Walk On

The Champions Who Walked Among Us

The Seventy-Nine-Words Story Challenge

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Hello Everyone,

I don’t know when it happen, but I remember reading the MONDAY FUNNIES, one morning and bursting out with laughter. I was hooked on the funnies. Laughter is not typical for me before eleven a.m. If you ask the people very close to me, they will tell you, Pat is usually unapproachable before eleven.

Honestly, as a writer, I find myself experiencing highs and lows.   It’s a writer madness that takes hold and motivates me to write what I see as I write about the world I live in during the early morning hours.

Thus, Chris Graham’s, CHRIS THE STORY READING APE’S BLOG has become a necessity in my life. It touches the humor within me, and laughter comes bubbling out.

Recently, Andrew Joyce, an author, sent out a dare, a seventy-nine-words dare to writers and it has been running on Chris’s blog as the Seventy-Nine-Words Story Challenge. Each week, stories are chosen as the best submitted. This week, one of my stories from The Child and The Prophet (a W.I.P.) was among the ones chosen and to be very honest with you that makes me happy.

To read my story and the stories of the other participants, please go to the link below. It’s only 79 words, and drop a line on Chris’s blog and let him know you were there and me too, of course.

 

http://thestoryreadingapeblog.com/2015/10/18/more-new-79-words-story-challenge-entrants/

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Photo on 14-10-15 at 09.35 #5

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

… dreams …

Good Evening Everyone,

In the Blog, Course of Mirrors, an article about dreams has been published. Again, this article is something that I would like to share, with you, because we tend to run and hide from that which we don’t understand about ourselves, especially when it deals with our dream world.

Shalom,
Pat Garcia

Course of Mirrors

Photos by Ashen Photos by Ashen

I used to host regular dream groups. We did not so much set out to analyse our dreams, but we played with them by engaging with their images, characters and objects. Sometimes we enacted scenes to widen associations and deepen our insights. While there is some excellent literature on working with dreams, a lot of it is boring, misleading and superficial. For me, the main purpose of valuing dreams lies in befriending the unconscious and the bringing to light what is timely and meaningful.

When we have no obvious explanation for events, dreams may bring subtle messages, offering glimpses of dynamics usually hidden from our awareness. A staggering 90 percent of personal and collective psychic dynamics trigger and compel our actions in life, and for good reason. The self-regulating psyche protects us from too much awareness. When encouraged, respected, and left to do its work, much like the immune…

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… what is your bliss? …

Hello everyone,

Here is a beautiful article that I would like to share on Walk On. It fits and I thought you would enjoy it.

Shalom,
Pat Garcia

Course of Mirrors

My moments of bliss come out of the blue, when I glimpse something moving in a certain way, in a certain light, not ordinary light, but a mysterious light that shines through nature.

P1070862 - smallerLike the day after the sky was veiled by thick curtains of rain and next morning the sun spun its brilliance through the cleansed air, and a warm breeze played through my washing on the line. Such joy, when for an instant my whole attention is timelessly merged with a particular quality of being, transporting me beyond my senses in ways I can’t fathom.

I draw these tricks of light to me, like a collector tends to attract the objects he/she desires. When days or weeks pass without such moments, I feel deprived and nothing quite chimes.

Maybe it’s a rare beauty that takes the mind by surprise and stops time. The washing line reminded me of…

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Its, A Mother’s Day Poem

Mouths starved.

Necks choked.

Shoulders bruised.

Torsos kicked.

These its,

These puny its have no voices.

Continue reading

My Viewpoint on Easter

Some people call him a harlot’s son; one of his grandmothers was a prostitute. Others say he wasn’t really completely Jewish; the Moabite tainted his bloodline.

Who was this man that respected man’s will to choose; that reached out to the brokenhearted and healed the sick?

What could have possessed him to be mocked, scorned, tortured and then hung on a cross? Could it have been love?

Today, over 2000 years later, some people celebrate his resurrection.

I am one of those people.

Shouts of praise came out of the mouths of the women that found his tomb empty, and I, too, shout with praise, JESUS IS RISEN!

Happy Easter Everyone,

Photo on 04-04-15 at 09.38 #3

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Repression, A Commentary

Any time a country allows people entrance beyond their borders, ideologies clash.

Afraid of the new culture surrounding them, the ideologies embedded in the immigrant’s mind make him fear, and his fear turns to disdainfulness. He segregates himself into a group like himself and begins to idolize what he has left behind in his homeland. Soon, his reasons for escaping become mixed with the discontent he experiences in his host country.

His lack of language skills, a key principle, for an adjustment in any new environment, put stumbling blocks in his paths. Educational progress, which leads to good jobs, is limited, affecting the immigrant’s emotional stability. Unable to understand the struggle his host nation has overcome, the misplaced immigrant soon realizes that the good life he saw on television doesn’t happen as quickly as buying a MacDonald’s hamburger or a chicken sandwich from Chic-Fil-A.

What happened in France is dolorous. Intercultural diversity collided with repression. Cultures bounced against one another.

Too long, we have invited the immigrant to come in without ensuring he understands the ideology upon which our western culture is founded. We have neglected to find out how he thinks and to teach him our vision of democracy.

Yesterday, men, whose cultural ideology is different than ours: who believe that respect means repression, killed ten prominent thinkers and two protectors of the French Society.

Let us hope that these twelve people did not die in vain. That the streets across our western world will fill with people who have the courage to stand up and say, I am Charlie!

Photo on 12-24-14 at 9.08 AM #4

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Hope

IMG_0458 We enslave ourselves to traditions and become tragic victims of discontent.

Our hearts yearn for a return to hope, a normalcy that we smother beneath our desires as we hurry along,

Buying,

Buying,

And more buying,

Under the deception of preparing for the Christmas feast of hope.

We seek hope, in ourselves, in our politicians, in world governments whether they are Capitalism, Communism, Socialism, Marxism: democratic, republic, socialistic, or communistic. However, none of these isms, lics, or tics have helped us find the hope for which we search.

These human designed isms, lics, and tics don’t know that hope. They present us with incongruent resolutions that are transient. Their failures, displayed on television, published on the Internet; printed in the newspapers; heard on the radio, have deadened our human capacity to recognize hope.

Yet, this hope walks among us in those who dare say yes.

“God wants everyone to know this rich and glorious secret inside and out, regardless of their background, regardless of their religious standing. The mystery in a nutshell is just this: Christ in you, the hope of glory).  It’s that simple.” COLOSSIANS 1:27, THE MESSAGE*

Merry Christmas everyone and a Happy New Year,

Buon Natale a tutti e felice Anno Nuovo,

Feliz Navidad j Prospero Ano Nuevo

Froehe Weihnachten alle und ein gutes Neues Jahr,

Joyeux Noel et Bonne Annee

Photo on 12-24-14 at 9.08 AM #4

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

 

*Text changes were made in Colossians 1:27 from THE MESSAGE to offer a better understanding.

 

Some Mother’s Heart Is Crying

JD520435Global expansion is inching its way, step by step, across planet Earth––but some mother’s heart is crying.

Lives are being laid down in the Ukraine, Sudan, North Korea, Egypt, Syria and Nigeria––some mother’s child is dead.

Hate, spirited by greed and power, makes men do the detestable; violating the rights of other human beings––some mother’s heart is bleeding.

Some mother’s child in Nigeria is kidnapped from her school and thrown into a story that will mark her life forever––some mother’s heart is broken.

Every second, a mother is crying on this planet as she:

  • Watches her child destroyed by a bomb in a war that she didn’t start
  • Sees her child struggling against a disease for lack of proper medical care
  • Looks at her child starving from hunger in a world where plenty abounds
  • Observes her child drinking infested water that has enough bacteria to kill any animal.

Somewhere, some mothers’ hearts are crying.

Flowers, gifts, travel, and good eating––highlights of frenetic busyness design to show the priceless value of women and the joy of motherhood on Mother’s Day.

“What do you hear, Prophet? Tell me, what do you hear?”

“I hear the wailing of girls who have been kidnapped, sold into slavery, and sexually abused; I hear the voices of the Amintas’,  Shjahwanas’, Aishas’,  Asmas’,  Deborahs’, Ruths’,  Esthers’,  Kwantas’,  Kummanis’,  Larabes’, Jummanis’,  Fatimas’,  Palmantas’,  Aistatus’, Kabus’,  Yayis’, of this world.” And The Prophet began to cry.

“Prophet?”

“Shh, Shh.” The Prophet whispered.

A dark cloud appeared, and covering his ears, The Prophet said, “Oh, No!” And he shook his head as uncontrollable tears streamed down his face.

“What is it, Prophet? Tell me, what do you hear?”

“Some mothers’ hearts are crying.”

Yet, we celebrate Mother’s Day.

Photo on 2-13-14 at 2.30 PM

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Rise Up My Love. The Winter Is Past And Gone.

This time last year my legs were shaky, and I was swaddling around in uncertainties. Disappointed in the progress of my first book I was pondering over whether or not I had the stamina I needed to be the kind of writer that I desired to be.  Rise up my love. The winter is over, the rain is past and gone.

Sure, I got encouragement from other writers.  I even flirted with self-publishing, just to prove a point to myself, but facing my own reality, I knew that wasn’t the problem. The real problem lay within me.  I needed to know within myself whether or not I had something to say, regardless of whether I wrote fiction or non fiction, regardless of whether I was writing a blog article for a senior editor on my platform or for my own blogs. That was the question, and as I said last year in my last blog article I was Caught On My Blindside.

Not to mention that I had surgery, wrestle with the complications of having a sick partner, and living in a foreign country.  But, those were secondary problems that only covered the face of the real problem: what was going on inside of me. Like the Ground Hog article written on February 1st, I tried to leave my hole, but I finally went back in my hole to contemplate my misère.

Anything different from the majority sticks out. I don’t care what it is, and whom you are. You can have the same bone structure, same color of skin and the same hair particles, but you will stick out like a sore thumb when your soul is not at peace with itself.  People recognize that something is going on with you.  They may not be able to identify it, but it hangs like a shroud between you and them until it is resolved.

So there I was in 2013 wrestling with myself in all areas of my life. Wrestling with my soul as I came to grips with the direction I was heading in, which brings me down to what I want to say. Rise up my love. The winter is over, the rain is past and gone.

You’ll find me writing fewer blog posts this year than I have in the past. Not because I have given up writing, but because I decided that what I write has to make a statement. I don’t want to entertain with my blogs. I am trying to jar the minds of men and women and challenge them think, to agree or to disagree with my opinion, in other words, to communicate. It is my desire to establish a dialogue of communication in my blogs.  That means that when I don’t have anything to say, I’ll keep my big mouth shut.

As my mouthpiece, my blogs reflect my experiences on my journey, my beliefs, my struggles, and my overcoming.  They mirror how I see the world.  This does not mean that my view is correct. Many times it might be twisted, but I will never know that unless I challenge myself to listen to what others have to say. Thus, the rhythm of my blogs appearances will change to the following:

  • Walk On – four times a year,
  • Garcia’s Talks about Apple Products – four times a year,
  • Pat Garcia Book Reviews – twelve times a year,
  • Pat Garcia and Everything Must Change – seven times a year,
  • Garcia’s Views on Body Soul and Spirit – four times a year,
  • Wind, Rain, Winding Roads and Sunshine – seven times a year.

This will also give me the time I need to concentrate  on looking for the right agent for my books, establishing a much larger author platform than I have, taking the needed writing courses to improve myself in the ever changing requirements, in the Literary field, and to attend writing workshops that will let editors, agents and publishers know that I am out there.

Some of you know that I am a singer and musician too.  I travel quite a lot, giving concerts and conducting workshops here on the European Continent.  Therefore, another reason I needed to structure myself was for my music. Sometime this year, I would like to record a blues CD in cooperation with music and lyrics from a Canadian musician whom I admire deeply.

Without writing and music or music and writing, I am an empty hull searching for air so I can breathe. Rise up my love. The winter is over, the rain is past and gone.

So, as I rise, letting go of the shackles that keep me from moving out into the unknown and launch out on the water before me, I hope to meet you along the way as I travel further.  I invite you to enter into a conversation with me on my blogs, on Facebook, on Twitter, on Linked in, on WordPress, on Blogger, on American Diversity Report or anywhere else that I might write and to let me know how you see things happening around you or share with me your view of your state, country, or the world, and to disagree with me when you have a different point of view.  Disagreeing points of view do not mean that we have to be enemies. It means that we stretch ourselves to learn from each other and hopefully come away respecting the other’s opinion.

Finally, I hope you will share your joys and triumphs.  There is nothing that makes my soul merrier than to be able to listen to others as they share their joys, their happiness, and their struggle to overcome.

Hence, I challenge you to rise and move towards your life’s purpose; to rise from wherever you have hidden yourself, to look at the winter of your journey and say, the winter is over, the rain is past and gone as you move towards that which you know to be your destiny.

 So, Rise up my loves wherever you are. The winter is over, the rain is past and gone!

Photo on 12-31-13 at 1.54 PM

Shalom,

 Pat Garcia

Peace

Unlike what most people think, peace doesn’t vegetate at MacDonald, Burger King, Wendy’s or Chic-fil-A. You won’t find it at a German diner, a French Cafe or at an Italian restaurant. Neither does it reside at your most favorite steakhouse, nor is its habitat found at your nearest bar.  Like a kernel as small as a mustard seed peace germinates in the hearts of men and women

As the year closes, I look back at 364 days that have been a challenge for all humanity living on planet earth.  Many people died.  Death became an acceptable disease in our societies.  We have become desensitized to the suffering going on in the world. We see children being bombed, maimed, dying of starvation, or some type of curable disease, and we’re thankful that it doesn’t happen in the western world.  We hear the cry for peace, the scream for reconciliation as the roar of machine guns, and the use of chemical weapons become more and more the mode of acceptance, and the guilty receives a slap on the hands for committing a naughty act, and we sit back and flip through the television channels.  Gone are the days when people would march on the streets protesting the violence that we see penetrating itself and spreading out on every continent. Our silence stamps our approval upon the acts being committed, and nothing changes.

We are becoming a hedonistic society that balances our inner mental health on whether or not we have the perfect body, the newest fashion, the largest house, the fanciest car, or the most money, and those things control our hearts. We show those countries living in poverty the values that are important to us, and these people yearn to have the same things. People born in poverty call it the good life.  We magnify this view through television, movies and the Internet, and they learn that a new Cadillac supersedes a sick child, a new Lexus wipes away the guilt of a nuclear catastrophe, the shine on a new Ferrari outweighs the use of chemical weapons against helpless people and a brand spanking new Mercedes take precedent over laws that forbid selling uranium to nations that repressed and terrorize their citizens.

Have we not learned our lessons from the horrors that took place from 1933 to 1945?

Let us not kid ourselves.  Those same weapons, bombs, guns or whatever that we are producing or sanctioning by not lifting our voices against the policies that are being construed by our governments for the sake of diplomacy, regardless of which country we come from or live in, are the stamp of approval for the destruction of mankind.  We are accessories to the fact and are destroying the souls and bodies of our children.

I am not a pacifist. Believe me, I am not so naive as to think or believe that all mankind can be lovey dovey on this earth. That would be an impossible wish from me that borders on foolishness and stupidity.  However, it is never too late to communicate and relate honestly with integrity towards one another.  People who come together under such an alliance can shake the cruelest of nations.

Thus, as I stand at the doorway of time watching as the year 2014 creep patiently towards us, my New Year’s Resolution resonates in six words, Let there be peace on earth.

Happy New Year everyone!

Photo on 12-31-13 at 1.54 PM

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

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