Showing posts with label quote therapy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label quote therapy. Show all posts
Quote Therapy: 7 February 2013
netted bird kailey lang
“I have come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather. I possess tremendous power to make life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration, I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis is escalated or de-escalated, and a person is humanized or de-humanized. If we treat people as they are, we make them worse. If we treat people as they ought to be, we help them become what they are capable of becoming.” -Haim Ginott
---
Reading this I thought of Hamlet's admonishment of Polonius, "Use every man after his desert, and who shall 'scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in."
We would all be much better off if we took Shakespeare's advice.
It is empowering to realize that I am the decisive element in every single area of my life. Even areas in which I have no control. I make the weather in all my relationships and endeavors.
No matter what individuals or forces are working with or against me, it is my choice to react with anger or joy or relief, to go with the flow, refuse, withhold, accept, compromise, concede, or hold my ground.
I am incredibly stubborn. I am also an optimist. And an extreme perfectionist. This combination has not always worked to my advantage. It is almost impossible for me to give up on someone or something, or to just say "good enough" or "done," even if I know it is in my best self interest. Truth is, I always think things will turn out for the best. And they do, just not as I envisioned.
Sometimes cutting that Gordian knot, leaving a marriage, a job, switching careers, saying goodbye to friends, ideas, possessions, addresses, ideas of how life is or should be, is for the very best.
Quote Therapy: 9:56 P. M. 14 August 2012
At some point on your road you have to turn and start walking back towards yourself. Or the past will pursue you, and bite the nape of your neck, leave you bleeding in the ditch. Better to turn and face it with such weapons as you possess.
from Beyond Black, Hilary Mantel
It's such a waste of energy trying to outrun your demons. They always find you. Always. No matter how far you run, how many ties you cut, disguises you wear, turn around and you'll run right into them.
No matter where you go, you take yourself and your past with you. I am a strong believer that you are not your past, and you can step out of your past into a new story any time you choose, but, I also believe in order to do this, you have to face the past, raise your dead, then lay them down.
I finished Mantel's book last night, and it was near the final pages that this quote leaped off the page. I also just finished a new voodoo collage and smack in the middle is a pair of red sequined Dorothy shoes.
I get the message: it's time to turn and walk back towards the self I've yet to acknowledge, yet to raise or lay down. It's time to return home, do battle the only way I know how: by writing.
I've written very little about being raised Mormon or why I just stopped believing and never went back, never looked back. I think it's time to face the part of myself I've been trying so desperately to outrun.
I'll admit it makes me a little nervous, vulnerable, even paranoid to write about that formative part of my life. All I can think of is the goddesses Kali and Medusa. One creates and destroys. The other turns you to stone.
I'll just face them down, one 100-500 word personal essay at a time.
from Beyond Black, Hilary Mantel
It's such a waste of energy trying to outrun your demons. They always find you. Always. No matter how far you run, how many ties you cut, disguises you wear, turn around and you'll run right into them.
No matter where you go, you take yourself and your past with you. I am a strong believer that you are not your past, and you can step out of your past into a new story any time you choose, but, I also believe in order to do this, you have to face the past, raise your dead, then lay them down.
I finished Mantel's book last night, and it was near the final pages that this quote leaped off the page. I also just finished a new voodoo collage and smack in the middle is a pair of red sequined Dorothy shoes.
I get the message: it's time to turn and walk back towards the self I've yet to acknowledge, yet to raise or lay down. It's time to return home, do battle the only way I know how: by writing.
I've written very little about being raised Mormon or why I just stopped believing and never went back, never looked back. I think it's time to face the part of myself I've been trying so desperately to outrun.
I'll admit it makes me a little nervous, vulnerable, even paranoid to write about that formative part of my life. All I can think of is the goddesses Kali and Medusa. One creates and destroys. The other turns you to stone.
I'll just face them down, one 100-500 word personal essay at a time.
Quote Therapy 6:38 February 15, 2012: Maps in this World
Ireland from Geographical Fun, or Humorous Outlines of Various Countries by William Harvey
What I know now: Even if I had had a map from the start, it wouldn't have done me any good. Like old lives, maps in this world, or any world, are something of an illusion. They change all the time. Katherine Russel Richfrom Turning a Death Sentence Into a Passport for Life
The problem with being healthy, is that you think you have time. And so, you procrastinate, and perfect, in equal measure.
I can't remember which writer was given one year to live, who in that year wrote three novels, maybe six, as I'm misremembering.
I'm not knocking being healthy. I'm grateful. Truth is, I'm living in the illusory world of Time. I think I have a lot. And I really hope I do. But, I haven't finished my novel yet. And I never, ever will, unless I sit my ass in the chair, and finish that crummy first draft.
A day job, is a means to an end. A means that exhausts. What I know, is that I have friends who knock out pages, crummy or brilliant, before they leave for their day jobs.
Upon learning she had stage iv breast cancer, Katherine Russel Rich wrote the following: When I was told I was going to die, I was shredded to realize I hadn't made any real difference. The life of a writer was uncertain, but as a writer, it seemed, I might leave a mark.
Life is uncertain. What is certain is that we're all going to die.
So, what's the worst that can happen if you take that chance, write that novel, switch jobs, get a divorce, tell the truth, take that trip? You might just go up in flames, but you did it, and now you know you did it. And if you fail? So what. Keep going, keep failing, keep moving forward.
I think the real lesson in life is that the heart is the one, true compass. So, go ahead and do what your heart tells you.
Quote Therapy: The Seven Deadly Sins - Mohatma Gandhi
Wealth without work
Pleasure without conscience
Science without humanity
Knowledge without character
Politics without principle
Commerce without morality
Worship without sacrifice.
If you think about it, all human suffering stems from one of these.
I hate the word sin. It implies a sucker punch of judgement, so, instead of sin, I like to think of mindful living.
I can't say I am anywhere close to the abode of mindful living, but I have the address, and that's a start.
Years ago, I was a single mother, short on patience and emotional reserves, just trying to do what had to be done and enjoy my daughter and life. I remember a story on the radio I heard from this time about Gandhi. He was in an important meeting and his nephew stormed in demanding something, acting like an angry child, and the observer said that Gandhi, instead of being annoyed, sending the child away, merely put a finger over the child's mouth, and his other hand over his own heart until the child calmed. Another part of the story was how he used everything for its purpose, as in he had a pencil that he continued to use until it was nothing more than a nub.
I think I am a pretty typical American. Something cracks or chips, I throw it away and buy another. That is, until lately, with the economy and its wake up call. Suffering of any sort is a call to mindful living.
If you look closely at any of the sins, the yin yang quality is so obvious, but it wasn't about an hour ago.
Pleasure without conscience
Science without humanity
Knowledge without character
Politics without principle
Commerce without morality
Worship without sacrifice.
If you think about it, all human suffering stems from one of these.
I hate the word sin. It implies a sucker punch of judgement, so, instead of sin, I like to think of mindful living.
I can't say I am anywhere close to the abode of mindful living, but I have the address, and that's a start.
Years ago, I was a single mother, short on patience and emotional reserves, just trying to do what had to be done and enjoy my daughter and life. I remember a story on the radio I heard from this time about Gandhi. He was in an important meeting and his nephew stormed in demanding something, acting like an angry child, and the observer said that Gandhi, instead of being annoyed, sending the child away, merely put a finger over the child's mouth, and his other hand over his own heart until the child calmed. Another part of the story was how he used everything for its purpose, as in he had a pencil that he continued to use until it was nothing more than a nub.
I think I am a pretty typical American. Something cracks or chips, I throw it away and buy another. That is, until lately, with the economy and its wake up call. Suffering of any sort is a call to mindful living.
If you look closely at any of the sins, the yin yang quality is so obvious, but it wasn't about an hour ago.
Quote Therapy: Colette
"Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet" Colette
I always thought I was a cat person.
Our family always had a dog when I was growing up, but it was the kittens I toted everywhere. Cleopatra was my favorite cat. I also loved the bum lambs and calves that had to be bottle fed, and I was bereft, absolutely bereft, when Nature took its natural course, and they died. My favorite rescue, Linus, was herded on to the slaughter truck by mistake, instead of in the sheering pen. It was a moment from Wagner's Gotterdamerung -the crazy fury section -when I realized the fate of my pet lamb.
Did I mention I grew up on a farm?
I have a weakness for strays, for underdogs. Sheena of Fanfur, Grand Champion,1986, was a rescue. She was a full bred Persian, which means she looked like she'd ran straight in to a wall and flattened her face, and she always sounded like she was snoring. Her story is a queen to peasant story, due to her contracting the fatal and contagious disease, feline leukemia, thereby endangering the cattery, (who knew there were such things, or that there were show cats?). It was either find a home for her or put her down. I got her through a friend that worked at a local vet. I had to have an interview her owner before I was allowed take her. I passed and she outlived my first marriage, but died suddenly. She had a taste for whiskey, and my daughter was certain it was alcohol that had killed her rather than a relapse. Sheena's original owner was colorful. He made his fortune in wheat, and claimed to have been a drummer for Elvis. I never checked it out, I suppose I could Google it, but I prefer to keep the story as is. unverified.
My daughter and I found Ellie, our blue healer/border collie mix at the pound. I hedged until my four-year-old prostrated herself against the cage, wailing, after the keeper revealed that the dog was literally at death's door. A very hard sell, so we had no choice. We brought Ellie home, but I considered taking her back that first night when she chewed a corner off my dining room hutch. She has dug up more flowers and lawn than I'd like to admit. She ran a track in the lawn around the house. She would accommodate my daughter and her friends and play "horse" and clear five foot posts. That is all in the past now, although she is still doing well despite, one serious encounter with a car,a subsequent hip surgery, and her sixteen years. She still comes with me on my shorter walks.
Of all of our cats: Sheena, Isabella, Rosie, and Queen Victoria, Rouger is the only feline still in residence. I named each of my cats after queens. Isabella after Isabella of Toledo, because her coat reminded me of Spain's queen, Queen Vicoria after England's queen, because the cat was stout. She weighed 39 pounds when I brought her home. My daughter named Rosie and Rouger. As I said Rouger is still among the living. My daughter found her, squalling and near death. When we brought her home, you could compare her heft and weight to that of a small candle. She is now an angular, feral cat. Her desperate first few weeks shaped her behavior, and she stalks her food dish, and will not tolerate the dogs good will. Ellie has begun stealth attacks in retaliation.
I'm certain my penchant for strays and rescues is psychological evidence about the deep nature of my psyche, or that I am a identify on some level, but whatever. I said that we found all of our pets at the animal shelter. That was true until my husband, who up until he brought this tiny puppy home from California, hadn't shown much evidence of being an animal lover. Harley was four pounds when he arrived, and he's up to fifteen as of yesterday's vet visit for an embedded barley beard in his front paw. He's lost two pounds walking this summer. Ellie has lost six.
Harley was so small I carried him around in the pocket of my sweatshirt. For the first month we had him, I held him until he protested. He's terribly behaved, and a great contrast to Ellie in temperament.
I'm firmly a dog person now. I still love cats, but it's different relationship. I really never got it when dog people would go on and on about their canines. Now I get it. Dogs love you. They really love you. And they put up will all the petting and scratching and teasing. No matter what, every time you walk through the door,regardless of how many times a day, your dog is happy to see you.
It's a three dog life. And to this point I've had my three. One in childhood. Two in adulthood.
I always thought I was a cat person.
Our family always had a dog when I was growing up, but it was the kittens I toted everywhere. Cleopatra was my favorite cat. I also loved the bum lambs and calves that had to be bottle fed, and I was bereft, absolutely bereft, when Nature took its natural course, and they died. My favorite rescue, Linus, was herded on to the slaughter truck by mistake, instead of in the sheering pen. It was a moment from Wagner's Gotterdamerung -the crazy fury section -when I realized the fate of my pet lamb.
Did I mention I grew up on a farm?
I have a weakness for strays, for underdogs. Sheena of Fanfur, Grand Champion,1986, was a rescue. She was a full bred Persian, which means she looked like she'd ran straight in to a wall and flattened her face, and she always sounded like she was snoring. Her story is a queen to peasant story, due to her contracting the fatal and contagious disease, feline leukemia, thereby endangering the cattery, (who knew there were such things, or that there were show cats?). It was either find a home for her or put her down. I got her through a friend that worked at a local vet. I had to have an interview her owner before I was allowed take her. I passed and she outlived my first marriage, but died suddenly. She had a taste for whiskey, and my daughter was certain it was alcohol that had killed her rather than a relapse. Sheena's original owner was colorful. He made his fortune in wheat, and claimed to have been a drummer for Elvis. I never checked it out, I suppose I could Google it, but I prefer to keep the story as is. unverified.
My daughter and I found Ellie, our blue healer/border collie mix at the pound. I hedged until my four-year-old prostrated herself against the cage, wailing, after the keeper revealed that the dog was literally at death's door. A very hard sell, so we had no choice. We brought Ellie home, but I considered taking her back that first night when she chewed a corner off my dining room hutch. She has dug up more flowers and lawn than I'd like to admit. She ran a track in the lawn around the house. She would accommodate my daughter and her friends and play "horse" and clear five foot posts. That is all in the past now, although she is still doing well despite, one serious encounter with a car,a subsequent hip surgery, and her sixteen years. She still comes with me on my shorter walks.
Of all of our cats: Sheena, Isabella, Rosie, and Queen Victoria, Rouger is the only feline still in residence. I named each of my cats after queens. Isabella after Isabella of Toledo, because her coat reminded me of Spain's queen, Queen Vicoria after England's queen, because the cat was stout. She weighed 39 pounds when I brought her home. My daughter named Rosie and Rouger. As I said Rouger is still among the living. My daughter found her, squalling and near death. When we brought her home, you could compare her heft and weight to that of a small candle. She is now an angular, feral cat. Her desperate first few weeks shaped her behavior, and she stalks her food dish, and will not tolerate the dogs good will. Ellie has begun stealth attacks in retaliation.
I'm certain my penchant for strays and rescues is psychological evidence about the deep nature of my psyche, or that I am a identify on some level, but whatever. I said that we found all of our pets at the animal shelter. That was true until my husband, who up until he brought this tiny puppy home from California, hadn't shown much evidence of being an animal lover. Harley was four pounds when he arrived, and he's up to fifteen as of yesterday's vet visit for an embedded barley beard in his front paw. He's lost two pounds walking this summer. Ellie has lost six.
Harley was so small I carried him around in the pocket of my sweatshirt. For the first month we had him, I held him until he protested. He's terribly behaved, and a great contrast to Ellie in temperament.
I'm firmly a dog person now. I still love cats, but it's different relationship. I really never got it when dog people would go on and on about their canines. Now I get it. Dogs love you. They really love you. And they put up will all the petting and scratching and teasing. No matter what, every time you walk through the door,regardless of how many times a day, your dog is happy to see you.
It's a three dog life. And to this point I've had my three. One in childhood. Two in adulthood.
Quote Therapy: The Art of Uncertainty - Dennis Merritt Jones
"We were born fully equipped to break free of past confining conditions that no longer serve us. And it is our destiny to do so. That inner impulse, that yearning to explore beyond the boundaries of our daily life permeates every living thing, and its voice perpetually whispers in our inner ear, 'Grow, grow, grow...' But, there is another voice that often speaks much louder, the voice of fear. It shouts, 'No, no, no... Stay right where you are. While you may not like it, you risk nothing by staying put.' But, unfortunately, that is the big lie. There is a great risk in resisting the divine urge to grow." Dennis Merritt Jones, The Art of Uncertainty
On our recent sisters retreat to Oahu, we were to bring treats for each other. I brought black and white bars, really delicious on the main land, but not so much on the island. Sugar just can't compete with mangoes and fresh pineapple. One of my sisters brought magazines for her treat. I chose whole living: body+soul in balance magazine, and found this quote on page 126, in case you're interested.
Stasis has been a huge problem for me for about four years now, as in I am in a mire and cannot get out, mainly because of fear of the unknown, so when I read this quote, it shouted, listen up, Danna! I'm talking to you!
I've been in the deep rut of the devil you know is way better than the devil you don't variety. Those of you who are the other side of making a major life decision, are probably rolling your eyes. Believe me, I'm rolling my eyes at myself.
When I was a kid, I was fearless, mainly because I believed I was bulletproof, but also because I wanted to be the leader, the one who made up the script and assigned roles. I always wanted to be the brave one, the risk taker, the not-a-coward. I'm still a risk taker in many areas, but in this one area, not so much, actually, not at all. Four years is a very long time to know something and keep hedging because it may, well, it will tip the ship and sink it.
I'm a good swimmer.
The voice that once whispered is now screaming, (yes, Oprah's words). I believe doing nothing is a risk, especially when you know, you know, you really know, what it is you should risk in order to grow. It's a given that a fish in a small tank will not grow to full potential, a plant in too small a pot will wind its roots in the confines for only so long before it withers.
My mother has a stepping stone in the flower bed outside her front entry that states, "Grow Dammit!" Yes, grow dammit, indeed.
I went to the ocean every morning last week and asked for the strength to risk. At the Valley of the Monuments, I struck a giant bell outside the temple that housed Amida, a giant gold Buddha,three times, asking the same request. All this week that I've been back in the desert I've reminded myself that what was so clear in tropical air is just as vivid in the desert.
I've come up with a game plan:
1. From reading The Book of Salt, I read that Gertrude Stein wrote for fifteen minutes each day. When I was first writing, I'd write for roughly fifteen to thirty minutes, but then I read about other writers discipline of writing for hours, talked to my writer friends about their intense work ethic, and tried to be a real writer by sitting at the computer for as long as I could take it. The reality is, I can only be their writer I am. That said, I will go back to my original writing discipline of writing in short burst, thanks to Gertrude. Like Gertrude Stein, I will write intensely, every day, every single day, for a quarter of an hour.
2. The moment of truth is here, so, I willbe like Nike and just do it, say it, blurt it.
3. Grow, dammit!
I haven't read this book, but found this:Summary: The Art of Uncertainty
What if we could learn to accept I don't know and embrace the possibility that the future is full of mystery, excitement, and unlimited opportunity?
The Art of Uncertainty is an invitation to the reader to consider its essential message: learning to love the unknown by staying present in the moment. If the difficulties of recent years have taught us anything-particularly those who "did everything right" and still saw it all fall apart-it's that none of us has as much control over our lives as we believe. The only thing we can control is our next thought.
What if we could learn how to be at peace with uncertainty and embrace the possibility that the future is full of mystery, excitement, and unlimited opportunity? What if we discovered that a new paradigm can be more fulfilling, more rewarding, and more peaceful than what we have known? Living in the I don't know and loving it is an art form we can all master, and The Art of Uncertainty is the perfect guidebook.
from us.penquingroup.com
On our recent sisters retreat to Oahu, we were to bring treats for each other. I brought black and white bars, really delicious on the main land, but not so much on the island. Sugar just can't compete with mangoes and fresh pineapple. One of my sisters brought magazines for her treat. I chose whole living: body+soul in balance magazine, and found this quote on page 126, in case you're interested.
Stasis has been a huge problem for me for about four years now, as in I am in a mire and cannot get out, mainly because of fear of the unknown, so when I read this quote, it shouted, listen up, Danna! I'm talking to you!
I've been in the deep rut of the devil you know is way better than the devil you don't variety. Those of you who are the other side of making a major life decision, are probably rolling your eyes. Believe me, I'm rolling my eyes at myself.
When I was a kid, I was fearless, mainly because I believed I was bulletproof, but also because I wanted to be the leader, the one who made up the script and assigned roles. I always wanted to be the brave one, the risk taker, the not-a-coward. I'm still a risk taker in many areas, but in this one area, not so much, actually, not at all. Four years is a very long time to know something and keep hedging because it may, well, it will tip the ship and sink it.
I'm a good swimmer.
The voice that once whispered is now screaming, (yes, Oprah's words). I believe doing nothing is a risk, especially when you know, you know, you really know, what it is you should risk in order to grow. It's a given that a fish in a small tank will not grow to full potential, a plant in too small a pot will wind its roots in the confines for only so long before it withers.
My mother has a stepping stone in the flower bed outside her front entry that states, "Grow Dammit!" Yes, grow dammit, indeed.
I went to the ocean every morning last week and asked for the strength to risk. At the Valley of the Monuments, I struck a giant bell outside the temple that housed Amida, a giant gold Buddha,three times, asking the same request. All this week that I've been back in the desert I've reminded myself that what was so clear in tropical air is just as vivid in the desert.
I've come up with a game plan:
1. From reading The Book of Salt, I read that Gertrude Stein wrote for fifteen minutes each day. When I was first writing, I'd write for roughly fifteen to thirty minutes, but then I read about other writers discipline of writing for hours, talked to my writer friends about their intense work ethic, and tried to be a real writer by sitting at the computer for as long as I could take it. The reality is, I can only be their writer I am. That said, I will go back to my original writing discipline of writing in short burst, thanks to Gertrude. Like Gertrude Stein, I will write intensely, every day, every single day, for a quarter of an hour.
2. The moment of truth is here, so, I willbe like Nike and just do it, say it, blurt it.
3. Grow, dammit!
I haven't read this book, but found this:Summary: The Art of Uncertainty
What if we could learn to accept I don't know and embrace the possibility that the future is full of mystery, excitement, and unlimited opportunity?
The Art of Uncertainty is an invitation to the reader to consider its essential message: learning to love the unknown by staying present in the moment. If the difficulties of recent years have taught us anything-particularly those who "did everything right" and still saw it all fall apart-it's that none of us has as much control over our lives as we believe. The only thing we can control is our next thought.
What if we could learn how to be at peace with uncertainty and embrace the possibility that the future is full of mystery, excitement, and unlimited opportunity? What if we discovered that a new paradigm can be more fulfilling, more rewarding, and more peaceful than what we have known? Living in the I don't know and loving it is an art form we can all master, and The Art of Uncertainty is the perfect guidebook.
from us.penquingroup.com
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