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Jack the Sparrow

2/28/2015

The humble sparrow. This little winger is actually a very loyal fellow. So loyal, a sparrow will sacrifice itself for the good of its family. Wherever it perishes, it serves as a warning for others not to follow. The sparrow is associated with existential freedom as a result, and represents undying love, loyalty and commitment to a single person. It also symbolizes an unbreakable spiritual-connection or bond, which may be why it's a favorite ink amongst Mafioso.

In Greek mythology, the sparrow was the familiar of Aphrodite, goddess of beauty and love. Though sparrows are known to be sexually prolific birds, the symbolism reflects true love rather than lust. In Indonesian cultures, sparrows mean good luck in love, relationships, and often signify an upcoming wedding or engagement; a woman who sees a sparrow around her home in the month of February is thought to find happiness marrying a poor man. In a similar vein, the New Testament refers to sparrows as offerings from the poor, but also, as a symbol that, no matter how small or insignificant a life, God recognizes you. And, even if it's taking a little time, the Universe will inevitably send you wings.

Ancient Egyptians saw the sparrow as guardians of the soul, their wings swiftly carrying a person's #Light to heaven. Sparrows were popular amongst sailors for this same reason. Interestingly, these little brown-feathered souls have been forced to sacrifice their own to save others. The urban legend connecting sparrows to a bad omen or death comes from the use of sparrows, and other small birds, like canaries, in determining the safety of a mine. Before humans would descend into the earth to dig at a particular site, a sparrow would be placed in a cage and lowered into the hole. Once brought back to the surface, if the sparrow was found dead, it was a sign that anyone who followed would die as well.

Brings new meaning to the phrase, "Don't kill the messenger"....

Sparrows also represent the throat and heart chakras. Their energy is meant to help open our hearts and let us sing. Finding a dead sparrow at your home means that, by dying there, the bird's final act was releasing its #Light--its energy-- to you so you might find your freedom by opening your heart to the song of #Love. It is also a symbol of evolution or change, like the ending of an unhealthy love relationship and the beginning of something even more beautiful.

Here in Atlanta, I had a sparrow-friend who would serenade me every morning from his perch on a patio chair that once sat outside of my bay window. He was such a jaunty, brave fellow, I named him Jack the Sparrow.

On Tuesday, February 24th, I was sad to find a very similar looking sparrow lying dead in front of my house. Very carefully, I picked up my loyal, feathered friend, found a quiet spot, and buried him. After hiding his grave with pine needles. I said the Mourner's Kaddish, a Hebrew prayer that helps a soul find its way home. A tear began to roll down my cheek as I remembered my fallen friend(s) while sitting on the front porch in the chair Jack used to perch on in song. The sun was setting as the darkness began to descend.

My losses, too numerable to mention, swelled like the ocean in my chest. I caught a sob in my throat, threatening release, as the world turned fuzzy at the edges. My eyes were beginning to leak and panic seized my sorrowful heart. Just then, another sparrow landed at my feet. He crooked his head to the side to look at me, taking me in. After a few moments, he flew to the roof edge nearby to see me from another angle. He issued several chirps in my direction before flying southwest to join his mate. The two danced and sang together for a few moments in joyful reunion before making love. I imagined with a smile that the loyal couple had a nest nearby. And perhaps, by spring, it would be full of fluffy, fat, chirping chicks....

As the pale sky turned intense shades of pink and orange behind the lofty pines outlined by the #Georgia sunset, my mind circled around the sad emptiness of my own nest. It made me wonder if my sparrow friends were deliverying a message. Though I no longer carried new life inside me, if I opened my heart and sang, a new beginning was sure to follow.

Now that you've heard that same song, dear readers, #Hope and #Healing may be yours one day, too.

#JackTheSparrow

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The Kindness of Strangers

2/25/2015

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Yesterday, a total stranger, who asked to be called "Wilbur" if I ever wrote about him, spoke to me. He trusted me. And I trusted him. We had never even met before. But it didn't matter. He was willing to listen. He shared sacred advice handed down to him from his father. Then, the biggest surprise of all, he offered me his advice, not as a stranger, as if he were my father. That touched me more than I can say....

That same stranger is no longer such. We spoke again today, and we when we did, it was comfortable. Familiar. His parting words were, "I hope everything works out." I thanked him with as much grace as humanly possible when speaking to a friendly stranger. His kindness bespeaks a warmth and generosity of spirit. My hope is that, even though we are still strangers, one day, I can earn his friendship. The way I have asked him to earn mine.

You see, it is the very kindness of strangers that keeps us alive. Two weeks ago, while driving through the city of Atlanta, I handed $7 through my window to a homeless man with a dog. It was all the cash I had. If I'd had more, I would have given it. No one else waiting at that light did the same. Because of fear.

Fear makes us wary of getting "involved" in other people's lives. But we've all needed a hand once in a while. What did I have to lose by giving a few minutes of my time to a stranger in need? Nothing. I gained instead. As did he. It works the same way with friends....

All too often, we avoid helping someone we care about because we're afraid of insulting them. We don't want to cross any boundaries. If they wanted our help, they'd ask, right???

Sadly, that's not true. Pride, shame, feeling helpless and hopeless, often keeps those in need silent. And silence is deadly.

My friend of 20 years took his life in 2013. I saw him the week before. He did not look well. He had not showered or shaved and was not dressed in his usual clothing. I asked him if everything was okay. He said it was. We had a brief conversation before he departed. But as I watched him walk away, I KNEW something was wrong. I wanted to go after him. I wanted to tell him to please trust me, talk to me, that we would figure it out together.

But I didn't go after him. I let him walk away. I said to myself, "He'll be fine. He's with his family. He's a grown man. Nothing will happen." A week later, he was gone. I could have saved his life. But I was too afraid of what he might say to me if I inserted myself in his business. If I asked him what was going on.

It's a mistake I will NEVER repeat again.

Human life is far more valuable than my pride. What was the worst that would have happened if I had run after him? If I had said, "You do not look okay, no matter what you say. I want to help. Please, talk to me..."?

Maybe he would have continued to deny anything was wrong. Maybe he would have told me to leave him alone. But maybe he'd be alive. Sometimes, just hearing that someone recognizes you're struggling is enough to save a life. And I'd rather be thought of as someone who can't mind her own business than someone who lacked the courage to ask a simple question.

What if he had denied there was a problem? Or told me to leave him alone??? I would have stood my ground. I would have told him how much I cared, even if he was trying to push me away. That, I was his friend, no matter what and wanted to help.

Too often, we're too busy with our own lives. We're not just dissuaded by social scrutiny, but by selfishness: "I've got too much to do to get involved anyway." Funny, but that's what the World said for almost a decade while MILLIONS of innocent human beings were slaughtered during the Holocaust.

Whether one life, or twelve million, we should always make the time and take the effort to help individuals recognize they are not alone. It's the right thing to do. We forget sometimes that we are not just a part of our family and friend groups, but a larger human community.

We're all connected, like invisible strands in a web. Even if from different worlds....

"Those who have the privilege to know, have the duty to act." -Albert Einstein

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#Monster

2/25/2015

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"Like one, on a lonesome road who,
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And, having once turned round, walks on,
And turns no more (her) head;
Because (she) knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind (her) tread."

-Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein (1818), used Coleridge's poem in her novel about a human who creates a #monster. But, it is the human creator who is, in fact, the true #monster. Our fascination with monsters comes not from novels like Frankenstein or Dracula, but with ourselves. Our inner #monster.

That's who Coleridge is talking about in his poem. The "frightful fiend" walking close behind us is not a fanged fallen angel. It is our very selves. Shelley's point in her almost 200-year old novel is that human intention, however noble, can indeed be laced with a hideous nature and monstrous soul. No one is immune.

We all must be mindful of our inner #monster. Because, it is easy to shut off our humanity. To make decisions that hurt others. To scar and scare. To even destroy lives. And, souls.

There are always consequences to opening the cage door. Like, unleashing someone else's inner #monster. It's a classic comic book scenario: One #monster releases another. The villain often unwittingly creates the hero. It may take time for the hero to rise, but once she does, the villain who created her is usually the first to see the #light of justice.

What makes a true #monster? Someone who lives through the trials of life but is unable to transcend the innate duality therein. There's no transformation of consciousness. In other words, villains, or true #monsters, never develop compassion. They're angry. And, as a result, full of fear. Fear is what drives crime, or any offense, against another. When someone targets you, tries to intimidate you, hurt you, you can feel quite certain that those desperate measures are being taken because you are powerful in some way.

The #monster fears you.

And, she should. Because my inner #monster isn't hideous. There are no deformities. Nothing ugly. That's what makes me so scary. I bring even the darkest souls to life again with my infinite fire. If I decide to shine my #light on you, there will be no corner, no crevice, no crack on Planet Earth for you to hide. Your #monster will be exposed for the WORLD to see.

That's a promise. And I ALWAYS keep my promises....

#Monster

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#Extraordinary

2/23/2015

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It has been literal decades since another human being has taken extraordinary measures for me. Yet I often do that for others. In the last few years alone, I have taken time, energy, effort, and dollars to visit far-flung family and friends, even if those individuals haven't done the same for me. I've given generously for weddings, birthdays, graduations, and other life celebrations--even when I didn't have the resources to do so. I make time to acknowledge people as often as humanly possible, sending positive thoughts out into the Universe to perfect strangers. I make friends wherever I go, even the grocery store. It's in my nature to be a force of positivity. To be good to others, regardless of reciprocation. But after my last year, I'd really like some. I'd really like someone to look at me, the way I've looked at them, and say, "You are worth whatever it takes." I don't want luke-warm commitments. I don't want half-promises. I want what I have given over, and over, and over again. Without hesitation. Without resentment. Or, keeping it a secret.

My best friend, Bob, would consistently visit me a few times a month for two years when I lived in Boston; he also took a week off in 1991 to watch my son when I had surgery. That was 24 years ago. It's still extraordinary. But I repaid those measures ten-fold. Because, when people do good things for me, I double my good-efforts on their behalf.

I've never asked for anything truly extraordinary, except once. That was this fall. And if you're a fan of my blog, you know how that ended: Extraordinary, but extraordinarily bad. The chance that the opposite was possible, even quite probable, was worth the extraordinary risks. Because when I ask for the extraordinary, I do not expect to just receive it, to take it without putting in extraordinary effort myself.

I have friends who are lovely people, many of whom have given generous emotional support during my time of crisis. That is extraordinary. And very much appreciated. I'm not even sure I'd be alive to write this without them. Or to make what I now call "anti-suicide smoothies," because when you taste it, it's so good, it makes you want to live at least until the next morning so you can have another.

I've taken people on extraordinary vacations. Bob took me to the Bahamas 22 years ago. Other than that, I've been the only extraordinary benefactor of my extraordinary vacations. Will anyone ever do the same for me now? Save up to take me somewhere like Hawaii, a place I've wanted to go since surviving cancer 14 years ago. Or Israel. Paris. Ireland. Even something simple like Cape Cod would suffice. Just one time, I want to be treated like a queen, and not have to pay people to do so. Is it really so much to ask?

I'm smart, talented, accomplished, educated, fun, adventurous, energetic, and yes, quite beautiful. Yet nothing extraordinary has ever happened that did not include my direct participation in some way. I've never even gotten out of traffic ticket! And no one has ever said, "I'm taking you to Boston. We're spending five nights in a great hotel, two nights on Cape Cod and wrapping it all up with a romantic stay at a quaint New England bed-and-breakfast." Well, I said it. To myself. I took myself there in 2014. Paid for Fenway, all kinds of activities at the Museum of Science, the Aquarium, dinner at the Four Seasons, room service, brunch overlooking the wharf, a two-day beach pass...my, I'm generous.

I've made extraordinary parties for people, too--for anniversaries, weddings, baby showers, birthdays--but no one has ever done that for me. I've made my own parties, and usually, paid for them. But not always. My bestie Bob footed the bill for my PhD-bash, complete with a mojito-bar. At the time, that was my thing. Today, it would be a shot-bar, stocked with tequila and whiskey (the more difficulties we face, the harder the liquor). Of course, I made all the arrangements. Purchased and delivered the florals. Even sent out the invitations. It was extremely fun and I was so proud of myself for going back and getting that degree, but I had to ask for it. The party. And I don't want to have to ask. I want someone to want to celebrate me, to celebrate my accomplishments, without being prompted. I'd really like for at least one person to proactively consider what I might enjoy and not wait until my funeral to do so. That after-party will definitely suck. Unless my instructions are followed to the letter, in which case, limo rides, rap music, Corzo, and Maker's Mark for all!

I want someone to simply think of me, without my prompting, or expecting anything from me, or my having to offer to do it all, or pay for any part of it. More importantly, I deserve that.

But we don't get what we deserve. We get what we give ourselves. Unless you're one of the lucky few I've loved...lucky indeed.

I hate that my perspective has shifted thus--hate it because it makes me scared. That I feel like #love doesn't conquer all anymore. That happy endings are for movies and children's theme parks, not real life. That no one will take you on a vacation you don't plan or pay for yourself. That, you can (happily) turn 40 after surviving cancer (three times) and no one even thinks about making you a party. Except you. And, that even when you pursue happiness with everything you've got, you can't have it. Ever. Even if you financially support it, take it on vacation, make it "anti-suicide smoothies" every morning, and move entire mountains.

There are so many wonderful people in my life whom I cannot adequately articulate my utter appreciation for with appropriate eloquence. Please know this is in no way commentary on what you have or have not done. It's not about you. It's about me.

For the first time, in 43 years, I wanted to say without hesitation, or apology, or fear of social scrutiny, that I WANT HAPPINESS. And I want someone to want to give it to me as much as I've given it to them. I want to be remembered the way I've remembered others. I want to be taken on an amazing vacation just because I exist.

But most of all, I want to be loved without limits by another human being. In the very same way I have given love myself. If I had one wish for the expanse of my lifetime, it would be that.

#Extraordinary

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#LOVE

2/11/2015

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#Love is a four-letter word....

The human capacity to #love is far greater than we understand. Most of the time, humans think of #love in terms of flowers, heart-shaped boxes of chocolates and Hallmark cards. Or perhaps, as a fairy tale from a Jane Austen novel or a Disney movie: Royalty finds a peasant, sees beyond the poverty to the person's soul, and subsequently, falls in #love.

It seems an unlikely scenario. But #love conquers all, right? Even socio-economics. Even insecurity. Fear. Self-loathing. And yes, even death.

Apparently, real #love knows no bounds.

Boundless-love is the reason soul-connections don't just end. While your physical forms have a beginning and an end, and so, your meeting in that form has an implied parting as well, the soul is infinite. And when you meet that person who completes yours, no matter what happens between you in the physical world, the infinite #love of your souls will absolutely endure. As do broken hearts....

To lose a soul-mate is not like losing a limb. It's like losing yourself. You have no idea how breathing continues, except that it's an involuntary physical response. One you realize you can stop, if you wanted. And you do. If only to silence the screams, the sorrow and the burning left behind from what could only have been a violent end.

There is no moving on from the loss of a soul-mate. The only thing you can do is accept that pain is your new companion. You can meet other people. Even enjoy their company. But it's always empty. As empty as you. Only one soul completes yours. Once you've felt it, you never want it to end. But Life often has other plans.

At first, you think that maybe the soul-connection thing isn't a big deal. That there are lots of "fish in the sea." And for some of us, there are. It's easy to be loved if you're lovable. What isn't easy is finding that connection. It's not just chemical, it's deeper. More intense. Beyond things like reason. For, it isn't reasonable. It defies logic. Common sense doesn't factor in to the equation either. Because it's not math. Or science. It's #love.

#Love forgives everything. Even if it makes you question your sanity. #Love is the source of everything. It's the seed of the very Universe itself. So how is it possible to find real love, to connect with your soul's other half, yet somehow still lose it--to even be discarded, like garbage, cast aside, ignored??? Because only a soul-mate can be your undoing. While Jane Austen novels and Disney movies have happy endings, real life doesn't. Neither does real #love.

To achieve the impossible is a feat unto itself. To feel unparalleled joy and happiness, an immeasurable blessing. One you cannot believe is true. And that is where things get messy: Enter the human factor.

Humans are born with fear. Fear of falling, to be specific. #Love elevates. And real #love--the kind that is inextricably attached at the soul--takes you beyond our ever-expanding Universe. It doesn't feel real. It feels like a dream. A beautiful dream you hope never ends. You can soar on the wings of #love, if you have enough courage. But humans are afraid of falling. We aren't made to fly. Like Wyle E. Coyote in a Road Runner cartoon, we may find ourselves walking on air...until we look down. Gravity, or the world of humanity, has a unique way of pulling us back to Earth.

When a soul-connection is made, every battle fought over decades suddenly makes sense. All the scars of war melt away. There is a sense of relief. Peace. But once the other half is lost, the odyssey rages on inside as if it had never ended. The scars of previous war, deeper somehow. Redder. More angry. Breathing seems almost absurd.

To live, only to die every day all over again. A fresh new Hell with each new sunrise. Dante would certainly think so. Perhaps it is a Puritan nightmare a la Nathaniel Hawthorne: Somehow, the obscenities committed were deserved. A piece of your own soul, turned against you. Albert Camus would laugh at this cosmic irony; deceit is always a part of #love in the Absurdist view.

Sartre, an Existentialist Jiminy Cricket of sorts, would call it "mauvais foi" or bad faith: The missing piece of a soul, once found, paradoxically denies itself freedom in order to remain an object at the mercy of circumstance. In other words, it's easier to deny a soul-connection and the freedom it provides than to remain in social prison. I can practically hear Camus snort with indignant laughter through the veil....

Buddhists would distinguish between right thinking and wrong thinking. Vedics might call it karma while Kabbalists would nod in agreement, muttering "tikun" under their breath. "The internet," now referred to as an almost sentient guru of the 21st century, is loaded with conflicting articles from all kinds of sources, most of which provide inane answers to pedestrian questions on the subject of #love. But here, ironically accessible only through the internet, you may find the truth, such as it is:

Those who seek the mundane follow rules made up by men. Their hearts, their souls, are never fulfilled as a result. To allow such fulfillment would break a lifetime of belief. So why even try to taste it, touch it, feel it in the first place??? The whys are, sadly, never the right questions. Especially when dealing with plebeian minds. Small, confined, and yes, though you hate the word, LIMITED.

To be unlimited in a world full of limited fools is the most frustrating thing on Planet Earth. Perhaps within the physical Universe itself. More so is the fact (not facticity) that one of those fools holds a piece of your immortal soul. There is nothing to do about it either. Except, of course, to breathe.

Remember friends, the rules of man are not the same rules followed by the Universe. When you choose one over the other, regardless of your choice, there will be consequences. Not all consequences are bad, however. Those with the courage to listen to their hearts--their souls--will always be rewarded. Those who don't will forever be ensconced in a cloak of fear and loathing, loomed by their own hand. If we humans have any purpose at all, it is to break free of such things by listening to our souls. And our souls are much older and much wiser than our human selves.

No other man will bear witness with you at your death. You walk that path alone. So why so zealously bear witness to other men's ideas in life?

As the Existentialists say, there is always a choice. That choice is always yours. And yours alone....

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About the Author

Rebecca Housel, Ph.D., known as "The Pop Culture Professor" (TM), is an international best-selling author and editor in nine languages and 100 countries. Rebecca, listed in the Directory of American Poets & Writers for her work in nonfiction, was nominated by Prevention magazine essayist and best-selling author of The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, Rebecca Skloot, to the National Association of Science Writers for her work on cancer. Rebecca has published with best-selling author of The Accidental Buddhist, Dinty Moore's literary nonfiction journal, Brevity, and with commercial publications like Redbook magazine and online journals like In Media Res. Her recent interviews appear in publications such as the LA Times, Esquire, USA TODAY, The Huffington Post, Inside Higher Ed, Woman's World magazine, and Marie Claire as well as on FOX news, and NBC. Former President of the New York College English Association, Housel was a professor in both Atlanta and New York, teaching popular culture, film, creative writing, literature, and medical humanities. Dr. Housel currently works on the Editorial Advisory Boards for the Journal of Popular Culture and the Journal of American Culture; she has also worked as a reviewer for Syracuse University Press and Thomson Wadsworth. A writer of all genres, Housel has written and published both fiction and nonfiction in over ten books and 398 articles, essays, book chapters, book reviews, and encyclopedia entries.

Jack the Sparrow

The Kindness of Strangers

#Monster

#Extraordinary

#LOVE

About the Author

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