Life is a Beach

Bahia Honda State Park, Big Pine Key, FL

Life is a beach
Waves relentlessly
Driving us forward.
We urgently rush
To stop it,
Or avoid it,
Or push it back.
Some play games
And ride the waves.
Others paddle
Furiously
Going nowhere.
Until nowhere
Becomes our
New somewhere.
And once again,
We strive against
The inevitable tide
'Til we break through,
Victorious
Or broken,
But driven
Forever
Onward.

~ Olivia J. Herrell,
   March 11, 2012

I hope you enjoyed this tidbit. It was written while on vacation at St. George Island, FL, and offers a glimpse into the mind of this dreamer.

The picture was taken several years later on my first trip to the Florida Keys.

~ That Rebel, Olivia J. Herrell, writing as O.J. Barré

O.J. Barré is the author of the upcoming Awen series, a druid science fantasy set  in 2042. Steeped in current, ancient, and future history twists, Book One, Awen Rising (set in Atlanta, Georgia) is scheduled to debut August 1, 2019, in both ebook and paperback format. Book Two, Awen Storm, is slated for 2020. Book Three, Awen Tide, arrives in 2021. And should there be a Book Four, it would roll out in 2022 or later as Awen Unleashed.

What If...?

Admit it. You grew up loving Rudyard Kipling's poem "If". Did you memorize it? Recite it on a stage in front of your schoolmates' parents?

Did you aspire, like me, to its lofty tenets? So much wisdom. So much travail. So much promised.

Yet, here I am, entering the autumn of my life. And wondering.

What if...

What if - rather than choosing stoicism, I live life to its fullest, out-loud and proud?
What if - my inner light shines so very bright, it gives yours permission to flare?
What if - the glow of our collective light dispells the darkness forever?

What if...?

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools; 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on"; 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
—Rudyard Kipling

Ahhh. See there. Didn't you fall in love with IF again? Are there other what-if's you'd like to propose? Any thoughts on Kipling's IF?

~ That Rebel, Olivia J. Herrell, writing as O.J. Barré

O.J. Barré is author of the upcoming BLESSED ARE THE PEACE MAKERS trilogy. Book One, COMING HOME, is complete and in query. The first draft of Book Two, COMING TO, is nearing completion, and Book Three, COMING FULL CIRCLE, is swirling in the mists of creation.

Dragon Dreams

Each morning I wake,
scenes of Peace Makers*
dancing through my dreams.
Today it was dragons.

They arrived on scene,
playing in and out,
siren song calling,
cajoling.

I knew they would.

What I didn't know
(but should have suspected)
is that they want top billing.
Or as close as possible.

What I did know
(and had forgotten)
is that the story was
part theirs all along.

Welcome dragons, welcome to the story.

Today I will head to Atlanta to revisit the location/s of the final scene/s of Book One. That happens to be Oakland Cemetery and Zoo Atlanta. Lucky me!

Happy Saturday ~ Olivia J. Herrell

*Dr. Olivia J. Herrell is the author of That Rebel with a Blog and Blessed Are The Peace Makers, the Blog. She is currently editing the first of a Southern Urban Fantasy (trilogy) of the same name.

Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows

A new wind is blowing through my world.
I called, and it came.
The soft, teasing sort,
That tickles your hair
On a warm summer day.
Light, airy, safe,
Ever there.
Unbidden, my lips turn up at the corners,
Curious as to what happens next.
The wind swirls, steady and sweet
Then gently sighs, at rest.

~ Olivia J. Herrell

A new wind indeed.

I met a guy. And not just any guy. A special kind of guy.

He found me. On match.com. From only fifteen miles away. Our paths, though different, have crisscrossed many times. Now we meet, at the middle of our road, for the first time.

Of course, it's early. We just met. And had one date.

But Mav said it best, mischevious grin and all, "I don't know, but uh, it's looking good so far."



P.S. I officially have DSL at home as of today and am so very grateful. I feel connected again. Thank you all for that. Oh yeah! I promised you a happy post. Did I deliver?

I've Been Up and Down This Highway

The world seems topsy-turvy. Have you noticed?
I've been absoul-utely, positively, radiantly happy.

Until last week.

Another death, close,
My aunt's sister,
An earth angel
Got her wings.
My aunt and I reconciled,
At least, I think we did. I did.
And she was glad to see me,
Pulled me in to
Sit beside her
During the service.

After that? The week warped
In to a Dali painting.
Time stood still.
Bleak. No work.
I care. But I can't.
Get. Together. To. Go. In.
To. The. Office.
Everything, all of a sudden,
Is just way too hard,
Too heavy.
Oh My God.
Why is everything so
Freakin' hard?

What is this diabolical depresssion,
Insidious, weaving its way in to my home,
My profession, my bed?
It woos me to sleep ten, eleven,
Even twelve hours some nights.
Don't get up, not yet,
Pull the pillow over your head,
Snooze until the cat comes back
From his morning explores,
Then sleep more.

Dammit. NO!
Tonight, before I go to bed
My house will be clean.
I will have a to-do list to follow
To get stuff done
And tomorrow, I will follow it.
Starting with an 8 a.m. networking meeting,
And ending up with a 7 p.m. 12-step meeting.
I'm taking back my serenity.
And my want-to.
And my big girl britches.

Been missing y'all a LOT! Olivia J. Herrell

This song mirrored my mood so well, I hopped on here to share it with you guys. The poemy update popped out, too. Anyway, this is one of my favorite Jackson Browne songs. 'Night

You've Come a Long Way Baby Blogfest/Contest

Link to Christine



I'm posting my entry to Christine's You've Come a Long Way, Baby Blogfest/Anniversary Contest a day early. On Saturday, February 5th you can click over to read the rest of the entries. But click over now to enter the contest. And to add an entry of your own if you would like.

From Christine's website:

You don't have to participate in the blogfest to be entered in the contest. Winners will be chosen randomly among everyone who has become a follower of The Writer's Hole and posted a comment that they want to enter, by Saturday, Feb. 5th.
You can earn additonal entries as follows:
+1 for promoting the contest on your blog
+1 each for tweeting or posting on FB
+2 entries if you put up a sample of your own early-in-my-learning-process, sort-of-awful-but-I-don't-mind-embarassing-myself writing.
+1 more for a rewrite of it, showing off your improved skills.

In 1969 there was this boy. He excited me a little, though at twelve I didn't quite understand what that was all about. What I did understand were the poems that he wrote. I also understood that if my friend could write a poem, then there was a good chance that I could, too. Over the years I lost touch with that boy. But I never stopped writing poems.

In the mid-80's, I lost the entire collection in a bad break-up. I ran away from that house with the clothes on my back, grateful to be alive. Maybe one day, when I'm a famous author, those poems will turn up on the market somewhere. One can only hope.

In 1989 there was another boy. Hmm. Boys and poems just go together don't they? This poem was inspired by him.

I see a few changes I could make to tweak this and make it better. But I don't get much practice writing poetry these days. Guess I need to find me a boy for inspiration.

Your gray eyes still haunt me
Day-in, night-out
A ghostly, almost scary feeling
At the lone bedtime
An emptiness.
An "I miss you" feeling
Almost...yet
I don't even know you.
Who are you
That you've taken control
Completely of my senses
Without touching me.
Probably without even
Knowing what you've done.
Sometimes I wonder.
I'm not completely sure
I'm not insane.
The need grows
And seldom fades
Beyond the realm of consciousness.
Why am I so certain
Yet so confused?
Knowing yet not knowing.
I don't want to love
Not you - no not even you.
It hurts too much
Tears tend to overshadow smiles
At times.
But yes -
I'd try it
For you.
You weigh heavy on my mind
And on my senses.
Your name lingers
On my tongue
And parades across
The edge of my thoughts
Sometimes there's a cadence
Marching, marching.
Calling your name.
I can't keep you away
Please go - no don't.
You're an illusion anyway -
Something beautiful I've imagined.
I can't touch you
I can only feel you.
The mirage that never satisfies
Yet beckons without mercy.
~ Olivia J. Herrell

Yeah. Well. There it is. Maybe I'll come back on Saturday and play around with it, fix it, make it a little more purdy. And I'll come by and read the other entries.

Don't forget to enter the contest for a chance to win some great prizes. And enter your own writing. Join us.

FEAR: False Evidence Appearing Real

Blues and a poem for a lazy Sunday.



B.B. King, Buddy Guy, Eric Clapton and Stevie Ray's brother, Jimmie Vaughan.

Excerpt from "Finding Your Way Home, A Soul Survival Kit" by Melody Beattie:

"Fear comes seemingly from out of the blue and disrupts the whole of your life. You can't think, can't feel, can't find the next step, and can't connect with your soul and heart. It disrupts the flow, gets in the way, makes you feel crazy and disconnected from yourself, from God, and from the world around you. Answers seem just out of reach. They all feel wrong anyway, because all you can feel is your fear."

************************************************

Stand Tall

I wrestle a beast I cannot see,
A monster, fierce and bold.
She destroys and devours,
Devastates.

Stop. Stand still. Turn.
Face the madness in her eyes.
Don't look away,
Stare her down.
Stand tall.

She is smoke and mirrors,
Nothing more.
Look close, push back
Watch her fall.

The smoke clears,
The mirror implodes.
Shards shatter and fly.
Tuck. Duck. Survive.
Stand tall.

~Olivia J. Herrell

Passing It On

The following is from one of those email letters that we periodically receive. Most of them don't get forwarded. Lord knows I rarely do. But this one touched me. So. Instead of forwarding it to the people I love, I'm sending it to you as a blog post.

The author is unknown. But whoever you are, if you're out there, your poem is beautiful. And so true.

Here goes:

To realize

The value of a sister/brother

Ask someone

Who doesn't have one.

To realize

The value of ten years:

Ask a newly

Divorced couple.

To realize
The value of four years:
Ask a graduate.


To realize
The value of one year:
Ask a student who
Has failed a final exam.


To realize
The value of nine months:
Ask a mother who gave birth to a stillborn.


To realize
The value of one month:
Ask a mother
Who has given birth to a premature baby..

To realize

The value of one week:

Ask an editor of a weekly newspaper.

To realize

The value of one minute:

Ask a person

Who has missed the train, bus or plane.

To realize

The value of one-second:

Ask a person

Who has survived an accident.

Time waits for no one.
Treasure every moment you have.

You will treasure it even more when

You can share it with someone special.

To realize the value of a friend or family member:
LOSE ONE.


The origin of this letter is unknown,
But it brings good luck to everyone who passes it on.


Remember....


Hold on tight to the ones you love!

This one's for Jules and The Words Crafter:

The Bridge Builder

~by Will Allen Dromgoole

A pilgrim, going a lone highway,
Came at evening, cold and gray,

To a chasm, deep and vast and wide.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim.
The chasm held no fears for him.
But he paused when he reached the other side
And built a bridge to span the tide.

"Old man," said a fellow pilgrim near,

"Why waste your time in building here?
Your journey ends with the close of day,
You never again will pass this way.

You've crossed the chasm deep and wide.

Why build ye here at eventide?"
The pilgrim raised his old grey head,

"My friend, in the path I've come," he said,

"There followeth after me today
A fair-haired youth who must pass this way.
The chasm which held no fear for me
To the fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim.
My friend, I am building this bridge for him."

Today I navigated Kanan pass from the Ventura Highway to the Pacific Coast Highway, passing through canyons, past vineyards through three tunnels and lots of curves. After cresting the Santa Monica Mountains just past Backbone Trail, the ocean lay before me, her vista bared, in all her winter glory. This time of year, the ever-present marine layer is stripped away, revealing a startling, 160 degree view of the ocean.

This, by far, is my favorite route to the PCH.

I was sulking. And why not. I'm not immune and I certainly have it in me. I had just gotten off the phone after a conversation in which I was apparently the only conversant. The other party had not even done me the courtesy of listening to my side of the story. And I had rendered such  a passionate discourse. It had something to do with rebels.

Rebels come in all shapes and forms. Farley's Free Dictionary says to rebel is to dissent from an accepted moral code or convention of behaviour, dress, etc. I am a chiropractor by trade, but I choose not to wear a white coat in my practice. I also get to pick my hours and, because I don't like alarm clocks, I see my first patient at 10:00 a.m. I often, however, stay late for the after-work crowd. And work on Saturdays, for others. For this, I am a rebel. My work fits me.

An alternative definition for rebel is: to express opposition through action or words; "dissent to the laws of the country". And, another: to break with established customs. I am aware that my individual efforts, coupled with yours, will have a positive impact on our world. So I'm choosing to grow my own vegetables. This spring, I will do just that. That's one less bag of fertilizer, one less tree to make the bag, one less truck to get it to market, less gas consumed. I will pick it at the peak of perfection, plus have the pleasure of tending it and watching it grow.

In my opinion, rebels are not just insurgents, are not all organizing the overthrow of a country, a government, a regime. A rebel turns the spigot off while brushing his teeth, watches BBC because it's news and not commentary. A rebel reaches out her hand to her fellows because she can. Encourages. Cheers. Allows. Gives her time.

A rebel builds bridges. Even when the bridge is just a hand.

There are giants who walk among us. And giants tend to be rebels. Even when they don't think so.

Government OF the People, BY the People, and FOR the People

There have been many poems over the years that have inspired me deeply.

During my early years of sobriety, I found this poem, by Edgar A. Guest, in some AA literature, possibly The Forum. I copied it, cut it out, and carried it in my Big Book for years. I refound it the other day, along with several others that I will share at a later time.

This spoke to me, then, and it speaks even more loudly today.

******************************************************

An Edgar A. Guest Poem

I'd rather see a sermon than hear one any day,

I'd rather one should walk with me than merely show the way,

The eye's a better pupil and more willing than the ear;

Fine counsel is confusing, but example's always clear;

And the best of all the preachers are the men who live their creeds,

For to see the good in action is what everybody needs.

I can soon learn how to do it if you'll let me see it done.

I can watch your hands in action, but your tongue too fast may run.

And the lectures you deliver may be very wise and true;

But I'd rather get my lesson by observing what you do

For I may misunderstand you and the high advice you give

But there's no misunderstanding how you act and how you live.

***********************************************

Please, can't we all stop spouting hate and vengeance and get out of the problem and in to the solution?

Can't we have a little humility and stop calling our country and our leaders Socialists, just because they're trying to help us?

I know this country was built on free speech. But words do hurt. Words are breaking the backbone of our country.

This is one of the most perilous times our country has faced, and division within leaves us exposed to the dangers without.

The real 'enemy' here is not our government, nor our leaders. The real enemies look like you and me and they represent big business. They have a vested interest in keeping us sick and tired and broke so they can profit from it. It's the insurance and oil companies (and many others) who post record profits each year, while you and I go broke, even bankrupt, lining their pockets.

If we have to fight, let's fight to change the laws that allow these corporations, whose only interest is in their own bottom line, to buy our elected officials' votes.

Let's separate the election process from these corporations' profit motives.

Corporations ARE NOT PEOPLE. Corporations should not be allowed to vote. And, believe me, they vote every day with their dollars. How, as individuals, can you and I compete with that?

We can. After all, this is a government OF the people, BY the people and FOR the people. That would be you and me. When we unite, our voice is loud, and our leaders must follow.

Please, please, PLEASE let's unite in the common cause of healing our country. We must, at the very least, be able to agree on that.

Let's all stop slinging hurtful words and labels and become part of the solution, rather than the problem. Let's join the grassroots movement to take our government back.