Breathe deep, Let praise exhale

There are days when I am too weary of the pain of walking and breathing to get out of bed. I still question my purpose for being here most mornings. The universe has a way of giving you encouragement when most needed, if you are open and willing.

December 3^rd was a bad day for me in that I was more depressed and discouraged than usual. I had been talking to my son and his wife the night before about a memory of watching an episode of NCIS where Abby starts a Living Rocks campaign; aka tell people why you are grateful when you have them not as an epitaph when they are gone.

With that idea stuck in my head and feeling like a cancerous Unicorn with a broken horn I checked my email as I try to at least 3x a week to ensure there were no flames that had to be dealt with before curling up back in bed.

I read an email from a business associate that gave me a sense that there may be at some point, in the not too distant future, a point that life may improve at least a little. This person was doing their job of course. They took the time to explain what they were doing, a courtesy not given often. It made me realize how seldom of late I took the time to do more than be polite to those I must interact with in person. So I sent a short email to express my gratitude.

Today I received a reply from her expressing how touched she was at something that took me one brief moment of inspiration and 2 minutes of effort. I resulted in something tangible she can carry with her for those hard days.

This got me thinking once again. We are all so quick to offer ridicule, to correct others, to honk at rude or careless drivers, to gaze sternly at those weary parents that do not seem to have any control over rowdy children. When is the last time I had offered praise, or corrected myself publicly, or smiled and waved at a courteous driver, or offered patience and a smile to a weary parent?

I have found that when I have a problem with a company and need to communicate in real time I use online chat as often as possible. This allows me to think and censure what I say before I say it. I am able to speak clearly, kindly, and without emotional interference. Life does not afford that luxury in line, face-to-face, in traffic, but a slow deep breath can at least provide a buffer for you to consider what you are about to say and how it can impact the person you are speaking to and how that may in response effect you.

Eternal Impact

Talking with a friend today I was reminded of the thought I held as a child,
 "be the person that makes a difference".  I firmly believed that if you always did and said what you knew to be right even if you feel there would be no consequences that you could improve the world.

Don't misunderstand me, I still believe that and it has become so much a part of who I am that it is no longer a conscious choice it just is who I am; I was just reminded that it was a choice, a choice I made.

We all interact with the world daily and every choice we make has the potential to change the world. It may not be the people you smile at, the tiny old woman you get a can off the top shelf for at the store, or the harried mom you let in front of you in the bank; it may be the person watching you.

Even years after my brother passed away we would occasionally meet someone he had known and they would ask after him and when we told them he was gone they all, to a person, cried. He had impact on the world in the all too brief 19 years he spent here. He showed courage, courtesy and hope. Even when he did not feel them.

I want to be that kind of person.

I have many days where I wake up wondering why I am still here, if anyone would care if I was gone, how long it would take for anyone to even notice my absence.

Then I remember there are a few that I listen to without criticism or advice; just listen.
There are those that depend on me financially- sad since I am behind on my electric and internet and will likely have them cut off in a matter of days- yet I do somehow, with Gods intervention, always find a way to pay bills and some depend on me for shelter.

I do extend kindness and courtesy to as many as I can on a daily basis even when I do not feel very kind or courteous. I have no way of knowing if I have any impact on the world and likely never will, but it does not matter.

Mantis shrimp and a very very small percentage of the human population see colors in the spectrum that no one else does; does that mean those colors do not exist? If a tree falls in the forest...?

If you really think about it color does not really exist. What we perceive as color is really just how our brains process various refractions of light across surfaces. But we percieve. The refraction is created by a light source that impacts our perception of the world around us.

We can each be a source of light that influences the colors of the world around us.

Damaged Waiting

damage- noun 
1. injury or harm that reduces value or usefulness:The storm did considerable damage to the crops. 
2. damages, Law. the estimated money equivalent for detriment or injury sustained. 
3. Often damages. Informal. cost; expense; charge:What are the damages for the lubrication job on my car? 
wait- noun 
1. a period of waiting; pause, interval, or delay. 

 According to http://www.dreammoods.com/dreamdictionary/ "Symbols are the language of dreams. A symbol can invoke a feeling or an idea and often has a much more profound and deeper meaning than any one word can convey. At the same time, these symbols can leave you confused and wondering what that dream was all about." 

Why am I writing all this? 
I have odd dreams; I know many of us think we have odd dreams. 

I used to think everyone dreamed the way I do, in time I learned that no, they don't. The depth, detail, and intensity of my dreams can be disturbing. 

My brother used to love starting every day talking about my dreams; I wonder sometimes now if he ever dreamed. 
He was born with a brain tumor and was in pain every day of his life, though he did not really understand that as he was born in pain, was never without it. 
I know he had difficulty sleeping. 
I have absolutely no memory of him sharing any of his dreams, just building stories and ideas around mine. 

I had an acquaintance some years ago that began asking me the first two words I woke thinking about each day; if they found them ominous they stayed home. 

Last night I dreamt about a group of people that dressed in vintage fashion and wandered around shooting photos or film clips in black and white, the prominent style in the dream seemed to be circa 1920's-30's. 
As the dream progressed the mood became darker, more frenzied and I was left with the overwhelming realization that their frivolous capers hid violence and unrest. 
I was struck by flashes like rot and decay behind a flaking mirror. 

The two words I was overwhelmed by for hours after waking were Damaged Waiting. 

When my grandmother passed away she left behind many things undone as many of us will I am certain; few are ever "ready" to leave. 
Perhaps because she was a child of the Depression or maybe just because she felt confined and limited, she left shelves and boxes of unused fabric and notions and patterns, drawers full of lovely nightwear that she never used, unopened packages of vintage hosiery. 
She left an entire life unlived, stored in nooks and crannies. 

 As a vivid dreamer I have a lot of dream dictionaries, interpretation guides etc. However since my hasty grudging move a year ago I have not even had the energy to really unpack. No painting, no sewing, no crafts, no bookshelves full of knowledge inviting me to explore. 

I accept that I am not the same as I used to be physically, that I have difficulty with coordination-but I was relearning how to paint and in an entirely new style that I was enjoying. 
I do not have enough funds for laundry so am limited to the occasional kindness of family allowing me to do a load or two in their machine when I can get a ride there, sewing even with the fabric I had ready and waiting seems distant even if I found the supplies in the mountain waiting to be unpacked. 
I often feel like those people I used to dread interacting with because they smelled so...lived in. I get it now; lack of towels and clean clothing will do that to you. After a while you start to think why bother with a shower? No one cares, you have nothing clean to put on, it just doesn't matter. 

 I kept going back to why those words...damaged...waiting... 
 is the waiting causing the damage? 
 is the damage causing the waiting? 
 are they feeding each other using hosts' lethargy unaware? 

 As I began typing this post and remembering my brother's fascination with dreams and his ability to rise above, I thought about my grandmother's unfulfilled wait for a life that never came, and I realize at least one possible portent for me in a dream of damaged waiting. 

Life is pain; it teaches us which movements and motions we can withstand and which to avoid. Sometimes knowing what will break you is about testing that edge. But you have to move, dance, live, explore, reach, dare or there is no basis for growth and knowledge, only waiting for the damge to be revealed behind the mirror.