Carl Schurz

Anger makes you smaller, while forgiveness forces you to grow beyond what you were.

Cherie Carter-Scott

The state of your life is nothing more
than a reflection of your state of mind.

Wayne W. Dyer

There was a period some years ago when I foolishly allowed myself to become over-involved in a series of activities.  I became so tense that it was impossible to rest during the day.  I had trouble sleeping at night even though greatly fatigued.

Finally, things got so hectic that my wife, Ruth, and I took a week off and went to Atlantic City to try and unwind.  From the window of my hotel room that first morning I could look out directly upon the sea as it washed gently on the soft shores of sand.  It was very quieting to behold this scene.

The day was overcast with drifting fog and clouds.  Imperturbably the sea rolled shoreward with its deep-throated roar and ceaseless but perfect rhythm.  Clean spume blew from it wave crests.  Over the beach and climbing high against the blue sky and then sliding down the wind with ineffable grace, sea gulls soared and dived.

Everything in this scene was graceful, beautiful, and conducive to serenity.  Its benign peacefulness laid a healing, quieting touch upon me.  I closed my eyes and discovered that I could still visualize the scene just as I had beheld it.  There it was as clear cut as when actually viewed by the eye.  It occurred to me that the reason I could "see it" with my eyes closed was because my memory had absorbed it.

In the days that followed I discovered that the regular contemplation of beauty had a healing effect on the tense muscles and organs of my body.  Fatigue drained away.  Energy returned.

I discovered something else, too.  I wasn't bound by my immediate surroundings in this practice.  When a storm cam up, I could turn away from the ocean and relive other peaceful, beautiful scenes from my past.  As a part of this therapy I visualized God as creator of this beauty and pictured his master design in the change of seasons, in the rhythm of life.

Today whenever I feel gripped by pressure and tension, I go through this same procedure.  I stop for several minutes and remove myself from the activity at hand.  Then I bring up, from out of memory's storehouse, scenes that have impressed me by their beauty, such as the time I gazed upon Mont Blanc when the vast mountain was bathed in moonlight.  Or the radiant sun-kissed day when our great white ship dropped anchor off Waikiki Beach.  Or that mystic evening when I first watched the purple shadows fill the Grand Canyon to overflowing with hush.  Or that breathtaking morning when we awoke to find that a quiet  snow during the night had draped everything outside our window in white.

This practice never fails to have its therapeutic effect.  And when restless and troubled at night, seeking sleep, I review these scenes until God's quietness overcomes me and I drift into a sound and untroubled sleep.

Seeking relaxation and inner peace, of course, should never be an end in itself.  The idea is not to retreat from life's responsibilities, but to build a quiet center inside one's body and soul from which you emerge each morning to enter vigorously into the day.

What are the most beautiful scenes of your past life?  Create your own storehouse of memories, not only to help you find rest and relaxation, but to have more energy for daily living.

When Getting Isn't Enough

I saw a truly horrible commercial after Christmas a couple of weeks ago.  It was a Radio Shack ad, and it showed an incredibly stressed-out woman supposedly talking to Santa Claus about all the things that she "needed" now that Christmas was over.  Someone in her family got an iPod for Christmas, so now they "needed" speakers and cases and other accessories for the mp3 player.  She went through a list of things that were now "necessary" in her life because of the Christmas presents that people in her family had received.

This ad epitomized the truly negative side of our culture's focus on commerce and marketing:  they don't try to sell us just a product any more--they try to create more needs by selling us products that are incomplete in themselves.

When was the last time you bought a cell phone with a car charger included?  How many accessories are available for mp3 players and cell phones these days?  How many millions of dollars have people spent on downloading ring tones for cell phones because the twenty on the phone aren't good enough?  When we buy computers, how much money do we have to spend on anti-virus programs and upgrades to programs that already are installed?

Manufacturers are getting more and more aggressive about creating and marketing accessories, and unfortunately, it seems that we as consumers are falling quickly and easily into the money traps that they've concocted for us.  Young people are especially vulnerable to the marketing, but many adults are falling for the marketing all the time.

The whole idea leads me to ask myself, when is enough, enough?  When can we receive a gift or buy ourselves something without feeling that we have to improve upon it by buying more things to go along with it?  When I buy a new car, am I satisfied with what I have, or do I have to spend a couple of thousand dollars more in order to "personalize" it?

Of course, there's nothing wrong with personalizing something, but it's disturbing when marketers present accessories which aren't really necessary as "needs."  Many of us--myself included--have had to learn the hard way the difference between wants and needs, and we have to wonder what message kids are getting when they see such ads and actually believe them--which they generally will if adults aren't around to explain to them what the advertisers are trying to do.

I suppose that the question comes down to this:  just how much will we allow ourselves to be influenced by others?  When someone tells us that something is "necessary" in our lives, are we able to look at it objectively and then make the decision ourselves as to whether or not it's truly a need?

I believe that most of us are.  But when we're constantly faced with advertisers and marketers (and friends and neighbors, even) telling us that what we have may not be enough--that we need to add to our possessions to be happier people--it can be easy to lose our sense of perspective.

I feel sorry for the woman in the ad.  Her credit card bills are going to go up and her life is becoming more stressful simply because she and the rest of her family aren't satisfied with what they received for Christmas.  Now they "have to" have more, even if that more won't do a thing to make them happier or more satisfied human beings.  That more will just add to their possessions and add money to the ledgers of the companies that make and sell the products.

It's ironic that we forget so often how wonderful life really is.  We have more time than ever before to remember it.  The men and women of generations past had to work long, long hours to support lots and lots of children in tiny, tiny houses.  The women worked in factories and sweatshops and then at home, too, with two bosses--the one who paid them, and the one they were married to, who didn't.

There are new generations of immigrants now, who work just as hard, but those of us who are second and third and fourth generation are surrounded by nice cars, family rooms, patios, pools--the things our grandparents thought only rich people had.  Yet somehow, instead of rejoicing, we've found the glass half empty.  Our jobs take too much out of us and don't pay enough.  We're expected to pick the kids up at preschool and run the microwave at home.

C'mon, let's be honest.  We have an embarrassment of riches.  Life is good.

I don't mean in any cosmic way.  I never think of my life, or my world, in any big, cosmic way.  I think of it in all its small component parts:  the snowdrops, the daffodils; the feeling of one of my kids sitting close beside me on the couch; the way my husband looks when he reads with the lamp behind him' fettuccine Alfredo, fudge; Gone with the Wind, Pride and Prejudice.  Life is made up of moments, small pieces of glittering mica in a long stretch of gray cement.  It would be wonderful if they came to us unsummoned, but particularly in lives as busy as the ones most of us lead now, that won't happen.  We have to teach ourselves how to make room for them, to love them, and to live, really live.