Can't

"Can't," said the Child. "Can't, Can't Can't," she chanted as she stomped around the huge lily pad on the ocean.

"Why can't you?" asked The Prophet. 

Sitting in the middle of the lily pad, The Prophet observed the Child's drooping shoulders and bowed head. 

"I can't. I know I can't," The Child replied, and the tears flowed.

"Why is that child?"

"Because I'm tired, and if you really cared about me, you would twirl your magic wand, and free me from my fears."

"Why are you tired, Child?"

"I'm tired of going nowhere. We've been on this lily pad for I don't know how long, and we're still in the same place. Why don't you wave that magic wand of yours and tell it to make something happen?"

A smile came upon The Prophet face.  It amazed him that her discouragement kept her from seeing the progress that she'd made.

"Is that why you can't, Child?"

"I'm just tired and discouraged?"

"Why are you discouraged, Child?"

"You know you're a contagious little disease that contaminates my mind making me think I can find my purpose."

"Child, what are you afraid of?" The Prophet asked.

"I didn't say I was afraid."

"But you are. The nearer you get to your purpose you say, can't, and your shoulders droop.  So tell me, what are you afraid of?"

"I guess I'm afraid of failing," replied The Child.

"Would you like to turn back?"

"No!" The Child said loudly. "I can't turn back."

"Why not?" asked The Prophet?

"Because I don't want to," replied The Child.

"Which means?"

"I won't say can't anymore. Even in failure, there's success." The Child mumbled.

"That's very nice to hear," replied The Prophet.

"Prophet?"

"Yes, Child?"

"Can we dance on the ocean?"

                             

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Broken

"Broken," mumbled the Child and then shouted, "It's broken!"

"What's broken, Child?" asked The Prophet.

The child, looking at the pictures being flashed below her, sat down on the ocean in shock.

"The bridge," she answered.  "The bridge is broken."

"What wrong with it?" The Prophet asked.

"There is no railing; there're large potholes and miles of rocks that make it impossible to go over. It's strange, and I can't see where the bridge begins nor do I see where it ends."

The Prophet chuckled; the ocean shook, and anger overcame the Child.

"What's so funny, Prophet? Why are you laughing at me?" The Child screamed.

"What did you expect, Child? With the bridge, I mean."

"That bridge led to where I once was. What if I wanted to go back?" The Child shouted.

"You can't go back over that bridge, Child."

"Why not?"

"It's not possible."

"Why not? I'd love to go back and be with all my old friends, and be normal."

"You've forgotten one important thing, Child."

"No, I haven't. You're trying to confuse me."

The Prophet chuckled again at her unwillingness to see the consequences of the choice she'd made.

"My dear Child, you're not normal anymore." the Prophet said, "That bridge deteriorates every time you metamorphose into becoming what you're supposed to be."

"You mean I am destroying the bridge by accepting change?" The Child asked.

"Of course, you are. Your journey lies ahead; the bridge lies behind you.  The more you evolve into your true being, the more the bridge corrodes into nothing.

"Does that mean I can't go back because the bridge is no longer there?"

"It means you can't go back, because you are no longer the same."

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Acceptance

As she looked down at the ocean, she saw pictures of where she had once been.  A person was standing alone on the sidelines of the old football stadium where she had once stood.

"What do you see, Child?" the Prophet asked.

"Nothing much," The child answered. "Just someone standing all alone on the sidelines of the old football field where I used to live.

"Why is the person standing alone, Child?"

"Maybe other people don't want to be around the person," the child replied.

"What makes you think that?" The Prophet asked.

"Because this person looks different."

"Is the person breathing the same air the others breathe?"

"Of course, Prophet. That's a silly question to ask."

"So, why do you think the person is different?" The Prophet asked. "I don't understand, Child. You've got to be a little bit more specific."

"Prophet, that's easy. This person has got all kind of funny colors on the skin and looks like a rainbow."

"Is that important, Child?"

"But don't you see. You have to be accepted, Prophet? You just can't look any kind of way."

"So what are you trying to tell me, Child," The Prophet replied.

"I don't quite know yet, Prophet. This multicolored person could be really cool, but the people down there find it hard to accept someone that doesn't look like they look or think like they think, and this person is all kind of colors."

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Marta's blogroll: MY WRITING PROCESS

Marta's blogroll: MY WRITING PROCESS: The author Salvatore Buttaci (http://salbuttaci.blogspot.com), author of Flashing My Shorts and 200 Shorts , invited me to participate in th...

Rise Up My Love. The Winter Is Past And Gone.

This time last year my legs were shaky, and I was swaddling around in uncertainties. Disappointed in the progress of my first book I was pondering over whether or not I had the stamina I needed to be the kind of writer that I desired to be.  Rise up my love. The winter is over, the rain is past and gone.

 Sure, I got encouragement from other writers.  I even flirted with self-publishing, just to prove a point to myself, but facing my own reality, I knew that wasn't the problem. The real problem lay within me.  I needed to know within myself whether or not I had something to say, regardless of whether I wrote fiction or non fiction, regardless of whether I was writing a blog article for a senior editor on my platform or for my own blogs. That was the question, and as I said last year in my last blog article I was Caught On My Blindside.

Not to mention that I had surgery, wrestle with the complications of having a sick partner, and living in a foreign country.  But, those were secondary problems that only covered the face of the real problem: what was going on inside of me. Like the Ground Hog article written on February 1st, I tried to leave my hole, but I finally went back in my hole to contemplate my misère.

Anything different from the majority sticks out. I don't care what it is, and whom you are. You can have the same bone structure, same color of skin and the same hair particles, but you will stick out like a sore thumb when your soul is not at peace with itself.  People recognize that something is going on with you.  They may not be able to identify it, but it hangs like a shroud between you and them until it is resolved.

So there I was in 2013 wrestling with myself in all areas of my life. Wrestling with my soul as I came to grips with the direction I was heading in, which brings me down to what I want to say. Rise up my love. The winter is over, the rain is past and gone.

You'll find me writing fewer blog posts this year than I have in the past. Not because I have given up writing, but because I decided that what I write has to make a statement. I don't want to entertain with my blogs. I am trying to jar the minds of men and women and challenge them think, to agree or to disagree with my opinion, in other words, to communicate. It is my desire to establish a dialogue of communication in my blogs.  That means that when I don't have anything to say, I'll keep my big mouth shut.

As my mouthpiece, my blogs reflect my experiences on my journey, my beliefs, my struggles, and my overcoming.  They mirror how I see the world.  This does not mean that my view is correct. Many times it might be twisted, but I will never know that unless I challenge myself to listen to what others have to say. Thus, the rhythm of my blogs appearances will change to the following:

Walk On – four times a year,

Garcia's Talks about Apple Products – four times a year,

Pat Garcia Book Reviews – twelve times a year,

Pat Garcia and Everything Must Change – seven times a year,

Garcia's Views on Body Soul and Spirit – four times a year,

Wind, Rain, Winding Roads and Sunshine - seven times a year.

This will also give me the time I need to concentrate  on looking for the right agent for my books, establishing a much larger author platform than I have, taking the needed writing courses to improve myself in the ever changing requirements, in the Literary field, and to attend writing workshops that will let editors, agents and publishers know that I am out there.

Some of you know that I am a singer and musician too.  I travel quite a lot, giving concerts and conducting workshops here on the European continent.  Therefore, another reason I needed to structure myself was for my music. Sometime this year, I would like to record a blues CD in cooperation with music and lyrics from a Canadian musician whom I admire deeply.

Without writing and music or music and writing, I am an empty hull searching for air so I can breathe. Rise up my love. The winter is over, the rain is past and gone.

 So, as I rise, letting go of the shackles that keep me from moving out into the unknown and launch out on the water before me, I hope to meet you along the way as I travel further.  I invite you to enter into a conversation with me on my blogs, on Facebook, on Twitter, on Linked in, on WordPress, on Blogger, on American Diversity Report or anywhere else that I might write and to let me know how you see things happening around you or share with me your view of your state, country, or the world, and to disagree with me when you have a different point of view.  Disagreeing points of view do not mean that we have to be enemies. It means that we stretch ourselves to learn from each other and hopefully come away respecting the other's opinion. 

Finally, I hope you will share your joys and triumphs.  There is nothing that makes my soul merrier than to be able to listen to others as they share their joys, their happiness, and their struggle to overcome.  

Hence, I challenge you to rise and move towards your life's purpose; to rise from wherever you have hidden yourself, to look at the winter of your journey and say, the winter is over, the rain is past and gone as you move towards that which you know to be your destiny.

 So, Rise up my loves wherever you are. The winter is over, the rain is past and gone!

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

* Rise up my love. The winter is past and gone.  Song of Songs 2:10-11.  ZONDERVAN. NEW INTERNATIONAL BIBLE.  1984

Fastidious

The young girl tired as she fastidiously move from one water lily to the other.  The water lilies were spread out  before her on the water. She was surprised at their strength.  They bore her weight without her sinking into the water.

"What are you thinking about," the Prophet asked her.

"Oops, you frightened me. When did you return? How long have you been here?" The Child asked.

"I never left," answered the Prophet.  "You needed time the time to play among the water lilies. Aren't they beautiful?"

"Oh yes, they're gorgeous," the Child answered as she hopped to a large green one  that looked like an umbrella turned upside down. "I've never seen water lilies that look so unique and fragile, yet when I stand on them they're steady and  hold me up."

"The water lilies have learned to be resilient, Child. They've been thrown about by some  fierce storms, whirled  around by the wind in tough  tornadoes, and tossed to and fro by ships of every size.  They learned to hold on, to keep going. They are fastidious looking things. "

"Wow, Prophet, I didn't know water lilies were fastidious. They just look like plain old water lilies to me."

The Prophet chuckled at the child's naiveness, knowing that it would take some while before she discovered the strength that lay within her.

"Child, tell me what do you see?"

The child gazed at the ocean. It was calm, the wind still, the sky blue.  She saw nothing but endless waves of water.  Since she had dared to leave the land of lethargy and complaints, and fulfill her purpose in life, she had been walking on the ocean.

Even though the Prophet told her that her journey had been fastidiously planned;  that not one minute detail had been overlooked, she often felt overwhelmed by the adventure and the mirage of emotions that she experienced.

Then, suddenly out on the wide blue ocean something round appeared from a distance. It was the largest water lily that she had ever seen.

"What do you see, Child? Tell me what do you see?"

"It's a water lily and it's beautiful!" Exclaimed the Child. "I've never seen anything like it."

"We'll ride it for a while," said the Prophet.

"But it's so far away." said the Child.

The Prophet chuckled at her sense of distance.  He knew that what seemed near was far, and what seemed far is often nearer than people thought.

"It's nearer than you think, Child," he said, and the wind aroused itself from out of its sleep and began to blow the water lily in their direction.

Ciao,
Pat Garcia