janie’s eyes. Those blue eyes spoke volumes. They spoke of fear, anger, and of heart-crushing pain. They spoke to me when Janie wouldn’t… couldn’t… but they never again shed a tear. Something changed inside of Janie the day we met the plane and watched as Jerry came home. Many soldiers came home that day. We stood in absolute silence as the boys came off the plane. I couldn’t tell which one was Jerry. They all looked the same; caskets draped in red, white, and blue.

I remember afterwards leading Janie by the arm through the airport towards the car, gently pushing our way through other families who had come for their own reunion with their brothers, husbands, children, or fathers; families who were forever changed, altered in an indescribable way through their loss. I remember the melancholy that hung so heavy around me and in me, I could barely lift my feet to move through the throngs of people, women with faces still buried in their hands, red-faced men, and children clinging to the legs of their mother’s or siblings. Then I remember the shock that followed, and soon the repulsion, and finally the fear and anger that came as we exited the airport that day.

War protesters they called themselves. I didn’t understand then. I do understand now. I remember thinking, “Why were they screaming? Why were they here?” Waving homemade peace signs while at the same time inflicting acts of violence on these heart-broken families… screaming obscenities, waving fists in the air, spitting on the clothes, shoes, and even some faces of these grief-stricken people who, with heads bowed, made their way quietly through their sorrow to their cars. I don’t remember what happened next, but I do remember the look in Janie’s eyes…

That’s what I really know of Vietnam… the Vietnam I saw through Janie’s eyes.

In memory of Jerry C ~ August 1974
© CiCi Stewart ~ Written Winter 2000

I HAD A VISION

Mist hung low in the cedars this morning like a cloak wrapped about the massive trunks of the ancient ones. Oh, what they might tell me if they could talk; or if I could understand the language I’m sure they have. I lay in bed watching the mist as it moved about the landscape beyond my bedroom, distorting the vision I typically see each morning just before sunrise. Where was the dogwood? I was certain it was there, but in this misty morning vision it eluded me.

It occurred to me at that moment that much of my life right now was like this misty morning landscape… unclear. Try as I might to make out shapes or see the future it was all an illusion that I was to make up in my own mind. What was clear to me was simply this; my house has no roof, my walls no mud, my floors no covering, my windows no glass...

I’ve been struggling so much for the past four weeks, trying to make sense of the insensible and to believe the unbelievable, and I’m sure my recent physical illness is a manifestation of all those stuffed emotions and thoughts I’ve held on to of late. If our words do indeed create our ‘now’ then it is clear to me that mine have been less than beautiful. However I have simply been describing what I ‘see’ before me; yet this morning in my hazy attempt to find clarity among the fog it occurred to me that I couldn’t see the entire picture of life-as-I’d-known-it these past few weeks anymore than I could see the dogwood that I was fairly certain still stood among the cedars across the lawn.

What I am certain about is this; regardless of what a person says with their words, or what their intentions are, the proof is in the pudding, so to speak. Or as a wise woman once told me, “I can’t hear your words for your actions speak so loud.”

What one DOES and how one shows up is what is real. Everything else is made up or imagined. The proof really is in the doing, not the speaking. Perhaps that is what coined the phrase, “talk is cheap”.

In the middle of another sleepless night I had a vision of my own. First the thought… what would I really love to see happen in the building or rebuilding of my home? What I first saw was the crew of Extreme Home Makeover pulling their giant RV in front of my house. A nice vision if I do say so myself. But what came next was even more beautiful and with that vision I felt my heart soften and could see how my life would be forever changed by the realization of that second vision, which was this:

My friend, Gary, orchestrating his magic and not only creating possibilities, but literally organizing and overseeing a group of people who were all smiling, talking, and working on my house. Behind him was Shaye who would bring car load after car load of people to see my house and what was happening there. All of these people where hiring us to redesign their dream home. She would bring them to me and I would walk them through the house, introducing them to the various folks who were all contributing time and energy, creating their own passion within the walls of my home.

There were many people working here from the community… a tile expert donating his time to create a masterpiece of tile work in the entry of my home. Another, a carpenter, laying wood flooring with artistic inlay designs. And then there was a glass woman, doing some sort of stain glass design in one of the windows. And there were many others as well. People with their hands in the dirt, planting flowers and shrubbery… laying huge flat pieces of stone to create a gradual upslope to the front door. There was another man and his wife who were putting in the ornate wrought iron railings that ran up the front walk and into the house up the stairs. This was something I’d helped him weld and design. In the back there was a Japanese man installing a waterfall, river, and swimming pool that all flowed together to create a water spot that looked as if it had always been present on that hillside.

People were scattered everywhere working, happily because each one of them was contributing the finest of their own creations to help me build my heart’s desire. Each of them had pride in their work and because they had so generously shared their talents with me, their work was being viewed, (and sold by me and by Shaye) to thousands of new clients they would likely never have met. It was a true community effort in the highest of humanity living. A gift of service and of love. I fell asleep, finally, with that vision in my head and in my heart. What a beautiful dream.

Later this morning I met a friend at the farmer’s market in Grass Valley and I met a man who does beautiful wrought iron work and I told him, “I had a vision…”

Peace,
CiCi