Human Behaviour, Human Nature, Humanity, Spiritual

A Micro Second Death Face

I remember the headlights and the shiny bumper on the white SUV. I was swerving and my husband was yelling at me, “You’re going to roll the car!”

The only thing separating vehicles from other vehicles on the road is about five feet of air and an imaginary do not cross barrier. What are drivers on these days? How many believe they’re experienced drivers who are immune to the effects of alcohol or hard drugs, or marijuana for the argument? Or was he texting?

My car didn’t roll, but I felt the unsteady jerking beneath me. I had swerved to the right towards the soft, gravel shoulder, and the SUV driver swerved to the left, missing my little Hyundai Accent by mere inches, tucking himself back in. He couldn’t see us when he thought he could pass? There was no warning. He drove out directly in front me.

That’s all I remember. My husband yelling, near tipping of my car, and the white SUV’s headlights and shiny bumper.

My life is forever changed.

Everything I have worked for, everyone I have loved or not loved, every sticky note I’ve written to remind myself of something wouldn’t matter beyond the micro second that it takes to die, then leave my body, and watch the vehicles embrace, in a crunching tangle from my soul floating 20 feet above. I’d look for my husband as he was extracted. He’d be limp and bent unnaturally. I’d try to see myself behind the battered face I used to recognize. The emergency team would pull my squashed body out. I’d see my husband looking, too. We’d then see each other hovering above the chaos, and we’d remember the discussions we so often had about dying together as neither of us could bear the emptiness if we were left behind. Also, there he would be, the drunk driver being extracted from his white SUV. He’d be bloodied and crying, repeatedly saying he’s so sorry. He’d be banged up, but he’d see his loved ones again. He’d finish projects, he’ll drink again.

He’ll forget about the people he killed when he drinks himself to sleep, but the dead will be there every time he wakes.

Nothing would matter anymore. Not my novel which was accepted by a trustworthy publisher, not the closet I meant to clean out, not the computer I am writing this on— nothing. Not a thing would matter. Our lives would matter to all who had to receive the dreaded news, though. Our grown kids, our friends. Our bosses. Our innocent cats who always wait to hear the door open would be surprised as family came in to do what had to be done. Maybe our cats would pine to death in a shelter, separated from us and each other.

None of this death aftermath happened, though, but my life has changed nonetheless.

Thank God we are alive. No one can tell me God didn’t have the last say at that near head on collision. Why am I here? I’m going to find out. We all should find out why we’re here. A micro second wipe out could be anyone’s ultimate fate, but when?

Live before you leave. Really, really live. God Bless.

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Humanity

World Disasters

The most frightening thing in the world is losing our world. Everything we worked to have, everything we love, and people we love, even out pets.

I feel deeply for those affected by fires, floods and earthquakes.

My prayers are with the scared, the injured, and those left to carry on without loved ones and beloved pets.

If you’re reading this, you’re safe. Thank God.

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Humanity, technology

Cell and Chain

PING-DING-RING THING

What started out as fun has become, well, not fun. And dangerous perhaps.

I’m driving and I see this kid propped up by his handlebars, on a banana seat and he half-ass steers himself away from me. He lifts his face and takes a brief, hurried look at the road, but not me. I slow down, look at him texting on his rusty handlebars. Wait now… yeah—no—he’s on Facebook. On a bike. On the road. I say, “Hey, guy. Are you not worried about getting hit?” I think it sounded like I was patient and calm. Good. ‘Cause I feel like I appeared snotty. Kids have a sense of entitlement; I very much dislike their attitudes. Nonetheless, I love teens.

He let his foot drag and stopped the bike. He shrugs, shakes his head. He said, “Who made you the texting police?” Pushes off and scrolls, peddling slowly.

I want to get mad and tell him he’s dense. But I feel sorry for the kid. He’s riding alone, but in the company of Facebook users. What does this kid do when winter storms fill the roads? I suppose he just walks. He seems to be going nowhere, and maybe it doesn’t matter if he arrives anywhere. Traffic was coming, I had to move on. I said, “Careful, okay?”

He nodded, and I think the corner of his mouth raised his cheek. Briefly, though. Just for a sec.

When we baby boomers were that kid’s age, we all had bikes and we ran in packs. We didn’t even know what a cordless house phone was. We had Packman, Archie magazines, and we twisted the curly phone cord around our fingers while making plans to meet up or drop by each others’ homes. If our parents were on the phone we walked blocks and blocks to each others’ home. We did not know that so-and-so just made delicious spaghetti. We didn’t know what a profile pic was. Photos were at home in an album or box. Summer nights we played hide and go seek in neighbours’ back yards. The people in my neighbourhood couldn’t afford fences, so we got it goin’, running like untamed beasts.

Humans are distracted by ping-ding-ring thing noises.  Some keep their phone off, many do not. My hubby is a commodities relocation manager. This means he drives transport. He gets lonely and bored, so my cell phone rings off his Bluetooth. It makes me tense when I’m driving. I hope nothing has happened to him. A pretty Zen harp. I used to like it, but I throw up a little in my throat when it rings now. I think I’m an introvert, pretty sure. I couldn’t be hooked into the texting thing or social media on the go. I prefer to write in peace on my desktop, and go out to get away from me. If that makes any sense? To me it’s a cell and chain, I’d have it off mostly if I didn’t have to be available in case my hubby got hurt on the highway.  No ping-ding-ring thing all day long for me, thanks.

I am curious, however, about how humans manage the distractions of the cell sounds.  I have the attention span of a common goldfish, so I just won’t deal with such interruptions when I’m trying not to speed in my car. ADD they said. That means Attentional Daydream Disorientation. Not so bad; not ideal.

Thanks for reading~

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Humanity

Is Being Highly Emotional a Disorder?

EXQUISITELY STRUCTURED MINDS

Emotionally sensitive individuals have exquisitely structured minds—imaginative, creative, expressive, perceptive, and sensitive—and we’re highly responsive because of this.

Is being highly emotional a disorder? Perhaps it is. That being said, our emotions are a part of being human, so how is it that being inordinately spiritual is a disorder? That in itself isn’t really a disorder per say, because each and every human is overly emotional at one time or another. Watching sports causes emotional outbursts, the birth of our children causes elation, death of loved ones causes profound sadness, etcetera. Emotions are spiritual responses. They come from within us, from our hearts and souls.

Some are more prone to display emotions than others. We who laugh and cry easily, feel indignant, feel a rush of joy, or tear up simply because we see our friend or lover crying, we’re intuitive.  We feel compassion and love, joy, peace. We have faith, gentleness, kindness, meekness—and self control—apparently except for total control of our emotions. And we might be closer to the spiritual realm of God than we think. We were designed in an extraordinary way, after all. It’s a gift to be sensitive, because seeing beyond the surface and conveying emotions through medium is a gift. Ask anyone who loved Robin Williams’ acting or comedy routines. God rest that man’s soul. Bipolar depression trapped him in despair for one last time. I know I’m not the only one who shed salty sadness when that news landed.

Mostly, emotions are temporal, though. We feel and release them, but letting our emotions make decisions isn’t helpful. God guides, emotions glide. We need to release tears as much as anger or laughter. Release it and move on.

Being highly emotional is not a disorder. Some humans’ sensitive feelings and reactions are more prominent, that’s all. We sensitive characters in life are the poets and writers, the artists, the actors, and the counsellors.

Thank God for feelings and imagination. Thank God for those emotional humans who write greeting cards.

Fellow human spirits, have an emotionally rich day and a wonderfully peaceful night.

© L. P. Penner, 2015

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Humanity

The Snow Drifted Like The Homeless Do (True short story)

A STRANGER’S FAITH

Ice slides formed at the base of trees. Cold birds perched by chimney heat. The snow drifted like the homeless do, while a young man roamed painfully. His eyes were as empty as his life. With each step he gained nothing save for the odd stare of disdain from those who walked briskly for coffee. Donning three thin, tattered used coats and one fingerless glove, he bent over to tie a frayed shoelace, only to discover that it was gone. He walked with his head hung looking for a string discarded by someone to tie his flopping shoe top down, but nothing of that like was found.

A stranger espied the young man’s anguish, his empty stare, gaunt face, lost wish. She approached and offered to buy coffee for him, but sadly and hopelessly he said, “They told me I couldn’t go in.” His clothes were tattered, long hair unclean, his shoes were in shatters and his odour unsavoury.

“Then we’ll go somewhere else, my friend,” the stranger said kindly to him.

But unjustly, no-one cared to serve him… back out into the cold again. So they had coffee out in the wind, just the stranger and young man. One hopeless heart, and one broken.

The broken heart prayed for the hopeless one, tears falling from her eyes, asking God to care for him, to feed him, a home for him find.

The spring sun thawed the ice slides. The birds sang songs at passers by and the stranger still hadn’t seen him and worried he had died. The stranger asked God to show her just how this young man has been.

Seen coming from an apartment, there he was, plump, pleased.

“You look so good,” she proclaimed.

He smiled, patting his girth. He told her, “I like to eat.” She glanced down… new shoes on his feet.

The stranger’s faith was magnified. “Ask and you shall receive,” she remembered… Those prayers were good for both of them.

© L. P. Penner, 2000

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