As time moved forward, I began to meet more people who celebrated Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, and Native religious traditions.  As it was with my growing ethnic awareness, this, too, became my new normal.  I watched the upheaval in the country as each of these changes brought forth more obvious bigotry, animosity, and ugliness.  Ultimately, though, we saw more change for the better.  For me, and many more like me, this has become the norm as well.

Now, we see Gay, Lesbian, and Transgender folk integrating into the national picture as neighbors, coworkers, family members, and leaders.  Pockets of groups are trying to maintain the status quo in the country; however, it’s not working any better than when the ethnic and religious groups began claiming their rightful place as Americans.

We are awakening to the fact that what was once perceived as a White, Straight, Christian nation, is not so anymore, no matter how loudly some people yell about it.  We are a tapestry of beauty, intelligence, creativity, leadership, and dynamic spirituality.  America is slowly moving toward full awareness of our diversity, and accepting it in greater numbers every year.  We have White, Straight, Christians wearing t-shirts claiming their positions that they are Christian and believe in equality.  Our legislators include in their ranks, women, Asians, Gays, disabled people, Muslims, and others who reflect our growing diversity.  We recognize the importance of placing people in leadership positions that insist on adapting to our current culture and sense of fairness for all people.  We understand that until America celebrates, not tolerates, all its citizens, we still have work to do.  After all, this is what America really looks like.

I met Miriam in the student union of the college we both attended in 1977.  She was studying liberal arts.  I was studying theater arts and music.  Although our relationship grew to be a long and joyful one, our first encounter was strained at best.

I plopped myself a couple of feet away from where she was reading her textbook, studying for her next class.  Miriam was clearly deep in thought, but I needed a match to light my cigarette.  I was waiting for a listening room to become available where I could listen to  Janis Ian sing “At Seventeen.”  Could I have been anymore of the angst-filled gay boy?

“Gotta match?” I queried, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

She threw me a Hydra-stare that would have turned me to stone had we lived in ancient Greece. I read her face to say, “I’m studying, and my education is very important to me, and your need for a stupid match doesn’t mean shit to me.”  She didn’t respond.

Pretending I didn’t notice her glare, I repeated, “Gotta match?”

She closed her book, keeping her finger where she was reading so she didn’t lose her place.  Looking at me square in the eyes, she methodically picked up the matchbook and tossed them in my direction onto the vinyl bench seat between us.  No smile.  No hint of charity for a matchless 18-year-old in dire need for a cigarette.

“Thank you.”  I lit my cigarette and gingerly placed the matchbook next to her.  For most people, sensitive to others’ body language, her response would have been a clear message not to tread.  I was not such a person.

“How are you doing today?” I dared.

“I’m reading.”  Her tone was as chilly as the North Pole in the middle of its six-month winter.  Having a keen ear for these things, I identified her edgy accent as one from Brooklyn.  By her beautiful black, curly hair, piercing dark brown eyes, and smooth caramel skin, I suspected she was Puerto Rican.

“Oh.”  It was the only utterance I could offer in return.

There was something about this woman that was compelling.  I wanted to know more about her.  It wasn’t as though I was interested in her romantically or sexually.  I was a gay man, after all.  Yes, I was married to a woman with whom a child had arrived before our wedlock, but I was still a gay man.  I sensed there was a connection there that was unexplainable.

I tried several times to incite a conversation.  Each attempt was met with a silent glare or curt, one-word answer.

“Number 27.”  The call for the listening room came for my daily visit.  The stringy-haired receptionist didn’t ask what I wanted to hear anymore.  I was a regular.

As I got up to lock myself into the tiny room for an hour, I simply said, “Thank you for the match.”  Miriam deigned to offer a brief glance upward in my direction in reluctant acknowledgement for my intrusion into her life.  I smiled, not so much because of her graciousness, but because I resonated with her energy so clearly; an energy I intuitively knew I would encounter again.  I recognized her spirit as familiar.  Perhaps it was in a previous life.  I didn’t understand it all at the time, but life has a funny way of working things like this out.

Several months later, my former roommate with whom I lived before I got married, called to say he got a new apartment that he was sharing with a woman.  He indicated she was a tough cookie.  A Puerto Rican woman from Brooklyn named, Miriam.  When she got angry at him, she would throw shoes at his head.  He laughed as he told story after story about how impatient she was, and how sometimes, she would shoot him a stare that made his blood run cold.  I don’t know how, but I knew who he was talking about.

From that day forward, Miriam and I grew closer.  We spent time together, sharing our families with one another.  We laughed, partied, and did our homework together.  As time passed, we learned about our spirits together, discovering through one tradition after another who we were at our core.

Miriam and I spent 35 years in friendship, telling one another our deepest secrets and sharing our lives.  I was the first man to hold her son.  My children called her titi, the Puerto Rican version of tia or auntie.  I stood with her on the altar with her son as she eulogized her beloved brother at his funeral.  As a final confirmation of our connection, we found out through our mutual genealogical research that I am distantly related to her husband.

I visited nearly every day during her final hospital stay.   Miriam died on my brother’s birthday, January 18, at the age of 61.  I officiated at her graveside service yesterday.  I stood with her only child, as I had 26 years before at his birth, as he eloquently shared what it meant to have his mother in his life.

I will miss my sister-friend.  She has helped me grow into the man I am today.  My life wouldn’t have been the same without her.  I will never forget that day in the student union so many years before.  I will cherish that memory for as long as I live along with all the other vivid memories of our lives together.  Her artistry, kindness, veracity, and love are gifts I will be able to carry for the rest of my life.  She was truly a Godsend.  I know her spirit will fly free with joy and peace onto her next life.

Namasté, Miriam.

“Each time I look at that flag, I’m reminded that our destiny is stitched together like those 50 stars and those 13 stripes. No one built this country on their own. This nation is great because we built it together. This nation is great because we worked as a team. This nation is great because we get each other’s backs. And if we hold fast to that truth, in this moment of trial, there is no challenge too great; no mission too hard. As long as we are joined in common purpose, as long as we maintain our common resolve, our journey moves forward, and our future is hopeful, and the state of our Union will always be strong.”  ~ President Barack Obama, January 24, 2012

At our best, we are a unified nation that allows for dissent, but always remembers that we all have one flag.  We do not compartmentalize the red stripes from the white stripes, the stars from the blue field.  It is one flag.  We can find as many ideas of how to make things better as we have American citizens, but we have forgotten something along the way.  Our leader must be at the front of that fight.

When I was a boy, my father and I would regularly be at loggerheads.  I, in my ridiculous arrogance, thought my father didn’t know what he was talking about.  I’d roll my eyes, and huff and puff whenever he said something that I imagined was said solely to embarrass me.  The one thing I always remembered, though, is that he was my father, our family leader.  I knew that he was always acting in the best interest of our family.  As I grew into adulthood, I learned to respect my father’s brilliance as a businessman, dynamic love as a grandfather, and his rock solid wisdom as a father.

A president is not a father, he is a national leader.  We have more room to question, argue, and rebut; however, we must also remember that until the time comes for us to change the individual inhabiting that office, he or she is still our president.  Our president still makes the rally call around the flag, and we as Americans should heed that call with grace and strength, all eyes moving forward toward success and happiness.

If one is not a part of the resolution; if one is not a part of the constructive conversation; if one is solely beating his breast in lamentation of what is wrong and why it went wrong, then he should step aside and make room for those who want to assist in the process.  Our stagnancy in Congress is an excellent example of what happens when we populate the houses of Congress with those who simply want to play the victims, and this means on both sides of the aisle.

Here is my message to Congress:  Ladies and gentlemen of the 112th Congress of the United States of America,

Lay down your weapons and pick up your plowshares.  You must stand next to one another and look forward rather than standing nose-to-nose, facing one another in unwavering arrogance.  How can you possibly see where we need to go if all you keep in your sight line is your colleague as an enemy.

I first remember seeing Phyllis Diller on television in the 1960s.  I resonated with her self-deprecating humor, huge ribald laughter, and crabby reflections on her life with imaginary husband, Fang.  Little did I know that we shared a birthday of July 17.  Not the same year, of course, but the day was enough for me.   Then in the early 1970s, I saw Lily Tomlin in concert.  What an amazing ride that was as she shared Edith Ann, Ernestine the Telephone Operator, and Mrs. Judith Beasley with us.  I was transported with each new character that arrived on stage.

After Ms. Tomlin left the stage, my father dragged my brother, David, and me across the stage to the dressing room door to say hello to Ms. Tomlin.  We were first in line because of Dad’s audacity.  As Ms. Tomlin opened the door, she smiled at David and me, and said a gracious hello.  In a fit of certain insanity, I broke into Ernestine’s voice and said, “A gracious good evening, Miss Tomlin.  We truly enjoyed your show. *snort snort*”

Ms. Tomlin roared with laughter.  Dad and David were not as amused.  They  looked simply mortified watching their 11-year-old son and brother putting the fingers of his right hand down his shirt, and the fingers of his left hand to his ear, intermittently puffing his hair mimicking what he had just seen Ms. Tomlin do.  We got her autograph and started walking down the hallway in what should have been a walk of shame.  The audience members lined up behind us giggled and pointed.  Suddenly, they broke out in applause.  I knew this would be a moment that would live in my heart forever.

Last year, I wrote to Ms. Tomlin celebrating her birthday to share this memory with her.  She wrote back through her manager and invited my husband, David, and I to her show in March as her guests, with full backstage privileges.  This invitation came with the caveat that Ms. Tomlin hopes I reprise my performance for her these 40-plus years later.  We’re going.

Many people have memories equally as dazzling as mine because these women chose to share their enormous gifts with us.  Could trailblazers such as Sophie Tucker (January 13, 1886 – February 9, 1966) ,  Fannie Brice (October 29, 1891 – May 29, 1951), Moms Mabley (March 19, 1894 – May 23, 1975), Lucille Ball (August 6, 1911 – April 26, 1989)  and their ilk have realized what they were starting?  They paved the way for our current and upcoming grande dames of delight!  Through jokes, skits, and bawdy songs, these women took risks that were less common in that era.  They dared to say unladylike things, at least by the standards of the day.  They laughed with the big boys, even while remaining vastly outnumbered.   Even today, if one  looks at any random list of comedians, one finds the ratio of women to men about 1:20.

Now, the Bette Midlers, Whoopi Goldbergs, and Ellen Degenereses are already making room for the Kathy Griffins, Chelsea Handlers, and Wanda Sykeses, and others of the newer generation of funny ladies.  They definitely have huge pumps to fill.

The elder stateswomen of giggles perpetuate their legacy of guffaws still in concerts, appearances, and red carpet photos.  We have the pleasure of knowing that there are those who are moving ahead of a younger generation as well, learning from the dynamic mothers of comedy.  We can securely know that our laughter remains in good hands.

Thank you women of laughter.  We value your presence in our lives and celebrate your creativity, daring, and willingness to tell the truth in the funniest ways possible!  Brava diva, one and all!

To honor these performers, my company, Sacramento Vocal Music, will produce a show of all comedy music entitled, “Grins, Giggles, and Grace Notes,” at the Woodland Opera House.  The show on June 15, 2012, will feature my vocal students performing funny songs and standard pieces created to be funny.  I hope that our Matriarchs of Mirth would be proud!

One of the programs my wonderful husband enjoys is ABC’s “Wife Swap.”  The program is about spouses from two different families that live with the other family to see what life there is like on the other side of the fence.  The producers routinely select two homes from extremely different backgrounds.  In the episode we watched the other day, the two groups included a family headed by a loving, liberal, lesbian couple, and a family led by an biting, self-righteous, and evidently emotionally injured couple.  It was a train wreck!

At one point during the week the heteroamorous wife lived with the lesbian woman and her two children, the angry woman began spouting off about how she thought being gay was a birth defect, that she didn’t like Mexicans, and that she would abort a Down’s syndrome baby, and many other unkind views.  Now, admittedly, she is entitled to her beliefs and views; however, to  spew this vitriol in the home of a lesbian woman who has Mexican friends, and another friend with a Down’s syndrome baby was a mistake.

The lesbian woman threw a party and invited the aforementioned friends to meet the extremist woman.  During the course of the evening, our lesbian partner, in a startling feat of passive-aggressive  behavior, began relating the angry woman’s viewpoints to her unsuspecting friends.  Let’s just say, it wasn’t pretty.

As soon as the angry woman’s views were subjected to scrutiny by those with whom she didn’t agree, she felt attacked and betrayed.  During the remainder of the show, though, she slowly recognized that her views put her in the category of “monster” (her word, not mine).  She had an epiphany that caused her to shake and weep at the thought that she was so bad, her family wouldn’t want her back.  Let’s just say, her family was very kind to her by keeping their thoughts to themselves.  Well, actually, they shared their thoughts on camera, but not to her upon her return.  All three of the angry family’s members said they were going to miss the temporary lesbian mom that had resided there for the week.  They said they sort of wished she didn’t have to go because she was so kind.

Currently, the Republican party is in the process of whittling down their numbers.  As of today, the day of the South Carolina primary, we see three front-runners, including Mitt Romney, Rick Santorum, and Newt Gingrich.  They have eaten through several of their colleagues already, but more meals are ahead for the eventual nominee of this party.  Once that feast is done, then it will be onto the Democrat-Republican battle.  The commonality I suspect we will see between the show and the election is that when we have Obama vs. whomever, both sides will appear extreme to the other party.

Rick Santorum is likely the most extreme of the Republicans.  He states that it will take a far-right wing Republican to win the race.  A moderate will not get the votes.  I have to wonder.  As with all bell curves, the smallest numbers are on the outside of the arc.  The statistical mode of the members of the Republican party are not likely to be found in the outside of that arc.   When faced with public scrutiny over extreme views, the Republicans may find themselves having an epiphany similar to the angry mother’s on “Wife Swap.”  Consider that Rick Santorum eventually won Ohio, Mitt Romney won New Hampshire, and Newt Gingrich has a good chance of winning South Carolina.  That’s not good news for the Republican party.  It indicates a division in viewpoints in three distinct areas of the country.

Regarding President Obama, it’s likely that the same division may occur.  Many Democrats  wonder what they should do as an alternative to the chicken who is willing to work so closely with the foxes on important issues.    Many democrats may end up seeing Obama as too moderate, and not strongly convicted enough to democratic principles.

Both Democrat and Republican candidates will be under a level of scrutiny that we have not seen for many years in this election.  A candidate like Ron Paul, if he were to run as an independent, is not likely to be elected because of his Black & White, Libertarian opinions.  He is also not very presidential.  He seems more like an cranky hardware store owner sitting on the porch pontificating about how the country is going down the tubes.

We will see a real horse race this year come November.  The truth is that I have no idea whatsoever who will come out on top regarding the Republican nomination.  I suspect it will be Mitt Romney.  We must remember, though, the surprise during the last presidential primary when Barack Obama received the nomination over Hillary Clinton.  We can’t assume anything at this point.  What we can expect, however, is that both candidates will be dissected into tiny parts by the public and the media.  Someone’s going home crying.

Today is my first leg on finding my voice.  Bear with me because it might get awkward.  By all external appearances, I am adequately refined thanks to my mother.  My father taught me by example to be direct but kind when talking with those outside my home, and inside my home by contrast.   I find myself struggling to ascend to some elusively elegant heights of language while losing something in the translation.  It’s not easy working this hard to avoid typos and incorrect sentence structure.  It’s a drag to stifle my truest intimacy in an effort to make my thoughts palatable to others.  Is it possible that I have written myself right out of my writing?  Perhaps.

So, dear reader, I am starting here on Powodzenia’s Blog to write with more fluidity.  More directness.  More chutzpah.  I wonder how that will work out?  Any guesses?

Let me start this arduous journey by telling you something personal about my writing.  I love to write.  More than my music, acting, painting, or anything else, I love writing.  It makes me feel at home.  It shoves my guts into all the right places.   Writing thrills me like little else does.  The peace I feel at my keyboard excites my brain, my fingers, and my heart, and depending on what I’m writing…  well, you get the picture.   If I could make a living doing this work, I would.  It’s not that I don’t love what I do, but the clicking of my fingernails on these little squares is my dance.

When I was a little boy, I used to have a small, green pad of paper that I kept locked tightly in my drawer.  I wanted complete privacy to write my truest heart, so I had my dad install a lock onto the drawer.  I felt so free with that little key in my pocket.  I could write whatever I wanted.  I could say how much I hated my parents, how stupid my friends were, and how I wished I could have a boyfriend when at the time it was the last thing I wanted known by anyone.  There was nothing I couldn’t share with my little, green pad.  Sometimes, when I was pissed off, I would scribble so hard that I would tear the paper, leaving indentation on the many pages below.  This collection of pages held my truth.  What could be greater than that?

So, now it’s 40 years later, and I’m still doing the same thing.  Writing my truth.  Only now, I’m doing it in a public forum.  And as I write these words, the first with my truer voice, I realize I don’t care what others think of what I write.  I’m happy if they enjoy it, but if I am to be whole, I must bang away at my little Netbook until the full truth is told.   That is what a writer is expected to do.  The good ones at least.  And if the sentences are fragmented, or the words are concocted in my head, so be it.  I suspect someone will understand what I mean.   Clarity comes best through intention rather than simply from technical perfection.   At least that’s what I’ve found when I read someone else’s work.

I’m tired of being so damned careful all the time.  What is it they say?  Those who walk down the middle of the road get hit by cars going in both directions.  I guess I’d better pick a side. And God knows I have a story or two to tell.  This life has been nothing if not abundant with storytelling opportunities.  So, wish me luck.  Be sure to keep me honest.  It’s show the story, not tell the story, right?  Damn!  It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

When we removed ourselves from under the rule of King George III of Great Britain, we codified several facets of the lives we wanted into two documents, the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.

United States of America Declaration of Independence

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

Most people discuss the “Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness” part of this sentence.  A word at the beginning is much more intriguing – “self-evident.”   They could have used the word “clear,” or perhaps “obvious,”  but they chose “self-evident” in this beautifully-crafted statement.   The authors made it clear that we as individuals are supposed to assume that all members of our society are equal and deserve the same treatment and benefits as every other citizen in our country.  These rights are not issued with discretion by any other citizen; they are a natural part of being a citizen of this country.  Not only are they a natural part of being American, we cannot be alienated or separated from those rights in any way by anyone or any entity, including our own government.

This first section is the part we all know; however, there is another part of this paragraph that we tend to forget:

“— That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it,  and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.”

Most people discuss the rights identified in this section as pertaining to themselves, missing the broader picture.  Individuals have the proclivity to protect their own land, property, families, and rights.  It may be an instinctual process; however, by focusing on one’s self alone, one misses a larger responsibility as a citizen of the United States – to protect our nation as a whole.  We rightly value those who serve in our military as protectors of our liberties, yet we forget that we, too, have a weight on our shoulders as well.  We must assume the rights of all citizens and fight to correct anything that disallows members of our society from their freedoms.

In the Preamble to the Constitution, the first words, “We the People of the United States in order to form a more perfect Union,”  reiterates what we found in the Declaration of Independence.  The authors said again that we as a whole must come together to work hand-in-hand to achieve the most unified citizenry and society we can.  It didn’t say, “We the governors…” or “We the few…”  or “We the wealthy and powerful…”   It says “We the People.”  All the people.  Everyone single one of us inclusively has a role to play to elevate ourselves toward the hopes of those who began our country.

Preamble to the United States of America’s Constitution

“We the People  of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

The question for us becomes this:  Which single individual in our country deserves less than everything promised in our Declaration of Independence and our Constitution of the United States?  Which person out of the millions born in our land or who have chosen our country as their homeland, requires or deserves fewer freedoms than any other?  Any thinking person will, of course, respond that there is not one person that deserves less.  Some might say non-Christians, gays, Muslims, the disabled, the mentally ill, or those born in other countries deserve fewer freedoms.  Certainly those who would say this are wrong according to our nation’s establishing documents.  They are acting contrary to our national intention.  And who is responsible for defending these individuals who have lost their voice and their first-class citizenship in our country?

In the same way as our founding fathers intended, each one of us is responsible, wholly and without abjuration, to ensure the full and irrevocable rights of all American citizens through word and deed.  Anything less is contrary to who we are as a people.  As we’ve learned in other fallen civilizations, we must remember who we are if we are to survive as a nation.

I started my venture into music in February 1969.  At this point, I’m an old hand in the industries of music, theater, and business.  Now, I am beginning to see the up-and-comers starting to develop.  Perhaps because I’ve crossed the 40-year mark, I am not so focused on my own success, but rather prepared to lend a hand, if invited, to those who will take my place when I retire, after creating their own place with their work.  It’s not just in music, though.  It’s also in the arena of personal growth.

The beginning of my new attention began almost imperceptibly.  Glimpses of talent, tenacity, intelligence, and creativity caught my peripheral vision.  These young upstarts started showing some real gifts.  At first, I smiled paternally at the young whippersnappers as they started showing their mettle.  Slowly, my focus changed.  I’m now taking an interest as a mentor as they become my peers, working with great alacrity in my industry.  Their sense of innovation, fearlessness, and indefatigability become a constant source of amazement.

Was I like this as a younger actor, musician, singer, conductor?  Perhaps.  I certainly did not see myself in the same way as I perceive these vital young people.   I do recall, though, those who took the time to guide me through my growth.  It appears it’s my turn to offer that support as our youthful invigorati, if you will allow me a new word, start building their curriculum vitae.  The lines in my face are like directional arrows pointing toward extended experience to which some of these newer adults gravitate.   It’s like that for everyone I suspect.

James in 1976 and 2011

So, in the same way as I did for the young ones in the neighborhood 35 years ago, I again am keeping an eye out in case I am needed by a budding musician, a neophyte writer, or simply someone who is searching for his or her identity.    I still turn to my elders for their wisdom because I’m not done yet.   I still need guidance sometimes; only now, I live on both sides of that line.  As I contemplate this topic, I believe I care for our developing success stories because once upon a time, someone else helped me achieve mine.

I could write until my fingers fall off, but if no one read my work, it would simply be a personal journal.  That has not been the case.  My readers, friends, family, and strangers, have visited my site 50,000 times as of today.  Two years, ten months, and nine days, it has taken to see this number roll over.  By the standards of major blog writers, this is a drop in the bucket; a day’s number of hits.  That’s great for them.  This is great for me.

My 256 blog posts have been picked up by NBA.com, StumbleUpon, politicians, comedians, and businesses.  They have been linked to, cited, quoted, and copied.  One day, on May 9, 2010, I had 914 hits.  That was shortly after I wrote, “A Child’s Voice.”  That month alone, I saw 7,711 people visit my site.  The post that has been visited more than any other, with 2,921 visits, has been “Governor Schwartzenothing” that I wrote on August 18, 2009. This piece foreshadowed the disastrous results of that particular budget on California.  All in all, I couldn’t be happier with the level of success I have with my little corner of the blogosphere!

Just like an automobile odometer or watching the ball drop in Times Square, the landmark really isn’t a landmark at all.  It is part of a continuum that will move forward long after this moment is lost to history.  I suppose it means something special only to me and those closest to me who understand how hard it was to write that first blog.

As one who spends his career helping others find their voices, I was challenged in trusting my own.  Now, however, that has all changed.  I have my blog and it has its own Facebook page.  I love that.  Fewer than 20 people populate Powodzenia’s Blog on Facebook, but that’s fine with me.  Those who do are genuinely interested in reading my work.  I have worked very hard to ensure that each piece is as thoughtfully constructed and well written as I can offer because I value those of you who read my blogs.

So, thank you, dear readers, for this truly amazing gift of 50,000 visits.  I am honored and humbled by your willingness to spend time with my words, and by extension me!  This truly is a site that has my heart and spirit and life permeating its paragraphs.  You have each been a gift from God to me, and for that I am overwhelmingly grateful!

May blessings of untold abundance be yours always!

James C. Glica-Hernandez

a.k.a. Powodzenia

As a civilization, we, along with our planetary brothers and sisters, are learning new things about ourselves.  We are discovering we have voices and hearts and minds that must be recognized and valued by those in power.  We are anticipating a major shift of spiritual consciousness.  We are trying to find our ways back toward intimacy.  Is this because the calendar reads, “2012?”  Is it solely because the Mayans said there would be a shift of some sort in November of the coming year?  Probably not.

The likeliest candidate for this awakening is that after tens of thousand of years, our evolution has insisted we grow.  In the same way as plants, in order to survive, become larger or smaller, depending on their environment, we are ready to raise the bar on our consciousness.  It’s simply time!

Everyone will have a different suggestion on how to do this.  Prayer, meditation, thought, action, or stillness.  My vote is for stillness of the mind.  I suggest we simply listen to the wind as my ancestors might have said.  I call it, “Openly Sensing Life.”

Have you ever had a sudden distraction and thought, “Oh!  I need to call so-and-so immediately.”  You had no reason to think that thought, but when you called, you realized that person needed you in some way.  You intuitively responded to that voice within.  Most parents can share examples of this happening about their children more than once.  You openly sensed your Life with a capital “L.”  I suspect that is where we find ourselves at this point.  We are anxious and feeling fidgety about nothing at all; but is it about nothing at all?

Every single one of us is capable of listening and openly sensing life.  It requires us to set aside what we so righteously “know.”  It requires us to be humble in those moments when we open ourselves to that life sensation.  It requires us to set aside our historical and cultural knowledge so that we may be surprised by what we hear.  It requires us to breathe peacefully, allowing all the troubles of our lives with the lower-case “l” to dissipate if only for those few minutes.

My suggestion is that this action is not just for one’s own well-being.  It is for the global well-being also.  When we open ourselves to the forthcoming message from within, we are better able to receive that message.  It may help guide us to the growth we seem so ready to embrace.

Some will call this listening for the voice of God.  Some will say it is the vibration of global consciousness.  People will have many things to call this process.  It doesn’t matter how you name it as long as you participate.  When a majority of us open ourselves to this voice, we will likely hear how we fit into this important process of growth, and may even discover how we can become more actively involved in this shift.

Of course, there will be people who reply with, “Phooey!”

That’s fine.  You who choose not to take part are certainly entitled to express your free will anyway you want.  Those who do participate will find answers to questions we may never have known were there.  We may find new ways to love and new ways to welcome others into the process.

However one chooses to look at this process, know that it is happening with or without him or her.  We will see these changes happen whether we drag our feet, join hands with others who encourage this process, or simply stand by and watch.

So as we approach 2012, listen to what the wind tells you, and as you do, I wish you a happy, abundant, and productive New Year, full of unity, good health, and joy.