Jeanne H Barnett's Blog

A sunset, also known as sundown, is the daily disappearance of the Sun below the horizon due to Earth’s rotation (sundown – sun going down).
As the sun disappears below the horizon there is twilight, dusk, and then the darkness of night.

BUT the sun never stops shining, it just stops being where I can see it.
No matter how dark it looks or how stormy the sky is, the sun is still shining just like it always does . . . I just cannot see it because of darkness or a storm or because I  have my eyes closed.

The light is always there—always!
Perhaps, there is a life lesson in this for me . . .
perhaps . . .

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tag: bloganuary
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Book One
Writing a book has been in my thoughts for many years and I have actually started a number of books, but have never finished any to this point.

My main motivation for starting a book was to explore traumas in the hope that it might help someone else who was going through dark times to have hope that they, too, could survive and come out on the other side of the pain. However, I soon discovered that writing those stories would mean I would have to experience them again, re-live the trauma.

Like talking with a therapist, I began “talking” to the page in front of me while calling the past to mind and trying to honestly recount the event and my feelings, exploring my part in each trauma and trying to understand the reasons anyone else involved might have been involved and why they might have done what they did—not in an attempt to assign guilt, but in an attempt to understand.

It became clear that this process overwhelmed me very quickly and each time I reached that emotional overload, I would stop writing that book. What also became clear was that I made a little more progress each time I started “another book.” So, the process was working to help me very slowly release some of the darkness embedded with each trauma—almost imperceptibly, I was healing and, over the years I have released many of the harmful feelings associated with those traumas—all because of writing.

Sharing with others and finding some who care about that pain, those wounds and how the trauma played out in other choices shines a light on the “cycles” of wounding and healing and I say—every blog written is a part of the writer’s autobiography and provides a way to process through to healing . . . so, write on . . . right on!

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tag: bloganuary
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Over time, I have continued to learn
• that learning is a moment by moment process and
• that learning can come from my choosing to study something or
• that learning can come from life experiences in my life or in the life of another I observe and
• that learning can be a quick, short “aha” moment or a long-term, slowly unfolding series of moments

listen – look – ponder
A part of the meaning of the base word “learn’ is the idea of learning being “to follow or to find the track,” (https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=learn) and that fits with the idea that some of us are looking for meaning in our lives, a purpose for our “life experiences,” a way to see ahead on our path so—learning helps each of us “to follow or find the track” if we look, listen, and ponder.

While learning has sometimes come through painful experiences for me, it has brought me to understand more about my path which, of course, brings me some inner calm and plants that little seed of hope that I will come to more insights over the time ahead.

Bottom line: what I have learned recently . . .
I am reminded every day—
that I have much more to learn to “follow the track” I want to follow and that means I need to
listen —> look —> ponder
breathe life in slowly . . .
and learn moment by moment . . .
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a cake with just the right amount of sweetness
pecans
coconut
topped with buttercream icing . . .
I savor each bite of this wonderful creation!

One year (2014), I made an Italian cream cake for the birthday of my boss at the office I worked in who also appreciated the fine
flavor combination of an Italian cream cake . . .
the challenging part was my stove had just stopped working and would have to be replaced so I had to cook the layers of my cake in a small toaster oven, one layer at a time.
The three-layer cake turned out tasting pretty good, according to our office staff, and,
though I have made this cake several times for myself,
I always remember that cake that I think tasted better than
any other one I made – perhaps because of the time and
energy involved . . .
anything made with thought and care for someone else
always seems to be better
so this obvously imperfect cake was
MY PERFECT BIRTHDAY CAKE!

and every year, I enjoy
an Italian cream cake for my birthday . . .
some I bake, some from a restaurant,
always so good – but never as perfect as that one
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bloganuary

Today’s prompt: What language do you wish you could speak?

In the eleventh grade, we had a French foreign exchange student come to our school and he created a lot of excitement. We had never had a foreign exchange student before, so everyone was anxious to meet him.

He was in a couple of classes with me and I got a crush on him—and, fortunately for me, he sat next to me in our classes so it seemed natural to talk with each other. When he had a question, he would lean over and ask me to explain more about the meaning of some word the teacher had used—that French accent was so thrilling in the tones whispered in my teen ear. We did become friends pretty quickly and good friends before long. We ate lunch together and spent a lot of time working on improving his understanding of the confusing “American” English language. I decided then and there that I needed to learn to speak French so I could follow him home . . .

Of course, I never did learn French and I did not follow him home, but I have always thought I should learn to speak French in memory of a very special friend from, oh, so many decades ago! Latin is really the only language I studied other than English and, of course, I do not speak Latin.

BUT, language is just a means of communication,
and there are many ways to “speak”—
I do feel that I speak and understand pretty well in “cat’ and
usually do okay in “dog” and maybe a little in “bird.”

A language I have wished I could understand is “squirrel.” They always seem to be chattering about so much that I figure they are either sharing some really “juicy” gossip or giving out information on the best eating places—could be very interesting to hear what they have to “say.”

Bottom line for me: I need to listen better so I can “speak” better with those I come in contact with – because speaking is not just about being heard, it is about being understood . . .
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tag: bloganuary
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Today’s prompt: “What is a song or poem that speaks to you and why?”

For me, it is both a song and a poem because the poem explains why the song means so much to me.

the poem:
“Reaching Beyond the Wall” I wrote during one of my dark times when I had planned to end it all but was convinced by my mother not to (that is a long story for another time)—

and the song:
“Light at the  End of the Darkness” is one my brothers and I used to sing when we performed as a band and it always reminded me and still reminds me today of a truth I repeat often . . .
“the sun is always shining” even if I cannot see it and day always follows night—those are the facts!

THERE IS a light at the end of the darkness. If the clouds are blocking my view, I can still know “the sun is always shining” – if darkness seems to be covering my life, I can know there is a light at the end of the darkness and that a day will follow the night . . . in the world and in my life!

Experience has taught me that my Life is guided by what I believe and what I believe leads me to either darkness or light. I have found that it helps me to keep music around me that reminds me of this Truth, songs that give me hope with words that speak Life to my spirit and light to my soul.

There’s a Light at the End of the Darkness—
through the walls, after the darkness, there is Light . . .
I have seen it!
—-
Larry Gatlin and the Gatlin Brothers:

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The 5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman originally published in 1992 was a book that opened my eyes (heart) to an idea I had never considered – that different people had different ways of showing and receiving love!

My life had been filled with trauma, with “love” defined in so many dark ways that I was deeply wounded and did not even realize how I had hidden away from those wounds within my own dark room.

I not only did not know what love was, I was not capable of accepting love or of giving it to anyone else—how can you dip water from an empty bucket? My life before I read this book had destroyed all my preconceived notions of what love and life would be like for me and left me confused and stuck in a dark, empty place unable to see any way out of the dark,
BUT . . .

The idea of “love” as a way of behavior that comes from a place within
caused me to stop, look, and listen—and realize that my inner self had to
be faced and worked with if I ever hoped to give or receive love. Hatred of
myself and others would not bring me to what I needed and wanted—what
we all need and want . . . to be loved for who we are!

This journey was not easy and was filled with many discouraging times
and struggles with long-worn “acceptable” masks that were painful to
remove and scary to drop—BUT . . .

I met some people who accepted me for who I was with all my “warts” and
who encouraged me to find ways to express myself creatively and very slowly
I felt a tiny pinpoint of light in the darkness that was me and then I met my
husband who was secure within himself and was comfortable with imperfections
without judging and my journey to light from darkness began – a process of
life that never stops being an “onion journey” (peeling away layer after layer to
expose and heal) so that love could grow and overflow more every moment.

Many sages have helped me on my journey, many philosophies have guided me
and my Judeo-Christian background gave me the Life and Truth of Jesus, the
Christ, that brought me to want to live LOVE as he did . . . to step into that flow
of LIFE and Love. May Love always flow through my life as my heart continues to
heal and overflow from a bucket full of unconditional love . . . the flow of Life . . . the flow of Love!
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Dancing in the ballet . . . a dream for as long as I can remember—my earliest memory in childhood is of a strong conviction that I would be a ballerina.
I had a Tina the ballerina doll, a storybook and a record my grandma had given me and I longed to be just like Tina. My grandma even made a matching outfit for me and Tina.

I was determined and mom could tell I was committed to doing whatever it took so she signed me up for ballet lessons (it was tap and ballet, there was no class of just ballet in our area for my age). I wanted to do just ballet, but . . . did I mention I was/am a strong-will child to the max, so I would not give up!

Unfortunately, I had rheumatic fever as a child, spent time in a clinic receiving treatments and I was in and out of the hospital until somewhere around the age of eleven. Mom was able to find a doctor doing a research project involving special injections that were supposed to bring improvement to me and eliminate the need for me to have so many periods of hospitalization.

AT THAT TIME, a standard part of treatment for rheumatic fever was a total
elimination of exercise or exertion of any kind. I graduated from high school
with NO physical education credits which were normally required in many
places in the United States, but I had a medical exemption so NO physical
education classes for me.

SO, before long, I was forced to stop my dance classes due to the exertion
required in tap dancing. I was SO devastated—I cried many times and felt
that my heart was crushed. I slept with my first hard-toe ballet shoes and
refused to give them up for a long time. Eventually, my mom packed away
my ballet shoes and Tina because she reminded me of the dream I felt
I had lost and I cried every time I saw her.

I still love ballet for the same reasons I wanted to be a ballerina –
I see the beauty, the grace, the storytelling –
and my heart would sometimes ache for the loss of that dream from
my childhood . . . to be a ballerina . . . dancing freely, joyously . . .
BUT WAIT—
I am a ballerina – I see beauty all around me, within my spirit I dance and
soar gracefully, and I feel compelled to find other ways to tell stories—
my childhood dream may look different than I thought it would,
(no rabbit fur in hard-toe shoes) but the dream still lives in me . . .
the heart of a ballerina lives on . . .
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