Adventures in Marty! 4

enlighten by ironsoundman

by ironsoundman

Marty caresses the beautiful idea as it materializes. There will never be a more gentle touch. This is as good as it gets on Earth. True innocence! Unmolested. No trace of devaluation. Identity intact. Without questions. No concerns about being loved. Where do I belong? What is my purpose? Why am I here? Just the unfurling of the sail, as the wind blows all around.  Time and space are filled with, I want you! 

Leelee is getting concerned. Every morning she doesn’t feel well. She gets better as the day goes on but the mornings are rough. She’s yet to consider being pregnant. With Alex gone to work already, she thinks of several things she needs to do. Hesitant to leave the couch she sits idol. The phone rings. She’s glad she brought the phone with her to the couch. Not knowing if she can talk, she hesitates to answer. Caller ID shows it’s her mom calling. Hi, mom. Hi, Leelee. How are you? I don’t feel well, again. Mom says, Honey, do you think you might be pregnant?

Leelee is silent. After a few moments her mom says, Leelee, are you there? What if I am pregnant, mom? Don’t you want to be? Mom doesn’t know Alex isn’t ready to have a baby. Yes, I do. But Alex wants to wait! Well, he might not have a choice, mom retorts. I’m going to be sick, mom. I’ll call you back. With a toss of the phone, Leelee rushes to the bathroom.

morning sickness by emergency brake

by Emergency Brake c/o

She regurgitates. Her whole body is involved. Marty whispers instructions. It’s okay. Everything is fine. Knowing this is the first experience of turbulence he reassures the new forming life. You’re being announced, that’s all. Your mama is now aware that you’re here. Peace, Little One, peace! Still wrapped around the commode, she rests her head on her arm. She waits for her body to tell her she can get up. She also wants to savor the moment. She’s now certain, this is morning sickness. She’s ecstatic. Her minds spins to how Alex will react.

Things aren’t going well at work. Alex is young and ambitious. He’d been hired into a position that someone thought they should have been given. Alex’s first key assignment is being threatened with failure. The man he was promoted over is on his team. He just informed Alex he would not complete his task on time. Alex had been given sixty days to prepare his presentation. He’s down to six hours. Just yesterday he verified that everything is on track. He wonders if he is being sabotaged.

Leelee goes into the office to grab the calendar. Counting the days she realizes the possibility makes sense. She picks up the phone and calls her mother. Mom! Mom! I’m late. I think I might be, pregnant. It’s music to mom’s ears. She’s looking forward to being a grandmother. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, she cautions Leelee. Make a doctors appointment and find out for sure. I will, mom.

daughter on phone by Lyle Vincent

by Lyle Vincent

mom on phone by Bill Branson

by Bill Branson

Concerned about what Leelee said about Alex, mom asks, can you tell me what Alex said about waiting? I’m so afraid Alex is going to be upset, mom. He feels like we need time, to get our finances in better shape, before we start a family. Did he say anything else? Do you think he’s ready to be a father? I’m not sure about that. We have always said we want kids. Well, money is going to be a concern no matter when you have children. Give Alex a chance to respond to the news without deciding his reaction. Okay, mom. I will do that. He might surprise you, Leelee. Thanks, mom. I’ll talk to you later.

So much of the future is predetermined during Zygote. Genes make us unique. From eye color to hair texture. To skin tone and length of fingers. What diseases we will be vulnerable to. And character traits. Whether we will be stubborn, intelligent, a thrill seeker, or good at music. The exact course of every life will be affected by family, friends, and environment. Marty won’t stop talking. His voice is a constant whisper. But all of creation can hear him, if tuned in.

I am forever with you. You are not alone. You are never alone. I’m a piece of something much bigger than myself. And you are too. It is your source that makes you real, complete, and whole. Your source is above you, below you, and in you. He is all about you. You can’t go where your source isn’t there. Know my voice. I guide you, help you, and reveal you. Learn from me. My thoughts are good. I will do you no harm. I’m your reminder of how you came to be!

Leelee isn’t prone to naps, but of late, she has rested in the afternoons. She often doesn’t go to sleep. Today she has wearied herself with the events of the day. She made a doctors appointment. Her joy is offset as she ponders Alex. What if he is adamant? Doesn’t want a baby just yet? He was so firm during their last conversation. She can’t get his tone and expressions out of her mind. Will he face the inevitable with a new found sense of gratitude? As her thoughts race to the far reaches of her mind, she drifts off to sleep.

garage door by


Alex sat at his desk with his head in his hands. Strained to come up with a last minute solution he springs into action. He outlines an alternate plan. Tells his team he’s counting on them. With only minutes to spare he sets up his presentation. His boss stops by to ask if he’s ready. Alex says, yes sir, I’m ready to go. It was nothing short of a miracle. But he pulls it off. The client desires a few changes but likes what he sees. Alex returns to his office. Moments later his boss sticks his head in the doorway and says, great job, Alex. You did fantastic!

Alex pulls in the driveway. The sound of the garage door stirs Leelee awake. She can’t believe she slept for over two hours. She hasn’t even started dinner. She wonders; what kind of mood will Alex be in? She throws water on her face, dries it fast, and walks to the kitchen as Alex comes through the door. Without delay she asks him how his important presentation went. He said it was close to a disaster. But I pulled it off at the last minute. He begins to explain the day. He will include every detail.

He heads straight to his easy chair, snatches a drink from the refrigerator, on his way. Leelee joins him in the living room. Alex remained solemn on his drive home. He couldn’t help but ponder if he had a problem with the man on his team that let him down. Now, he can’t stop his talking. He became excited when he spoke about his boss being so pleased with his work.

After twenty minutes of self-adulation, he asks, what’s for dinner?

Marty will return next Friday!







Seriously, Check Your Voicemail!

My six year old grandson came for Christmas.  We did a Dream Board together for a project. I want him to get use to prioritizing. I showed him some examples of Dream Boards.  I had him make a list of things he wanted to do or happen. I collected a bunch of magazines for us to cut out pictures and words or phrases. I purchased a small tri-fold display board so it would fit into his suitcase when he flew home. With markers, sticky buttons, and stencils we were ready to begin. He did an outstanding job.

dreamscometrue pixabay

by pixabay

One of the things he wanted on his Dream Board is, for someone in particular, (not me thankfully) to know how they sound when they talk to him. We came across a caption that said, Seriously, check your voicemail! He got very excited and said, I want that on my board, Papa.

If you’re Generation Y, Echo Boomers or Millenniums, you may not be that acquainted with voicemail. Opting for email or text messaging instead. In fact, if your’re under 40 chances are you don’t utilize a TAD. Why bother? You can FaceTime or Skype faster. But for us Boomers and early Gen X members, we came to appreciate such an advance in technology. This was cool, man!

Knowing that my grandson had no experience with a recorded message machine I wondered how this fit his need. I asked him, why do you want that on your board? With great command he said, because people need to know how they sound to other people. OMG! The message we deliver with tone and attitude. Wow!

I learned a few things from a study I did about communication skills. Psychology Today, Sept. 30, 2011 presented the following; Communication is believed to be 55% body language, 38% tone, and 7% spoken words. There is some debate about exact numbers. Albert Mehrabian gave us the 55/38/7 rule. Two research studies in 1967, Mehrabian & Wiener and Mehrabian & Ferris, addresses this conclusion. Another popular formula is the 60/40 rule. It applies 60% to facial expression and 40% to vocal expression as components of a person’s attitude.



I spoke to someone at one of the writers groups I attend. I told them I would like to get to know them. I find them interesting and want to learn from them. They said, really? smiled and thanked me. After the meeting I mentioned that I started a Blog. I didn’t expect them to follow me but asked if they would take a look at it and give me any advice. They gave me a look of, you must be kidding. They turned away from me while I was still talking. I walked off disappointed. But had no doubts about their level of interest in my blog. Or me.

Relationships are the corner-stones of life. I want to be accepted, appreciated, and affirmed. The way I communicate is key to success. If I only want people when I need them chances are they won’t be there for me. If I see people as an option it might be unreasonable to think they will take me earnestly. A little respect goes a long way.

I communicate. Everyday. With multiple people. What is my level of proficiency?  I want people to talk with me. Interact with me. I desire to share ideas. Life is a collaboration to me. Why perfect a message, brand, or image if I will be the only one involved? I believe words are a sacred exchange between people. I ask myself; how big do I want my life to be? I don’t want to be small, selective, and closed. Not every person will click with me. Or I them. But if there cannot be a union let it be because of substance and not attitude.

saddog pixabay

by pixabay

It only takes a few words, with a less than virtuous tone, to lose a potential ally.  Even my loved ones can feel cheapened by inappropriate syntax and emotion. What is more distasteful than to sense rejection? Ridicule? Belittling? Being dismissed by condescension invites withdrawal. This level of communication is perfect for a lonely hearts club. I remind myself that position is everything to opportunity. Not titles. But how I treat others. People will want to be around me because of how I make them feel.

socialmedia yoel ben-avraham

by Yoel Ben-Avraham

I’ve recently wadded into social media. An activity I have avoided for a long time. The recklessness and insensitivity I see staggers me. I agree that I have the right to say whatever I want – the way I want. But should I exercise that right without being responsible?  Poor manners corrupt good communication. The virtual world is real. It involves people. It is a platform. It has a diving board. A launch pad. Every time I engage it I telegraph my value and values. I choose to be involved. I get that. And, I accept.

A good place to work on myself is while driving. I can’t believe what people do while operating a motor vehicle. It’s hard for me to understand the way some people endanger others. I cannot believe my eyes half the time. I confess, I talk. All the time. I call names. I’ve even made gestures. Alright already; I’m embarrassed to admit it. It dawned on me that my time behind the wheel is a great opportunity to tighten my conveyance techniques.

handsoverears melissa gutlerrez

by Melissa Gutlerrez

I know other drivers don’t hear me, but I do. My transmissions affect me. I create a space of diminishing returns. I don’t want to be effective some of the time. I want the whole world to follow my blog, buy my book, (coming soon) and hear my message. I can help others. I have something to offer. But if I’ve treated people with disrespect I probably won’t get invited in.

We all have different gifts, talents, and capabilities. We have varying degrees of education and economic status. We represent multi faceted areas of authority and decision making. But let’s get jiggy wit it. All human value is the same. It never depreciates. Its one of the few constants we have. I want to recognize every moment as an occasion to show reverence. I know this is about my ability to minimize self-centered thinking. And, elevate others to their rightful place. Even if I can’t appreciate the behavior I can value the person. The world if full of systems that don’t work. I’m smart enough, capable enough, and determined enough to rise above them.

babyyelling by phil

by phil

I owe my grandson a debt of gratitude. He made me look at myself through his innocent eyes. He has reminded me about what’s really important. Whether I’m in a car, in front of a computer, or interacting with a real person I want to be a safe place. Because of a precious little boy, I have…. Seriously, checked my Voicemail!



Adventures in Marty! 3


by snapawayoungman

Marty’s eyes are fierce. You could cut the intensity with a knife. He’s the definition of deliberate. He’s in the womb. Outside the womb. And through the womb. Everything happens within him. Science, with all its advancements, has a much later point of reference. Marty is beyond the microscope. He deals with thought as it becomes flesh. 

Leelee slides her feet over the side of the bed. The covers are twisted between her legs. Her night shirt is crumpled up around her. She sits still. Feels a little strange. Not sick. It’s more like she’s about to be. Alex just got out of the shower. He over slept a little so he’s in a hurry. Leelee is still sitting at the edge of the bed when Alex comes out of the bathroom. Where’s my lavender shirt, he bellows? He doesn’t notice Leelee’s aura. She stands up slow, pauses a moment and says, I’ll get it for you.

Life is a delicate balance of tension. Marty is a master. He navigates action and reaction with skill. There are no accidents of the womb. Pantokrater’s will is to bring forth life. He employs people to make it happen. Things can go wrong. People can disagree with him. A body can fail to cooperate. Not this time. A baby is coming! Marty monitors vital signs. Adjusts things here. Moves things there. Perfection and imperfection are working together. Marty is totally into it.

The nucleus of Mr. Squiggly moves towards the nucleus of Ms. I’m Happy To See You. Gradually they become ONE; revealing the nature of divine intention. Zygote is in play. Chromosomes from the father, and mother, unite to form a gene pool. Distinct markings that have never been used before, and can never be used again, are given at conception. It’s known as DNA. The medical field calls it Deoxyribonucleic Acid. IT Geeks think it means, Departmental Network Administrator. Marty understands it’s; Divine Nature Applied. The signature of the Creator.


by panadonia

Marty begins to whisper. You are unique. There’s nobody like you. You are never alone in your identity. Don’t misplace who you are. Should you ever lose your way – come back to this moment. This is your home!

Leelee inches her way to the kitchen. Alex has returned to the bathroom to finish getting dressed. She yells out, what do you want for breakfast? He replies, just coffee and a piece of toast. She fills the pot with water. Scoops in the coffee and hits the brew button. She places a slice of bread in the toaster. Steps to the sink. Places her hands on the counter to steady herself. She wonders if she is coming down with something.

Just as she puts the buttered toast and coffee on the table, Alex rushes to the dinning room. He plunges into a chair. Sips the coffee and squeals, man that’s hot. He puts the cup down and bites into his toast. Leelee has sat down at the other end of the table. Chewing like he’s in a speed contest he looks up at Leelee. He observes the unusual look on her face. What’s wrong? he asks. Didn’t you sleep well? She mutters, I’m okay. I think I might be catching something. Will you get my travel mug? he asks. I’ll have to take my coffee with me.

She transfers the coffee from the cup to the mug. She walks to the door as Alex grabs his suit-coat and briefcase. He reaches for the door knob and coffee at the same time. He kisses her on the forehead. As he scurries out the door he glances back at her. In an oh yeah kind of way, he says, hope you feel better. She accommodates with, me too.

She returns to the kitchen and pours herself a cup of coffee. By the time she gets back to the table she decides hot tea sounds better. With her tea in hand she retreats to the couch. She’s full of life, upbeat, and ready to go most of the time. Not this morning. She wants to talk more with Alex about having a baby. But time hasn’t allowed for it. Leaning on the arm of the sofa, she pulls her legs up. She covers herself with the blanket laying next to her. Holding the cup with both hands, close to her mouth, she is comforted by the heat.

Her thoughts take her deep. She keeps getting interrupted by her physical symptoms. She sips her tea, content to bounce back and forth, with her introspection. A few of her friends have newborns. Another friend is due in about a month. She has bought baby things for each of them. She smiles as she remembers the times she shopped for them all. She sets her tea on the end table and stretches out on the couch. She places a pillow under her head and rearranges the blanket. She closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep.


by Antoine-Louis Barye

Incredible things are going on inside Leelee’s body. Things she doesn’t know anything about. She’ll soon know about some of them. Others, she might not ever know. Marty is a one-man medical team. He’s attending to mother and child. Alex whips into his parking spot. He pushes the key-fob to lock the car as he runs into the building. He will make his meeting in the nick of time. Just another typical day…. Or is it?

Marty will return next Friday!



The Final Word!

I’ve heard it said; talking to yourself is a good thing to do, because you need to hear someone intelligent every now and then. According to Dr. Linda Sapadin, Ph. D, talking to yourself can even make you smarter. If you do it right.

maninmirrorTommaso Lizzel

by Tommaso Lizzul

I’m limited by some self-beliefs. These beliefs have a language. It’s not the language of love. It can never build me up. If I speak to others, the way I sometimes speak to myself, I would be socially inept. My inner dialogue is my private chat room. I’m the only member. I should be able to control the one-way conversation. But I can be unfriendly toward me. I talk over myself. Even after I say, be quiet. How rude?

The most consistent voice I hear is my own. I need to learn to talk. To me. Respectfully. Talking to others will be a no-brainer.

Easier said than done. Beliefs have roots. Roots wag the tongue. My public persona doesn’t work in private. When I’m alone I can abuse myself. I say things I would never say in mixed company. My words have power. Especially to me. Power to bring life. Or death. I can heal or wound – me. With the words of my own mouth.

Where did I learn to talk this way? Is it my native tongue? Or a foreign language I picked up? I did a little investigation. Guess what? I speak both. Fluent in each. The Good News is this; if I can learn to talk at all I can learn to speak correctly. To myself. In public. In private. I can be polite, good natured, and well spoken when I talk to me.

Grammar is good. Pronunciation is helpful. But not as much as intention. I cannot talk without purpose. Not even when I work hard to say nothing. Words matter. Regardless of  how their colored. Negative phonetics last. Too long sometimes. Our minds can play them over and over again. Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me. Right! And the tooth fairy is really a candy salesman.

Harsh words leave scars. Destroy well-being. Misshape identity. Make trust improbable. More important, they form speech patterns. Habits. Names and labels create mental images. Authors, speech writers, and public speakers use words as tools to lead people to a point of view. Words are not impotent. They don’t die at the tip of the tongue. They become real forms. You’re able to see their bodies in the people who live out their affects.



Words are all about what you’re thinking. You might be reserved in a controlled environment. Add a little pepper and you might go to sneezing. Spewing out discoloration from emotional congestion. We’ve all been wounded. Not exactly the same. We all deal with it. But not the same way. You should be over that by now. Who said that? Not someone like me. If you were like me – you wouldn’t be over it either. Just more words that make my load heavier.

Okay. So I’m not alone in my private chat room. Voices from lovers and haters exercise free speech. Often setting no one free. Not even themselves. Pounding and whispering without a day off. I agree. Sometimes. For awhile. But not really. I want to talk. To be heard. I want my words to be first. I can’t get the words out. You’ll have to hear what I’m not saying. I understand. You can’t hear me because you’re talking. You want to be heard too. 

I’m a transplant. Cut down in my infancy. Replanted in a field of broken dreams. I speak the lingo. Being told how I should talk didn’t change my inner voice. Shaming me backfired. My passion went rogue on me. Turned into anger. My intensity drowned out the quiet voice within. Pulling me back to original intent. Where love spoke first. Uninterrupted. Causing me to grow. Flourish. And smoke the peace pipe.

I’m born to imperfection. Which is omitted  by most. Unless it becomes convenient. Then by all means, let’s get real. Denial almost worked. The failure’s my fault. My eyes anyways. If I could have just kept them closed. But my heart is too hungry. I hit the wall that shouldn’t have been there. Or maybe I’m the one out of place. The crash is meant to be fatal. A little heart resuscitation, and speech therapy, and I can see. Not again. For the first time. From the pure root.

How long do life-giving words endure? you ask. The length of my agreement, of course. I’m sustained by harmony. Shattered by inner dissension. I lie against the truth. Once in a while. Way to often.

I desire to be authentic. To be in alignment. I do well. Then I start talking smack. I say things unmerited. You buffoon – good things aren’t for you.  Pain joins in. Joy protests. The vicious circle must end. I want to get off. I have to get off. I can’t. I keep it going. Until I stop. Then I am off.

gavel salfalko

by salfalko

This is said to me and it hurts. That’s said to me, and it feels good. Talk is cheap. Never! There’s ever a price. Words aren’t capable of being void. They return with what they were sent to do. Good ole intention, again. Titles spoken over me. Positions declared. Torn down. Built up. Made hopeful. Hope gets taken away. Everybody talks. Who’s saying anything? Of value? Or virtue?

What do you say? about who you are. What do you speak? to you. Careful. You’re effective. On purpose or not. What you say is important. To you. Protect yourself.  You never miss a word. You hear it all. Does your self-talk free you?

What you say about you – That’s the final word!!! – don’t let it be fatal.

I have to go now. Got to take out the trash!








Adventures in Marty! 2




Marty arises the next morning ready to own the day.  With furled brow he takes a long look at the past, present, and future. His responsibilities can’t lessen his excitement. He’s tickled to be on location. He jumps for joy but causes no physical sensation.. Leelee isn’t yet aware that Marty is with her.  He knows what is coming and the suspense is killing him, so to speak. This is exactly what he’s designed to do. Wow! he thought, my purpose and mission are about to become reality.

Marty endured a bit of teasing over the years, all in good fun. But his associates did have some laughs at his expense. Marty is preoccupied with being a father. Long before Alex and Leelee became an item and quarreled about having children, Marty was curious about the unfolding of human life. His fascination with the dynamics of the nuclear family is the source of many jokes.

All those close enough to peer into Marty’s contemplation’s marveled at his obsession. His buddies cautioned him about mankind’s confusion. They spoke about human potential. People can be anything they want to be, they exclaimed. They can have wealth, fame, and power. They can roam free and unencumbered. They can be self-centered and egocentric, they chimed. But if they choose to have children, that can limit their opportunities. Marty asked himself, what do they know? They haven’t been sent into the world yet!

While Marty invited conversation and reveled in debate, something told him that fatherhood, is personal. He isn’t about to hide his intrigue. He is focused on the task at hand. He wonder’s about the baby as it forms. What kind of life will the child live? Will it be successful in faith, family, and finance? Will it be kind, warm, and generous? Will it find significance as a writer, painter, or musician? Maybe it will be an athlete, actor, or business person. Knowing the child arrives with the ability to make the world a better place, Marty will be happy, if the child discovers their bliss. Everything will workout fine as long as the child maintains its’ connection to source.

Marty also pondered Leelee and Alex. What kind of parents will they be? Will they be mature enough for the awesome task of raising a child? Will they understand their place of influence in the child’s life? Will they shape its wings, wisdom, and wonder? Will they know who they are to the point of establishing who their child is? Do they love each other enough to show their baby the way to abundance? Will they be connected, to the source of life?



Marty tours his new home. The female body is a sight to behold. He uses his knowledge of anatomy to identify his surroundings. Day after day he strolls the plantation. Comfortable in silence, he’s startled by a commotion. There’s an apparent race on Fallopian Way. Millions of squiggly things, with rapid moving tails, are heading toward him. He can’t control his giggle. These are the tiniest cells in the body and they are desperate. From their antics this should be over in a flash. But with progress of only a, tenth of an inch per minute, he relaxes for the duration.

Marty had the talk long ago. He owns the original, first edition, of the Birds and the Bees! He knows where this is headed and waits to let nature take its course. He roots for each of them. There can only be one winner. After several hours, a leader emerges. The checkered flag awaits. The front-runner is nearing his destination. Jumping and screaming in excitement Marty losses himself in the moment. The egg, the largest cell in the body, sits like a princess waiting for her suitor to come calling.

Every set of eyes in the universe are poised to witness creative genius. The man of the hour is close, so close, to the winner’s circle. Marty captures the essence of his intrigue about fatherhood. He holds his breath for the finish. OH    MY    GOD, Marty yells. This is better than I dreamed.

Leelee is sitting on the couch, leaning to one side, with her legs drawn up, flipping through a catalog. The steam is rising from her cup of tea.  Alex is at work. Neither of them have any idea what’s going on inside Leelee’s body.


by Steph c/o flickr commons

That’s it! That’s it! Come on, Marty shouts. He travels north, south, east and west without moving his feet. He might as well be a pinball machine. Hey!   Hey!   It’s happening! Marty proclaims. The champion crosses the finish-line. Ms. “I’m Happy To See You” opens the door wide to receive her beau. The door closes behind him.

Marty leaps, the stars dance, and the universe cheers. Wisdom rises in Marty. In the middle of the best party, he’d ever attended, serious notions flood his mind. There are no questions present. Divine intention is undeniable. This is as sacred as it gets. This baby is ordained to life. The child belongs, has a place, is loved and wanted.

Feeling uncomfortable Leelee adjusts herself. Alex takes a call, from his superior, to discuss an assignment. The Earth is yet to react.

Pantokrater has spoken. Love shrouds every action. Fatherhood, for this child, is established forever. Alex is awarded the opportunity to do his part. Leelee adjusts herself again, not knowing why. Marty is busy incubating the Father’s desire.

Marty will return next Friday!





The Upside of Dysfunction!



Maybe dysfunction isn’t the white elephant in the room after all. Maybe, just maybe, it’s a not the horrible thing you think it is. Dysfunction is not a factory defect. Nor is it an incurable disease. But until dysfunction is understood, it will continue to disrupt order and stability.

I didn’t want people to see my frailties. I thought, if people really knew my weaknesses, they would abandon me. Fear of the fraud label paralyzed me. The decision to hide turned me into a judge. I hid because I judged myself unworthy. Judges judge. Entertaining myself with the imperfections of others is a diversion designed to protect me. If I can direct your attention elsewhere, you won’t see me, right?

How could I ever liberate my best self with part of me locked in the basement?

Disapproval can be painful enough to make an honest man lie. Who wants to be ostracized and denied affirmation? To be singled out, for even the most insignificant shortcoming, is the kind of discomfort I like to avoid. So, I opted for perfectionism. A practice that works every time– as long as you don’t stay in one place very long, and you don’t mind being unhappy. The language of dysfunction is destructive and separating. It doesn’t lend itself to acquiring wholeness. Peace of mind doesn’t follow perfection — it precedes it.

If my only hope to control criticism, is to remain underground, I’m hopeless. The energy I use to survive is the same energy I need to thrive. And I only have so much energy, to go around. I had to make a another decision. In order for me to celebrate my life I had to be willing to stop tolerating it. Hiding never set me free and it never will.

peaceof mind monkey

by bonify

Attitude affects outcome and I had a wrong attitude about my dysfunction. I tried to ignore it, silence it, and deny its existence. I saw it as my enemy. It threatened my peace, my joy, and my contentment. I put the good parts of me on display, wanting that to be enough, for inclusion and acceptance. My gifts and talents could get attention, but that didn’t put to rest, the parts of me that needed attention. I excelled, I achieved, and I hid…

This caused inner havoc, a manufactured reality, synthetic at best. But authenticity crouched in my extremities. It screamed in a demanding whisper, “Let me out!”  It squirmed, kicked, and refused to be silenced. It beckoned for me to give the world a chance. “Let the world see the real you,” it howled.

Did I dare think that every piece of me mattered?

The conflict of disharmony raged within. The battle oozed out of my pours. I couldn’t form a complete identity. I knew my fault line, my limitations, and my perceived handicaps. I knew my strengths, abilities, and drive. But I failed to realize authenticity’s’ friendship because I granted dysfunction top billing. I didn’t like it. In fact, I hated it. It occupied me. I became bitter toward myself.  Ah, but the story doesn’t end there.



When I pause, embrace stillness, and allow the Light to do its magic, I understand the power of being real.
Dysfunction is not my disqualifier. It’s not my humiliator. It’s not my house of shame. Dysfunction is my birthright, my distinctive DNA. It is my ticket to the dance. It has a purpose. It’s a classroom, a lesson outline, and a teacher all-in-one. Dysfunction is a mentor of what is good and bad, what works and doesn’t work, and what I should keep and what I should throw away.

Dysfunction has no design of mastery within it, and can only rule by default.  It proclaims it has power to permanently disable, render a life destitute, and that its damage is irreparable. But I have always been suspect of its veracity. Dysfunction bites until you bite back.

It appears that dysfunction is related to growing pains.

My daughter cried, “Daddy, my legs hurt.” I messaged them in the middle of the night. It is her muscles that ache. According to, there’s no medical evidence that bone growth causes pain, and joints are not generally affected. Most likely, her discomfort was brought on from running, jumping, climbing, and playing. Just normal pain from normal living. There’s no cause for alarm, no actual medical condition, unless the pain is the result of natural growth not occurring. That would be cause for great concern. Her bones (structure) and her joints (mobility) are intact. Her discomfort will pass and she can continue to participate in life.

The parallel between the tangible and intangible is eye opening to me.

A bit of rejection, betrayal, and misunderstanding occurs holistically. Just everyday pain from everyday life. A little maturity, wisdom, and time and I’m back in the game. No need for intervention. It’s the beefier stuff; the violations, the molestations, the abuses, the manipulations, and the intimidations that enter like viruses. Without immediate remedy, which seems to rarely happen, natural growth is stunted and dysfunction is born. The earlier emotional trauma happens the greater the dysfunction manifests later in life. Left unattended, it assumes a pseudo identity.

My fictitious persona and arrested development blocked the emergence of my authentic self. My family of origin, my extended family, and my earliest social networks contributed heavily to my lack of well-being. And I have lived in competition with my dysfunction.  Once I knew that my authentic self was trapped inside me, I set him free. I took dysfunction from a calling card to an ingredient. What happened to me…didn’t have to remain dominant…in me.

I  got introduced to dysfunction through the dysfunction of other people. We all do. What I experienced, and what I’m familiar with, became accepted as normal. Common (what is) and normal (what should be) are sometimes two ships passing in the night. Not every family trait is a keeper. Some life experiences taught me what I don’t want in my life. Whether it’s bad blood, or bad love, I have to deal with inconvenient truths.

Dysfunction became certain when I misinterpreted life events. The negative energy from wrong thinking created a limp in my gait. I had to choose to break or wake. There isn’t anyone to give me the life that only I can create for myself. Once I determined the nature of my dysfunction my instinct spoke to my value. And value never changes. Dysfunction doesn’t address who you are it only addresses what you’re doing. When I aligned with my value my dysfunction became an obedient child.



Dysfunction isn’t my failure—it’s one of many instructors. It has awakened me and showed me a better way. I put dysfunction in it’s place. I rewrote my story to reflect my value. I moved from competition to completion. The cataracts have fallen and I have vision. I have cleared my throat and found my voice. I’m upright, whole, healthy and happy. I’ve taken what weakened me, brought me to my knees, and scattered me to the winds; and I re-purposed it all. I found out dysfunction has a shelf-life and expires when I finish with it.

The upside of dysfunction is when you make it work for you!!! 


Adventures in Marty!

ngc_6326_by_hubble_space_telescopeShe is relieved as her husband leaves for work, and closes the door behind him. She turns off all electronics and spills into a chair at the kitchen table. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she folds her arms around her legs, and places her head on her curled up body.

Except for the pitter-patter of falling rain, she manages to capture the moment of silence she craved. Is it that big of a deal? She wondered. Am I being selfish? She asked herself. They both want children but can’t agree on the time. She spoke to herself without words, and grappled to understand the real source of her emptiness. Would a child solve her problem? Would a baby make her feel satisfied?

Looking up with wet and puffy eyes she acknowledges, she has a good life. Even an envious one. Several friends from her inner circle often shower her with compliments. She shakes her head, as if to answer the unspoken questions. She’s ashamed at her inability to be thankful. She’s where she dreamed of being and never imagined feeling this way.

They were young and just getting started. There were difficulties— you know, marriage changes things. They began in-the-hole, with school debt and credit card balances, but had more than most to start with. Tears run down the length of her face and hold steady at her chin. She isn’t aware of the invisible presence surrounding her, but Pantokrator is there. A tear departs the edge of her countenance. Pantokrator catches it in his hand . He will hold that teardrop until he can wipe all her tears away.

Pantokrator is as unique as his name. He’s a know-it-all, with a kind of humility seldom seen. Knowing her thoughts, before she chooses them, he directs the traffic in her mind. Standing beside her in her anguish, he sees her, feels her, knows her, and understands her. He can’t help himself. He’s concerned with her plight. With a translucent touch he strokes her hair and caresses her heart. Taking a deep breath, she exhales slow, and deliberate. She sighs in absolution, not knowing where her comfort is coming from.


c/o Vineet Radhakr

She rises from her position of exhaustion, mesmerized at her sudden strength. Pantokrator smiles. He gets a kick out of being, “Johnny-on-the-spot!” Assured of a desirable outcome she’s determined to strengthen her resolve. She walks straight to the stereo and selects the song already at play in her head. She turns up the volume and set her feet to dancing.

Since she didn’t realize she had accepted Pantokrator’s request for a dance, he dances along with her, in secret. And he’s got  game- moves better than Jagger. She’s only suspect now, but he knows the joy forming inside of her. As she spins and twirls, his enthusiasm almost got the better of him. He has to restrain himself to hold his announcement, until the time is right. For now, he’s content for the two of them, to just dance in the Light.

While he is fully present with, Leelee Wintonia-Handman, Pantokrator is taking care of business elsewhere. It’s just the way he rolls. It’s part of his magic. Marty has been waiting in the wings for his next assignment. And when he gets the call, his entire community erupts in euphoria.

As Marty dances in the street, without restraint, he’s aware of the importance of his appointment. He understands the family business well. It’s about kids, always, about the kids. Whether its a newborn or a senior citizen, Fatherhood is the name of the game. And Marty is eager to get started.

He’s already packed and ready to go when he thinks of a few more questions. He approaches Perfect and Complete to inquire if he is forgetting anything, but answers his own questions before he asked them. Must be pre-conception jitters, he quipped. He knows – everything he needs, is already inside him.


c/o YouTube

Standing at the edge of eternity, bag in hand, he awaits the call to board his flight. He fastens his seat-belt  in  preparation for takeoff. He removes both shoes, and opens his magazine to the first page, when the voice over the intercom says, prepare for landing. He thought to himself, I didn’t go anywhere. He takes his first step from timeless and pauses to identify all the foreign matter he senses. His natural warm light is greeted by cool darkness. Recognizing the squishy substance he is standing in, from biology 101, he takes in the grandeur. So this is what a womb looks like… Having no experience with the five senses, he pauses a minute, to explore each of them. Familiarizing himself with his new digs, Marty settles in, still feasting his eyes. Breaking the silence, with his all important whisper, he releases his first words; let the adventures begin!

Adventures in Marty will return next Friday!