Harmony Kent's Blog, page 121

August 2, 2017

Welcome to Author Laurie Finkelstein!

Hello everyone. Today marks the third day of the month long blog tour set up by RWISA for RWISA authors.

My guest today is author Laurie Finkelstein,

and you can find her RWISA author page HERE.

Bulletproof Vest

By Laurie Finkelstein

The bulk, padding, and steel plates weigh me down. The protection of a bulletproof vest is necessary. No matter the weather, I wear the cloak. The weight is a burden, but I trek on because wrapped is the only way to navigate my journey. The jacket protects my heart from being blown to crimson shards of death.

A direct hit is avoided for days and nights, lulling me into calm and complacency. “All will work out fine,” I tell myself. The truth tells a story I want to change. All my will and might does not make an impact to stop the bombardment.

Experience and time separates me from tragedy. At any moment, the bullets strike. Inside or out. My house cannot provide security, nor can a million people surrounding me. With nowhere to hide, I am a target. Shelter and safety are nonexistent.

Discharges are held back while luck and grace harbor me. The slugs will come, however, in a piercing barrage without warning, and will pummel me.

Knocked to the ground, I am immobilized and rendered helpless. My breathing is halted. My movements are stopped, and I understand what assaulted me.

The shockwave subsides, and in small increments, I am able to take in air. Incapacitated, I continue to lie until I am rescued by the rational thinking buried under an avalanche of pain, doubt, and fear. My thoughts check my vitals to make sure I am in the here and now. “Stay in the moment,” I tell myself. “I can manage this. I will persevere.”

“Rise,” I command. The mass of the garb constricts my movement, but I stand, analyze what must be done, and begin to act. The warrior in me comes out. Battles will be fought. My impervious attire gets me through another crisis, and its weight comforts me. Without the guise, I am unable to prevail against the onslaughts, which pop out of the dark corners of another day.

Yes, my vest is cumbersome, but without my swathe I will not withstand the painful projectiles. Clips are filled, ready to punch and knock me down, disabling me should I forget for a moment to cloak myself within my protective armor.

My bullets are not made of lead, surrounded by a dense metal. The projectiles do not come from terrorists intent on decimating me. The ammo does not come from a police state or a dictator’s command. A barrel is not involved.

My bullets are made of depression, anxiety, and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Composed of irrational thoughts, insipid ideations, and ignorant rationalizations, they are crushing invisible forces. The capacity to shatter my resolve and render me dysfunctional invades me.

My unsociable enemy is treatable, but never disappears. My therapists validate my experiences of being trapped, resentful, guilty, shameful, ill-equipped, grief-stricken, lost, uncertain, and disabled. My growth in therapy helps me accept the challenge with compassion and empathy in my heart.

Throughout my lifetime three stages will haunt me.

Stage one is the onslaught of rounds. The crisis mode. The shock and pain.

Stage two is being slammed down, breath taken away. Sabotaged. Terms and feelings of the emergency are acknowledged.

Stage three is advocacy for myself. Stand. Breathe. Make decisions. Tools in hand to counteract the depression and anxiety and OCD. Utilize appropriate response and care.

Encouraged by others, I enroll in Toastmasters. Time for me to improve my public speaking and thinking on my feet. Professional and compelling ways of expressing my views is a talent I want to possess. Persuasive interactions are in reach. My computer with Google as my guide, I find the Toastmasters website. The rules and guidelines answer many of my questions. Ready to take on the challenge, I enter my credit card information and become a member. A direct thrust knocks me down.

At first, I don’t understand what attacks me. My heartbeat begins speeding up. My gasps for air speed up. My head spins with dizziness. The mighty effects of terror hammer me to the ground. Despair sinks me deeper into the attack.

Stage one. The thought of standing before people enunciating in a clear voice avoiding “ums” and “ahs” strikes with negative force. In a semi-frozen state of fear and regret, I struggle to make sense of my attacker. Groups of Toastmasters are warm, safe environments to learn public speaking and leadership skills. “Warm and safe,” I remind myself. Still my heart beats faster and my breath diminishes by the second. A ghost of recognition appears before me. Panic is familiar.

Stage two. My history tells me to take an extra Klonopin. Scared to death is not an option. Upon reaching my medicine cabinet with weak, wobble-producing legs, I discover my pill case empty. In my next move, I check the bottle. Empty. My heart beats faster and my limbs go numb. Sweat trickles down my forehead. My last attempt before I collapse in a heap of despair, I call my pharmacist. My trembling voice separated from my body explains my attack and lack of pills. “How fast can you fill the prescription?” my quivering voice speaks out. “Is ten minutes okay?” the pharmacy technician asks.

Stage three. My inner voice tells me to be brave. Think of a serene place. My happy place. Take deep soothing breaths. My toolbox is ransacked for more options until I come to grips with the present. The dispensary is too far to hike, so I must drive to pick up my pills. Cranked engine. Foot on pedal. Brake released. My self-talk takes me on a wild ride to the drug store. My trembling legs walk me to the back of the aisles. The friendly face of the tech reassures me. The credit card transaction is signed with a jellylike hand, completing the purchase.

Back in my car, I down the remedy with tepid water from an old bottle sitting in my trash. My panting is steadier, my heart pounding a little less. Within thirty minutes, I am relaxed, able to pursue my day. Ready to reassess my decision to become a Toastmaster. The choice is sound and important.

My bulletproof vest is worn as a badge of honor and survival. Without my garb, I would be a prisoner in my house, hiding in bed. Sick to my stomach. Useless.

The stigma of mental illness must be broken. My vest is worn with pride. I am a survivor. I am the voice of one in every five Americans experiencing the assailant. I am not alone.

***

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA“ WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan. WE ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs. Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent! Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author: Laurie Finkelstein RWISA Author Page

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Published on August 02, 2017 20:21

August 1, 2017

Welcome to Author Karen Ingalls!

Hello everyone. Today marks the second day of the month long blog tour set up by RWISA for RWISA authors.

My guest today is author Karen Ingalls,

and you can find her RWISA author page HERE.

A FISHY DAY

By Karen Ingalls

It was one of those wonderful August days when the sun was high and warm in the sky. The big cumulus clouds slowly drifted by, creating designs that filled Jim’s imagination, who at nine years could see all kinds of amazing sights. He had been playing with his model airplane in his aunt and uncle’s yard, where he spent the summers on their ranch in San Diego, California. Staying with Uncle Leon and Aunt Helen was always a special time of adventure, fun and farm work.

“Jim, do you want to go to the pasture with me? We’ll check the water trough for the cattle,” Uncle Leon asked, at the same time he took his handkerchief and wiped some perspiration from his tan brow.

“Oh, yes,” Jim responded with great excitement. He ran to the front porch and put his treasured airplane on the table next to where Aunt Helen sat in her rocking chair.

Uncle Leon walked over to the Allis-Chalmers tractor and stretched his long, thin legs up and over onto the metal seat. “All right, Jim, you can come on up now.” Jim awkwardly managed to climb up and grab hold of his uncle’s hand, who swung him onto his lap. With the turn of the key the tractor began to vibrate and the engine roared. Shifting the gears into forward, Leon yelled, “Here we go!”

The pasture was a favorite place for Jim with its rolling hills, oak trees, and green grass. It was always a peaceful place where a boy could run until he was out of breath, and then fall onto the grass and let the wind gently blow over his panting body. Many were the times that Jim would spend his days, just climbing in the oak trees pretending he was hiding from some enemy, or shooting squirrels with his imaginary rifle.

He and his uncle drove through the pasture until they came to a large trough sitting by a water pump on the top of a knoll. The cattle were grazing some distance away, but their occasional moos could be heard.

Uncle Leon helped Jim off the tractor and then sauntered up to the trough. “Not much water left so we best get this filled up.”

Jim was leaning over the trough where the top of it just reached his chest. “What can I do? I want to help.”

“Well, now, how about you pump the water in once I get it primed,” replied Uncle Leon with his usual smiling face. He was happy that Jim wanted to help, but he also knew that pumping water would be a big job for such a young lad. Once he had the water flowing with each downward motion of the pump handle, he instructed, “Okay, young feller, it is your turn now.”

Jim eagerly grabbed the handle and standing on his tiptoes, pushed it down, smiling happily when the water gushed into the trough. He repeated the pumping for as long as he could, but all too quickly his arms and shoulders began to ache. Jim did not want to admit that he was getting tired, but his uncle knew and said, “How about if I do it for a while?”

Once the water neared the top, Jim leaned over cupping some water into his hands. “This is the best tasting water I’ve ever had,” Jim thought to himself. He slurped several handfuls into his dry mouth.

Looking over at his nephew, Leon asked with a twinkle in his eye, “Did you see that fish drop into the water from this here pump?”

“What fish?”

“Why, that fish that came right out of the pump into the trough. I thought sure you would have seen him while you were drinking the water.”

“No, sir. I didn’t see any fish.” Jim wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve and earnestly looked in the water.

“Well, he must still be in there.” Uncle Leon leaned over the trough looking for the mysterious fish. “Now isn’t that something. I can’t see him anywhere.” He peeked a look at his nephew, who now had eyes as big as saucers. “I wonder if you accidentally swallowed that poor little fish while you were drinking all that water.”

Jim stepped back from the trough and began to rub his stomach. “I don’t think so, sir.” The minutes passed and Uncle Leon continued to wonder out loud what happened to the fish. Jim began to imagine that the fish was swimming in his stomach. “I don’t feel so good,” Jim said as he stretched down on the cool grass.

Seeing that his nephew was fearful and feeling sick, Uncle Leon laid down next to him and pointed up towards the clouds. “Jim, look at that cloud up there. See the little one next to the big puffy cloud?”

He waited until Jim nodded his head and said, “I think so.”

“It kind of looks like a fish, doesn’t it? I wonder if that is the fish that was in the trough.”

Jim looked at his uncle, then up at the clouds, and then back at his uncle who was smiling from ear to ear. Uncle Leon laughed and began to tickle Jim’s stomach. “Or, is that fish still here? Where is that fish?”

Jim laughed and joked right back while he patted his uncle’s stomach. “No, I think that fish is right here!”

Soon they both stopped laughing and just looked at one another. “I hope I don’t tease you too much,” Uncle Leon said.

“Oh no, Sir.” Jim looked at his uncle and went on to say, “I like to tease my younger brothers. Mother is always telling me not to do it too much. She doesn’t want them to cry.”

“Well, I would never want to make you cry.” Uncle Leon put his big hand on Jim’s head. “Do you know why?” Jim slowly shook his head back and forth not wanting his uncle to remove his hand. “I love you too much to ever make you cry for any reason.”

With tears in his eyes, Jim whispered, “I love you, too.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the sun, the warm breeze, and just being next to one another in the grass, watching the clouds drift by. It was a special day that Jim always remembered with a smile.

***

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Published on August 01, 2017 20:13

Welcome to Author Yvette M Calleiro!

Hello everyone. Today marks the first day of the month long blog tour set up by RWISA for RWISA authors.

My guest today is author Yvette M Calleiro,

and you can find her RWISA author page HERE.

Words

By Yvette M Calleiro

The written word and I

Are cherished friends,

Embracing each other’s thoughts and emotions

Like kindred spirits,

Dancing on clouds.

Bosom buddies who gossip and giggle

And gasp at all the same moments.

She and I are equals,

More than that, really.

We are two parts of a whole,

Complementing and complimenting the other,

Perfect beings.

The spoken word and I

Skirt around each other’s social circles.

We stumble around awkward pauses,

Unable to pull the perfect word or phrase

From our filing cabinet of knowledge.

Ease and grace flee without a moment’s notice.

She is more skilled than I.

She whispers her intricately woven ideas into my mind,

But her delicate strength is no match for

The hills of anxiety and the mountains of insecurity

That obstruct her path to freedom.

Before her words can reach my tongue,

They unravel into shreds of confusion,

Left unspoken.

If only the written word and the spoken word

Could meet…

They would live in perfect harmony.

But alas…

It is not meant to be,

Neither willing to leave her domain,

Each content to dance alone,

And I…

I am stuck in the middle,

Pulled in both directions,

Reveling in the comfort of the written word,

Needing the spoken word to survive.

But still I dream

Of the day when my words will intermingle

And a new love affair can be born.

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Published on August 01, 2017 03:10

July 3, 2017

Welcome to RRBC Spotlight Author: Robert Fear!

Hello everyone. It gives me great pleasure to host author Robert Fear today on his RRBC Spotlight tour! Take it away, Robert …

Travel Stories and Highlights

While working on the second edition of Fred’s Diary 1981, I started a blog in February 2015 to assist me with the editing process. Exactly 35 years later, to the day, I published an edited version of each day’s entry. This ran for 158 days from February through to July and coincidentally the days of the week were the same as when I originally wrote the diary.

To encourage people to visit the blog fd81.net I started a Travel Story competition, with prizes, for entries of between 500-1000 words and ran this in parallel with the daily diary extracts. There was a very encouraging response and in all there were thirty entries from a range of well-known authors to first time writers.

It was such a success that I subsequently ran another competition for Travel Highlights of between 50-100 words. Again this went very well and in all there were twenty-five entries.

I then decided to publish all the entries in a new book called Travel Stories and Highlights. After getting permission from all the contributors I started compiling the book and it was published late in 2015.

Last year I re-ran the two competitions. Again, there were a lot of fantastic entries and a 2017 Edition of Travel Stories and Highlights was published in December 2016 with the best 50 travel stories and 50 highlights from both sets of competitions.

To give you a flavour of the book, here are five of the Travel Highlights (50-100 words):

The First Tapa Is All It Takes!

by Bob Manning

Hesitating at the door; Stopped in my tracks by the bedlam within.

I peered through the smog.

The congested bar stretched into inconspicuousness.

Sinister and sublime.

Pinpointing a space amongst the revelers, I cut through the sultry atmosphere, kickin-up the debris of discarded delights.

I clung to the glutinous counter.

The barman’s raised eyebrows questioned me.

“Caña” I smiled.

With brutal efficiency he slopped a small beer in front of me, whilst summoning “the first”.

Indeed it was.

An old crone delivered a small plate of orange gunge. Temptingly dangerous.

“Foreigner” she spat.

The air thickened.

Snorkelling Alone

by Shirley Ledlie

As I snorkelled alone in the warm Gulf of Aquaba, I was transported to a different world. It was easy to lose track of time and I soon found myself at the drop-off ridge.

I’ll watch this shoal of fish for a few minutes and then I’ll head back. With a blink of an eye they vanished!

What’s frightened them? My blood ran cold, I felt alone.

Effortlessly gliding up behind me, the reef shark returned my stare. He stopped in front of me.

This is it.

Then, with a flick of his tail, he was gone, shooting off into the abyss.

France in the Mist

by Beth Haslam

Exploring a lane flanked by late sunflowers, all blanketed in thick rolling mist. Noises deadened, flower heads sodden, quiet, still, so still.

Ahead, an ancient hamlet enveloped in the grey, nestled between woods and open flatland.

Fragmented baying of hounds boom in the eerie distance.

I start in shock.

A terrified wild boar, prehistoric-like form, tusks, pelt, stink, breaks cover and claims sanctuary in the woods below.

The hounds, close now, indefinable in colour and shape, men with guns, whips and curses. The mist conceals all and they are gone.

France, still medieval, frozen in a preternatural moment in time.

Quake Mistake

by Frank Kusy

At 8.46am on January 26th 2001, I was shaken out of my bed in India by what I assumed to be a super-loud banging at my door.

I was so incensed, I stormed to the door, grabbed the person standing outside, and blindly shook him. ‘It’s taken me hours to get to sleep!’ I shouted. ‘Bog off and leave me alone!’

Two hours later, I found the hotel manager, Mr Singh, cowering behind his desk in terror.

‘What are you doing down there?’ I asked him, and he said, ‘Big earthquake this morning. Whole hotel is shaking. No more attack, please!’

Off the Rails

by Tony James Slater

I sprinted down the platform, ignoring all sounds of pursuit.

The train was like something from 1970’s Britain, only daubed with indecipherable Chinese characters. The air was hot and spicy.

I swung into my carriage with one thought: Must Reach My Wife.

She was already aboard; if it left without me we’d be completely adrift, separated by a thousand miles of deepest China.

“Thank God!” she said, “I was so worried!”

“Yeah,” I panted, “but we have a problem…”

Her eyes widened as she saw the policemen forcing their way down the carriage towards me. All were carrying machine guns.

Travel Stories and Highlights: 2017 Edition – getBook.at/TravelStories

This year I am running both competitions for the third time. The 2017 Travel Story Competition finishes on July 31st. The 2017 Travel Highlights Competition will run from mid-September until mid-November 2017. For more details check out this blog page: fd81.net/competition

Author Bio:

Born in Leicester, UK in 1955, Robert’s family moved to Surrey when he was 11. He was educated at Reigate Grammar School. After this he worked at a bank in London for several years before getting the travel bug. Fred, a nickname he got at school, stuck throughout his travels and has remained with him to this day. His travels took him to Ibiza for the summer of 1977, hitch-hiking around Europe in 1978 and the USA and Canada in 1979. During this time he also settled and worked in Germany. Fred’s Diary 1981 was written during the 158 days he spent travelling around Asia.

These days Robert is happily settled in Eastbourne, East Sussex where he lives with his wife and three cats. He works as a software consultant and has been able to combine work with some travel during the past fifteen years, having visited countries as far apart as Australia, Singapore, Ghana and Suriname.

Facebook – @fredsdiary1981

Twitter Handle – @fredsdiary1981

Website – http://www.fd81.net/

* * *

Fred’s Diary 1981 getBook.at/FredsDiary1981

Travel Stories and Highlights getBook.at/TravelStories

Exclusive Pedigree getBook.at/ExclusivePedigree

Robert’s other tour stops can be found HERE. Thanks for stopping by!

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Published on July 03, 2017 19:24

May 9, 2017

#RRBC Spotlight Author: Laura Libricz!

Hello and welcome to Harmony’s place today! It gives me great pleasure to host author Laura Libricz on her Rave Reviews Bookclub Spotlight tour! Take it away, Laura

Welcome to Day 4 of my #RRBC “SPOTLIGHT” Author Blog Tour. I would like to thank the RRBC and my host for such a great opportunity.

Today we’re talking about an important aspect of German history: the witch trials of the early seventeenth century. This post is a heavier but one I feel is important because this theme is central in my second novel The Soldier’s Return, scheduled to be released in September 2017. This happened years before the famed Salem witch trials. We’ll look specifically at the city of Bamberg in Germany where women and men were being persecuted in the thousands.

Throughout the dark ages, Christianity had difficulties setting down roots among the Germanic tribes. Stories are told of saints who came to the German people and destroyed sacred trees and mystical places to show the people that their gods had no power. Even after Christianity took hold and the Catholic Church was established in the Germanic territories of the Holy Roman Empire, evidence shows that the Germanic people held onto their beliefs in goddesses, magic, herbal remedies, and pagan practices.

Persecution of heathens and witches was regular but not widespread in Germany in the medieval period. But as the Catholic Church grew swollen and corrupt, pagans were seen as a threat. Pope Innocent IV declared in his papal bull Ad extirpanda, dated 1252, that the use of magic, herb collecting, and questionable gatherings in so-called mystical or heathen sites was forbidden and to be enforced by torture. The famed Hammer of the Witches, the Malleus Maleficarum, the handbook by Heinrich Kramer on what witchcraft was and how to deal with it, was first published in 1486 and remained popular for two hundred years.

In the early 16th century, a new opposition to Rome appeared in the Empire among the Germanic territories: the Protestant movements. The most famous of these movements was the Reformation led by the teachings of Martin Luther. The Catholic Church was quickly losing the Germanic regions to this new teaching. By the middle of the 16th century, many major German cities had officially converted to Protestantism. As the 16th century came to a close, severe weather, failing crops, rising prices, disease, and an overall doomsday atmosphere fueled the Catholic Church’s renewed efforts to win back the territories.

Someone or something was responsible for the woes of the world and whoever or whatever was going to pay. People had deep fears regarding Satan and witches and these fears could be used to re-seize power. Doctrine and rumors spread quickly because of widespread use of the printing press. Illustrations were popular and even illiterate people could be influenced. Scapegoats were found at first among those people who could least defend themselves: women, children, the poor, the uneducated. Even Martin Luther and the Protestants condemned witches and supported their torture and execution.

In the center of this mania was Franconia, Germany and the witch burning stronghold of Europe, the bishopric Bamberg. During the time of the Thirty Years War (1618 – 1648), more witch trials and executions took place in this area than in any other area in Europe. Thanks to the efforts of historians (see: Sources, at the end of this article), much of the available information has been catalogued and can be reviewed in their publications.

A few thousand documents survived that dark period from 1616 to 1631 even though they had come close to being lost. At some point between 1830 and 1840, the Old Court in Bamberg had a clear out and sold lots of old papers to a housewares shop. The shop had a stand on the market and wrapped their wares in these old papers. Luckily, a historian named Johann Adam Messerschmitt noticed his order of nails was wrapped in official witch trial documents. He bought all the papers and secured them in the Bamberg archive.

What is left today are the documented fates of 884 accused men, women and children. Among the papers, historians have found protocols of the inquisitions. The questions used by the inquisitors were often so comical that the accused would laugh. The demand for reports of the instances of dancing and dining with the devil, what was eaten and drunk at these parties, and who was among the other participants was at first not taken seriously. The documented torture protocols, invoices for jail stays, and invoices to the families of the executed for the wood used in the witch fire are disturbing at the very least.

The first accused were those most easily arrested but soon branched out to include other victims as well. This included well-to-do citizens whose complete possessions and properties were confiscated by the church. Other high-profile citizens opposed the trials as did the whole of the Bamberg city council. One by one these families were arrested, tortured and executed, city chancellors and their families eliminated. This included the five-time mayor Johannes Junius, whose case is one of the most well-documented. The secret letter he wrote to his daughter explaining his innocence exists today.

The witch persecution ended dramatically in 1632. Swedish troops invaded and occupied Bamberg, ended the persecution, and the last of the detained were let go. A few trials took place after this period but the executions were stopped. In August 2015, almost 400 years later, after a massive initiative by the citizens’ group Bürgerverein-Mitte, the Mahnmal, a memorial to warn of past wrongs, was erected to remember the innocent men, women, and children who were accused, tortured and executed.

We remember because ‘their suffering compels us to stand against all types of marginalization, abuses of power, degradation and every sort of fanaticism.’

May 7, 2017

Monday Musings Forty-eight: Hearing No Words

Hearing no Words

Children have a knack for hearing what we don’t say. They rely little on our actual utterances. In the same way, people might hear our words, but for sure, they will feel our attitude. So, while it’s important to watch what we say, it is also important to keep an eye on how we say it. Our attitude can change the whole meaning of even one simple word completely, let alone a whole monologue.

Even more so when writing rather than speaking, it is easy for others to misinterpret our intent, and so we have to take even more care when writing an email, sending a text message, or posting a comment online. And still, even without our presence, some of our attitude will seep through. What becomes a bigger problem, though, is that people will be left guessing at our intention much more than when we are in their presence.

If we feel a need to accuse someone of something or point something out, then we have to proceed with utmost caution. And before we write a thing, or say a thing, we have to ask a few questions of ourselves. Why are we doing it? Is it good to say something? Do we have all our facts straight? Will it do any good? If, upon asking these, we still feel it good to go ahead, then we need to approach it in the right frame of mind.

Let your compassion shape your words, not your hurts or misperceptions.

Remember, we are in competition with no one. I for one have no wish to be better than anyone; I simply wish to be better than I managed to be yesterday. Where are you coming from? What’s your attitude saying about you?

From the other side, what do you do when you feel accused of something of which you are innocent (or believe you are innocent)? We don’t need to learn how to react but rather how to respond. And we are all doing our best all the time. If we truly knew better, we would do better.

An age-old truth tells us that muddy water is best cleared by leaving it alone.

As discussed in past Monday Musings, silence is often the best answer. With our thoughts (attitude) we make our world. If we want happiness and accord to follow us rather than anger and discord, then we need to keep our attitude (mind) clear and let the silt settle to the bottom.

In the wise words of Zen:

‘Your worst enemy cannot harm you as much as your unguarded thoughts.’

If you’ve missed my previous Monday Musings, you can find the links here: http://www.harmonykent.co.uk/category/monday-musings/

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Published on May 07, 2017 19:47

April 30, 2017

Monday Musings Forty-seven: The Thief in the Night

Thief in the Night

This may seem obvious, but many kinds of stealing exist that we might not even think about, not just the common ones such as money or property, but also time, peace of mind, hope, trust, etc.

While ordinary riches can get stolen, real riches cannot. Within you live infinitely precious riches that nobody can take from you. Only you. How many times do we steal from ourselves by selling ourselves short?

Instead, believe in yourself. Tell yourself that you can do it. You can do anything. You only have to believe. Live it. Breathe it. Make it as though it already is. Don’t sell yourself short. Don’t steal from yourself.

Don’t believe all the dark things you might tell yourself at night, in the wee small hours, when you can’t sleep. If you do, you’re apt to become a thief in the night, who steals sleep as well as peace of mind. In the words of Ben Williams, ‘There was never a night or a problem that could defeat sunrise or hope.‘

And, remember, just because somebody else says it, you don’t have to believe it. We might think that another can steal our peace of mind too, but really, only we have that power. We make the choice to respond to another person or stay grounded within our hearts and minds.

To embark upon a spiritual path, or a path of self-improvement, doesn’t mean that you won’t face tough times. If anything, you’re more likely to have times of darkness as you become more self-aware, and also more sensitive to the words and actions of those around you. Such times of darkness and difficulty, we can use as tools to help us grow and evolve.

As ever, it all comes down to the stories we make up. What we choose to tell ourselves. One unexpected and random act of kindness can become the most powerful agent of change. While it’s good to offer that to others, don’t forget the person reading this. The buck doesn’t just stop with you, it starts with you, too.

Always, you stand one decision, one thought away from a different life. Even the smallest of events can have profound effects. And, most of the time, we walk into the unknown. We cannot foresee what will happen if we do or say x, y, or z. Which makes trust all important, as well as patient perseverance and our outlook.

In the wise words of Zen:

‘One small positive thought in the morning can change your whole day.’

If you’ve missed my previous Monday Musings, you can find the links here: http://www.harmonykent.co.uk/category/monday-musings/

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Published on April 30, 2017 20:11

April 23, 2017

Monday Musings Forty-six: An Eye For An Eye

An Eye For An Eye

In the current climate of world troubles and terror attacks, it seems apt to say a few words on revenge and attempting to control others. Violence is never the answer. As the Buddha stated in the Dhammapada:

‘Hatred does not cease by hatred,

by love alone does hatred cease.’

Other wise teachings tell us that it is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Only then will we ever find peace. Only here, within this body, right now, can the seed of world peace find a home and begin to grow.

We’ve all heard the common Christian saying taken from the Bible that would seem to tell us to ‘take an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’. Unfortunately, like another oft misquoted verse (the sun shines on the righteous), this has gotten taken out of context and twisted into something it was never meant to be. The full verse changes the meaning entirely:

Matthew (5:38-42) New Testament, ‘Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.’

So, rather than an instruction for revenge, it offers sage advice to turn the other cheek. When we take a closer look, we find the same with the ‘righteous’ quote too (the sun shines on the righteous and unrighteous alike). As with Monday Musings Twenty-three, forgiveness isn’t what we think and benefits the forgiver far more than the perpetrator.

No true religion advocates terrorism and has as its basis spirituality, which demands of us compassion for all living things. Terrorism has no religion. Historian Howard Zinn tells us, ‘It’s not right to respond to terrorism by terrorizing other people.’ Remember, hate begets hate. Do you want to live in a world of hate?

Sometimes the best response is no response; i.e. be still and know thyself. Be still and do no harm. Be still. Empty. Let go. Don’t add fuel to the fire of anger. Pour the waters of compassion. Early on in our Monday Musings, we talked about how we make our world, and then we live in it. Mind made are all things. It always comes down to our perception—how we see a thing.

We mould the clay into a vessel, and then we get busy filling the emptiness inside. It saddens me deeply that we miss that we have the choice of what we put into that pristine emptiness. That emptiness holds whatever we want.

Our every action and thought impact us, whether we realise it or not. They effect us far more than they can ever affect another.

In the wise words of Zen:

‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.’

If you’ve missed my previous Monday Musings, you can find the links here: http://www.harmonykent.co.uk/category/monday-musings/

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Published on April 23, 2017 20:00

April 17, 2017

Stories to make your mind go into overdrive

Hi everyone!

Having launched my latest book, Moments, on Friday 14th, I wanted to share with you all my very first review. I’m always nervous each time I release a book, and this fantastic first review soon set my mind at ease.

Huge thanks to With Love for Books for taking the time to read and review!

***

Book review
By Anniek

Isabelle is a fourteen-year-old girl. She’s on the run from her abusive stepfather. She hasn’t told her mother about what happens when she’s at work. Isabelle sees no way out anymore and badly wants to kill this mean man. When she hides beneath a willow Isabelle finds help in the most unexpected place. What will she do with the knowledge that she’s gained?

Isabelle is just one of the characters you’ll meet in Moments. Harmony Kent’s stories are dark, but always hold a glimmer of hope and light. She addresses topics that most people have dealt with in their lives, for example negative thoughts, grief and illness, but also second chances, choices and love.

One of the poems that I felt deeply in my soul is about dementia. My grandmother is suffering from this terrible disease and this poem brought me on the verge of crying.

In My Shoes

Footprints in the dust

the traffic of life

rubbing them away

Wandering

back in time

no longer present

A stranger wearing my shoes
each step erases

a little more memory

Harmony Kent has written beautiful stories and poems that made my mind go into overdrive. She encouraged me to think beyond the literal content of her stories and made me contemplate the deeper meaning of her poems. In a Letter to my Future Self she writes: ‘Those that matter are the ones that love you come what may’. If you could have written a letter to you future self what is the one thing that you would’ve written down for sure? I loved the questions I couldn’t help but constantly ask myself while I was reading Moments. Normally I’m not into short stories very much, but I loved reading Harmony Kent’s collection. When I’m sending a postcard to someone I always like to personalize the card by using a fitting quote. I’m sure that I’ll consult Moments on many occasions for the poems and the messages they contain.

Advice

If you like thought-provoking short stories and poems with a deeper meaning I highly recommend Moments.

***

The link to the original post is HERE.

You can buy and preview MOMENTS by going to my book page HERE.

Thanks for stopping by and sharing my writing and publishing journey with me!

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Published on April 17, 2017 05:06

April 13, 2017

#RRBC Book and Blog Block Party!

Welcome to the 2017 RRBC SPRINGTIME BOOK & BLOG BLOCK PARTY!
Welcome to Harmony’s place, Cornwall, UK

Prizes I have on offer today:
1st place = ONE copy each of the reader’s choice of TWO of my ebooks. PLUS a $5 Amazon GC.

2nd place = One copy of the reader’s choice of ONE of my ebooks.
3rd place = (United Kingdom Only—sorry) A bit of SWAG: Bookmarks and a notepad.

Number of winners on this stop: Three!

All you have to do is leave a comment! Good luck

Today, I am launching my latest book, MOMENTS

A Collection of Short Stories and Poems

Well, folks, I thought it was about time that I brought together much of my imagination that has been scattered around for a while, lols. My latest book comes out today, and the order links are listed at the end of the post

About the Book:

Come.

Take a moment to delve into tales from the dark side, have fun with fantasy, dabble in dystopia, and court danger in a little science fiction.

These tales touch upon death, grieving, war, fresh starts, hope, courage, change, choices, and encouragement.

And then, after all that, you’ll find the poems.

From the lonely echoes of an empty house to the soaring heights of unexpected love and joy and learning to live as free as clouds and water.

For each of us, a moment encompasses a lifetime and, yet, passes in but the blink of an eye. In but a moment, everything can change. And in this very moment, life beckons in all its potentiality.

When the shadows fall, what will you do?

Excerpt One:

(From The Locked Door)

Only in its absence did Celeste simultaneously notice and miss the comfort the sound had offered. Shrouded (smothered) in the cold, swirling mist, the world felt muted. As though she may well be the last person on the planet. And now, inexplicably, her shoes no longer clip-clopped an accompanying beat to her hurried steps.

Chilled, and not so much from the weather, Celeste paused mid-step, one foot held a couple of inches above the frigid ground. Her breath frosted the air but immediately became lost in the world of white. When she sucked in the next one, it caught in her throat. Celeste listened.

Halloween had to be the worst night to have gotten caught outside at midnight. And this unseasonably icy fog felt surreal and threatening. What’s more, the further she walked, the thicker and colder it grew.

When had she stopped hearing her footsteps? And why did the air feel so solid all of a sudden? Her next step confirmed her fears; each lift of the leg felt like wading through treacle. Perhaps, she ought to go home. How hard could it be to break in?

Excerpt Two:

(From the poem Hello)