4/6/2017 0 Comments The Frying Pan of OpinionWhile pondering stories for the "Out of the Frying Pan", I decided that there were three things that catapult me out of the pan into the fire... opinions, actions or lack there of, and emotions. The following story is about the frying pan of opinions;
A few years ago, I was invited to guest on a US radio show “Spiritually Raw”. It was after the release of my first book “The Elf that Flew” and somehow, they had heard about my claims that I had been visited by the fairy folk. I was invited on the show to talk about my different meeting with the gnomes, fairies and elves. I was rather scared about the prospect of being on radio and especially as I was going to be interviewed at 3 in the morning, not my finest hour for being charming, quick witted and engaging. I was expecting to find myself in the frying pan but it was in fact a very pleasant experience the hosts were lovely and seemed sincere in their appreciation of my experience. It went so well, they invited me back for the Friday panel program! Of course, I agreed, they were obviously keen on fairy folk themselves… so again I rose at the witching hour to prepare myself to be charming and engaging once more…. However, it wasn’t so much of a pleasant panel party but the Spanish inquisition! I was out of the that frying pan in to the fire, or the firing line! Straight to Hell The panel consisted of a scientist, a southern fundamentalist Christian and a psychiatrist. The Christian woman said I was trafficking with the devil. I replied That I had felt nothing but loving intentions from the fairy folk and she countered with “the fairies were the devil’s minions sent to seduce me and lead me straight to hell”. The scientist argued that there is no scientific evidence to support the existence of fairy folk. I said there was no scientific evidence of love either…. But he said it’s all woo woo and make believe While the psychiatrist claimed, I was clearly delusional, I assured him I was in my right mind and perhaps my mind was more open to unseen forces than his. “Yes, drugs will do that to you” he said I had my opinions and they had their opinions… I was a delusional Satan worshipping nincompoop! I knew I would never convert them nor they me. We were never going to agree. I had remained calm under fire, I didn’t yell or scream, during the inquisition, and I thought I had been rather magnanimous with my compassion for them and their sad narrow minds… But I realised while writing this, I wasn’t being magnanimous I was SMUG and just as narrow minded and righteous as I perceived them to be. After all, I was right and they were wrong! ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Pondering the Frying Pan And so I’ve been pondering opinions & frying pans How often do my opinions land me in the proverbial frying pan…. And when I defend or fight for my opinions, I find myself jumping out of the frying pan straight into the fire like over enthusiastic popcorn… But when I find people who share my opinion, we share the same frying pan, my tribe of beans, gently simmering together, and we like a little bit of fire under us, a little heat from another tribes’ opinions, because then we can rub up against each other in our frying pan and bubble and spit in our righteous indignation. And why do I get so hot and bothered about my opinions or other’s opinions? Do I hold so tightly to my opinions because my sense of identity is tied up with them? Could I let go of being a green leftie tree hugging hippie fairy lover and embrace being a pragmatic right wing conservative industrialist? I didn’t study science, medicine or theology, I studied English literature and the poet William Blake said, “Without contraries there can be no forward motion” Maybe every opinion must have its contrary its, opposite. Perhaps opinions can’t exist in isolation… perhaps as Blake suggested all our opinions are driving the evolution of humanity. All in the Pan Together What if we are all in the frying pan together, and life is the fire...and we can make like popcorn and individually shoot out of the pan into the fire to be burnt up …. Or we can be like a big pan of chili con carne… we can all just rub up and down against each other sometimes simmering sometimes bubbling. We are the beans and our opinions the spice and of course, a good chili con carne needs many different spices to give it its zing. So, next time I get hot and bothered about opinions, maybe I will remember the delicious spiciness of chili con carne. If there is no spice it’s not chili, it’s just boring beans, and if there’s no opinions then it’s a bland stagnant world. Perhaps all we can do is hold our opinions a little less tightly…. But hey that’s just my opinion and I might just be a delusional Satan worshipping nincompoop who talks to fairies. GK17
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2/10/2017 0 Comments My Quest, My Voice.To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe To bear with unbearable sorrow To run where the brave dare not go To right the un-rightable wrong To love pure and chaste from afar To try when your arms are too weary To reach the unreachable star All my life I have loved the stories of the great heroic quest, fairytales, King Arthur, Lord of the Rings As a child I longed to go on the adventure, to take up the sword, ride the dragon or plant the magic beans, to face the giant, battle the balrog and meet the challenge That song to Dream the Impossible Dream by Leigh & Darrion seemed to say it all. And it was possibly the most popular song to sing on TV talent shows when I was growing up. In the 60 & 70s, New Faces and Showcase were our versions of X-factor and Idol… and there were two types of contestants that left a lasting memory for me…. Young boys of Italian heritage with impossible smiles, faces full of hope and promise playing the piano accordion…. And middle aged or older men, looking uncomfortable in their new shiny suits, singing to dream the impossible dream. The Unreachable Star And I could see, that those contestants they too longed for an impossible dream, most of them probably lived ordinary lives… and appearing on National TV, facing a panel of judges, was a brave step on their quest to be seen and heard and perhaps one day reach the unreachable star…or be that unreachable star As the youngest of 4 children I also longed to be heard and to be seen. Whether it was true or not, in my childish heart I felt forgotten, overlooked and unheard. One day, I don’t remember why but I hid in my cupboard all day and no-one came looking for me! Of course, no-one in the family believed I was forgotten… Mum always said that I could not walk through the loungeroom without making it dramatic, I think it was my way of saying, see me, hear me! Again, I can’t say whether it was true or not but in my teenage heart I felt forgotten, sitting out the front of the house waiting for my car rides to arrive… I remember thinking that they wouldn’t come… they had forgotten me. I felt as insignificant as a hobbit. I married young and started a family, my husband, he had a voice, a loud voice and a temper to match…I did not compete, I could not compete, I could not confront and I could not voice my hurt, my anger, my frustration or tears…. During those years, I lived the hero’s journey vicariously through fantasy novels as I relinquished the power of my voice. Oh I still had a voice but it was a thin whiny imitation and oh how I whined and told the same story to friends & family, to anyone who would listen…over & over again A New Path Then one day, an acquaintance, like a wise woman met unexpectedly in the woods spoke 6 simple words “Life is not a dress rehearsal”. Those words cut through the tangled hedge that strangled my life! At 40 years old, I saw a new path. I divorced, completed Open Foundation and began University… Oh how I loved it and hated it. My voice was weak & insipid with lack of use, I could barely speak in class… or if I did speak it was accompanied by heart palpitations, shaking and blushing blood red. So, I developed a strategy. Prepare something intelligent to say, and get in fast, say it first, then sit back and rest on my laurels, trusting I wouldn’t be asked unexpectedly to contribute anything else. It worked…most of the time. After university, I wrote a children’s book The Elf that Flew… but I didn’t want to just read it to children, I wanted the characters to live, I needed to give them voices so they didn’t just have to tell the same story over and over again like I had… and so I googled oral storytelling. Next thing I knew I was participating in a storytelling workshop with the Australian Storytelling Guild NSW…. I palpated, shook and blushed through games, and exercises… I was way out of my comfort zone… and I oh, how l hated it. And oh, how I loved it. I went back again and again, I found my calling, my quest, to be a storyteller. I longed to tell tales… I could feel stories, straining like dragons in my chest, fighting to fly free…. But my lips were locked shut. I swallowed the stories like bitter pills. I am a Storyteller In the solitude of my bedroom I announced to the universe “I am a Storyteller” And like a fairy godmother the universe soon delivered many storytelling Opportunities “umm not ready yet, I’m not ready yet”. And this continued for a long while until another wise woman, this one deep within me spoke more magic… “Every quest begins with one small yes.” And so… I vowed (if you are undertaking a quest you must make a sacred vow) I vowed to say yes… to all storytelling opportunities and I did. Oh, it was a small squeaky “yes” at first, and my heart palpitated, my hands shook and my face blushed blood red and I said “YES” again, and again… Most of us will not battle a fire belching balrog, but perhaps our quests are the Millions of smaller challenges we face everyday…to take up the sword and cut through our self imposed limitations, to ride our dragons of potential, to plant the magic beans of our impossible dreams and climb the bean stalk to that unreachable star. Perhaps heroes are not mighty armour clad warriors, but we small scared vulnerable people who say a small, squeaky yes to Life’s challenges….and each time we say yes our voices become stronger & deeper as our voices journey from our heads to our hearts and bellies…till our voices firmly rooted rise…. Then we can say with every fibre of our being: This is my quest To follow that star No matter how hopeless No matter how far To fight for the right Without question or pause To be willing to march into Hell For a heavenly cause And I know if I'll only be true To this glorious quest That my heart will lie peaceful and calm When I'm laid to my rest And the world will be better for this That one woman, scorned and covered with scars Still strove with her last ounce of courage To reach the unreachable star "The Impossible Dream"from MAN OF LA MANCHA (1972) music by Mitch Leigh and lyrics by Joe Darion 1/18/2017 0 Comments Rumi and The Flat PackThis being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival A joy, a depression, a meanness Some momentary awareness comes As an unexpected visitor Welcome and entertain them all Even if they be a group of sorrows, Who violently sweep your house Empty of furniture Still treat each guest honourably, He may be clearing you out For some new delight The dark thought, the shame the malice Meet them at the door laughing, And invite them in be grateful for whoever comes Because each has been sent As a guide from beyond. (The Essential Rumi. Translation by Coleman Barks) There was a knock at my door, I was awaiting delivery of my new desk, the place I would write my stories, it was due before nine am. The smell of Saturday mornings Bacon and eggs filled the air. I answered the door cup of tea in hand…. It wasn’t my desk but Enthusiasm who bounded in upsetting my tea. He must have been sculling shots of espresso because he was bouncing all over the place… he’d heard about my creative hub and was eager to lend a hand. Nine am, ten am, eleven am… After three hours, Enthusiasm packed up and left passing Impatience on her way in… she paced the kitchen for an hour and then exclaimed that she couldn’t wait around all day… Finally, at one pm the delivery van arrived with Surprise. We were expecting a large grand desk, one befitting the masterpieces awaiting to be written -not a flat box! I must have left the front door open, for as I opened the box and found the instructions and an allen key, Frustration strode in. He even kicked the box when we saw that English was not the first language of whoever wrote the instructions.. Just then Hope floated in… and Enthusiasm came back. “I think we can do this” said Hope, “We can do this” affirmed Enthusiasm.… A slots into B, affix b to c, then screw to d. It was going together beautifully till Frustration could not find piece F. Hope said “it must be here somewhere” and Enthusiasm searched and searched, but F was missing. Enthusiasm and Hope fled as Frustration kicked the box again… Pessimism wandered in to see how the project was going. “I knew it wouldn’t be built…it’s hopeless” he lamented. Then Steely Determination rocked up like a super hero, he had tools and he knew how to use them. None of the other pieces of the desk were coded but Steely Determination said it was just a matter of trial and error and Patience…who was a late arrival. By 6 pm Steely Determination was done…. Oh, the desk was still in pieces but Steely packed up his tools and admitted Defeat… Defeat just looked at the desk and said “what’s the point, you probably would not have written anything anyway” Pessimism nodded half-heartedly in agreement. Frustration kicked the box again and again and…. Bang bang bang at the door- “Oh god its Anger…. Don’t let him in” said Worry who’d crept in the back door… “He always causes a scene…what will the neighbours say? Let’s just pretend we’re not here and maybe he’ll go away” Anger banged and yelled for a good hour well, an awful hour really. Then all was quiet…. I gazed at my unfinished desk… there was a soft slow knock and a crowd of Sorrows shuffled in, they bought chocolate, tissues and a DVD Beaches. They moved all the furniture and crowded into the lounge room. We ate chocolate, watched the movie, sang “You are the wind beneath my wings” and cried. In the morning I wandered groggily to the kitchen for my cup of tea but the houseful of Sorrows had drunk it all. I really need my morning tea, I turned to yell at the Sorrows kicking my toe on the half-finished desk as Anger pounded on the door again…. The crowd of Sorrows were still sighing in the lounge room as Anger burst in the front door ranting and raving. I threw open the back door “here’s your hat, what’s the hurry” and shuffled him straight to the back door… but Anger was having none of it. Anger pushed his way into the lounge room and you’ve never seen a cluster of Sorrows scatter so swiftly. Again, I motioned to the backdoor and said “here’s your hat, thanks for dropping by…” THWACK! Anger picked up a pillow and hit me, thwack! That’s was it, I snapped! Dish towel in hand and I snapped at Anger, Thwack snap thwack snap like a sword fight thwack snap thwack snap all over the house, no quarter giver no quarter taken, up the stairs, thwack snap, down the stairs, it descended into an ugly undignified brawl, gouging, pinching, biting, till we both fell exhausted on the lounge… And that’s where Joy found us… and we laughed and laughed and laughed. Then Calm strolled in with a book of poetry, an allen key and F, the missing piece of desk. And he read, This being human is a guest house Every morning a new arrival A joy, a depression, a meanness Some momentary awareness comes As an unexpected visitor Welcome and entertain them all Even if they be a crowd of Sorrows, a crush of Worries, a bench of Judgements, a melee of Chaos, a fright of Fears, a disgust of Dissatisfactions, or a pomposity of Arrogance Don’t open the front door just to push them out the back door Serve them tea and cake, Wear party hats Play games and listen lightly to their concerns be grateful for whoever comes Because each has been sent As a guide from beyond. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ After I wrote Rumi and the Flat Pack, I began experiencing more of those "momentary awarenesses". The very next day, dealings with the Immigration Department soured my mood. As I stopped to contemplate my feelings, I saw a crowd of little cartoon figures, their hair standing on end, all waving their hands in the air, they were a collective of Chaos. A door to my solar plexus then opened wide and the melee of Chaos ran in, straight onto my see saw (teeter totter) of equilibrium. One end to other they ran, up and down, up and down. I laughed and watched their antics... soon they ran out of puff and dispersed. I happened to tell a friend, who had heard my story, about my meeting with the melee of Chaos. She decided that would try to welcome her Depression but she said she would open the back door first, so Depression would not stay long. And that's when I realised, on the spiritual path we are told to accept our feeling, and we try, but our reason for accepting them is to get rid of them asap! We treat them like the unwanted, inappropriate house guest. We don't really welcome them, we certainly don't entertain them, we put up with them, throw tea and cake at them, to get them back out the door expediently. So that's when I added to the story "I threw open the back door 'here’s your hat, what’s the hurry' and shuffled Anger straight to the back door… but Anger was having none of it. Anger pushed his way into the lounge room and you’ve never seen a cluster of Sorrows scatter so swiftly. Again, I motioned to the backdoor and said 'here’s your hat, thanks for dropping by'…” I Know I have never truly welcomed Anger with the view to an extended stay. Yes, my melee of Chaos disappeared after I entertained them (Or they entertained me), but if my intention was purely to get rid of the feeling asap then doubtless, they would still be running up and down, upsetting my see saw of equilibrium.(stubborn little buggers) For the first time I truly welcomed uncomfortable feelings and I would have been fine even if they hung around longer. Since then, all my feelings have taken on personas. Frequent guests are, Mr Arrogance, he is an English gentleman in a suit, bowler hat, monocle with a long pointy nose. Mrs Impatience, also an upper class person who expects and demand that everything be done her way on her schedule. There Insecurity, a lonely little girl, in a ratty tee-shirt with "please Like Me" emblazoned on the front and Frustration is a tattooed biker without his bike. Miss Resentment is a beauty queen with a crown, septre and sash, while her cousin, clutching an academy award is Ms Martyr. I am opening the door and welcoming them all. I invite then to sit in the best comfy recliner and put their feet up, I serve then tea or beer and we talk, play, wrestle and wear party hats. There is no time limit on their stay. Do I like them all? No, but I am developing an affection, empathy and gratitude for each and everyone. This being human is a guest house... Lindy Mitchell-Nilsson www.hearttoheartstorytelling.com |
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Lindy Mitchell-Nilsson
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Lindy Mitchell-Nilsson
Phone 042 341 7783
lindy@hearttoheartstorytelling.com
Ulf Nilsson
nilsson_ulf@yahoo.co.uk