The True Crisis in this World

The crisis of consciousness. The inability to embrace humility.

The question is posed: "Is this an "age of empathy?""

With this popular marketing catch cry "age of empathy" being bandied across the globe, the question was posed to Melissa,"Are we in "the age of empathy"? 
Do you feel we have we reached such connective depth?
 Melissa offers her perspective on this topic in this 3 minute excerpt from interview. 

From YouTube channel QBI333

Buy Melissa's Book

From an Ocean of Drafts...Reborn

Actually, I do write as Benedict Smith scribes it. 

I simply don't share it all publicly. 

However, now, from an ocean of drafts, this personal writing blog is reborn.

Shared 

For You

Melissa Hocking Hughes

Image via The Writers Circle

Pondering of truth and perception...

Quietly pondering, slowly sipping the divine double espresso in hand...

So many claiming to be on or guide us upon a "journey to the truth".

I ponder...

Are we not truth at our core?

Perhaps we have just in fact wandered, a ventured meander from the truth.

Can there can be such journey without truth anchoring the journey itself?

Could the misconstrued correlation of perspective as truth perhaps be the greatest disease of humankind?

And this is just early Monday morning's pondering. What shall the week unfold?!

Melissa ;)

As One, Let Us Cry Against this Violence "May Day!"

" Any woman, walking alone, is inviting being attacked..."

May 1st.
May Day.
An anniversary for me whereby only few years ago I, myself, cried "May Day" in a last, desperate, death-is-imminent call for help.

Yesterday, here in Australia a seventeen year old girl was raped at knifepoint in broad daylight. While many other crimes and tragedies no doubt occurred yesterday it is this assault that the media has latched on to. And the quote I opened this piece with is the "authorities'" response to what women should accept from this assault.

" Any woman, walking alone, is inviting being attacked..."

On this day a few years ago I was six months pregnant with identical twin girls to a man that claimed he loved me. Pregnant with the babies he had begged me to have.
On this day I called the police after he had physically beaten me, pinning me to the wall by the neck screaming in my ear that he was god and I should "submit to him or die". Thirty kilograms lighter than him and heavily pregnant it took all of my skill to get him off me and croak
"This time I'm calling the police..."
His response? He left the sole print of his size thirteen shoe bruised across my pregnant belly.
He was arrested and removed from our home and lives permanently.
I went to hospital fighting for my own life and the lives of my unborn girls.

The bruise from his final blow across my pregnant belly.
Image taken in evidence by Victoria Police.

My abdomen drawn tight with two babies growing within, that bruise shrouded my baby girls right up until the very day they defied him and were born healthy, strong and exquisitely beautiful.

Note that I said, "This time I'm calling the police."
This wasn't the first physical beating I received from him. No.

I never imagined that I would know empathy of domestic violence. Yet here I am.

According to VicHealth; "Violence against women is the leading contributor to death, disability and illness of women aged 15 to 44 years". 

For men in the same age bracket it is heart disease. 

It is time for all of us to cry "May Day!" against violence toward women. 

I am a sole parent to five children, four of whom are my daughters. While I raise my girls to be capable, I will not raise them to fear men. I will not have them believe what the so-called "authorities" that are employed to care and protect them are claiming; 

 "Any woman, walking alone, is inviting being attacked..."

This day is a celebratory anniversary of our survival and freedom for my children and I. We overcame foul abuse and violence in our own home. We've long since restored it's sanctuary.

Yet this day, with the news of the protective parties wiping their hands of their duty of care and demanding women walk in submission and fear... 

It is clear.

Never more than now do we need to stand as one and cry 

"May Day!" against violence toward women. 

A Bride walked alone...

All is appropriate. All happens with purpose.

It's been a week now and this woman has not left my mind...
Please feel free to share your theories on where she might have gone or who she may have been in the comments below :)

A week ago today it was Valentine's Day and I was driving the back roads over the mountain. Weekends are busy up here with tourists, hikers, bike riders, day trippers, driving enthusiasts and weddings. With such an exquisite environment upon this gorgeous mountain you can imagine there are any number of  busy reception centres and wedding venues and from Thursday through to Sunday the road is frequented by cars adorned with bridal ribbons.
I love driving myself, so on weekends, pretty much as I choose any day of my life really, I'll often take the uncommon road less travelled.
On Valentines Day, a gorgeous day, on such a road I came upon a sight most curious and unexpected:
A bride, fully gowned and veiled, carrying her shoes in her hand, was slowly walking along the edge of the unsealed road. A tiny, beautiful bride that had not made it down the aisle.
Alone.
In the middle of nowhere.
Not close to any venue, accommodation or even a home.

I had slowed when I saw her, and even more as I went to pass by her (after all, you don't want to throw a stone up into thousands of dollars of gown!) but as I drew closer I could feel the dark weight of desolation emanating from her...

She didn't look at all at the car as it approached or passed. Not with hope nor with fear. Her eyes did not even glance up from her focus upon the slow passing earth at her feet.
She didn't look up. Which I why I stopped my car.

My mind went powering into overdrive as to what this girl's story could be as I gently walked toward her, trying to anticipate what I could be dealing with.
You do not see a bride alone for any length of time on her wedding day. No-one else was even close. There was no car close by. The dirt upon the hem and the train of the dress suggested she had walked some way already.

Valentines Day can be a cruel beast for many. Based upon a farcical perception of what someone decided love should be like, it finds its roots in obligation. Obligation by its very nature, driven deep by expectation, always ends up in resentment.
Now add that burden to the expectations of a wedding...I wondered what had happened...

"Excuse me..." I gently touched her arm and she spun around in alarm.
Stepping back, I went on, "I didn't mean to frighten you. Can I help you at all? Do you need a lift somewhere?"
Silence. Staring me in the eye, dry-eyed, her face was erased of any emotion but a small furrow of confusion in her brow. The furrow didn't belong to me, it seemed to belong Life itself.
I spoke even more quietly, softly taking her hand and indicated upward, "The dappled sun through the trees is amazing,  isn't it?"
A little smile flickered over her face and she looked up, closing her eyes, feeling the sun.
I was relieved. She was still in there. But buried deep beneath the day it seemed.

Deliberating what to do next as I elevated her vibration (via my gift in frequency), there was an eruptive noise from my car.
Johnson, my big pup of a dog, had been waiting in the car. He had jumped from the back, over the seats to the front of the car and launching out the open driver's door was galloping joyously at us.
I had no time to explain that he was friendly. Due to his size alone most people would have simply run.

Going too fast he overshot and slid past us on the gravel. Then trotted back happily, sitting down before her, he tucked his chin down and put his paw up to shake her hand.
He waited.
She looked expressionlessly at him.
He put his paw higher for her.
She still didn't take it.
Instead she looked down at the shoes in her hand and slowly passed them to me to hold.
The moment I took them, the very moment they left her touch,
she fell upon the big brindle bear of a dog.
Her arms clutching desperately around him, Johnson leaned in on her as she sobbed and cried rawly. Then as fast as it had happened it stopped. She pulled back and looked at Johnson, his big head in her hands, patting him and smiling at him, the gratitude in her sweet warmth for him.

Then she stood up and silently, started walking again.
Not a glance back.
Not a word spoken.

Johnson, my dog, and I watched her until she went around the bend out of sight. It seemed we both knew our part in the journey with her was done.
It was only as I got into the car again that I realised I still had her beautiful bridal shoes in my hand.
turning the car we went down the road after her...only to find no sign of her at all!
No other car had passed. There was nothing and nobody for her to disappear into.

Eventually I let it go and went on to where I was expected to be.
But as I said, she has stayed with me.

A bride, alone, in the middle of nowhere on Valentine's Day.
I have wondered again and again what her story might be. What had happened? How was a bride alone at all, let alone where she was?
But oddly, I know she's ok. She will heal eventually. She will love again. She did not need to be rescued.

All is appropriate. All happens with purpose.

I do not understand the purpose behind this.
I love that I don't.
I love that Life insists on keeping me wondering.
That Life, unlike Valentines Day, ensures no obligation. That any expectation is my own. And all experience is free.
Thus, it is a life lived free of resentment.
(A life now also left with the momento of a tiny, size 6 pair of exquisite bridal heels) 

The Loudest is often the most Fearful

Walking with my children through a car park, moving between the parked cars,  my daughter jumped as a dog in a car we were passing erupted into a flurry of snarl, bark and growl. Through the window we could see him loaded backward, like a coiled spring on his haunches, his tail low and wagging with his vocal explosions.

"Look at him! These people should never bring a dog like that into a public area!", my daughter was frightened, edging away from the car, "Look! He's vicious!"

I caught her arm and quietly moved her back toward him, "No, he's not vicious. He's anxious. He's scared."

"Scared? Are we looking at the same dog, Mum?"

"Apparently not. It seems you're looking at some idea of what someone else has told you...", I looked in at him and he became louder,  "I'm looking at fear."

Already contained in a confined space within the car, he had nowhere to go or run if anyone were to enter or threaten his space. "Flight" was not an option, "fight" is all he had left. He had to make his threat as aggressive, as alarming as he could in the hope it would be enough to discourage any intruder and avoid the fight.

" Do you see, babe?" We looked in at him snarling, his little back against the wall furthermost from us, "The most frightened is often the noisiest. The guy with his back to the wall and nowhere to run."
 

                      

Photos of "Little Holly" care of Hope For Paws animal rescue organisation www.hopeforpaws.org 

Dog trainers working with military, security or police forces often measure the capability of a dog recommended to them by this first reaction upon meeting. It is requested that they enter the dog's yard or space without introduction to gauge the response.
The loudest is often not quite right for the services. It is the quiet dog that holds mind under pressure that they will take into training.

The loudest is often the most fearful.
In all animals.
Including we humans.

MHH