If defensiveness distorts perception before logic has time to connect the dots, then here's what fear had blinded me from seeing during those first moments when the gang was busy collecting their marbles:
The unexpected nature of MY outburst of rage had turned the tide
Not against me—as defensiveness had feared
But rather
Against bullying Barbara
Oh—miracle of miracles
Who'd have thought
Scardycat
Turned courageous Alley Cat
Could whip
A pack of snarly
Tom Cats
Into contrition with
One Mighty Mouse move!
Unknowingly
I'd leaped from my tower of defenseless loneliness
Into the safety net made of instincts, wherein lies the choice of
Fight, flee, or freeze
But for some reason
(later gater)
Rather than freezing or fleeing in fear
My raging leap landed me smack in the center
Of the mean-minded foray
And thus, with no light saber in sight
Right-Still-Hath-The-Might
And as the might of right swung little ol' me straight into the foray—
Without a care in world
For whatever might result
Thus did the combination of action and words win the day ...
Because ...
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
159. BACK WITH A BANG! PART 2 THE COMPASSIONATE AVENGER (159)
—nary a one jumps up to fight back when purple, livid, little me pushes them off their bikes, and as one bike crashes into the next, down they fall, like dominos—into a tangle of bikes, tormentors, and all.
I don't know what got into me
Whoops!
My mistake!
Make that:
I didn't know what got into me, back then
Now I know that what had gotten into me
Had been a gang of biking bullies
Not unlike last year's busload of bullies
And so on that fateful day
When repressed rage shoots out of my mind's darkest hot spot
An alleycat, on an adrenaline high, leaps over the scardycat
And fearlessly mows those bullies down, all with one blow
Down those dominos fall—bambambambambam
So that on corner-turning day
It is not so much a question of what got into me
But what is finally bursting out of me, as in—
Repressed fury!
Springing loose from its tightly coiled cannon, blasting purple pain!
And thus do I give birth to passion—barreling through my self respecting need
To champion the underdog—including me—from this day forward!
And if this blog has just turned itself into a Marvel Comic
You've played witness to how
The Compassionate Avenging Blogger
Is born!
Hey give me a break—let's not forget—at this time, I'm still just a kid
And if you remember that, then
This next thought process will be as easy to digest as
ABC—
Common sense suggests that a cleansing release of
Anger is a necessary start—then
Blogging with
Compassion follows later, gater.
So there they lay in the street—dazed and confused
A gang of young toughs
Not nearly as tough as they'd gander/ed
Before this looseygoosey leaped up, squawking for all she's worth
Setting them to sprawling with one super human push
Upon collecting their senses, each tough stands up—
And though I have no clue that consequences follow actions
My animal instincts sense tension charging through the air
Redirecting itself away from Barbara, toward this lone ranger girl
Who's self confidence had been mangled by bullies on That Bus
And knowing that Barbara's no Tonto—
Uh oh, says I, shrinking from Alley Cat back into Scardycat
Tt's time to tuckduckrun
No doubt about it
Having turned the tides—I'm in for it now ...
And coming down from my adrenilyn high
MY stand off starts shaking in it's boots because
Here stands a lonely child, facing down a gang of wild and crazy GUYS—
Proven bullies to a man—ganging up against puny little me
No posse to be seen ...
And the only thing I'm certain of at this very moment is this:
Though girl I be, my empathy lies with Gary rather than Grace in HIGH NOON ...
I don't know what got into me
Whoops!
My mistake!
Make that:
I didn't know what got into me, back then
Now I know that what had gotten into me
Had been a gang of biking bullies
Not unlike last year's busload of bullies
And so on that fateful day
When repressed rage shoots out of my mind's darkest hot spot
An alleycat, on an adrenaline high, leaps over the scardycat
And fearlessly mows those bullies down, all with one blow
Down those dominos fall—bambambambambam
So that on corner-turning day
It is not so much a question of what got into me
But what is finally bursting out of me, as in—
Repressed fury!
Springing loose from its tightly coiled cannon, blasting purple pain!
And thus do I give birth to passion—barreling through my self respecting need
To champion the underdog—including me—from this day forward!
And if this blog has just turned itself into a Marvel Comic
You've played witness to how
The Compassionate Avenging Blogger
Is born!
Hey give me a break—let's not forget—at this time, I'm still just a kid
And if you remember that, then
This next thought process will be as easy to digest as
ABC—
Common sense suggests that a cleansing release of
Anger is a necessary start—then
Blogging with
Compassion follows later, gater.
So there they lay in the street—dazed and confused
A gang of young toughs
Not nearly as tough as they'd gander/ed
Before this looseygoosey leaped up, squawking for all she's worth
Setting them to sprawling with one super human push
Upon collecting their senses, each tough stands up—
And though I have no clue that consequences follow actions
My animal instincts sense tension charging through the air
Redirecting itself away from Barbara, toward this lone ranger girl
Who's self confidence had been mangled by bullies on That Bus
And knowing that Barbara's no Tonto—
Uh oh, says I, shrinking from Alley Cat back into Scardycat
Tt's time to tuckduckrun
No doubt about it
Having turned the tides—I'm in for it now ...
And coming down from my adrenilyn high
MY stand off starts shaking in it's boots because
Here stands a lonely child, facing down a gang of wild and crazy GUYS—
Proven bullies to a man—ganging up against puny little me
No posse to be seen ...
And the only thing I'm certain of at this very moment is this:
Though girl I be, my empathy lies with Gary rather than Grace in HIGH NOON ...
BACK WITH A BANG! PART 1 (158)
The moving van is still unloading boxes, wardrobes, mattresses, chairs, when I, eager to meet our new neighbors, run over to say hi. The new house next door is now home to a mom, dad, two sisters and a brother. Though they seem nice, I never really get to know them, and, in truth, I recall nothing memorable, not even their names, except for one. A first name. Barbara.
So, what makes Barbara memorable? Well, she's blond—a shoulder length pageboy. Tall. Glasses. An eighth grader. One year ahead of me. One year more developed than me. Stacked. Too stacked for eighth grade. The guys in her class notice. Oh yeah—she's shy.
I'm not attracted to Barbara's spirit—or lack of—and though I'd deny being lonely, loneliness seeks her out. Weeks pass.
We're playing catch in the street. Just she and I. Suddenly we're not alone.
Suddenly we're surrounded. Like a wagon train. Ponies—er—bikes circling round—bikers whooping it up! War cries of: Four Eyes! Big Boobs! Bigger Boobs! Biggest Boobs! Lookitfoureyes'GreatBigBoobies!
Barbara's crying. Head down. Tucking arms around chest, ducking between circling cycles. Running home. I run home, too. Barbara's pain piercing my mind.
This scene repeats.
How often?
Who knows.
One day, the bikers thunder down the street; Barbara's head lowers but before she can tuck, duck and run—my head lowers like a bull seeing red; in less than a flash, this seventh grade scardy cat—terrified of guys—whirls into a raging tornado; the sharpest horns you've ever seen blast out of that hot spot in my mind, burst through my scalp, rise above and beyond my raven hair, swirling everywhere—forgetabout Grandma's broom—I pull out the big guns, and quick as a hair pin trigger—
—BaNG!BaNG!BaNG!—there's no doubt that this swirling fury, purple people eater spits bullets not blanks. And that my friends is how the ...
AVeNGeR leaps from the tower; lands solidly on two feet in the street—BELLOWS—loud as I please, and all this goes down before Barbara's shocked eyes have time to blink; as to those stunned, sorry ass bikers ...
So, what makes Barbara memorable? Well, she's blond—a shoulder length pageboy. Tall. Glasses. An eighth grader. One year ahead of me. One year more developed than me. Stacked. Too stacked for eighth grade. The guys in her class notice. Oh yeah—she's shy.
I'm not attracted to Barbara's spirit—or lack of—and though I'd deny being lonely, loneliness seeks her out. Weeks pass.
We're playing catch in the street. Just she and I. Suddenly we're not alone.
Suddenly we're surrounded. Like a wagon train. Ponies—er—bikes circling round—bikers whooping it up! War cries of: Four Eyes! Big Boobs! Bigger Boobs! Biggest Boobs! Lookitfoureyes'GreatBigBoobies!
Barbara's crying. Head down. Tucking arms around chest, ducking between circling cycles. Running home. I run home, too. Barbara's pain piercing my mind.
This scene repeats.
How often?
Who knows.
One day, the bikers thunder down the street; Barbara's head lowers but before she can tuck, duck and run—my head lowers like a bull seeing red; in less than a flash, this seventh grade scardy cat—terrified of guys—whirls into a raging tornado; the sharpest horns you've ever seen blast out of that hot spot in my mind, burst through my scalp, rise above and beyond my raven hair, swirling everywhere—forgetabout Grandma's broom—I pull out the big guns, and quick as a hair pin trigger—
—BaNG!BaNG!BaNG!—there's no doubt that this swirling fury, purple people eater spits bullets not blanks. And that my friends is how the ...
AVeNGeR leaps from the tower; lands solidly on two feet in the street—BELLOWS—loud as I please, and all this goes down before Barbara's shocked eyes have time to blink; as to those stunned, sorry ass bikers ...
157 LOVE IS A MANY SPLENDORED CHAMELEON
Thee art a person, not a
Leopard—can't change it's spots
Old dog—can't learn new tricks
Horse—led to water can't quench thirst
Chicken—the sky is falling; can't cross the road
A leopard is a leopard
A dog, a dog
A horse, a horse
A chicken, a chicken
Forever
A person
Can heal hot spots
Learn new tricks
Drink in knowledge
Cross the road
Though a person is a person forever
The spirit of a person lights up like a firefly
The mind of a person changes like a chameleon
The love of a person is a many splendored thing
If you are a person, you are a many splendored thing, too
(And that's the truth!)
Leopard—can't change it's spots
Old dog—can't learn new tricks
Horse—led to water can't quench thirst
Chicken—the sky is falling; can't cross the road
A leopard is a leopard
A dog, a dog
A horse, a horse
A chicken, a chicken
Forever
A person
Can heal hot spots
Learn new tricks
Drink in knowledge
Cross the road
Though a person is a person forever
The spirit of a person lights up like a firefly
The mind of a person changes like a chameleon
The love of a person is a many splendored thing
If you are a person, you are a many splendored thing, too
(And that's the truth!)
156 THE CHICKEN OR THE EGG
If you ignore
That certain something
That a person you love is clearly in need of most of all
What does that say about
The depth of your sensitivity?
What kind of love
Leaps toward judgment
More often than compassion
Love lacking in compassion
Is based in insecurity
Doth a connection
Between insecurity and insensitivity exist?
If insecurity and fear
Are one and the same
Then ...
If we peek
Inside thy mind
What comes first
Thechicken fear or
Theegg love?
When a love connection
Is rooted in fear
Where is that relationship
Bound to go, sooner or later?
Noplacegoodfast.
Will two chickens
Ever cross the road
From fear to trust
Or will the chickens
Chicken out?
What if one chicken
Needs to cross the road
In hopes of dwelling
In the comfort
Of self trust and tranquility
While the other chicken
Can't stop
Running in circles—
Playing the blame game—
And thus lags behind?
What doth lasting love connections need?
Less judgment
More compassion
More courage
Less fear
When your daring adventure begins
Thee doth not need to cross the road, all alone.
Thee is not a chicken.
Thee is my love and I am thine.
I want to hold your hand.
That certain something
That a person you love is clearly in need of most of all
What does that say about
The depth of your sensitivity?
What kind of love
Leaps toward judgment
More often than compassion
Love lacking in compassion
Is based in insecurity
Doth a connection
Between insecurity and insensitivity exist?
If insecurity and fear
Are one and the same
Then ...
If we peek
Inside thy mind
What comes first
The
The
When a love connection
Is rooted in fear
Where is that relationship
Bound to go, sooner or later?
Noplacegoodfast.
Will two chickens
Ever cross the road
From fear to trust
Or will the chickens
Chicken out?
What if one chicken
Needs to cross the road
In hopes of dwelling
In the comfort
Of self trust and tranquility
While the other chicken
Can't stop
Running in circles—
Playing the blame game—
And thus lags behind?
What doth lasting love connections need?
Less judgment
More compassion
More courage
Less fear
When your daring adventure begins
Thee doth not need to cross the road, all alone.
Thee is not a chicken.
Thee is my love and I am thine.
I want to hold your hand.
PLUM OR PRUNE—A BITE OF BOTH (155)
May I suggest rereading a post, originally written on:
SATURDAY, JUNE 18, 2011
END FIRST KISS PART 25: WATCH SUBJECTIVITY LEAD TO A PITY PARTY
Upon rereading it, myself, today, certain perceptions expanded and ...
Significant changes were made...
:-)
SATURDAY, JUNE 18, 2011
END FIRST KISS PART 25: WATCH SUBJECTIVITY LEAD TO A PITY PARTY
Upon rereading it, myself, today, certain perceptions expanded and ...
Significant changes were made...
:-)
DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF LOUD AND CLEAR? (154)
When you talk to yourself which voice do you hear most often?
The voice in your head that frees you to stand up for yourself?
Or the voice in your head that puts you down?
When you talk to yourself, which voice answers most often?
The voice that stands up for you? (Good try! Give it another go!)
Or the voice that puts you down? (You could have done better, Dumby.)
When you talk about yourself, do you hear how you feel about your self?
The voice in your head that frees you to stand up for yourself?
Or the voice in your head that puts you down?
When you talk to yourself, which voice answers most often?
The voice that stands up for you? (Good try! Give it another go!)
Or the voice that puts you down? (You could have done better, Dumby.)
When you talk about yourself, do you hear how you feel about your self?
Do you hear when you encourage yourself? (I'll learn this step by step.)
Or do you hear yourself discourage yourself? (I'll never get this right!)
That was the easy part
Here's where
Self awareness gets confusing:
Do you stand up for yourself at those times when you need to look into yourself? (I am not defensive! I do not put myself down! You're crazy!)
Here's where
Self awareness gets confusing:
Do you stand up for yourself at those times when you need to look into yourself? (I am not defensive! I do not put myself down! You're crazy!)
Do you stand up for yourself at those times when someone says your negatively focused perceptions are putting them down?
What happens when a person's spirit stands up to your denial for the last time?
Can you hear the difference between your assertive voice, which knows your strengths vs. your defensive voice that is blind to your weaknesses?
When you talk to yourself or about yourself, which ear does the listening—your self confident ear (open to learning) or your fearful ear (closed minded, denial)?
We have two eyes on our heads
Both look for the negative or both look for the positive
We have two ears on our heads
Both hear the negative or both hear the positive
We have two voices inside our heads
We have two voices inside our heads
One lifts up
One puts down
When does your darkly focused voice emerge most often?
With whom do you feel nurtured, nourished, at peace?
With whom do you feel nurtured, nourished, at peace?
With whom are you on edge? Hungry for something intangible? Anxious?
To whom do you stand up courageously? Listen openly?
To whom do you listen defensively? With close mindedness?
From whom do you stuff emotion inside? (From yourself? Fear? Love? Anger?) Why doth the spirit of Socrates implore friends and foe to know thyself?
From whom do you stuff emotion inside? (From yourself? Fear? Love? Anger?) Why doth the spirit of Socrates implore friends and foe to know thyself?
Why might thee be afraid to know thy whole self?
Which traits doth thee fear seeing? Feeling? Accepting? Working to change?
Low self esteem hides weakness within.
Low self esteem hides weakness within.
High self esteem seeks to know where weakness lies.
Not weakness in others—weakness in one self.
If we can't 'fix' weakness in others, then where doth our work lie?
Which traits must we muster
Which traits must we muster
Before
Change for the better can begin?
Change for the better can begin?
Patience
My friend
My friend
And
Above all else
Above all else
Courage
I've yet to meet a
I've yet to meet a
Pot
Kettle
Leopard
Dog
Horse
Noodle
Person who liked the healthy taste of crow ... and so it goes ...
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