Posts Tagged ‘Love’
Lotta Love
It is classically crispy and spring-like this morning, even though we are still weeks away from the vernal equinox that marks the arrival of the next season. The planet continues to melt and cook as predicted by climate scientists. Imagine that.
A couple of days ago, there was still enough snow in some spots that Asher could almost disappear in his hunt for rodents.
This morning, the high ground of the hay field is fully exposed.
Paw and boot prints in the soft, slushy snow from last night are perfectly preserved by the temperature drop below freezing, so we can see where Asher and the dog sitter walked while we were away last night. We were in the Cities for a Valentine’s dinner at the home of our friends, Pam and John, before the four of us attended “Saturday Night Love” at the O’Shaughnessy Auditorium at St. Catherine University in St. Paul.
One of our favorite humorous storytellers, Kevin Kling, and six music and theater friends offer an annual show on themes of love. This year, love was greatly needed, in light of the abuse Minnesota has suffered at the hands of brutal ICE agents’ unconstitutional provocations and murderous attacks on citizens. The collective attempt to process the trauma of the endless days of stress was palpable in the robust shared audience participation and heartfelt responses to the entertainment provided on the stage.
The hilarious familiarity of situations and word-images that Kevin Kling paints with his strong Minnesota accent is always a special treat. He harkened back to the days we drank well water directly from the hose and played with Jarts lawn darts. In classic Minnesota form, he shared a quote that if you mess with one tater tot, you mess with the entire hotdish.
The packed auditorium seemed to respond so universally to each of the occasional references to the attacks by the oppressive regime that I found myself wondering if any MAGA supporters might be in the audience. They could just as equally appreciate reminiscent storytelling, popular music, poetry, and show tunes. If so, what must they sense from the emphatic response of so many people around them?
What do they think when so much love for all of humanity is expressed with such robust enthusiasm by hundreds of others?
It’s not something I can comprehend. What I do know is that the love vibrations being shared last night were wonderfully energizing. It was refreshing to receive more than we gave for a change.
It has left us vibrating, still.
All we need is love, dat dadatta da!
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Old Horses
Even though the racing world considers January 1st the birthday for all Thoroughbreds, we still know the actual date our horses were foaled. Today, February 13th, is Mia’s real birthday. She was born in the year 2000.
Our friend, Michelle, is planning to stop by with a treat for the birthday girl later this afternoon.
All four of the horses have been pleasantly mellow lately, and we have been thoroughly enjoying their peaceful spirits.
As we lingered with the mares after feeding them yesterday morning, Cyndie and I remembered the descriptions of the desperate situation Light had been rescued from (twice!), and the level of food insecurity three of them had endured. The most critical of their physical health concerns had been addressed before they were brought to Wintervale, but their residual trauma still lingered large in the first months after they arrived.
The first day they were with us, we found them standing together in the middle of the small paddock, and even fresh apple slices we offered didn’t entice them to greet us. It looked to me like they were showing us that they had had enough of human interaction. This location was just another stop on a lifetime of being trailered to places they were forced to run, places they were forced to be bred, or eventually, to places they were neglected to near starvation.
Swings began to repeatedly pace back and forth along the paddock fence anxiously. Mix would lash out when a horse or human got too close during feeding times. Mix is also the one to react in panic whenever we’ve tried enclosing them inside the barn stalls. When we set out pans of feed for them, they rarely stayed in place, setting off a “musical chairs” rotation of moving from one pan to another to eat each other’s serving.
Over a period of years, we’ve enjoyed the blessing of witnessing their behaviors gradually normalizing as they rediscover their true equine nature.
They are so much more comfortable in their horse-ness these days. We have learned plenty along the way, adjusting our care as their responses dictate. Long ago, we ditched feed pans for buckets we hang at feeding time, always following a set pattern that positions each horse in a specific location.
Now, each time they calmly take up their positions before we bring the filled buckets out, it brings us such a feeling of appreciation. Giving them open access to the fields most of the time allows us to enjoy them choosing to stay by the security of the barn overhang or journeying out to the far reaches of the fields, depending on their whim.
On the eve of the big day of lavishing Valentine’s love on those you hold close to your hearts, I’d like to offer you a way to show some love to horses being rescued by the private, volunteer-based non-profit organization, This Old Horse, through a link to their donation page:
DONATE
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We donate our fields, facilities, and time and labor caring for Swings, Mia, Light, & Mix, but This Old Horse covers the costs of hay and feed, maintaining their hooves, routine checkups, and as-needed vet visits. If you have it in your heart to help give horses a chance to live out their days with dignity and surrounded by love, this is a truly deserving organization. ❤️
Oh, and tip your hat to our Mia as she reaches 26 years old today! Momma Mia!
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Flavors
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my life
in flavors
is mostly plain
crunchy isn’t a flavor
but sometimes I feel like that
sour happens
more than I like to admit
vanilla
and just a little bit lemon-y
is not all that bad
but not close to accomplishing sweetness
sweet is the best, of course
chocolatey, too
almost always aligning with happy
which is totally cool
on the other hand
if cloudy describes a flavor
my life would recognize
precisely how that tastes
nutty seems appropriate
and a little salty I guess
then mellow
with a hint of some mint
occasionally carbon black
burned by flame
too many minutes too long
while on a really good day
it’s all hot-fudge malt
and a favorite song
never ending
never fading
living large
even after it’s gone
but the flavor of love
it tops them all
since it never ever runs out
and travels through space and time
all hearts, roses, & candy
blushes and winks
warmth
truth
reality
eternity
all of which
we get to season
to taste
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Feels Wrong
Amidst all the blatant misuse of power, the lies, and the unending obfuscation of the current U.S. administration, there seems to be little cause for hope among the average citizens. Unfortunately, this latest version of oppression that is being dished out for the greatest effect is not new to a large portion of the population that has been discriminated against for generations.
Those of us who never suffered the constant disdain from proper society folk aren’t used to dealing with this developing vilification and the increasingly violent actions against our constitutional rights. A good number of the recently offended are standing up in protest, making our voices heard. That’s a struggle to do day after day, especially when the Federal offenses continue to intensify.
My inclination this morning was to curl up with my head beneath my pillow, where I could pretend I am not living in the middle of the decline of our democracy, even though I know it would only help the oppressors to achieve their desired outcome.
Luckily, I have Cyndie in my life to help me carry on against the ugliness. She is not taking me by the arm to march in the streets today. No, she is applying a lesson she learned long ago from someone with first-hand life experience in being discriminated against.
Sometimes, even when you don’t feel like it, it’s important to get out and dance.
I guess I can see the logic, but it just feels so wrong to seek out joy when so many are being mistreated. Then it occurs to me that people have been suffering all the other times in my life when I was out on some grand adventure. How would this be different?
At least we are combining our plans to have some silly fun with our kids and their life partners today, with a goal of supporting small businesses that are experiencing focused abuse from the authoritarian crackdown.
We are thumbing our noses at those who want us to suffer. Our form of protest today will be achieved by not wallowing in our sorrows over the abuse from the tactical military outfitted thugs stomping on citizens’ rights. We will be laughing, loving, and feeding each other’s souls with happy energy at a time when all of our resources of these gifts feel low.
If it starts to feel wrong to be happy, maybe we will chant “ICE OUT!” a few times before sharing our smiles with an immigrant server or their neighbors in a suburb of St. Paul, Minnesota. We aren’t actually attending a dance. I’m afraid I will need to pretend I remember how to throw a bowling ball down a lane toward ten pins.
I’m guessing it may feel cathartic to knock things down in a harmless way.
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Dizzying Dissonance
The firehose of ridiculousness and the horrific is flowing at a dizzying rate from one main point in the country of the USA. The buffoon acting as the figurehead is busy spouting his aggressive desires to take over other countries and much of our own, by force if necessary, while simultaneously claiming himself to be the most peaceful person to ever deserve a peace prize.
It is so comical while being equally evil that the rest of the sane world seems to just stare, dumbstruck, wondering what the heck could possibly happen next to stop the madness.
Those who made this mess have no interest in stopping anything. As with so many realities of this world, it will likely get worse before things end up better.
Cyndie and I romp on our beautiful rural acres with our dog and horses, enjoying what diminishing features of winter remain. Rain in January has become the new normal for our position on the planet at this point in the warming climate. Asher behaves as if he doesn’t have a clue about the evil in motion in the world. His pure joy of chasing his rope-pierced Jolly Ball is a healing balm for our fractured sensibilities.
The horses, on the other hand, give off a different vibe. From everything we have come to know about the far-reaching sentience of these amazing equine beings, it doesn’t surprise me that they recognize the nastiness that humans are spewing into the world (again).
It means a lot to Cyndie and me to be able to give them our love and attention each day, letting them know we understand when they are uneasy. Having been rescued from some truly dire situations, our four horses are well familiar with what humans are capable of when acting at their worst. Every good thing we can do for them helps to heal whatever previous suffering they have endured in their lives.
The best thing we can do for ourselves amid the dizzying dissonance of the transition to an authoritarian state is to avoid the blasts from automated bots working for the propaganda machine and increase our loving attention to each other, our children, our friends, our neighbors, and all the animals in our care.
The little things we do matter in ways that too often get overlooked. As individuals, we can’t solve the threat of ICE agents murdering citizens, but we can help each other to cope with the storm of hatred rumbling over the country (and world).
Give a little extra love to people you encounter every day. Share a smile with someone you’ve never met. Give rise to a feeling of love for yourself and everyone you know.
The human race is so much better than the way the worst of people can make us all seem. Two different things can be true at the same time. It’s dizzying, I know.
I’m thinking about going outside to hug some of our trees. Then I’ll go retrieve the empty feed buckets from the horses on this picturesque Saturday morning.
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Random Distractions
Despite the smothering grief we are feeling over the murder by federal ICE agents, and the incendiary rhetoric being spewed from the White House ever since, Cyndie and I trudged through yesterday with faith that those intent on hurting others will never fully extinguish LOVE.
Living in a rural area while choosing to abstain from guzzling at the firehose of news broadcasts tends to leave us feeling disconnected from the rest of the world about how like-minded folks are responding to the extrajudicial killing of Renee Nicole Good.
I struggled to focus on most tasks I attempted, but managed to distract myself for a while with some meditative jigsaw puzzling.
It was above freezing most of the day, and it was fun to see the horses romping in the snow that remained in the hay field. We had removed their blankets for the day to give them a break from the artificial covering. It’s wonderful to see them rolling around on the ground to scratch their itches and feel the direct contact with the ground again.
By their dinnertime, we learned rain was expected, so Cyndie put a rain sheet on Mia. The other three needed to figure out the simple act of staying under the overhang to stay dry. We know Swings does it, but we worry that Mix doesn’t tend to demonstrate those same smarts.
Before we went to bed last night, it was raining like a spring shower again. That’s almost as depressing as having ICE agents destroying citizens’ lives every day.
Cyndie took a picture of Asher with his squeaky/krinkly campfire chew toy in his mouth, standing beyond her red waxed Amaryllis bulb and her wooden roses puzzle, which Elysa helped her assemble the previous weekend.
Red, red, and red!
We find ourselves looking for any distraction in a storm. The likelihood that things will continue to get worse before they get better weighs heavily on both of us.
Cyndie left voice messages on phones at the offices of our representatives, expressing her anguish and dissatisfaction with the illegal activities of the masked immigration agents. We have not ruled out finding a protest that we can attend to offer solidarity with others equally despondent over Renee’s murder.
The days end up being a blur of sadness and frustration, mixed with the contrast of love and hope we are striving to conjure up to feed the world.
What the world needs now is love, sweet love
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Big Sigh
It’s all over for another year. The grand Christmas-palooza that Cyndie’s family puts on starts with a dinner on the eve and then breakfast and presents on the day, followed by time for a nap before an evening meal and games. Dinner on the 24th occurred in an event room at the senior living complex where Cyndie’s mom lives.
The younger volunteers were racing to roll doubles to steal the present before the person ahead of them was able to unwrap it while wearing oven mitts. The presents were wrapped with multiple layers. Cruel.
Cyndie and I made the drive to the cities and back three times in the two days. We took advantage of the car time to hear more mind-blowing episodes from The Telepathy Tapes. So fascinating.
When we got home after the Christmas Eve dinner, already after our normal bedtime, Cyndie assembled the caramel rolls she would bring to breakfast the following morning.
After leaving them to raise over night, she put the pans in the oven in the morning while I took care of horse chores.
We drove some extra miles to get to the house that her brother, Steve, is renting on Lake Minnetonka while his house is being rebuilt after the fire.
Between the exquisite food served at each of the three meals and the irresistible sweets offered for dessert, I violated any measure of appropriate caloric intake and blissfully consumed more yummy goodness than I should have.
Santa (Marie) brought me a new pair of chopper mittens! Wasn’t I just raving about those…?
It was a holiday of pure love among loud family conversations, gift exchanging, some singing, and fancy feasting.
Today feels like a big sigh of relief, now that the events and repeated commuting of the last 36 hours are behind us. It’s always a lot of fun, but part of me feels a little extra appreciation to be home again and returning to our normal routines.
The hard part will be convincing my body that it needs to return to normal calories now.
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Love Letters
While walking back up the driveway from the road, rolling the empty recycling bin through the cold air under a bright sunny sky, I paused to confirm that Asher would come with me after finishing his task in the tall brush of our north loop. We had just accomplished an almost perfect interaction at the road with the mail van showing up just as we got there.
I got Asher to sit and stay while I stepped up to grab our mail as the postman rolled by, but then I spotted that the dog had released himself from his ‘stay’ and was planning to prance around the back of the van. A simple command interrupted his misbehavior, and he enthusiastically corrected course to join me for the trek back to the house.
It’s not obvious to me why that pause I made at the peak of the rise in the driveway triggered a thought that my daily blog posts are love letters I write for you. Maybe it was the mail in my hand, which consisted of three holiday cards, one of which was an ad from a steakhouse, disguised as a friendly card in an envelope.
Traditionally, at this time of year, people reach out to their friends, families, neighbors & associates with heartfelt greetings of warmth and appreciation via cards through the mail. I used to design a custom Christmas card every year after we got married and started trying to fulfill the “adulting” role.
After email started to replace snail mail for communication, and workplaces initiated campaigns to become “paperless” in their daily operations, I developed a complex about using so much paper to print and mail cards. Being naturally frugal, I was also unhappy with the cost of the number of stamps needed to reach our ever-expanding variety of people in our thoughts.
Now I use Relative Something to send Thanksgiving and Christmas greetings to those of you who might see them here. No trees are harmed for paper, and no additional postage expense.
But every day, I write something that reflects my experience in the world. It is what I would tell you if we were sitting together without the usual distractions of work, or surrounding people, or things cooking on the stove. It is a way to make a connection despite being great distances apart.
This may have been the intent of other social media platforms, but I long ago chose to avoid those. I am satisfied to have this space, devoid of advertising, bots, and algorithms, as my media method for sending love to those of you with an interest in checking in on what I will come up with next.
Thank you for allowing me to visit you through this blog. I get to see all the countries where readers are located, and I am well aware of the reach this WordPress blogging offers. It may be mostly a one-sided pen pal connection, but it is a thrill to be able to beam love to you all in the simple form of my narrative of *this* John W. Hays’ take on things and experiences.
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Detecting Numinosity
Cyndie and John
The initial attraction was mutual and undeniable. In our early years of exploring a relationship as potential significant others, there were plenty of twists and turns. Cyndie was a year older than me and in the high school class ahead of mine. In many ways, we were opposites. She was more of a go-getter. I was more inclined to wait for things or opportunities to show up in my life.
I bailed on our relationship several times, thinking it was unlikely to survive the ravages of time. However, the magnetic pull between us was relentless. She was all I ever wanted, so it was easy for me to give it another go.
Cyndie pursued multiple university degrees; I sought the least expensive and shortest path to a trade that offered stable employment. We shared an equal passion for similar music, certain foods, and an empathy for the plights of others. I took pride in fulfilling the [at the time] non-traditional role of supporting her career as she repeatedly climbed higher and higher in educational administration positions, being the only woman among numerous old-boy networks.
Somehow, together we managed to raise two intelligent, well-adjusted children while simultaneously unraveling and resolving our own personal issues that originated unconsciously in each of our formative years and grew with us into our adult minds and relationship dysfunctions.
She let me go off on bicycling adventures on my own; I enjoyed being allowed to stay home when she wanted to travel to distant shores. No one seems able to fathom how or why I would pass up a trip to Italy. I consider having gotten permission to stay home one of my great accomplishments. (No offense intended, Italy.) Cyndie says it was one of her favorite trips.
I experience greater pleasure from saving money than spending it. Cyndie is uncomfortable with tight constraints on our expenditures.
We have benefited immeasurably from more than a year of work with a couple’s therapist.
Cyndie was always more of an optimist, while I was a classically trained pessimist. We have rubbed off on each other enough at this point that I occasionally am able to note the switch for her.
When Cyndie came home from a training session with horses and reported receiving physical sensations and eventually messages in her mind transmitted by the animals, I was dumbfounded. I had no reason to doubt her experience –even though she was unsure about what was happening herself– but it took some time to reconcile the unbelievable aspect with which we were suddenly presented.
We’ve been through a lot together. Today, we share an equally strong understanding of the presence of a divine loving energy around us in every direction and in all creatures, plants, and materials in the universe. We understand telepathy is a reality because we have experienced it.
Looking back from where we are today, I better understand that magnetic attraction that was relentlessly drawing us toward our eventual long-term relationship. Nothing short of numinous.
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Mind Bending
It’s like when you reach to flip a light switch and it doesn’t toggle all the way over, and you notice instantly that it didn’t. So you react instantaneously and flail at it a second time. But it still bounces back because you didn’t get any closer on your second flail. How ridiculous it is to find yourself spastically flapping away at a switch, three or even four times, to finally achieve what you successfully do dozens of times a day without a thought.
Yeah, that’s never happened to me.
Cyndie and I were out to dinner and a music show with Barb and Mike, and Barb brought up the Telepathy Tapes podcast we had told her about. She was listening to season 2. We told her we had already listened to the whole season. We listened to it right away after we finished the first season.
Except we hadn’t.
Funny that we both had the same incorrect perception. When we figured out that we hadn’t, it became a priority. I don’t know if it is fair to write about this podcast, other than to try to convince everyone else in the world to give it their full attention at the earliest opportunity. I’d love to share the wonder and glory of the concepts being explored with anyone who has already absorbed the mind-expanding possibilities it reveals.
The theme of telepathy is not a difficult one for Cyndie and me to reconcile, as we have both experienced it at different times in our lives. What weighs on my mind is how beyond my reach it is on the regular, despite completely believing the concept. One phrase that is used when they talk about communication with people who have died is that they are on the “other side.” I wish they wouldn’t use those words because it’s not really another side. It’s right here all the time, all around us, unconstrained by physical limitations.
If you have started watching the Apple TV series, “Pluribus,” that show depicts humanity joined in a hive mind; the telepathy realm is a little like that, and most of us are like the lead character, who hasn’t melded with the rest of the all-knowing others.
To the [mostly] non-verbal people featured in the Telepathy Tapes episodes, the “place” where telepaths commune has been dubbed “the hill.” I don’t believe that “hill” or the “other side” where past souls are speaking with mediums are separated from the rest of us. It is an energy of love that is everywhere.
One feature of the Telepathy Tapes stories that I particularly enjoy is the number of people whose stories start with their lack of belief that any such thing is possible. After instances with a non-verbal child mastering a letter board to communicate or an encounter with otherworldly energies in a near-death experience where they report verifiable telepathic situations, non-believers find themselves willing to consider expanding their understanding.
Yes, it’s a lot like religion, minus a human-translated textbook of confusing divine orders or finance-fixated institutions with power hierarchies controlling subordinate groups of followers. It’s imbued with the one thing all the various attempts at religion in the world seem to share: LOVE.
Try to bend your mind around that.
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Relative Something 