A Rare Sunday Share...

I’m compelled to express my thoughts on several things occurring in our world today. I’m compelled because I don’t understand. And the question is… Do I want to understand? I hope I do, because I’ve been taught in my life, as a Christian and a practicing Taoist, that I’m called to be more understanding than to be individually understood. The past month has caused great struggle in my heart. I’ve been hearing, seeing and feeling so much confusion concerning the events in Paris, the event with Planned Parenthood and now the third event in California.

So, here it is…..

I do not believe in an eye for an eye. Does hatred cross my heart when I hear of tragic events carried out by radicals or terrorists? Of course, I’m human. Yet, being human does not give me the right to bear arms against my brothers and/or sisters even in the most horrific tragedy. I’m called to love and forgive and mourn. Am I confused? Hell yes, but I can’t allow hatred to overcome the good in individuals. I can’t allow a few individuals to control my thoughts over any major religion or group of individuals. You might call me naive, but I assure you… I am not.

And yes this brings me to one of the forefront conversation that is occurring in our nation at this time…. GUN CONTROL.

I’ve studied Taoism for many years; it has brought me closer to spiritual enlightenment then any other philosophy. It is very clear on where my faith stands when it comes to violence. That being said, I will not participate in any form of verbal, physical or mental hatred toward anyone. Mother Teresa was once asked to be part of a march against War… she declined, but said, “If you have a march for Peace, I’ll will march with you.” This is exactly how I feel about Gun Control. I’ve heard "people don’t kill people… guns kill people; or "its not the guns that are the problem, but the radical people". I believe it is both.

It is so hard to be a Christian/Taoist in America these days. A true, forgiving and loving, practicing Christian/Taoist that refuses to be a part of any type of violence especially when others feel it is necessary. Only when we do not retaliate, pull a trigger, declare war, or take a life is when everyone has a chance to heal. Only when I choose peace over violence do I feel truly Christian and that I'm following the Tao Way of Living.

It would be so easy to melt into hatred these days, but that is when a child reminds me on the eve of his birthday that LOVE is the only way.

Praying that we can come together and march for PEACE this Holiday season.

The Call

Do you remember when you were a kid playing in the woods?  You and your pals were in the middle of making a fort out of sticks and stones when all of a sudden you hear the faint call of your mother.  Without hesitation, you stop; listen once more to make sure it was your mother summoning you.  Once confirmed, you take off running toward home, barely saying goodbye to your pals. Does your creativity ever feel like the distant call of your mother?  It stops you in your tracks and without hesitation you’re off running toward curiosity.  This is what I experience when an idea for a story suddenly calls to me.  It’s a faint whisper, but it stops me in my tracks.

I wish I could tell you I drop everything and start running toward my creative voice every time it calls to me, but I don’t.  Why don’t I?  Exhaustion, questioning am I the right person to tell this story, fear…Perhaps.  Sometimes, I put my hand up and turn away from my desire to be creative because of an already 60-hour workweek that pays the bills.  Sometimes, I have nothing else to give.  So, I retreat.  I need absolute respite from life even as my creativity looms like a helicopter hovering above me; requesting me to engage and be present if only for a few minutes. I find myself pleading with my own creativity saying, “I’m doing the best I can.  Please be patient.  I value you, but I need a moment to catch my breath.  I trust you understand.”  So, my creativity sighs, chooses the nearest corner to wait.  At times, the wait is too long and the passion of an idea fades away.  Yet, at other times, it patiently waits for me. 

You see, for some odd reason, I’m haunted by my creativity.  Don’t misunderstand, I love being creative, but my creativity comes at a cost.  The cost is: as I type away, chase a lead, or research facts to support a story, I see all my friends enjoying connection, having fun and living life.  When I’m deep within a project, I feel disconnected, lonely, and full of self-doubt and fear I’m wasting all the unrestricted time in my life.  I want to be free of this need to create which I do so half-ass.  The nagging of fear that tends to cripple me to my core.  All I want is for the universe to conspire on my behalf and make this easy, but it doesn’t.  It is an epic battle of will between a desire to create and having confidence in my own ability to accomplish the quest.  And the quest is to just fucking finish.  I don’t care how long it takes me.  I don’t care if it is even good.  I don’t care that my research flat lines, I just pray for the endurance to complete what I set out to achieve even though I’m distracted by my daily obligations. 

The question is: why do I desire to continue to create when time is limited, resources are limited, willpower to keep moving forward is, at times, lacking and my self-confidence is questionable?  My answer is because I have no choice.  It’s not an option for me.  It is the thing that awakens me from a deep dark place; creating something quiets the destructive voices inside my head.  When I answer the call, when I’m fully engaged and feel connected with my ideas, characters and storylines, this is when I feel complete.  I’m not trying to be original or tell an exceptional story.  I don’t feel special or gifted.  I’m just a regular person that is compelled to tell a story that picked me, and entrusted to me to give it a voice.  I feel responsible.  At times, this journey can be a burden.  It can be so frustrating.  It can be a painstaking labor.  I struggle.  One day at a time, sometimes one word at a time.

So, when I hear the distant call of creativity, I answer it with some reservations.  I stop in my tracks to glance toward the faint call of wonder knowing the sacrifice it will cost me. Yet, it is when I follow my curiosity, when a story starts taking shape, when my characters begin to breathe and come alive, when I write a conclusion; this is when I feel completely free and healthy.  I feel that I’ve finally found my way home.  It is the journey, the adventure, of producing something from nothing that brings me peace and keeps me answering the call. 

So, those of you who tend to battle with your own creative voice, like me, don’t give up.  Your story needs to be told and it’s the story that you alone can only tell. 

A gut feeling..

You know the feeling.  The feeling deep down in your stomach telling you this might not end well, or you’re on the right path because you are given these little emotional and/or physical directional signs, or you start down a path and you get this pit deep in your gut.  It’s a gut feeling confirming your direction or waving the red flags to do an immediate U-turn.

A year ago this November, I began a journey because of a gut feeling.  For weeks, I denied the persistent nudge.  I reflect back on those weeks often these days.  The reason it took me weeks to dive into this 16^th century story based on historical facts is because I didn’t think that I had the talent to embrace the story to its fullest potential.  I was scared.  To create something, to put yourself out there, is the most vulnerable that I’ve ever felt.  To trust your gut feeling is not a risk, I assure you.  The only times I’ve had deep regret in my life is when I decided to go against my gut feeling.   I guess my entire delay was because I wanted a life, I wanted to have fun with my friends, travel and not have something always pending over my already fifty hour work week.  Yet, I could not resist a story.  I recall vividly, meditating to the universe… GOD… to please help me, guide me, show me the way. 

While I was in Asheville a couple of weeks ago, I had some spare time so I headed over to Malaprop's bookstore.  As I was there, they were moving tables and prepping for an event.  I found out that an author was speaking on his new published book; Gone In A Heartbeat. The author, Dr. Spector, is an oncologist that found himself having symptoms that no one confirmed or believed he was experiencing.  The symptoms were persistent, and Dr. Spector found himself in heart failure. Yet, during his talk what stood out was he second-guessed his gut feeling.  He goes on to say, “If I would have trusted my gut feeling, I might not needed a heart transplant.”  Some of his lasting words were, “Trust your gut, you know your body better than any physician.  It will not lead you in a direction that you should not follow.”

To read more about Dr. Neil Spector experience click on this link: https://lymeinside.wordpress.com/2015/02/07/gone-in-a-heartbeat-new-lyme-book-about-a-doctor-misdiagnosed/

So, this leads me back to my little adventure. I must admit researching historical facts can get so damn tough.  All the dates, people, dates and people, more dates and people with connections with more dates and people.  You get my drift.  I’m trying hard to trust my gut and follow the signs.  After hearing Dr. Spector, I completely surrendered.  This is my life.  I work fifty plus hours for one of the largest non-profits in Wilmington NC, I spend about twenty hours a week blogging and researching and any other time goes to my faithful companion, a German Shepherd named Haven.  There are rare moments with friends weaved within my weekly life. Yet, when I’m able to take the opportunity to be with them, I want to make sure that what I give them is quality verse quantity.

The past several weeks have been extremely difficult in my research.  I’ve received little response to my inquiries.  If I plan to meet my goals in writing this novel, I know I will be unable to participate with my friends in weekend getaways.  This adventure at times can be so exciting, but it can also be a pain-staking burden.  I’ve been researching Queen Elizabeth I, what a brokenhearted queen she was as she conquered Spain in one of the biggest battles in the 16^th century known as the Spanish Armada.  I’m sitting in my FlipKey apartment in Asheville struggling to find a sign to inspire my next in-depth, peel back, pain staking research avenue into another historical figure when I read this; “The 16th century replica ship will dock at Port City Marina in downtown Wilmington”.  For those of you that don’t know, the Port City is my home, Wilmington, North Carolina.  This replica is similar to the ships that played a vital role in the 16^th century. To further explain the importance of this 16^th century ship, some of my main historical figures, those that settled America sailed on a ship that was very similar, making this extremely important to my research. 

So, I’m sitting in Ashville NC, struggling to find a sign that I’m on the right path, second guessing my gut feeling, when out of the blue a replica of a 16^th century ship comes floating into my hometown.  I’ll take it as a swift kick in the gut that something magical beyond my control continues to occur.  So, I’ll continue to follow my gut feeling.

Why is it that we second-guess or worse ignore those physical signs that our gut feeling is trying to tell us?  I’m not sure, but I made a decision to pay attention to that deep pit in my stomach that has never led me down a wrong path.

Are you following your gut feeling? Believe me, you’ll know if you’re not!

Unbearable Loss

Have you lost someone in your life and it seemed too unbearable to face?  The loss of a relationship, the loss of a pet, the loss of a family member or the loss of a friendship.  As I sit writing this, I can recall the painful sting of watching a great love walk away, the decision of letting go of a pet after eighteen years, recalling the funerals of all four of my grandparents and a long-term friendship that needed to end in order to begin again.  It’s painful, it’s awful, it’s lonely, and it’s scary.  At the time you wonder, “How can I ever get through this pain?”  Yet, life’s mystery is the continued forward motion through unbearable loss that we all find ourselves experiencing on this human journey, if we've truly LOVED.

John White was one of the first Englishman that felt unbearable loss that this nation, known as America, was founded on.  It is a painful story to tell.

John White, an artist at heart and adventurer by day, found himself the governor of the first English Colony in 1587, known as the Roanoke Colony.  Throughout my research, John White was excited to take this leap in leading the discovery of a new life, a new world.  I can just imagine his words to convince his daughter who is pregnant, and son-in-law to pack up all of their possessions, leave a life they’ve only knew, for an adventure across an angry sea and the pending struggle to birth a new world.  Were they eager, were they scared, were they running from something, or were they just interested in starting over, building a new world far away from the politics of England’s rule?

Six months into the new settlement, struggle of day-to-day life was becoming overwhelming, and survival was questionable.  It was a perfect storm, a drought caused hardship on crops, uncertainty of friendly natives, and the pending starvation of colonist were on everyone’s mind. All historical facts in my research revealed a decision was made between the colonists and John White.  It was determined John White would return to England to gather additional supplies to sustain the colony. So, the governor left the colony, to return to England to receive much needed supplies.  What was not expected was the war that broke out between Spain and England, known as the Anglo-Spanish War.  Without much thought, Queen Elizabeth authorized John White to return to the colony with much needed supplies. However, due to the war, John White’s return voyage to Roanoke Island was delayed for three years.

What must have John White felt?  The agony must have followed him for three long years.  There was no way to get word back to the colonist.  It was war and John White found himself right in the middle of the sacrifices that were made for such greater causes.  The pledging he must have attempted. His worry was not only for the colonist, but also for his only daughter and his new born grandchild.  The nights he must have cried himself to sleep knowing that his failure to return would possibility have devastating effects.  The whirlwind of despair, the persistent praying he must have endured. 

I’m sure John was hoping his prayers were answered and somehow the small Roanoke Colony would’ve managed to survive.  Yet, all anyone found was an abandon colony, a dismantled settlement with only one clue.  It was the word, “CROATOAN.”  This word was found on two trees that would have been within the settlement.  CROATOAN was the name of a friendly native tribe that befriended the Colony.  John continued his search for his family along with the colonists he left behind as well as the Croatoan tribe, but his search turned up no further clues.

Three years after two failed attempts to locate his family and the colonist, John White died.  There is no record of illness or suicide.  Some say, “John White died of a broken heart.”  The unbearable loss of such unfortunate circumstances.  I could not even imagine the guilt Mr. White carried those last three years of his life.  Yet, some say, “John died knowing in his heart, his family was still alive even though no proof provided evidence of those assumptions.”

So, the Roanoke Colony became known in history as “THE LOST COLONY”.

It is rare to find individuals in the United States that truly know the unbearable loss and sacrifices John White paid to establish the first English Colony.   The birth of a nation came at a great price for his family, but it is because of those who were willing to take dangerous risks that our nation was born.  And it all began under the leadership of an artist, an adventurer known as John White. 

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What if there is another outcome for Mr. White’s family and the lost colonist?  Perhaps, his assumptions were right.  Maybe some of the colonist survived.  Maybe his daughter and grandchild did survive.  What if, the abandoned colony was discovered two years prior to the return of the broken-hearted John White?  It’s plausible.  It’s possible, because the research is pointing in a direction that would affirm Mr. White’s assumptions.

Viewing John White's original art of the new world at the British Museum in London.