Windows to the soul

 

This is exciting!

Curiosity has done its job when it opens windows to the soul. The movie like glimpse of these small bits of understanding arrive in soft whispers, little clips at a time, invitations, the tease of Intelligent Design. Knowing you will want more, the new movie begins as a flash of inviting wonder.

Freedom to choose helps to display Intelligent Design. Which will you choose, to be washed over by old movie reflexes or inspired alive by your glimpse of The Magnificent Woman. Gratitude reboots the machine.

Then powerful old movie moods trigger strobe lighted distractions. Prison walls slam shut. Etched emotional reflexes seal the doors. For many there is no memory of peace, no glimpse of wonder, no concept of freedom, only family and friends too lost to help. This is the tug of war.

Curiosity is inviting. And like rainbows, it opens windows of vision to those willing, offering hope. Learning to navigate takes time, it is true, but the new movie of hope is a gift from heaven intended to inspire your interest. “Thank You” is the only logical response.

Gratitude grows deeper as old walls of pride, anger, blame and bitterness fall down, opening to brand new movie ways of thinking. Emotional Anatomy does not change. Freedom to choose is intelligent design. As our ability to navigate improves: Gratitude reboots the machine.

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3 Responses to Windows to the soul

  1. Dina4now says:

    She remembered the day her sister died. Usually they were always together, starting in the morning from the moment they opened their eyes, they played together, conspired together, ate together, and slept in the same bed. That’s how it had always been. She the oldest of the two, even though they were only 13 months apart, was very protective of the younger sister.

    But things changed when she turned 5 and was old enough to be the first child to attend school. School, where the big kids get to go, all on her own, she could hardly wait. She felt in awe of so many in one place, children being led to a giant hall to say the pledge of allegiance and the magic of all those voices rising to sing the national anthem. She remembered feeling a part of something much bigger here. She didn’t even think about home or family because school seemed a much bigger adventure with new discoveries everyday.

    Everyday she wore one of the new school dresses her grandma bought her, and everyday after school she would walk home with her dress torn from a rough game of tag, or a new hole in her socks from racing boys without her shoes on, or dirt on her face from falling from the monkey bars. If it hadn’t been for school rules she would of done well in pants and barefoot. School left her with a good feeling that all was as it should be.

    On that day that life began to shift for her, she remembers walking home from school as she did everyday around noon. It was a warm day in California even for winter. There was a song in her head as there often was, music was a big part of her family’s life, and she hummed to herself as she walked dragging a stick, marking her pass.

    As she turned the corner to her street she noticed something different. The group of children that usually played on the street were no where to be seen, and most surprising was the two black and white police cars in front of her house with the lights going wild. It was a strange scene, like someone had pulled off the characters, and attached the police cars with a little velcro on the back, yet the sun still shined and the California winds moved thru the scene.

    Her mother came crying out the front door led by policemen with down cast faces. They walked past the girl home from school, towards the house next door, where they retrieved another child’s mother. From there they walked the two women through the back yard, to yet another row of houses directly behind the girls home, through a tall wooden gate attached to a tall wooded fence and closed the gate. No one noticed the girl following quietly behind, curious, not understanding the dead calm of an approaching storm.

    The pitiful wails of grief stricken women, was too much for the curious girl, she wanted, needed to understand what was happening at all cost, and she climbed the fence. What first caught her eye was the blue water and the lights that danced across the pool from the midday sun. But the cries pulled her attention to the deep end of the pools platform where two small bundles lay covered in charcoal gray blankets. The two mothers stood holding themselves, ever so close to the small packages, with the fear on their faces of lifting the blankets and revealing a mothers worst nightmare.

    The girl could only think, “why don’t they take the blankets off their faces, why are they wearing blankets anyway?” As if the mother heard the girls thoughts she looked up and spotted the girl on the fence and quickly with urgency told the girl to go home. As she turned to leave she noticed others in the neighborhood coming in and out like the ebb of a tide, never reaching the shore where the girl stood, waiting, not understanding.

    That night she waited in the room where she and her younger sister slept. Her father, who she saw as the man of the house, the leader of the family, strong, commanding, in control, and her reason for feeling safe, came to the room and sat on the bed next to the girl. He did not hold the girl but sat ridged and awkward, so did she. He was a broken man in that moment and she remembers feeling overwhelmed by seeing her father so distraught, and on the verge of losing control, like something fragile that was about to be shattered. She sat still and silent waiting for what he would say, waiting to be included, embraced in mutual understanding.

    “Your sister is gone.” And he looked at the girl as if expecting a reply. “Gone?” the girl thought, “thats it, gone, what does that mean?” She draws a hugh blank, expecting a story with a beginning and an end, “and the moral of the story boys and girls is” but it never came. For in those 30 or so seconds of silence the father broke, and ran from the room.

    The girl of 5 felt as if she should of said or done something for her father, and she experienced for the first time the insignificance of her childhood, the guilt of her inability to understand what she could of said or done. She wanted to say or ask questions, but she had been taught that children were respectful in silence, seen but not heard. Perhaps a few more moments of his time.

    That night she laid in her bed for the first time without her sister. Death was not an option to a child of five. Her sister was “gone” yes, but death is not a concept for a child of five. Her sister had simply gone to spend the night at Gods house. After all thats where children come from right?

    There wasn’t much time to think about the issues of life and death from then on as her family struggled. School fell away and she fell behind. Childhood fell away as more children were born into her family despite the deterioration.

    It wasn’t until years later at the age of 13 when she had come to live with a different family not her own, that she was to attend her first funeral. All was fine as she walked in the long procession line towards the coffin, till she looked upon death, and saw the horror of it, the unnatural, yet unavoidable destiny of all. She broke, tears upon tears flowed out. ” What’s the matter a woman says, you don’t even know this person.” She was right, she didn’t know the woman, but now she knew death. She understood the cruelty of it and the pain it caused. Someone or something had robbed mankind, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

    It wasn’t meant to be this way. Even understanding the gift of eternity, mankind still must face the horrible stench of death. Her innocence cried “something is wrong here”.

    As time went on and she grew to be a woman, a mother, her curiosity encouraged her to tell her story, and she began a journey of discovery. She discovered choices, and freedom, even unto death. Be curious. Take courage as you look into the windows of the soul.

  2. Alzira says:

    this article gives the light in which we can observe the reality. this is a very nice one and gives indepth information. thanks for this nice article. regards. cleomirpaolazzi@hotmail.com

  3. DrGilgamesh says:

    Emotional Anatomy gets deeply wounded by life’s traumas around the world. Too few are given the gift of courage and compassion to spray kaleidoscopic tears upon our hearts as you who open windows to the soul with your writing. Such painful post traumatic growth benefits us all, especially when life hurts us so much. Too many remain trapped in gnarly knots of helplessly confused and wounded hearts, wounding others in tragic rounds of embedded reflexes, another eye for an eye blaming others. Throughout our world, too many suffer deeply, too many live in darkness, most, completely unaware of their prison.

    By your free choice you have offered glimmers of hope in awareness. Yours is a gift from Heaven for which we collectively say thank you for touching us. Gratitude for inviting us to feel with you, to grow with you, to freely choose the better way with you. Smarter, stronger, better, wiser, from out of our wounded emotional anatomy comes the foundation of freedom’s legacy, the magnificent woman, willing to do her part. Please keep up the writing. We need you now more than ever.

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