Do You Have a Cage?

By Paula Renaye

The following are some things I found when I finally got around to having files recovered from an old computer that bit the dust. One is just a short little poem that I wrote as an exercise in a class. The other is a little story I wrote just because.

These were written about ten years ago when I was in the midst of coming to terms that I couldn’t stay married. I haven’t changed or edited anything in either.

I am sharing them because they show where my thoughts were at that time—how I was processing what I was experiencing, trying to accept into a reality I could deal with. I was beginning to own my own role in my situation, and I was also recognizing that I had beliefs that were keeping me trapped there.

In the following story about the parakeet, I think I was trying to understand both the keeper and the kept along with the safety of the cage and the perils of being trapped there. See what you think!

The Parakeet

A few years ago I inherited a parakeet from my daughter. I did not want a bird, mind you, but I got one.

So, making the best of things, I went about the business of accepting her as mine. Being the creative genius I am, I gave her a superb and thoughtful name: BirdieBirdie. With lilting variations and other ridiculous sounds.

Yes, I did. She seemed to like her new keeper and BirdieBirdie and I became friends. It didn’t take long. I talked to her and she would leap to the side of the cage and talk back. Cute, fun. I bought her toys, bells, ladders, mirrors and all sorts of things that seemed entertaining to me, but what she really wanted was my attention.

All the time.

I had a home office so I took the teal green creature up to be with me while I worked. It seemed like a good plan. We’d keep each other company. It worked fine. Until the phone rang with a business call.

The second I started talking, so did she. It seemed any time I spoke, BirdieBirdie assumed I was speaking to her. And she responded. Loudly. Now, I’m not big on caged animals of any sort anywhere. I didn’t want this one in the first place for exactly that reason—and about five hundred others—so, in that desperate moment, I let her out.

Oh, my, it was a circus in the beginning; a bird-wrangling rodeo to get her back in the cage when the time came. It was, however, fairly effective in keeping her quiet during business calls. Fairly.

Then one day, I was talking to her and she swooped down and landed on my head. Always the head. I put her on my shoulder, my desk, my chair, and she’d stay for a little while then back to the head or gone.

Eventually, she would come to me when she wanted or whenever I called. She’d go back to her cage when she felt like it and she’d hop in whenever I carried her over on my finger.

She was no longer trapped. She could come and go, and know that there would be another time of freedom.

She had loved me when I kept her in a cage, but she wanted out so badly, to be free. I was afraid if I let her out, she’d hurt herself, she’d get out or get eaten by the dog. Believe me, we had plenty of close calls.

In the end, it was the cage that killed her. We had a new kitten and she flew to the side of the cage to see what was going on, and little sharp claws got her through the bars. The cage didn’t protect her at all.

In her freedom, she came to me of her own free will. Trapped, she died.

Keeping someone in a cage through jealousy or codependency may keep them with you. But it is only in the freedom that they can truly choose to be with you.

The story isn’t really finished—there was more I needed to understand—but it was where I was at the time and the step I took in that moment.

What I wasn’t yet willing to admit was that I had created my own cage. My unconscious belief system pushed me to build it then hand the keys to another person. Then the conscious me bemoaned the fact that I was trapped—and blamed the other person.

As you’ll see by the next few lines, I knew the truth—at least part of me did—I was just struggling to find a way to own it. I wrote the following for the one and only writing class I ever took. Looking back, it was really more about allowing what was within to come out and putting it on paper. The topic could have been anything: joy, sunshine, love, roses, puppies or mountain streams. Here is what I wrote:

The Key

The cage is locked

The key so near

All that’s holding me

Are the bars of fear

Pay attention to your thoughts and your words. Your truth is there. And, look for the messages in your own life and give yourself those moments of insight—as often as possible. It matters. It is a process of becoming really aware of what you’re thinking about—and why—and then realizing you can make it different if you want to.

Have the courage to start now. Own your thoughts, words, actions and choices. Know what you want and what you need to get there, and then do it consciously, deliberately and on purpose. You can fast forward yourself to joy!

Paula Renaye is a certified professional coach, life transformation speaker, regression hypnosis practitioner and award-winning author of the newly released Hardline Self Help Handbook. Visit http://hardlineselfhelp.com for details and more self improvement tips.

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A Touch Of Lemon

By Rick Phillips

When I met Mr. Jim Lemon, I was a sixteen-year-old freshman at Houston's Jackson Junior High and the chances of my finishing high school were slim. I was a troubled teenager with an attitude, living in a neighborhood that fostered troubled teenagers.

Mr. Lemon taught American history and it was clear from the first day that his classroom was not going to be disrupted. It was apparent, very quickly, that Mr. Lemon was quite different from the other teachers I had known. Not only was he a disciplinarian, but also he was a great teacher. He would never settle for my usual standard of classroom work. Mr. Lemon pushed and prodded and never tolerated the mediocrity that had become my standard.

On the occasion of our first semester report cards, Mr. Lemon called me aside and asked how it was possible that I was a B student in his class and a D and F student in the rest of my classes.

I was ready for that question. I passionately told him about my divorced parents, the local gangs, the drugs, the fights, and the police - all the evils that I had been subjected to. Mr. Lemon listened patiently and when I was through he responded, “There’s a problem with your list Mr. Phillips, you are not on it.”

Then Mr. Lemon explained that the only person responsible for my situation was me. And the only person with the potential to change my situation was me, and that when I personally accepted that responsibility I could make a significant change in my life.

He convinced me that I was failing not because I was a failure, but because I was not accepting the responsibility for my results in those other classes. Mr. Lemon was the first teacher I had who made me believe in myself. He inspired me to become a better student and he changed my life.

Ten years later, I spoke to him again. I was preparing to graduate from Chaminade University in Honolulu.

It had taken weeks of telephone calls to find him but I knew what I had to say. When I finally did get Mr. Lemon on the telephone, I explained what his brutal honesty had meant to me, how I finally graduated from high school, and how I was a proud staff sergeant in the Army. I explained how I had married the most beautiful and wonderful woman of my dreams and how we had a beautiful daughter.

Most of all I wanted him to know that I was about to graduate magna cum laude after going to school for four hours a night, four nights a week for three years. I wanted him to know that I could never have done any of these things if he had not been a part of my life.

Finally, I told him that I had been saving money for two years so that I could invite he and his wife to come to Hawaii at my expense to be part of my graduation. I'll never forget his response. Mr. Lemon said, "Who is this again?"

I was just one of hundreds of students whose life he changed and he seemed genuinely surprised of his impact.

Perhaps none of us realize the impact that we have on other people nor do other people have any idea how much of an impact they have on us. How much, then, should we be aware of our influence on others to make sure that it is for the best? And how much more should we tell those who have had a positive impact on our lives?

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We Can Still Be Friends

“we can still be friends”
- often used during a claimed ‘mutual / amicable’ break up.
- actually means, please let’s be polite. I don’t need my car scratched or my car tyres slashed. Some advice from someone who’s been there and done that, don’t go down this road. A break up is called a BREAK up for a reason. This is so age old (even since Shakespearean days) lovers simply do not become friends.

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Sometimes The Day Comes

By Joy Sankhala

Sometimes the day comes
when you try your level best
to achieve something
but you fail

Sometimes the day comes
when nobody understands you
and you feel that you are isolated
from the world

Sometimes the day comes
when you want to help the needy
but find yourself unable to
because of some reasons

Sometimes the day comes
when you are hungry and have a few bucks
but you see the child laborers and buy food for them

Sometimes the day comes
when Mom comes up with one answer
and Father with another
and you have to make your own decision

Sometimes the day comes
when you see that some people ditch others
because of their selfishness

Sometimes the day comes
when you want to tell something to your parents
but find yourself unable to because
you think that they might get hurt or misunderstand you

Sometimes the day comes
when your friends drift apart
not because you were not able to understand them
but because they were not able to understand you

Sometimes the day comes
when you want to smile
but can't find a place to even weep

Sometimes the day comes
when your beloved can't understand your feelings
and leaves you alone
and you look down and feel ashamed or embarrassed

But sometimes the day comes
when you learn from all your failure and think
"Those who dare to fail greatly can achieve greatly."

Don't look down, look up.

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God & The Spider

Author Unknown

During World War II, a US marine was separated from his unit on a Pacific island. The fighting had been intense, and in the smoke and the crossfire he had lost touch with his comrades.

Alone in the jungle, he could hear enemy soldiers coming in his direction. Scrambling for cover, he found his way up a high ridge to several small caves in the rock. Quickly he crawled inside one of the caves. Although safe for the moment, he realized that once the enemy soldiers looking for him swept up the ridge, they would quickly search all the caves and he would be killed.

As he waited, he prayed, “Lord, if it be your will, please protect me. Whatever your will though, I love you and trust you. Amen.”

After praying, he lay quietly listening to the enemy begin to draw close. He thought, “Well, I guess the Lord isn’t going to help me out of this one.” Then he saw a spider begin to build a web over the front of his cave.As he watched, listening to the enemy searching for him all the while, the spider layered strand after strand of web across the opening of the cave.”Hah, he thought. “What I need is a brick wall and what the Lord has sent me is a spider web. God does have a sense of humor.”

As the enemy drew closer he watched from the darkness of his hideout and could see them searching one cave after another. As they came to his, he got ready to make his last stand. To his amazement, however, after glancing in the direction of his cave, they moved on. Suddenly, he realized that with the spider web over the entrance, his cave looked as if no one had entered for quite a while.

“Lord, forgive me,” prayed the young man. “I had forgotten that in you a spider’s web is stronger than a brick wall.”

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