Pamela Stead Jones

“There is only one admirable form of the imagination:  the imagination that is so intense that it creates a new reality, that it makes things happen.”

– Sean O’Faolain

Buddha says we are what we think.  Einstein says that imagination is more important than knowledge.  There is energy in thought; there is dynamic energy in imagination.

When I was a child, I remember being taught that imaginary things were things that did not really exist.  They were the things that amusement was made of.  I remember, as I began to grow a little older, being cautioned to think rather than to daydream.  I was to learn to discipline my mind and keep it within the boundaries of the things that are real.  I suppose it did make life easier for our teachers when the whole class focused on the idea being presented; but their caution not to fall into the world outside of the tangible and known left me feeling that the imaginary world might not be a good place to spend my time.  Instead, as an adult, I have come to believe that imagination is vital to our continued creation as we evolve and adapt to an ever-changing world.

Perhaps it is true that the things we imagine do not exist — at least not yet in the physical world — but it is the discovery of the imagined that propels us to take action and change our world.  There is energy in thought; and we, the thinkers, have the ability to move from the land of daydreams into the land of visions.  All we need to do is convert the energy of thought to one of intention.  Action soon will follow; and before we know it, the things that once existed only in imagination can become our reality.  Imagination is a powerful tool.  We need to respect its ability to create change and to affect our world.  Be careful what you dream, be careful what you think, be careful what you decide to bring to life.  We must ground our thinking in love and grow our imagined world in a kind and peaceful way.  Once we decide to move beyond daydreaming to truly imagining and acting on our visions, we have the power to change our world.  Just imagine.

“It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives.  It is the one that is the most adaptable to change.”

— Charles Dickens

We spend a lifetime working at becoming the brightest, the fittest, the most adept at performing our work, the best athletes.  We pay a great deal of attention to ourselves, growing the Ego part of us — the sense of self that defines and separates us from others — so that we fine-tune our definition of the uniqueness we bring to our world.

How much time do we devote to looking at the bigger picture?  How much time do we spend observing the world where we live and breathe and interact so that we can see ourselves as part of something where our role is only a small piece?  The world is always changing; and it seems as though that is an understatement in our times.  Economic change, harsh weather patterns, wars, and even natural disasters are a part of the daily news report.  As a society, we struggle to see that all are fed, sheltered, clothed, and protected.  What worked 100 years ago no longer seems to fill the bill; and we find that we are part of a sort of turmoil as groups with different ideas for change struggle against one another.  As we strive to find solutions to the problems we face, it seems that we create more problems that also need to be solved.

In the end, as Darwin says, it will not be the strongest or the most intelligent who survive and break through to the next era.  It will be the most adaptable.  In order to adapt, we first must see the world clearly enough to understand the challenge we face.  Now is a good time to observe all that is happening around us and, more than ever before, to see that fighting the changes or trying to outwit them will not see us through the challenges we face.  Now is a good time to develop the resourcefulness that allows us to live in tune with the changing universe and find the place where we best can become a part of something beyond our power to change.  Now is the time to accept and embrace that it is we who need to adapt and change, not the world we live in.

More than anything else, it is the time to trust that there is Intelligence in the universe that far outstrips our own.  We must use our strength, our intelligence, and our ability to observe with the goal of becoming aligned with that greater intelligence.  Only by adapting and becoming what we are created to be can we hope to survive.  Only by becoming who each of us is created to be can humankind hope to survive the change that lies ahead.

“Imagination is more important than knowledge.  For knowledge is limited to all we know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand.”

– Albert Einstein

As I gazed at the brilliance of the full moon of April — the Egg Moon — I had to wonder how many dreams had germinated under the night sky by others who found themselves bathed in the magic of moonlight.  There is something about moonlight that calls forth our deepest dreams and lets them swim around our minds to see whether they will take shape and possibly come true.  Perhaps it is as simple as the fact that the rest of the world disappears behind the cloak of darkness when the sun sets.  Without the distraction of what is, we find ourselves free to consider the things that might one day be.  The light of the moon draws our eyes toward the heavens and keeps them focused as they seek light amid the darkness.  Isn’t that what imagination is all about?  Isn’t imagination about stepping out of the confines of our own darkness and discovering new ideas that lie beyond its edges?

When the sun shines brightly, and the whole world is bathed in its white-hot light,  it can sometimes overpower the light that glows within our own hearts and minds.  Perhaps the moon was placed in the heavens so that its soft, reflected light could illuminate our dreams and call them out of hiding to a place where they can grow.  As I gazed last night into the crystal ball that hung above me in the sky, I found my own dreams dancing all around me.  I looked at the moon and I looked at the way it illuminated my most-loved hopes, and I vowed to carry their beauty with me when the sun would rise again.  We all know that it is the sun that supports life and causes things to grow; but I have a suspicion all new life begins beneath the light of the moon.   As Einstein says, “Imagination is everything.  It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.”

Come with me tonight.  Bring your imagination with you and watch it dance in the moonlight.  Who knows what might germinate there that will change the world.

“When God loves a creature he wants the creature to know the highest happiness and the deepest misery.  He wants him to know all that being alive can bring.  That is his best gift.  There is no happiness save in understanding the whole.”

— Thornton Wilder

Being human in the midst of all the universe has to offer is a magnificent experience.   There are few times that illustrate this better than the morning after a storm.  The rain began yesterday afternoon; and, although it made the roads a bit slippery, there was nothing remarkable about it.  Soon the wind began to pick up and send the rain flying sideways as well as vertically.  By the time we left a friend’s home in early evening, there was a stream flowing down the road toward the bottom of the hill we had ascended earlier.  Spring Creek Road.  What a lovely image.  A country road that winds through the trees and parallels the creek that sits fifty yards away.  We have learned from past experience that in storms like these, the “road” part of its name vanishes and it simply becomes a creek.  We turned toward higher ground and made our way home, avoiding all roads with any sort of water in their names.

Later that night, under cover of darkness, a huge gust of wind took the chairs from our porch and sent them flying down the hill in front of our house and into the street below.  As we sat and listened to it howl and heard the rainwater gushing from the downspouts and overflowing the gutters, I could only wonder what other surprises might await us this morning.

The wind still demands our attention today as it tosses the clouds, first north and then south, back and forth across the morning sky.  Branches pruned by Mother Nature lie on the ground all through the park.  Here a trash can, there its lid, in the middle of nowhere a play ball blown from a neighboring house.  Everywhere the earthworms crawl, washed to the surface by the rising water.  Now they make their way across the park road in search of soil.

I am drawn to the edge of the creek.  It calls much louder as last night’s rain rushes over the rocks and assures that its song will be heard.  Then I see it.  The ancient willow lies across the water from one bank to the other, a bridge built overnight at the expense of its survival.  The new growth stands up along its trunk rather than swaying in the breeze.  Its roots lie exposed near a hole where it used to stand.  I feel tears well in my eyes as I realize that the whole landscape has changed with one gust of wind.  I look up through the branches of a budding maple and see its flowers display their spring-green beauty against a sky so blue that it is hard to imagine all that happened last night as the clouds blew through town.

This is the way life displays itself when we dare to be small and human and vulnerable in the midst of all the universe has to offer.  I stand for a minute at the spot where the willow once seemed invincible and realize that I, too, am at the mercy of being mortal and of being a very small piece of a magnificent landscape that has existed forever and will go on long after my own roots are gone.

I look to the sky once again and see the new life in the maple flowers.  I see the beauty and promise in the bright blue sky, washed clean by the rain that fell last night.

This is what our Creator wishes for us, his creatures — to know all of life in all its power.  There is no better time to discover this power than the morning after a magnificent storm.

“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.”

– Anatole France

I have always been a cat person.  Ever since my childhood, when our family cat, Beauty, would lie on her back across my lap and sleep peacefully, I’ve had a certain affinity for the independent and fickle energy of the feline.  I’ve always been able to approach the cat that “will not let you hold her” and soon have her purring in my arms.  Since discovering that two of my sons are quite allergic to cats, I have had to enjoy my friends’ pets and keep my own home fur free.

“Well, you could always have a dog.”  Dogs.  Those stinky, drooling, long-clawed, leg-scratching, sleep-on-my-feet-so-I-can’t-make-a-move animals.  I am not a dog person.  I’ve always felt somewhat un-American when I say that, because I know that dog lovers rank their canines right up there with motherhood and apple pie.  Ironically, it seems that whenever I enter a dog’s space I am immediately targeted as the one whose feet need guarding or whose face needs a good lick.  Once, at the home of my eldest son, his large dog sat down at my feet, rested his chin on my thigh, and fell asleep sitting up.  I’m sure he thought he was sitting on my lap, and I felt obligated to sit like a statue until he had finished his beauty sleep.

About a month ago, my youngest daughter Emily moved back home, and with her came her 7-month-old Cocker Spaniel, Patches.  Please don’t tell my jeering, dog-loving friends, but this naughty little dog has awakened that sleeping part of my soul.  I guess you could say it’s puppy love, but I’m finding that I’m turning into one of those doting people who brags about how smart my grand-puppy is and shows off his latest tricks.

Now that his tricks have moved beyond sneaking to a corner to relieve himself; now that he is learning to sit and wait when I ask him to; now that he has discovered my magnificence and lives only to please me (unless, of course, his mommy is at home), I find that I am totally sappy over that sweet little face with the expressive brown eyes — even when he finds a cardboard box and shreds it all over the living room.  I suppose you could say that he’s helping me to be more attentive to cleaning.  The wrap-up to his potty training days was a good steam-clean of the carpets, and his affinity for the toys I keep for my grandchildren has encouraged me to pare back my collection and keep it stashed away from a teething puppy.

What I like best, though, is the way he hops up next to me — on the towel that now adorns the middle cushion on the couch — and settles in next to me while I read.  He is kind enough to nuzzle my hand as a reminder that I am there to rub his ears or scratch his belly.  When he stretches out on his back and looks at me with those sweet puppy dog eyes, I sometimes think he may have some cat in his lineage.  Don’t tell my dog-loving sister.  She will never let me hear the end of this.

“Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart.”

– Corrie Ten Boom

Yesterday I had the pleasure of reconnecting with an old friend — old enough that she knew me during what I call my previous lifetime.  I was married once before, and this was a friend who knew me before all the changes came that ended that marriage and paved the way to the life I now live and enjoy.  It was strange to catch up with someone who assumed that I still was leading that old life and who had no connection to the one that seems as though it always has been mine.  And this experience had be thinking about forgiveness and the way it can shape us into something more than we dreamed we might be.

As is often the case, that long-ago marriage did not end gracefully.  It was a time of anger and hurt and betrayal and loss.  It was a time when harsh words were spoken by both of us; and it seemed back then that the best thing for all involved would be to stop speaking entirely and go our separate ways.  This sounds very neat and tidy, but there was the issue of two children we had brought into the world together.  When you share kids, you are forever connected, and this meant we needed to find a way to speak without continuing to hurt each other and ourselves.  It was clear that we needed to forgive; but neither of us had warm feelings for the other.  Forgiving seemed risky.  It could leave me vulnerable to another attack by someone I had learned not to trust.  And so I learned to guard my heart, and I took forgiveness off the table.

I began to rebuild my life; but as time passed, I realized that there was no point in making a divorce final if we were going to continue to live in the anger that caused us to split in the first place.  We needed to move on from anger, and the path to doing that had to be forgiveness.  I love what Corrie Ten Boom says about forgiveness being an act of the will.  My sad and angry heart was far too cold to carry forgiveness for someone I thought had broken it.  There were no warm, fuzzy feelings floating around for the person I once had loved.  It is difficult, when you are a person who leads with your heart, to bypass it and will yourself to forgive; but the outcome of this act of will is nothing short of miraculous.

I remember reaching the point where I simply told myself that enough was enough.  I wanted to live with happiness, and my heart was so full of anger and resentment that there was no room for joy.  I decided to forgive.  My head would lead my heart this time; and once the decision was made I would not turn back.  The miracle that followed was that my heart released all the things that were blocking my joy.  As time passed, I found myself remembering all the reasons I had fallen in love with this man so many years before.  Although we had issues that probably would never be resolved, we could find a way to live our separate lives without having to continue to hurt each other.  We could share the children we had created together, and now we also share the grandchildren who bring joy to our lives.  Forgiveness was the only path to the different kind of love and respect that now defines our relationship.  It was an act of will, and it warmed my heart.

“Friendship is the shadow of the evening, which increases with the setting sun of life.”

— Jean de La Fontaine

When I say, “friendship,” which faces pop into your mind?  As I watch my fifteen-year-old navigate through the perils and pitfalls of her teenage years, I am transported back to a time when friendships were shallow and the fickle drama of adolescence had the cast of characters changing by the day — even by the hour — as we struggled to fit into a larger circle that we called friends.  I remember the nights of crying tears of frustration, as I tried to understand why someone I wanted to befriend had no interest in knowing me better.  I remember the feeling that not having their acceptance might just herald the end of my world.  Again and again, as we jostled and jockeyed for position in the social circle, friends would come and go, delight and betray, and finally move on.

There is something basic to being human that desires the companionship of others.  There is something deep and meaningful that grows out of our early attempts to connect that does, along the way, allow us to find the soulmates who remain our lifelong friends.  During a recent round of teenage drama, I suggested to my girl that she talk to some older folks and find out how many of them still have meaningful friendships with the people who shared their high school years.  Even though I live in the same community where attended high school, I can count on the fingers of one hand the people from that time who still are a part of my daily life.

Fingers always seem to come up when I talk about friendship.  I am a pretty sociable person.  I enjoy the company of others and can find a good time in nearly any group where I might land; but I remember realizing, in my thirties, that I could count the true, deep friendships I enjoyed on the fingers of one hand.  At first I thought that maybe I should work harder at achieving a longer list; but then I realized that the sort of friendship that lasts — the sort that I desired — was more a matter of quality than quantity, and I began to realize how blessed I truly am to have found some folks who share the music of my soul.

As the sun of living shines on and I find myself in the afternoon of my life’s day, I find that the shadow cast by friendship does grow longer.  There is so much shared living that comprises a lasting friendship that the gentle shade that lies in front of it becomes broader as well as deeper.  Everyone knows that there is no greater comfort when the sun burns hot than a bit of shade on a blistering day.

With the sun at my back, I hold my hands out in front of me and make shadow puppets against the afternoon sky.  I see the faces of each shadow of each finger, and I wave my arms to make them dance.  Suddenly I stop.  I kick off my shoe and balance on one foot, toes wiggling in the sun and joining in the celebration.  I find a spot in the shade at my feet and counting each finger with the joy that grows out of shared living, know that I am truly blessed.

“The earth laughs in flowers.”

— e. e. cummings

Another dreary morning awaited me today.  The drizzle still is falling, a sort of morning-after wrap up to last night’s rain.  I poke my head out the back door.  All I see is gray sky, a stark contrast to the sunny blue of Monday when new high temperature records were set in our town.  Maybe the weather will cooperate later and I will be able to take my walk; but this morning I will have to settle for the treadmill and some walking music.

Feeling the damp chill of morning, and thinking of the warmth of my kitchen, I began to close the door.  It was then that I heard it.  What was that sound?  A giggle?  I scanned the area for the source and discovered a clump of tiny, purple primrose in the garden bed behind my neighbor’s house.  A titter?  Some tiny violets, nestled in the fresh new grass smiled at me and called me out to play.  Soon the dandelions began to chuckle, and the daffodils down the street laughed right out loud.

I found myself grabbing a jacket and dancing out into the rain, laughing all the way around the neighborhood and joining in the merriment of spring flowers giggling in the morning drizzle.  What a wonderful thing it is that our Creator chose flowers as a way to call the world to rebirth each year!  I am sure that something far more serious could have done just as efficient a job; but the color and laughter that explode into bloom make flowers the perfect heralds of Spring.

The anticipation is over.  Mother Nature has caught up with our man-made calendars, and Spring has arrived in Pennsylvania.  Only a week ago, I wandered around my backyard, surveying the need for raking and clean-up after winter’s pruning of the trees.  ’I'll wait a few days,’ I thought, ‘until the mud dries enough that I don’t uproot the tender grass.’  Well, some sort of magic must have blown into town overnight, because now my thoughts are turning to readying the lawnmower before the grass is too high for mowing.  Everything seems to have burst into life at the same moment.

When I grabbed the leash and called my grand-puppy, Patches, to come for a walk, we stepped off the back stoop and into a springtime paradise.  The Fall puppy never had smelled such luscious things in his life, and soon his snout was wet with dew and dotted with brown as he burrowed into the sweet grass and sniffed his way to the sidewalk.  We strayed from our usual path, led by spots of color that drew my eye and corresponding aromas that drew his nose.  Here, a dandelion, growing up against a stone wall; there a patch of forget-me-nots, so tiny that all I noticed at first were tiny blue specks, as though someone had dropped confetti on the ground.  Equally tiny white flowers, the shape of daisies but no bigger than the eraser of a pencil were our next stop.

Two sparrows sang out from TreeHarmony.com — each in its own treetop and singing its finest mating song to the other.  Robins warbled in the trees by the creek, and the singing water matched their tune as we danced and sniffed our way along the uncharted path through a brand new world.  Our walk took a bit longer than usual.  Perhaps it was the soft 80-degree breeze.  Perhaps it was the need of a pup who never had seen such wonders before and needed to experience them all.  Perhaps it was the way this woman who has seen so many springs still feels surprised when the land turns green.  Whatever the reasons, it’s official:  Spring is here.

“The problem is not that there are problems.  The problem is expecting otherwise and thinking that having problems is a problem.”

— Theodore Isaac Rubin

It seems like only a week ago that I was saying, “Welcome to Monday,” and here we are again.  The weekend is done, and the unscheduled days of taking a break from the routine of the workweek are over.  It has been wonderful to enjoy the freedom to choose  what I will do and when I will do it, to have the feeling that my time is my own, and now it is time to return to the repetitive responsibilities that are the framework of my weekday schedule.  It is time to bring my renewed weekend energy to the challenges I laid down on Friday and, hopefully, look at them with fresh eyes.

One of the ways I treated myself this weekend was by working some puzzles.  I love puzzles.  Hard puzzles.  Bring ‘em on!  There is something about taking the time to work my way through a difficult Sudoku or an Expert crossword puzzle that leaves me with a sense of accomplishment — of competency — that makes me smile and give myself a virtual high-five as I close the book and put my pencil back in the holder.  I always have enjoyed puzzles, from jigsaws to Math problems, especially the ones that call upon me to stretch my thinking muscles and use my brain to its fullest capacity.

Isn’t it funny how we seek entertainment by solving puzzles, but we become distraught and try to avoid solving the problems that pop up in our lives?  It is so easy to feel singled-out during times when it seems that each new day presents an equally new dilemma for us to solve.  When I think about it, I come to the conclusion that I love puzzles because I know that when I persevere and see them through the moment will come when I close the book with a solution noted in black and white.  Life’s problems tend to be less predictable and more messy than the ones in my puzzle book.  Sometimes it is hard to know whether we have solved them or not.  Some sort of fade away, and we move on with the hope that some good has come of our work.  Some seem to surface, again and again, as though some demonic force had erased half of our work while we slept.  Every life has problems built into it.  We know this is true, but still it is easy to feel as though our own are far more difficult than those of anyone else.

The problem is not that there are problems.  The problem is that we think that is a problem.  Since today is Monday, and since Monday always offers us the opportunity to start fresh and bring our rested weekend minds to whatever lies ahead, let’s grab this brand new chance to reframe our view of problems.  Let’s bring the same sort of enthusiasm to the problems we do not choose to solve that we bring to the games we play and the puzzles we choose.  Let’s find the same thrill of the adventure in whatever comes our way that we seek in the recreational pursuits that stretch our mental muscles.

I would like to take the word, “problem,” right off the table and replace it with “challenge.”  I would like to start my fresh, new week feeling confident that my brain is ready for some challenges that will cause it to grow.  Rather than feel as though we have no hope of closing the book on today’s challenges, let’s see ourselves closing the book at the end of the day and knowing that tomorrow will offer another chance to return to our work toward solutions.  Today I will be thankful for the challenges that call on me to grow.