Pamela Stead Jones

“Impossibilities are merely things which we have not yet learned.”

– Charles W. Chesnutt

It’s Monday again; and it’s a perfect day for doing the impossible.  What are the impossible things that lurk in your day and wait to be accomplished?  As the mother of many children, I have been doing the impossible for years.  It is impossible to be in two places at the same time; and many children take part in many activities that required me to be in multiple locations.  Although I have not yet mastered the art of cloning myself, I did learn to manage my time in ways that allowed me to spend meaningful time in each place where a sporting event, an art show, or a concert was taking place.  I learned to prioritize and taught my children to share my time with their siblings, knowing that when the major event was theirs, they would find me in attendance.  I learned that babies can, indeed, nap in car seats when the top priority must take us down the road to another location.  I learned that the infectious excitement of a brother’s or sister’s activity made the same baby bounce and clap for joy.  It seemed impossible at the outset to manage a baby and a baseball game at the same time; but I have learned to do the impossible, so it really doesn’t matter to me.

It is important to square up and take on impossible tasks.  Our abilities are stretched by such ambition, and soon we learn that very few things are truly impossible.  We learn that we must not limit the things we attempt by envisioning failure.  We learn that when we use creativity in setting priorities that we leave the stress behind and are able to enjoy the challenges that once seemed impossible.

Now that my children are grown and I have only one grandchild still at home, I hardly ever do the impossible any more.  I still manage multiple schedules, I still attend games and activities, but I no longer see anything as impossible.  One way or another, I have learned, we are able to do the things that really matter.  We are able to meet the challenges we choose.  Perhaps it is the approach of my golden years, but I am beginning to see that all this practice at achieving impossible things may have been training for embracing other impossibilities.

I was born with a natural connection to every piece of my world.  In school, I was taught that human beings were a separate breed — that we were higher than the animals and the plants around us.  I was taught that plants could not reason or communicate and learned to see them as sort of inanimate objects that happened to be able to grow and drop seeds and regenerate.  I learned that dirt was dirt and rocks were rocks, and their main function was giving us a place to walk.  To consider anything different would take us into the realm of the impossible.

Now, when I step outside in the morning, I find myself thinking impossible things.  I am re-discovering the connection I was born with; and I see all around me the impossibly wonderful way that the web of life connects us all.  I know it may seem impossible; but since we spend our lives doing impossible things, why not leave behind our preconceived notions and open ourselves to the impossible possibilities that lie all around us.  Learn joy from the song of the robin.  Learn patience from the slow-moving turtle.  Learn to see from a different perspective as you watch the hawk soar high above the land and imagine his big-picture view.  Listen to the melody of grass, glistening in the morning dew.  Listen to the color and crystal twinkling of the rocks and stones that invite us to step on them.  Open your awareness to the possibility that lies all around you and watch the word, “impossible,” fade from your vocabulary.

Make it a plan today to do the impossible.  It is filled with possibility!

“The journey of life is like a man riding a bicycle.  We know he got on the bicycle and started to move.  We know that at some point he will stop and get off.  We know that if he stops moving and does not get off he will fall off.

– William Golding

It has been a long time since I’ve taken a bike ride; but I have no doubt that I could still put one in motion and even keep it upright.  There are certain things we do that create patterns in our brains; and once we have learned the pattern, it remains a part of us.  I remember learning about inertia in Physics class.  ”An object in motion,” we would recite, “tends to stay in motion.  An object at rest tends to stay at rest.”  People who ride bicycles know about the benefits of inertia, and so do couch potatoes.

Do you remember the first time you rode a bike?  Do you remember the tug-of-war between the excitement of picturing yourself cruising along on wheels and the fear of going fast enough to create the balance needed to stay upright?  Nobody wants to picture going too fast and losing control on a busy road; but we soon learn that trying to ride too slowly is just as likely to lead to a fall.  With practice, we learn that we can use the speed of adventure to create a state of balance that keeps us riding — that keeps us upright.  We learn that we have brakes as well as pedals, and we learn that those brakes are useful for modulating speed as well as for stopping.

I remember one of my boys, a sort of full-steam-ahead child, resisting our directions about braking and simply falling on purpose when he needed a break.  He would tumble into shrubs or leap from his bike, sending it flying ahead until it crashed into an obstacle that would cause it to stop.  There were many bike repairs and many band-aids in his life at the beginning; and soon he learned that balance referred to more than the upright position as he flew down the road.

If our days on Earth are something like a bike ride, then it is important that we learn how to pedal, learn how to brake, and learn how to maintain our bicycles so they last for the whole distance.  We must trust that through practice and repetition we will learn how to stay on course without having to tumble into the bushes and end up scratched and bruised when we go too fast.  We must use inertia — that amazing force of motion — to keep us traveling. Otherwise, we could end up on the sidelines before our trip is done.  All sorts of excitement greet us along our path.  Keep pedaling, stay balanced, and enjoy the ride.  Above all, don’t stop until you reach your destination.

“Everybody, my friend, everybody lives for something better to come.  That’s why we want to be considerate of every man.  Who knows what’s in him, why he was born and what he can do?”

– Maxim Gorky

Have you stopped lately to consider the path your life has taken?  Retrace your steps for a bit and think of where you’ve been.  Is the place where you stand today anywhere near what you had planned when you were a child?  What did you want to be when you grew up?  What dreams did you conjure for yourself as you walked barefoot across a stream or played dress-up and tried on adult roles?  Were you encouraged to follow your dreams, or did others try to dream for you?

Think now about your teenage years.  As your talents developed and you made your first attempts at cultivating your gifts, was it clear to you where you were going?  Did you find within yourself a speck of greatness that was waiting to be nurtured and brought to fruition?  Did others see your talents and try to make decisions for your future?   How did you decide which path your life would take?  How many u-turns did you make before you finally found the direction you really wanted to go?

Sometimes it takes a lifetime for our purpose to unfold.  Sometimes we need to grow through and past our obvious talents and discover how they all fit together in leading us to the path with a heart.  Can you think of the people who watched you as you found your way?  Can you picture the kind words and encouragement and love that helped you find the courage to continue to seek your true purpose in life?

If you find yourself smiling as you remember those who touched your heart and helped it to grow, hold onto that feeling.  Take it with you today — and every day — and be that person for the people you meet.  We must be considerate of one another and bring love to all we meet.  We never know where another person has been, and we never know what greatness might lie within them and wait for a kind word to call it into existence.  Be love to everyone you meet today, and trust that something beautiful will come of it.

“The trouble with music appreciation in general is that people are taught to have too much respect for music.  They should be taught to love it instead.”

– Igor Stravinsky

Music, like life, exists to be loved.  When we touch it and taste it and smell it and hear it and feel it with love, the world opens up to us in a way that transcends the sort of observation we are taught to use when experiencing new things.  Perhaps it is a cultural phenomenon; perhaps it is based in fear of the unknown.  Whatever the reasons why we hold back from truly touching the experiences that present themselves each day, respect and appreciation can only take us so far — it is love that truly embraces life and makes it a part of us.

On Tuesday night this week, I ventured out to play some music with my drum class.  Hundreds of people milled around and filed past us as we played.  Some danced a bit as they walked, some stood respectfully and listened; but one particular young woman caught my eye and captured my heart as we played.  She arrived with a group of young women who were ushered in by a worker in a supervisory role.  These folks were obviously limited cognitively, and they stood apart from the mainstream as the crowd poured by.  As often is the case, their difference made them stand out and attracted the eyes of others.

Then the music began to play.  As we built our rhythms and began to weave different parts together, I saw this young woman begin to move.  First, she swayed gently from side to side.  Then, eyes closed, she began to take in the vibrations of the drums and become the beat itself.  Soon she was dancing — dancing the abandoned dance of love that came from deep in the soul and caressed the music as it loved her back.  Before long, I found myself connecting with her passion for the music we both touched — each in our distinct and separate way.  I caught myself smiling and realized that without meeting, without ever speaking, without ever touching her, I had fallen in love with the love this stranger felt for our drumbeats.  I know that love; and seeing it displayed by another person held up the mirror so that I could see myself in her dancing.

In the end, I will forget the people who clapped.  I will forget those whose cameras recorded the event.  I will forget the compliments bestowed by those who appreciated what we were doing.  But, forever, I will carry with me the image of that sweet young woman whose love overflowed and touched the loving place in me that only music can call to life.

“We inhabit ourselves without valuing ourselves, unable to see that here, now, this very moment is sacred; but once it’s gone — its value is incontestable.”

– Joyce Carol Oates

My Dad has been having vivid dreams lately.  Maybe they are memories.  They seem so real that he swears he is lying awake at night rather than sleeping; and in these times he remembers past events in his life in minute detail.  He wonders why he remembers all the small things that seemed unimportant at the time they happened.  He marvels at his recall for the insignificant; but at the same time, he basks in the warmth of remembering times long past.  Compared to his life in an assisted living facility — a very nice assisted living facility — those certainly were the good old days.

How often do we find ourselves looking back and reminiscing and longing for the days that were humdrum and the same at the time but now make us long for the days that have gone by?  I watch the videos of my children when they were small.  I see myself, more vital and less gray, and think of how wonderful it would be to have that physical strength now and not have to think about aching knees and orthotics.  How nice it would be to wear a cute pair of flip flops rather than to lace up my New Balances for another day.

I think one of the things I love most about being middle-aged is having the perspective that grows out of living long enough to look back on the good old days.  If I remove nostalgia from the mix and let my mind go back to the way I felt long ago, I realize that at the time my babies were tiny and waking me numerous times each night, I longed for them to outgrow their need to keep me busy around the clock.  I knew those were times that would soon be gone, and I heard the older folks say to cherish them because they filled such a brief time; but the truth is that I probably spent half my time longing for a little sleep.

Now my children are grown; and I can have all the sleep I want.  Now my mind returns to the dead silence of 3AM when I would pull a sweet-smelling baby close and rock her in the middle of the night.  I don’t remember how tired I was.  I only see myself engaged in sacred work — the forming of a new being — that has had lasting consequences in the years since those moments faded away and were replaced by other ones.

My perspective is different now.  It is born of my own past and of the future I see when I look at my own parents.  I realize that the good old days my father dreams of are the ones I am living now.  I see that his own days are also sacred, although he probably doesn’t think of them that way.  The lessons of the days gone by and the specters of the days that lie ahead teach us well.  What they teach is to love each moment we are given — to see each moment as sacred.  This is the blessing of middle-age.  I need to remember to tell my children, “Cherish these days.  They will slip away before you know it.”

“Drumming is not the way to catch a hare.”

– Proverb

No hares were in danger last night in Bethlehem, PA.  My djembe class had the pleasure of sharing our first public performance with the attendees of opening night of the South Side Film Festival. This year’s theme is Africa, and our sort of rhythms added some traditional background music to the opening night party and the lobby of the auditorium where the featured film, Africa United, was shown.

As newcomers to the role of performer, we really didn’t know what to expect before we arrived at the Home & Planet store; but soon we were settled into a circle of chairs similar to the one we form during our classes.  Our leader, Moe Jerant, gave the instructions and we began to play the familiar rhythms we have learned in her class this year.  Any sort of self-consciousness quickly turned to the magical enjoyment of weaving rhythm that keeps us coming back for more.  All around us, film-goers who had come for the pre-screening party began to move to the beats.  Some familiar faces appeared in the crowd, and several friends we recognized from the community drum circles soon joined in, playing bells and shakers.

It was a great experience to be a part of entertaining a crowd who came with the intention of having a good time.  All I can say is this:  If there is something you do that you truly enjoy, grab the opportunities that come your way to share what you do.  If you truly love what you share, your joy will infect others.  Don’t worry about whether you are better or worse than somebody else.  The important thing in life is to show up, bring what you have to share, and let it be seen by others who are interested in what you do.  Ten of us took the plunge last night, and I happen to think we sounded pretty good.

“Youth is the period in which a man can be hopeless.  The end of every episode is the end of the world.  But the power of hoping through everything, the knowledge that the soul survives its adventures, that great inspiration comes to the middle-aged.”

– G.K. Chesterton

“Ah, youth,” my mother used to say, “it’s wasted on the young.”

Have I mentioned lately that I am raising a teenager?  My last teenager?  I would say that I have guided five other teens through their metamorphosis into adulthood, but the truth is that I was probably more an observer than a guide.  To think that one can somehow map a course and expect that a teen will follow it is probably just a bit delusional, especially if one comes from a family of hard-headed, single-minded folks like me.

I try to remember my first love, my first breakup, the first time a friendship faltered, my first deep loss, my first overwhelming joy.  I remember them all, but the perspective of time has dimmed the luster a bit and left me wondering whether these things ever really happened at all.

I watch my teenager as she practices to be an adult.  Maybe it’s the allure of freedom — the fear of failure — of becoming her own person who chooses her own destiny that plays the exciting background music that swells with each new event of her life that makes each day an epic drama cast with heroes and villains, good and evil, black and white, right and wrong.  There are no shades of gray in the drama of teenage life.

Here I sit, well into middle-age, and I remember my first love, and my second and third ones.  I remember the friends who have come and gone and sometimes returned again.  I remember the many overflowing days of joy and I number the losses and the griefs and the sadnesses that have come my way.  My black and white has turned to charcoal and ecru and many shades in between.  I guess gray is the color of perspective.  What is painted in those shades of gray is the story of my life so far; and in the midst of it all, in living color, I am still standing.  No longer does each joy seem the best that things could ever be — now I revel in the assurance that when this moment of joy passes, there will be another.  When grief comes, even as I feel it, I know that it will fade with time and that the end of the world is not at hand.

I am not sure when I stopped practicing to be an adult and finally arrived at that state.  I only know that without the drama, without the trials, without the extremes of my young, learning years, I would not have learned that when the dust settled, I would still be standing — perhaps a bit taller than I did at the outset.  I have learned that even when the world seems to be crumbling, my grown-up soul has the wisdom to stand tall, knowing that it will go on.

Ah, youth!  It’s wasted on the young; but there is nothing like the perspective of having lived beyond it.

“A mermaid found a swimming lad,

Picked him for her own,

Pressed her body to his body,

Laughed; and plunging down,

Forgot in cruel happiness

That even lovers drown.”

– William Butler Yeats

Are you swimming with mermaids?  Not all things that sing the Siren’s song have tails like fish.  Not all mermaids swim in the sea.  But the siren song plays here and there, throughout our lives, and calls to us to leave behind the world where we live and venture into another place.

Those of us who make it our way to tune into Spirit and follow its voice must be careful to listen to the energy that sings the alluring song.  We must be careful to discern whether the singer is one who will lead us on to growth on our journey or one who will leave us lying smashed and broken on the rocks.  We must take the time to tune into the energy that calls our names and use our knowing to make a decision.

We know that all that glitters is not gold.  We know that, with few exceptions, first love with all its excitement and all its passion does not usually usher in a life-long relationship.  We must remember that not all songs are ours to sing.  We must allow ourselves to imagine how excited the boy must have been to meet a mermaid, how captivated he must have been by her song, how joyful he must have felt to have this other-worldly being pay him some attention.  We also must allow ourselves to imagine the horror he felt as he plunged ever deeper below the surface and reached the point where he could no longer hold his breath.

Do not be deceived by mermaids.  Remember the world where you live.  Stretch your limits, learn to hold your breath, become a great swimmer; but until you sprout gills, don’t make the mistake of swimming with a mermaid.  However beautiful her song may be, surely you will drown.

“Weep not that the world changes — did it keep a stable, changeless state, it were cause indeed to weep.”

– William Cullen Bryant

I remember thinking, when I was a girl, that my parents’ routine and predictable life must be boring.  They seemed to do the same, repetitive things day in and day out.  When I grew up, I was going to lead a more exciting life.  I do think that my life has been pretty exciting; but I must admit as I get older that I find myself more and more dependent on routines.  I get up at the same time every morning.  I write at the same time every day, follow the same rhythm of laundry, cleaning, and cooking.  I shut down each night at ten and go to bed.  These routines work for me, and I am comfortable having them as the framework of my life.  The world changes, but my own part of it remains trustworthy and stable.

I think having a framework of stability is probably a good thing, provided we use it only as a backdrop for the ever-changing details of our lives.  It is easy to fall into patterns that are unnecessary and think that we need them in order to survive.  When we cling to habits that we really don’t need for survival, we run the risk of shutting out the good things that come to us in the form of change.

I watch my elderly parents as they struggle to adapt to the new things that come to their old life, and I see that they often become upset with the way things evolve and long to cling to the way it used to be.  It makes me think that I would be wise to not only embrace change, but even to seek it each day.  Change allows us to see the world from a new angle.  Embracing change means embracing more of life; and I, for one, would like to ride the waves of change rather than find myself hanging onto a lifeboat and waiting to be rescued from the new and different things that come my way.

Give it a try.  I have a feeling that life is survival of the most adaptable.  Let’s learn to adapt.  If you always sit in the same chair, try moving to another seat.  If you take the same route to familiar destinations, try a new road.  We say we want life to be exciting, and being a part of the evolution of life is the best way to stay engaged in living abundantly.  Don’t weep because the world changes — weep if it would stay forever the same.

“Life is the fire than burns and the sun that gives light.  Life is the wind and the rain and the thunder in the sky.  Life is matter and is earth, what is and what is not, and what beyond is in Eternity.”

– Seneca

Energy.  Life is Energy.

At 4:00 AM, I opened my eyes.  Still feeling half-lost in a dream state, I moved my feet back and forth on the nice, smooth sheets and thought how delicious it is to enjoy that sort of relaxed existence, especially when the clock indicates that there is no hurry to pop out of bed and begin the day.  How odd to be conscious at four in the morning.  How unusual a time for me to be even a tiny bit alert.

Suddenly, there was a boom and a crash!  The whole room was filled with white light for a few seconds; and then it went dark again, as though some huge light bulb had burst with the overload of energy running through its circuit.  Then, like tinkling shards of broken glass, rain began to pelt the window next to my bed.  Now I understood.  The first clap of thunder must have been what jostled me from my dreams.  Now, I lay nearly awake in the darkness before sunrise, listening to the Energy of the universe as it played a symphony of thunderstorm all around me.

There is no better state of being than this for enjoying a good storm.  Soothed by the quiet percussion of water on glass, I floated and drifted in watery half-dreams, bobbing weightlessly in the arms of the sea; until, BOOM!, the waves would meet the shore in a flash of brilliance, and send me tumbling back into the rhythm of the ocean.  I floated on the Energy that hummed all around me, buoying me up until I no longer felt the bed beneath my back.  ’How delicious,’ I thought, ‘to feel the enormity of the force that in one clap creates and destroys, rebuilds and sustains.

Such moments are fleeting.  The fierce thunderclaps and exploding lightning soon gave way to a gentle rain that showered my whole world with the blessing of water — to quench the thirst, clean away yesterday’s dust, and send me back to delightful dreams of bobbing and swimming through a sea of gratitude.  There I drifted, sleeping and waking, to the symphony of rain on a warm, Spring morning.