For Honest and True Real

In 1922, one of the most celebrated children’s books of all time became a reality; The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams.

As students from high schools and colleges across the world prepare for Pomp and Circumstance to usher them into the “adulthood” of life, it is my hope that they will take with them all the stories they treasured as children. Because, contained within all the pages of all the bedtime stories is the secret of what it is to be real.

It’s easy – far too easy – to get lost in the hustle and bustle of adulthood and lose our sense of wonder. Life circumstances can overwhelm the most adept adult-er, dragging us down into the realms of fear, pain, and despair; the place where we forget who our friends are, and all of our favorite things.

The one thing that we learn from The Velveteen Rabbit is that to be for honest and true real, we must love and be loved in return.

As Mother’s Day comes to a close, all across the world mothers are tucking in their children, turning off the lights as bedtime stories come to a close. In The Velveteen Rabbit, as the little bunny’s quest to become real culminates with the kiss of the nursery fairy, know this:  the Nursery Fairy is your mother. Whether she gave birth to you, adopted you into her loving arms, or is your mother for only a short-time as a foster mother, she is the one who knows without prejudice, without judgment, and without restraint what love is, and to love and be loved is to be real. 

You are real and you are loved.

In the Garden

"Where you tend a rose, my lad, a thistle cannot grow." ~  Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

 Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden was first published in its entirety in 1911, and it has been a favorite of young girls ever since. There’s a lot to be learned from this 331 page compilation of human tragedy and triumph.

The book opens in the dreary depths of winter, where the world seems gray and life at a standstill. The air is crisp and bitter, much like the tongues and hearts of the inhabitants of Misselthwaite Manor. Winter seems to have that effect on people. However, winter is the season where a choice must be made, by everyone, will we be bitter or better. Will we choose to blossom with the rising of the spring sun?

Oftentimes, people will find themselves in the depths of the despair of tragedy and unfortunately choose to stay there. They allow their hearts to solidify into a hardened stone. Some hearts never heal. The Secret Garden is filled with characters struggling with loss, grief, despair, and demoralization. The beauty that lies within the pages of this book is that no matter the darkness that enshrouds the situation, there is always hope, there is always a way to find the path to better days.

Mary, one of the most introverted child characters ever to grace the pages of a children’s novel, is contrary by definition. However, the girl has lost both of her parents, moved to a new home where she knows no one, and quite spoiled by her affluent lifestyle in India. Mary finds solace in a secret only she knows, in the forbidden garden that had been shut up by Master Craven at the death of his wife. Ironically, it was Master Craven himself who gave Mary the key to the garden when she only asked for a bit of earth.

The garden is dead to the eye, but along comes Dickon to prove otherwise. Dickon, the son of Susan Sowerby and the brother of the cheerful maid assigned to tend to Mary, cuts the bark of one of the trees in the garden and says, “It is quick.” Now back in those days, the word quick meant alive. I love this particular part of the book, because it teaches us something we don’t often practice these days: you must look deeper beneath the surface to find life and hope.

Another favorite part of the book of mine is where Mary teaches Colin, the supposed invalid son of Master Craven, that he is not a victim of circumstance. We’ve all met or been the sick person who is cranky and certain of impending death. Colin is mean-spirited and bitter. He has to make a choice, one that can only come from him. Will he try or will he lie down and die, because that is what is expected of him.

We all have our secret garden. It is the place that lives within. It is the place where the flame of hope burns eternal. No matter what it looks like on the outside, there is life and beauty, hope and love that exist inside. Some people call it the will to live, or the primal instinct of survival, I call it faith.

You see, The Secret Garden, is about finding the one thing that will save us all. It’s about finding the faith to believe in something greater than ourselves. The garden, Lilias’ garden, in the book is only a symbol of that faith. It is reflected in abundance and beauty and grace, only when the source of its life is tended; friendship also known as fellowship, believing in miracles, and knowing that there is a life source that is far beyond our own imagination.

We must all tend our garden in such a manner that it emanates the glory and steadfastness of the one who planted it. To do anything less is to give away the keys to the Kingdom.

Through literature, we learn to live, to love, and to conquer!

The Devil is in the Details

Lily stays sitting. “Frances. What if Ambrose is the Devil?” “He’s not the Devil. I know who the Devil is and it isn’t Ambrose.” “Who’s the Devil?” Frances crouches down as if she were talking to Trixie. “That’s something I’ll never tell you, Lily, no matter how old you get to be, because the Devil is shy. It makes him angry when someone recognizes him, so once they do the Devil gets after them. And I don’t want the Devil to get after you.” “Is the Devil after you?” “Yes.”

~ Fall on Your Knees; Ann-Marie MacDonald

Every life that has ever been lived has had a companion that travels along the path unseen; wanted or unwanted. Fall on Your Knees by Canadian playwright Ann-Marie MacDonald is not for the faint of heart, nor the casual reader. The story takes the reader into depths of humanity that are smothering and dark, yet in perfect harmony lifts them into the light once again.

The irony of the story about the Piper family is that it begins in the late 1890s and ends in the fullness of the Industrial Age of the 20s. Yet, it could take place in all its glory even today with events surrounding child marriage, racism, religiosity, family secrets, forbidden love, and a host of others in this 500+ page compilation of the human experience.

The book is filled with literal metaphors, as well as figurative. As we delve into the lives of the three Piper sisters, and how all things came to be in the end, we discover that the devil is in the details.

Over the years of my life, I have seen the devil on more than one occasion. As a child I watched him prattle on at the end of the tongues of many a gossip, encouraging others to believe the lies he portrayed as truth. Ah yes, the devil has made liars of many a man and woman. I have seen him revel in the throes of rage between two races that clash time and time again. He is still reveling in this today. I have seen his haughtiness in the eyes of an addict. Look deep into the soulless depths of a far-gone addict’s eyes and there you will see him triumphant. I have borne witness to the hopelessness of a child who stands along with its parent at the corners of Hunger and Want. There is nothing greater to disparage the soul of a parent than to feel as though you have failed innocence.

“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.” ~ Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

In Fall on Your Knees, the idea of a physical devil lurking somewhere in the mists of Cape Breton, or perhaps trolling along with Kathleen in New York City is an ever present, yet indiscernible theme.

The only question left with the reader at the end of this story is “Who is the devil?” Hint: It’s a figurative question.

Through literature we learn to live, to love, and to conquer!

Making the Most of 24 Hours: It's all we got.

“The chief beauty about time is that you cannot waste it in advance. The next year, the next day, the next hour are lying ready for you, as perfect, as unspoiled, as if you had never wasted or misapplied a single moment in all your life. You can turn over a new leaf every hour if you choose.” ~ Arnold Bennett, How to Live on 24 Hours a Day.

Father Time has taken his leave just in time for the arrival of Baby New Year. This is the time of year many reflect on all that has been, and dream of all that might be. Yet as the year rolls forward, thoughts of nostalgia are lost to the busy-ness of everyday life, and dreams are replaced with “I don’t have time.”

From How to Live on 24 Hours a Day, Arnold Bennett is most often quoted as above, and a fine sentiment it is. However, Mr. Bennett heralds a warning in the following paragraphs of his work:

“But before you begin, let me murmur a few words of warning in your private ear.”

When someone makes a statement such as that, it tends to command attention. Imagine an elderly gent at the coffee shop whispering such a thing to you. Would you not become paralyzed in the moment, wondering what it is that he will say?

Without further ado, let me explain what those murmured words were, from way back in 1917. Mr. Bennett speaks of ardour and what a treacherous thing it can be. You see, we all want to do well, and be well. We begin our endeavors of “turning a new leaf,” in whatever manner, with fervent intent. We pronounce to the entire world our intention to change something we are not quite so comfortable with about ourselves. We begin in earnest the work that it requires.

“Beware of undertaking too much at the start. Be content with quite a little. Allow for accidents. Allow for human nature, especially your own.”

It’s like running a marathon. If you begin the race with all your energy, by and by you will find that it becomes more difficult to finish. At one third of way, you are gasping for air and chugging water. Two-thirds, you are holding your sides and heaving every breath, desperately looking ahead for the finish line. And, not quite at the finish line, you collapse from exhaustion, where we meet our old and comfortable friend, Failure.

“A failure or so, in itself, would not matter, if it did not incur a loss of self-esteem and of self-confidence.”

We’ve all been there at one New Year’s Day or another. “I’m going to quit this, that or the other thing. I’m going to do this, that or the other thing.” You can fill in the blanks. We’ve all made our proclamations to the world; and we’ve all failed in the aftermath of our own arduor.

The premise of Mr. Bennett’s work is living to the fullest in the 24-hour day we are all given. Budgeting our time, talent and treasures to fulfill our need for happiness and contentment. Most of us spend approximately ten hours each day in the going to, being at, and coming home from work. We often lament those ten hours of every day, because we would rather be doing something else. As we go forth into the unknowns of 2016, keep in mind, our jobs do not define who we are, nor do they tally our worth.

Mr. Bennett has given us much to think about:

• First, let us not bite off more than we can chew at the beginning of the year. Take your New Year’s resolution in small doses, and allow yourself the energy necessary to reach the finish line. The success or failure of the endeavor falls on each of us, and how we approach the turning of a new leaf in any regard.

• And second, take each 24-hour day we are given, and maximize the outcome. Make each moment count, whether we are at work, or home, or wherever it is we might be. Life was never meant to be lived in relentless sorrow, grief, misery or pain. The sun rises each day, and with its dawning comes a new opportunity to choose to live happy.

There is much to be learned from literature. Through literature we learn to live, to love, and to conquer.

The Jesus Man

“If you ask me, how I’m doing, I’d lie and say I’m doing just fine…” ~ Gavin Degraw

Note to Readers:  The Jesus Man post began to formulate after a conversation I had last year [2013] regarding how people don’t listen when others talk, and then came home to a deeply saddened FB status by an old high school friend. His friend, and fellow U. S. Soldier, had committed suicide. The ironic thing about the status was how my friend implored everyone to listen to what is being said. There’s a lesson in this for all of us. If you don’t get it, it’s probably because this post is directed to a much younger audience.

In the 1990s, a young man rose to fame and fortune through his music. That young man was Kurt Cobain. At some point, Kurt Cobain was dubbed The Jesus Man, either through his own volition or his fans’, but it stuck.

On April 8, 1994, at 27 years old, Kurt Cobain took his own life, leaving behind his wife and young daughter. Later, the suicide note he had left behind was published. It was filled with all the reasons why. Summed up, it said No one was listening; not even his fans. They were not hearing what he was trying to convey in his music, which led to unfathomable frustration.

Outside of his fan base, most people didn’t even know who Kurt Cobain was until he had grasped the brass ring of stardom. By that time, most people only saw what was on the exterior of this extraordinary, deep-thinking soul lost in a world of chaos of which he could not make sense. And worse yet, in his mind, could not get his fans to understand him as a person and all the things he really represented.

He was seen by the older generations as a drug-addicted malcontent who was a bad influence on the children. The fans consumed his misery and unsettled soul like blood sucking vampires. His public image was distorted; not at all what he wanted his fans to feed on. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to say all the things his soul was feeling, but he could not get the monochromatic world to listen. He was frustrated.

The songs he chose to perform, whether his own or those of others, all had a deep significant meaning to him. They all had something in common. They were all the double-edged sword of spiritual confliction. Let’s take a look at a few of them:

Come as You Are, as you were, as I want you to be. The lyrics of this song sound familiar outside of the music world, don’t they? We hear the words that it’s ok to be who you are, it’s safe, don’t worry; and then all the worries about falling short come to mind and things go haywire from there.

Lake of Fire (Originally, recorded by the Meat Puppets as a swipe against what they perceived as the hypocritical Christian faith.)…where do all the bad people go when they die? They don’t go to heaven where the angels fly. They go to a lake of fire, don’t see them again ‘til the 4^th of July.  Kurt Cobain was a huge fan of the Meat Puppets and performed this song often. In his suicide note, Kurt Cobain expressed several times his feelings of guilt. He didn’t feel guilty for what you might think. He felt guilty for being perceived as something he wasn’t, and his inability to live up to it. He wasn’t a drug-addicted malcontent whose soul was destined to be consumed by the vampirical fans of misery. You’ll have to think on this one for a while.

The Man Who Sold the World…We passed upon on the stairs...He said I was his friend…Kurt Cobain struggled immensely with his own self-identity. He also struggled with what he believed to be true. In his note, Kurt Cobain spoke about love, empathy, and humanity. This song was about meeting Jesus on the stairway to Heaven. He was surprised by the encounter. (Figuratively speaking) He had come face to face with the man who, in his mind, had sold the world. He says in the lyrics, I thought you died alone a long, long time ago. He felt abandon by Jesus long ago in his tormented life. In the second reference to the man on the stairs, he is referring to himself as the man who sold the world - the man who died alone a long, long time ago.

Kurt Cobain was indeed an extraordinary man in his own right. The world will never have the opportunity to know the true depth of his spirit, and what he desperately wanted - needed - the world to hear; because no one was listening.

When a person reaches the point of spiritual bankruptcy there are only two ways left to go - up or out. Unfortunately, many people choose out because they feel they are not being heard. I will always believe that Kurt Cobain was a good soul, lost to the millions of deaf ears his words were falling on.

When others are speaking, are you listening? Really?

Simply Saturday: The Butterfly Fields Update



I have been working night and day on The Butterfly Fields, Book One in The Chrysalis Series. I was hoping for a summer release, but I do not think that is going to happen. I want to explain why that is to my faithful blog readers and Tweeps.

The Butterfly Fields is something that is near and dear to my heart. It is not an autobiography, but many of the events which occur in the story are loosely related to my own life with poetic license and embellishments, and some of it is deeply entrenched into the life I once knew.

The Butterfly Fields is not your typical run-of-the-mill hurry up and get it out sort of story. It has many complexities that cannot be rushed or they will lose their meanings and purpose. The characters must be developed in such a way emotions and connections are evoked in the reader, or the understanding is lost. This is a series of books that span the life of a young girl living in the dark ages, yet can be related to on many levels by readers of today.

I think any fantasy author writing about the ultimate battle of good vs evil, on some level, is forced to face the darknesses that have lived in their own life. I could be wrong. For me, The Butterfly Fields is rather therapeutic in nature. As I move through the phases of the lives of Annalicia and Elsie, I wander through The Butterfly Fields of my own youth. Bit of trivia about the story: The Butterfly Fields were a real place in my history. They were not what they are in the book, but they were indeed real to me and my next oldest sister in our youth. They were a land of imagination, where many adventures were afoot. They were a place of freedom, safety, and sanity within the harsh environment surrounding us. We were children in the midst of the recession, the cold war, and cultural clashes within our own community.



I discovered in my adventures in The Butterfly Fields, when a person feels powerless, degraded, unwanted, and most assuredly unloved, they will go in search of these things. If they have no basis in any love at all, there is one who will make sure these things are found within the world. We don't like to talk about it. We don't like to acknowledge it, but it is a universal truth that we must accept: In all things there is an equal and opposite. It is as real today as it was in the Garden of Eden in the beginning. It's the whole reason we are in this miserable existence in the first place. I am pretty sure, but I'm no expert, and none of us are special in our circumstances, but I am pretty sure, it is the whole reason Jesus said: "Love one another as I have loved you."

I feel compelled to clarify what I mean by the equal and opposite. It does not mean that the devil is the equal and opposite of God. I mean that darkness is the equal and opposite to light as good is to evil, and love is to hate.

Within love there is mercy, compassion, and hope. Without the experience of these three primary needs of the human being, we are lost among the tyranny of the darkness ever destined to cling to the world rather than to the Ultimate Love. We find our worth and value defined by the world in which we live. Do we make enough money? Are we working in the right career? Do we have enough stuff? Do we have enough power? Are we thin enough? Are we pretty enough? Do we meet the expectations of the world? Are we acceptable? When the answer to any of these questions is 'No', then we begin the quest to make these things the truths of our lives, by any means necessary; even at the cost of the detriment of another - even ourselves.

I am a natural introvert and highly sensitive to that which surrounds me. I assess every situation through association or disassociation as the need arises. As I developed the character of Elsie McCormick, youngest of the McCormick Clan, she is like me in many ways. I discovered something about me in her development: I used to look at my association and disassociation as a negative, when in reality it is the one thing that allows me to think outside of the box.

Without the mercy, compassion, and hope of love it is easy to find ourselves stuck inside the box created by the world. There is no room in this box for the idea that there is more to our existence than the confines of the tangible. When we begin our quest to make the expectations of the world the truths of our reality, we slowly begin to create our own confining prison of tyranny where we, and we alone, are the warden. Only we can go to the Governor of All to seek pardon. For me, this requires both association and disassociation. I must recognize from inside the box there is another possibility, another plausible means, to exist free from the tyranny of the darkness of my world. I must disassociate myself from the world for a moment, allowing me the opportunity to associate with that which lies outside of walls of the prison I have created. This is not a one time deal. This is something that I have to do repeatedly, on a daily basis.

After many years of living with a plague of misery, I can finally breathe. I cannot yet fly, I am simply moving forward one step at a time and breathing...breathing is good. When I can breathe, I can write, and when I can write...I can live.

Simply Saturday: The Brink of Creation

Henry David Thoreau, what a character in the history of the United States. He was a little...shall we say...different...than the rest of his colleagues and peers in the literary world; and the world-at-large.

Although he was a rebellious spirit wandering the world, he was an incredibly descriptive writer. I imagine spending all that time on Walden Pond gave him ample opportunity to think about the world and his place in it. As I was reading Walden: The Writings of Henry D. Thoreau, I was immediately transported to world rarely seen by human eyes. Thoreau takes you to the very brink of creation in his writings.

Every minute detail of his prose has been discovered through endeavors of a laborious nature. On pages 246 - 248, there is a description of the formation of the ice over Walden Pond with such intricate detail it took days to observe the process, lying full length on the surface noting every detail as it occured.

Thoreau lived near Walden Pond from 1845 to 1849, on a place given to him by his friend, Ralph Waldo Emerson.

"I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the factual essentials of life, and see if I could learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." ~ Henry D. Thoreau.

Thoreau's life on Walden Pond was lonely and secluded with occasional trips into the nearby village, which he loathed. Although he seemed lonely for the human interaction, if it had not been for his sabbatical to Walden Pond, we would not today know and understand the deepest meanings and intricate details of the natural world surrounding his humble abode.

Initially I set out to read Walden as a means to understand descriptive detailing of landscapes. I find learning from the masters far more intriguing than conforming to the modern techniques of telling tales. In the process I learned a little something about the natural world,  a bit about the society of Thoreau's time, and some about me.

Spring has come to the valley in which I live. Soon the butterflies will return to flutter about on the hot summer days. In all of creation, there is nothing more splendid and peaceful than the flight of the butterfly; no matter where she chooses to flit, or land.

Monday Musings: Dwell in Possibility

It was a pleasant eve between my old friend, Emily, and me. The breeze fluttered through the open window at my back as the life of Emily revealed itself before me. Emily and I were quite the pair; she and I.

A sky filled with a billion twinkling lights against the backdrop of the vast darkness of the unknown. A question for each racing through our minds, "What are you? Where are you? How did you get there and where are you going?" Questions requiring answers not forthcoming.

"Dwell in possibility." ~
Emily Dickinson

Awkward and strange to those from the outside; meeting only a few and understanding none. A childlike lack of confidence when in the social air. A preference for the solitude of our own skins. Afraid if we should bleed, the light that courses through our veins would be lost into the world; scattered to the four winds. Yet, ever longing for the eternal escape as we suffocate within the confines our bindings.

Faced with the harshness of the reality of the world around us; factual and scientific in nature. A never-ending descent into the smallest tangible portion of reality until there is no more; and everything. A journey of searching for the undeniable fact.

Ever on the edge of hope and desire; a desire to find that one true love that seems elusive in the world that binds us within the wall-less prisons of our minds. Chained to the firmanent with fleeting glimpses of all that is - and is not. All that will be; manifesting only in the prose of our unspoken words; living between the synapsis of the life confirming organ that determines - destination.

Feverishly spilling the stress of the days within the confines onto parchment from pen. Desperately seeking blessed release from the pains of humanity which haunt us: Death and destruction viewable from the seat at the window; merciless deeds of injustice done in the name of progress; deceit disguised as benevolence strategically maneuvered for the sake of greed; and the bloodlust of humanity marches forward in a quest to conquer the temporary.

Every moment spent attached to the flesh of life inflicting torturous pains upon the soul until it cries out in desperate pleas for mercy from the silence that deafens the ears. Pains that manifest in the flowing streams of saltwater that trickle onto the marble floor of gluttony.

The sun rises over the horizon as though a savior from the darkness that leads the soul through valleys of death. Rays of light striking into the haze between dark and light. The sky is paintbrushed into a new day; a new hope; a new life.

In keeping with the Monday theme of classic authors, this post has been recycled from May of 2011. I have been busy working on The Chrysalis Series. Have a wonderful week everyone!
(c) Donna R. Wood 2011 - All right reserved.