Communitcation – Rebekah Lyn Books

Writing Tips~Silence and Thought

I come from a long line of worrywarts. I’m good at thinking about the past and the future. On the other hand, I’ve read a lot about love vs. fear, and hope vs. despair and I’ve come a long way, baby. I’ve also read a lot about meditation. At first, I was afraid of it, because I thought it was strictly an Eastern religious practice and I’d lose my will power, if I tried it..

But as time went on and I became less ignorant, I began to see something worthwhile in being still and meditating. Also, I understood that meditation is also a Christian practice. The best example is, “Be still and know that I am God.”

Now, for me, meditation goes into the box called possibility, and here’s why. A wise pastor once told me that if something is true, no matter who believes it, it’s still true. That means the idea of meditation rings true to me and I’m trying it out.

The trouble is my worrywart brain loves nothing better than to grab any quiet moment and head down into the miry clay with it. That’s what the Bible calls depression: the miry clay. There’s also the falling asleep thing. Anyhow, I’ve looked into it. I’ve decided everything goes better with Christ, and I’ve done some praying. I can’t sit empty minded, but lately there comes a time early in the morning when I’ve done some journaling, had a few lovely sips of coffee, and finally I actually hear the music I have playing on Pandora . I sigh. I have a feeling of wanting to let down. I put my pen down. I take a deep breath. I listen. I hear a flutter of wings and birdcalls. I feel a September breeze promising cooler weather. In a short time, I’m ready to go back to work. Suddenly an idea comes to me. I write it down, then another, and another. Good ideas. I develop them.

In an article in the Saturday Evening Post, September/October issue called, “Time Out,” the author, Mark Matousic says about meditation, “its like doing pushups for the brain.”

Richard Carlson says, “Have you ever noticed that when you are quiet and silent, calm and still you know exactly what to do? Being silent doesn’t shut down your mind; it only activates a deeper kind of intelligence. No one knows for sure where this deeper intelligence comes from, or what it’s called, but all wise cultures are certain that it exists. When we are silent, it’s as if we tap into a universal source of wisdom. It’s as if our thinking comes to us, rather than us actively having to pursue our thoughts. It’s as if we get the benefit of “universal thought, instead of having to rely on our own limited thinking.” Don’t Worry, Make Money

I know a middle school teacher and father that sometimes takes a day off and meditates all day. But I don’t aspire to anything like that. I think for now, I’ll stick to my own kind of meditation. I call it Sensory Meditation where I hear, see, feel. That works for me, and it’s good enough for now.

If you’d like to know more about meditation, look here

Happy writing,

Love,

DiVoran

Bacon, Eggs and Eavesdropping

I mentioned on Face Book that after I had my blood drawn for routine blood work, that I’ve been putting off since last year, we went for bacon, eggs, toast, jelly, and coffee. Delicious after fasting since I got up two hours before.

The diner style café was one of a modern chain, but the clients at the table next to us gave it a down home, old timey feel. First there were three men sitting at the table talking, you get a lot of that in Florida during the week. We heard one man called Shorty. You could tell they had known each other a long time. For writers, a cardinal rule is: eavesdrop in public places whenever possible. You may even be able to take it off your taxes as research. (Not really). Anyhow, I heard one of them say something and the other answer, be careful you don’t get shot. Down here in Deep South Florida, we call that Red Neck talk, no offence.

An elderly couple came in. The man was pale and tottery. There was only one seat at the men’s table and the husband walked around to the empty chair while the wife went to the counter to order. To the tottery man, Shorty said, “You better sit down before you fall down.” I haven’t heard that since I was a child and I have never heard it spoken more appropriately. When the wife came back they offered to move a table, but she said, “No thanks, I’ll just sit here by myself.” She had her newspaper and therefore only had to listen to the parts of the conversation that interested her. A jolly waitress bustled over and set something in front of the tottery man.. “This is for you, sweetie, “she said. “You’ve got to eat something.” He said thank you and asked what it was. “Fried Pie,” said the waitress. That’s what I want when I get tottery, I thought.

“I got two coupons for those,” said Shorty not wanting to be left out.

“I’ll bring you some, honey,” said the waitress,” just as soon as they come out of the fryer.”

The men talked some more the way friends do. They casually mentioned their grandchildren. Then the woman at the next table took a page from her newspaper and offered it: “Anyone want to read the obits?” she asked.

A man took the paper from her and looked at it. “This isn’t the news, he said. “It’s the obituaries.” But then he set to reading it and silence reigned. “Edgar’s in here.” The man looked up. “He died at 83. There’s a whole page write-up on him.”

We left before they did. My dear husband who also must have been eavesdropping gave the tottery man his free coupon for fried pies. Everybody thought that was real nice of him. It felt good to be with just plain folks like the ones we came from and remain to be to this day. We wish them well. Fried pies, anyone?

DiVoran Lites

Have You Ever Written a Letter to God?

The best bit of advice I ever got was to write a letter to God. Why? Well, it got me started communicating with Him and by default with myself. I’ve written a letter to him almost every day

since about 1970 or so. Some were short, most were several pages long. I learned from doing it that God is always there for me and he doesn’t care what I say or how long it takes me to say it. I’ve learned that He really loves me, and that to him, I’m a unique and special person.

Now some people just talk to him, and I admire that way of doing it, but it doesn’t work as well for me. Maybe I I can’t concentrate, or I get bored with hearing my own voice, or thoughts run away with me and I get distracted. But a letter? That’s different. It’s as if my whole mind, soul, and body gets into the exchange, and exchange it is because God writes letters to me as well, in many different ways. I’ll tell you about some of that later on. For now, though how about you? Are you a talker or a writer?

A Handwritten Card

When I was younger, I decided not to fall into the trap so many older people live in, with several dates a month marked for the purpose of going to the doctor. However, you know what Robert Burns said, “The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglay.” Last week I visited three doctors with a member of the family in two days and this week, for various reasons I will have been in waiting rooms every day except Monday and Wednesday (twice on Thursday).

I get tired of passive things like reading, listening to audio stories, watching TV. (I never do that anyway), but I don’t knit or crochet, so I’m coming up with a new plan. I will take a small packet of paper; pens, maybe watercolor crayons and either write notes or draw a bit.

Emails are a big thing now, but writing notes and letters on paper has been part of my life since I was a child and I still get the urge to do it when I’m waiting. Mother and I wrote to each other every week. I still have all her letters and she kept mine up to her last days. When I was twelve and moved away, my best friend and I wrote each other every day. Recently, we wrote our schooldays memoirs together, but that was by computer. Out of habit, I hurry to the mailbox every day expecting something, but usually it contains only commercial mail, so I take that in, sort it out, and throw most of it away.

On my last run to the SPCA store, I got a thin book that reminds me of Alexander Stoddard’s beautiful, Gift of a Letter. It’s called, The Art of the Handwritten Note: A Guide to Reclaiming Civilized Communication
, this one by Margaret Shepherd.

Realizing how happy it made me to read another book about the subject, I realized I missed writing and receiving handwritten notes more than I knew and decided there was no reason not to take it up again.

Ms. Shepherd says, “Writing by hand makes you look good on paper and feel good inside. Even an ordinary handwritten note is better than the best email, and a good handwritten note on the right occasion is a work of art.”

One thing I’ve always loved about notes is that you can save them and re-read them. I know you can do that with emails, and I do have a file, but for some reason, once they’re out of sight, I never take the time to look at them.

“Art Has Always Survived Technology,” says Margaret Shepherd. I agree. It takes about a minute to write a note, so I’ve put a small pad of paper in my purse and some cards in the door pocket of my car. Last Tuesday I wrote a note to my son, (who, because he lives in another town, always sends a handwritten note on birthdays and mother’s days) and one to our pastor’s wife who did my family a big favor. She is also a card-sender and note writer, so it was a pleasure.

Don’t get me wrong I like to get emails, and I enjoy writing them. It isn’t one or the other, for me, but both. It’s something I’ve missed for many years. Are you missing it too?