The truth is not everybody is going to like you especially if you’re trying to change his or her world.

The truth is you may have to make the ultimate sacrifice if you are committed to your convictions.

The truth is it takes a great person to do what is unpopular but righteous and godly.

And this person surely in hindsight was our 16^th Pres. Abraham Lincoln.

The truth is that the truth does not need to be defended, justified or ever feared – because the truth always reveals itself in the end.

And so it is with all forward thinking persons – it can take more than a century for the general population to catch up.

He was born in Kentucky, raised in Indiana and lived in Illinois, and of course Washington DC.  He was six foot four inches tall.  His birthday was February 12.

If you haven’t had the chance to see Lincoln, the movie, I highly recommend you go before the Oscars, at a special showing.

“First in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen” – George Washington was born on Feb 22.  In 1889, Washington State, the only state to be named after a president, was admitted to the union on his birthday.

Both these great men in American history had Courage, Honesty and Forethought.

They humbly served their country, believed in their ideals, cherished and insured the future  for us – before it was even here.

The truth is that living authentically can sometimes force you into leadership you never asked for but are obliged to be responsible for.

Everyone was lining up after recess to return to the classroom.

“The Monkees are way better than the stupid Beatles.” I emphasized placing both hands on my tiny six-year-old hips and sash swaying left to right and back, defiantly defending my stance.

“You know you have no idea what you are talking about.” Repeated my frenemy Michael Pellegrino.

I cocked my head to one side and queried “Oh, yea?”

“Yea.” He replied.

Michael was constantly opining about rock n’ roll music. He had a much older brother in twelfth grade that knew all about it.  His long black hair was parted on the side and swept over his left eye.  He repeatedly brushed his smooth, dark; straight locks away and behind his left ear.  He annoyed me to no end.

“I want complete and utter silence so I can hear a pin drop. And straighten your lines, please.” Reminded somebody’s mom who volunteered as a cafeteria aid.

Tilting my head, squinting my eyes and wrinkling my nose, I gave Michael a last sticking out of the tongue as we stepped into our same sex lines side by side.

Under his breath, Michael continued his loyalty to the Fab Four and murmured low enough so only those in closest proximity could hear – “They are real musicians, not a TV band.”

Not being able to resist, I retorted rather loudly “Well, the Monkees are cuter and funnier.”

“Little girl!” The helper mom screamed out to the crowd.  Her eyes keenly honed in and resolutely directed towards me like a sharp shooter.  Time stood still as our eyes locked.  My heart sank and my throat bobbed. “Who me?” I answered meekly, tears welling up in my eyes.

“Yes, didn’t you hear my request for complete silence?’ The authoritative voice demanded.

“Yes.” I whimpered.  But I only remember some adult voice yapping while my head was scrambling for snappy comebacks to sling at Michael P.

Within seconds I was grabbed rather harshly by the arm and taken to the principal’s office to be dealt with.  I had never gotten into trouble at school before and I pleaded all the way to the office, half dragged, to please, please understand how my parents could never, ever be informed of this.

I sat waiting on a hard wooden bench and I shivered, cried and sniffled not knowing what would happen to me next. Would they throw me out of school? Did I even do anything that wrong? What exactly happened and why was I here?  Would this be on my school record and follow me into second grade? Would I be left back? Would my teacher be notified why I wasn’t in class? What were the other children thinking or saying about me?

The principal’s secretary pulled out my emergency card from her files in her steel cabinets by the window. “Is it 269-9610?” she verified and glanced at me.  I nodded.  It had started to drizzle and it got real dark out.  She swiftly, adeptly used the back of her #2 pencil to dial my home phone number so as not to break her long rose petal pink fingernails.

Yup, this was it. My last day on earth. Oh Christ.  I was terrified! Repercussions were going to be severe I feared.

All at once I heaved and vomited all over the waiting area vinyl floor.

The secretary hung up the mustard yellow receiver in its cradle and rushed over to me and called the nurse from the inner office.  The janitor was summoned to clean my mess and I was sympathetically led into the inner confines of the nurse’s station. The staff decided to give me a warning and another chance.  I never gave anyone an opportunity or a reason to scold me again in Elementary School.

Then, I graduated to Junior High and a whole new, unforeseen set of troubles was awaiting me.

People are often unreasonable and self-centered.   Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives.  Be kind anyway.

If you are honest, people may cheat you.  Be honest anyway.

If you find happiness, people may be jealous.  Be happy anyway.

The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow.  Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough.  Give your best anyway. 

For you see, in the end, it is between you and God.  It was never between you and them,  anyway.”

~Mother Teresa

I have had this posted by the fridge in the kitchen and in my master bath for a few years.  It really resonated with me then and still does.  I have great respect, admiration and fondness for human beings like Mother Teresa who selflessly have given of their lives, in a big way.

I have grown to understand that Integrity is doing the right thing even when no one is looking.

Love speaks to me in its simplicity and its grandeur

Love holds me in its arms and whispers

Love has all the answers and is the answer

Without question

CBS

Last semester, we were given an assignment to write about a turning point in our lives, good or bad, with a deep point of view.  DPOV (as it is called in literary circles) is a technique writers use wherein you pour your heart and thoughts out on paper as if someone was walking in your head.  That is my general take on it.  We were encouraged to use our environment to describe the mood, another method used to make our stories come alive.

I know the piece is rather dramatic and perhaps over the top, but it goes with the Valentine theme and I thought I would share it, nonetheless.

Long distance by Cecilia

The Muzak was piping in “Love Story” as we took the elevator up to the departure waiting room at JFK International back in the fall of 1977.

Here I was again, saying goodbye to the love of my life.  What would happen to us?

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.  I’m going to miss you, so much.” I blurted.

“Don’t cry, let’s keep it strong, we’ll write, like we did before.”  M, my boyfriend was pleading and explaining all at the same time.

The interior lights dimmed and outside it was dark, it was night and it rained.  The raindrops fell like the tears that were falling out of my eyes, uncontrollably.  I certainly didn’t want the last time we saw each other to be with me looking all red-eyed and red-nosed like a bum in the Bowery of NYC, coming up to car windows with smeared rags to make twenty five cents.

I squirmed in my seat and admitted; “You know I’ll love you forever. I don’t know when I’m coming back, but my heart is yours.  I have no other choice, we are bonded, you’re my best friend, my knight in shining armor and I wish you could rescue me right now!”

“Cecilia, it’s time to go. Say goodbye now.” My dad imparted coldly, firmly grabbing my shoulder.

I looked into M’s eyes, slate grey-blue like clouds of smoke.  My heart, my soul, my very being transporting itself into his heart, his soul, his very being as well.  My own brown eyes searched and asked why, when, how and why again – do I have to leave you when my body aches to be with you with intense grief and wanting and longing. I want to keep this moment in time in my mind, my heart, my core, and my essence.  This moment here where you and I are locked in an eternal gaze, an embrace of two hearts that will endure so much pain once I get on that flight and although I know where I am going – I don’t know when I can get back to you.  I don’t know when again I can fill your abundant arms and bear like hug with my petite self.  How will I be protected?  How can I stay warm?  What will become of me without your resonant, distinct voice whispering in my ear? Calling my name?

And in the space of a hush, in a flicker of an eyelid blink all of those thoughts transpired between us and we understood and we knew – Yes, I adore you.

“I will wait for you.” M finally released me with dewdrop tears dropping onto his camel colored suede coat – the one I’d been huddled into so many times in the cold, freezing winters of NY as he walked me home through the woods from High School.

“Whatever happens, I will never forget you and will somehow find my way back…” I responded.

My dad dragged my left arm away, my body followed, into the doorway that separated my world from M’s world.  We climbed aboard Aerolinas Argentinas to move back to Argentina thousands of miles away.

As the jet soared into the storm, I sank into an abyss.  The course of my life, forever changed.

Valentine’s Day 2013 is coming up soon!!!!!!!!!

Back in February of 2001, I shared my real life love story and it was published in a small publication, the Orange City News, an insert on Thursday’s edition of the Register.   It was described as “teen-age love that survived the test of time.”

I am re-admitting it to my post without the benefit of re–editing in honor of my love and devotion to my high-school sweetheart, now twelve years hence from that “surprise gift” article that was printed publicly.  If anything, my passion, respect and admiration for this man have grown even stronger and deeper.  I hope and believe my writing has improved as well.  And keep in mind that this took place back in 1975 – 2001

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Forbidden Love by Cecilia

Two teens crazy in love.  One with dark brown hair, one blond and blue-eyed.  Our high school history teacher used to call us “Salt ‘n Pepper.”  My French teacher used to shoo M away so I wouldn’t be late to class again.

I came from a very strict upbringing and our relationship scared my father to death.  He sent me away to a faraway country to live with distant relatives who got to know about my love for my boyfriend pretty quickly.  I was sent to study there. 

My heart was broken, but we wrote to each other every day.  We would send each other tapes of ourselves and locks of hair.  Even the mailman knew about us.  I used to look at the stars and send my love through the night sky. 

After seven and a half months of misery, I was allowed to come home.  M and I resumed dating but six months later my entire family was to move away to this country.  I did not think I could bear it.  I begged M to run away with me but he did not think that was a good way to start our lives.  That evening, my heart was heavy as I embraced him at Kennedy Airport for who knew how long? 

Funny how tragedy can be for a reason.  After pining and penning for eight months, there was a lapse.  I didn’t hear from M for one month.  The torture was unbearable.  Finally, I received a very lengthy letter from him in the hospital.  M had been in a nearly fatal car accident.  He had been in the intensive care unit for days and then had major head injury surgery.

My father’s wrath and unwavering denial to let me go was nothing now to my adamant need and passion to be with my M.  My parents fought bitterly.  Reluctantly, my father released me with a signature and I have been on my own ever since then, back in the States.  I was there for M during his second operation.  We went to the same university together.  We grew up, matured and we made something of ourselves too.

Over twenty-five years ago, M walked me to classes and held my hand and books.  I used to whistle at him during gym.  He still walks with me in new and exciting directions, as well as the day-to-day.  I find him even more irresistible and adorable than ever.  M and I are now very happily married.  I cherish our life together.  I am in awe of our three children.  I am grateful for our lives and moments and psychic-like consciences we share.  I enjoy our playfulness and humor we always go to.  Our young and forbidden love has transformed into passionate intimacy, gentle understanding and profound loyalty.  Without a doubt, M is THE love and THE story of my life. 

Hey M?  If you are reading this, again, Will you be my Valentine again, this year?

Every once in a while I need reminders.  Ever since I read Louise Hay’s book You Can Heal Your Life back in the late ’90s, I have used, forgotten to and remembered here and there to use affirmations to help me pull myself up from my bra straps.  The negative tapes I replay over and over need substitution and affirming the positive helps me shake up the constant barrage of noise.  When I listen well and believe my new and improved messages, my heart rate slows, my mind awakens and my mood lifts.  

These are my latest shots in the arm I envision, hear and am attuned with.  Feel free to find your own or borrow mine, anytime.  Be flexible and open, but be willing to feed yourself with new uplifting lyrics and drown out the nail scratch screeching or personality flawed discordant slamming you usually listen to (if you are anything like me).

Self – Affirmations

I move towards my goals.  Every intention, thought and action can move me towards my goals of strength, organization, discipline, self-care, self-love and wisdom or away from it.  I choose to move towards my goals.

I move forward and towards a bright and rewarding future.

My experiences validate and educate me.

I look forward and towards my dreams.

I base my every action and thoughts on my wish to be my best self – physically, mentally, emotionally, socially and spiritually.

I believe in the benevolence and abundance of the Universe.   I believe I am protected and guided every step of the way if I ask and I listen.

I pursue my bliss!

I am determined and hopeful.

I listen to my own inner suggestions and digest them.  I use them to grow, change or improve myself.

I am capable and competent.

I am free to change my mind.

I heal with every insight and I share  it with others.

And so it is in the wee hours of the morning; I toss and turn and sleep no more, that I rise and surrender to being alive, fully awake earlier than planned, as usual.

It’s really the best time to write so why fight it?

I remember going to see Wayne Dyer a few years ago with my friend who has greatly admired his body of work for decades in LA and he shared with us his daily writing schedule.  He wakes at 4am and writes till everyone else awakens and then has breakfast, some exercise, writes some more.

Julia Cameron, one of my writing teacher idols, also has a structure to her day.  She rises early as well.

I do my best in the morning and I am pretty useless by nightfall so it stands to reason this is not such a bad thing – this not being able to sleep past 3:30-4am may be an impetus to get my writing life going, NOW.

As I toss and turn, I am thinking about all sorts of things.  Don’t you?

My best work, my finest sentences strung together are conceived not on the page but in my bed, forgotten by dawn.

Another handy place words magically come to me, is in the bathtub; surrounded by bubbles and too wet to write or devise an electronic device plan.  The shower, sometimes.  The most I can memorize is one sentence, so, frequently, I get out of the warm, lathered and scented liquid, specifically to jot down something sooner than anticipated, much to my dismay.

I carry a small Parisian-theme covered pocket book (handbag) blank notebook I was gifted in my purse.  It is still blank.  I tend to scribble on receipts and the back of business cards I have lying around in my car.  Because the best ideas are snippets and God forbid I should write in my pristine journal.

I don’t have one legal pad, because I like to write long hand a lot; it takes the thoughts and emotions right onto the page from my arm, NO, I have a rainbow colored one, the obligatory yellow, the college ruled with pretty designs and a collection of pastel wide-ruled beauties.

Spiral notebooks?  Anything the kids made me buy them when school started and they used once or twice or never are fair game and ends up in my collection.

I have a secret stash of pens, pencils and highlighters, too.  Doesn’t everyone who lives with school supply thieves called students?

I need structure even if it is loosely based and held to.  I have come to the conclusion that I will no longer fight off waking up when it is super delightfully quiet and dark.  I need to go with the flow and just rise.

I look forward to writing three straight pages of streamed consciousness, first thing in the morning.

Eventually, after eating, bathing, exercising and mind clearing, I work on a writing class assignment; whether it be a formal real live class or from one of my many self – instruction programs.

And, of course, writing on my webpage, here.  I promise myself to post by midnight everyday.  So far, it’s worked. Ninety pages in 90 days.

I am grateful for my writing life.  I solve stuff, I unravel dilemmas, it always without fail improves my mood, I get to know me better and I get to use my overactive imagination to co-create with my divine source in a healing manner.  This is where I need to be right now.

I found one of my favorite quotes back in 2009.  It is from a daily Zen calendar block where you rip off the day as you travel through the year.  I gave it to my husband for Christmas in 2008.  It just so happens to be on my late dad’s birthday, May 31 and I believe it to be a sign.

It states: To the right, books; to the left, a teacup.  In front of me, the fireplace; behind me, the post.  There is no greater happiness than this. Written by Teiga

I sit here and muse how simply perfect that explains things.  My husband must have thought it too and brought it home, knowing me well.

To the right, coffee mug – to the left, books and notepads and cell phone.  In front of me, a snuggled up cat on an animal print furry throw.  Behind me, my agenda and workstation. There is no greater way to spend my early pre-dawn hours.  – Cecilia