Non Accidental Events Lead to Intentional Good-True Story

Non Accidental Events Lead to Intentional Good

by: Ronovan

Sometimes you just don’t know how you ended up where you are. I’ve been in many ‘places’ over my many years and somehow they end up being connected in one way or the other. Oh, I don’t mean by actually connected in the sense that one thing knew the other but in that there was a reason one happened and ended and the next began.

Light at the end of the tunnelI had an interesting life growing up. I was born of two people who were picking oranges in the groves of Florida during a time of free love, or maybe at the end of that era really. My father from Tupelo, MS. who was a drummer, guitar playing singer who drove a truck and recorded at Sun Records in Memphis, TN. Yes that Sun Records, and yes, that’s where Elvis recorded. And no, he wasn’t Elvis.

He was also part of the Southern Mafia which led me into a few interesting situations. Ever been 3 years old and been chased down dirt roads in Florida by a man with a gun? No? I didn’t think you had. How about being back home in Tupelo, MS and having to be slung around in a truck doing a 180 because of some ‘men’ that had blocked the road to stop your father? No? Well then you didn’t get shot at and the windows shatter either.

There were other things that happened as well, all in the span of the years up to my 2nd grade in school. That’s when I ‘arranged’ for a girl on the playground to see the black belt mark across my back and run to the teacher. I had made a promise not to tell, and I was a good boy and kept my promises. I didn’t ‘tell’ anyone. After the police and social workers finished with me that day I never saw my bio father again. He and my mother were divorced anyway, so no great loss.

But through that and a series of not accidental events, because I know that all things are used for the good of life, I ended up in a situation where I worked with young people and helped many with home lives that were rough. Even the arrangement of time to work with them was an obvious non accidental event.

Even today, being here in the blog world and meeting new people, encouraging and being encouraged has been another non accidental event out of a life changing event. Good comes out of everything, no matter how bad it is, it only remains a negative influence on me/you if you let it be such.

 

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-2014

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Church Playground Memories

Church Playground Memories

by: Ronovan

 After I came home from the hospital even I knew something was missing, but I didn’t know what. I just felt incomplete somehow. For a person suffering from amnesia that probably doesn’t sound unusual, but this was something that I just knew was missing, I could feel it.

But I only had the feeling when I went to the doctor’s office, or some type of testing. My clothes were laid out for me. I had my wallet, keys (although not allowed to drive), a 10 dollar bill, and a pen. Apparently I always carry a pen.

My belt was in place, all of my clothing was the way it should be. It really bothered me though. I put it down as possibly my not driving. Maybe I just wanted to be the driver since I always drove everywhere. Perhaps I just was not accustomed to being on the passenger side of the car looking around.

Then one day it hit me. There was a burning in my pocket. I noticed each time I left the house, not actually my own house, that my right pants pocket felt lighter than it should. There was a spot that didn’t feel right. Even looking down at my pocket when seated there was something odd about how it appeared.

A flash of yellow came to me. And that made me think of the word, ‘pecan’. I wasn’t able to speak yet but I quickly wrote it down and shoved it toward the driver. She looked at it.

“Do I have a pecan?”

“Yes,” she said.

I held my hands out and shrugged.

“I don’t know where it is,” she said.

I quickly scribbled down my flash.

“Yellow toy box.”

“Yes. I know what you mean, beside your chair.”

A few days later it arrived.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a pecan before. They are oblong and pointy on the ends, but not this one. This one glows and looks like polished wood. When the light hits it there is character and grooves you don’t see in a normal pecan shell.

When I touched it for the first time again, the smoothness of the shell was comforting and familiar. I instantly held it to my ear and shook it. I could hear the rattling inside.

My eyes closed and I ran my finger tips around the shell slowly and could feel the ridges that you normally didn’t realize were there. Maybe they normally weren’t. Then I slipped it into my pocket and the weight was right. My balance was right. Just a few ounces but it was right. When I sat down, the sight was right.

My mind tingled with it with me again.

“For you, Daddy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I found it for you.”

Of course the smile crossed my face and a big hug was given. “Then it goes right here and never leaves,” I said. I slipped it into my pocket. The smile crossed his face.

A pecan as a prized possession may sound a bit odd to some, but six years earlier my little son had walked up to me with a smile from the church playground and given it to me. To him it may have been just a find that day.

The grey shell had turned into polished brown like the finest piece of furniture. But this hadn’t been done by a machine. This had been done by years of being in my hands through the day, and living inside my pocket forever being polished.

My Pecan - Copy

Now that I had it back I was more at ease. Every night he comes to me and asks “Do you have your thing?” “Yeah.” “Okay.” He now knows how special it is to me. He knows I remembered it. He knows I know him. He knows I don’t want to lose it.

Some prized possessions may have monetary value to them, even family heirlooms, but for me, a moment of innocence that can never be captured again . . . that’s my prized possession. The pecan is a reminder of it, but the real possession is the memory of it. That’s what I have, that memory. Memories of your children can bring you back to life. That’s what happened to me.

Maybe you have a memory. Perhaps riding along with your child in your lap in a golf cart, or smiling up at you with such love in their eyes at an ice cream parlor, or giggling when you tickle them. Those are prized possessions.

Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites©.wordpress.com-June 27, 2014.

Finding Freedom

Finding Freedom

by: Ronovan

Think about a person you hate. It doesn’t have to be someone you personally know. Seriously think about that person. Now think of the sucking of emotional energy from your body the mere name of that person does to you.

It’s similar to that feeling of falling in love in high school or even now really, and aching for the person and then it not happening. You feel like you have the flu you are so drained. Every part of you aches and you have no energy left.

Losing your mind of memories takes that away. As to how I know about how it feels . . . I’ve been writing for 20 years. I have a lot of notes and novels to look back through on that draining feeling. And . . . well . . . I go through it every day. Not the hate part though.

There is a blessing in having a Lost Mind…you have Lost Hate. I literally hate no one.

After losing my mind of memories a great many things became clear to me. I know that sounds a bit odd but having a mind clear of preconceived ideas was and still is something . . . liberating. Just think for a moment of that person from earlier. Do you have it yet . . . that feeling inside?

Now . . . imagine that name has no meaning to you. Imagine there is no emotional history attached to it.

The sad part is that I am reminded of what people are to me, or what they have done to me in the past. That information doesn’t go in my notebook. You may remember that I have a notebook where all the important memories go. I leave out the bad things and immediately begin to think of something else as soon as I can . . . kittens, puppies, hula dancers.

When you lose something you often think negatively. For me the initial loss was negative but even out of something that bad has come something good. I lost my memories but I found a freedom few people will ever be able to find. I found the freedom to live each day knowing people as they are and not how I think they should be.

 

Much Respect

Ronovan

A Loss of…?

A Loss of…?

by: Ronovan

Loss: The experience of having something taken from you or destroyed.-Webster Dictionary

 

Everyone loses something in their lives. Sometimes there are happy losses, like you lost that hideous sweater your aunt gave you for Christmas one year, actually your mother’s aunt so you had to wear it, until it mysteriously was ‘lost’.

Most often the word loss brings about feelings of sadness. I’m no different, in a way. This is a story of something I lost.

August is unbearable in the South. The sun burns through the walls of your house to tickle your skin with a glisten of perspiration. I’ve said in poetry that the sun is a jealous lover, and I say that with knowledge.

Early Sunday mornings are for relaxation and rejuvenation in most small southern towns. You make sure your clothes are straight and unwrinkled and you sneak in the back door of the steepled building with seconds to spare before the opening prayer of your class.

That’s an ordinary Sunday.

August of 2013, the first month of my life, wasn’t an ordinary Sunday. The sun had taken its toll on me over the course of the previous week and it was about to take revenge on my having enjoyed life in spite of her.

My Sunday sneak in for prayer did not happen. My brain ached, my world spun, and I needed a splash of cold water on my face. Or so I’ve been told. Mistakes are made without warning. You walk down a hallway you’ve walked down thousands of times before, passing slowly from the bright white walls lit from the living area through the grayed area midway and into the dark.

 That is when IT happens.

 Broken Glass on Floor

gettyimages © Original Photo by Matej Michelizza

Was it passing from the bright lit walls to the dark? Is that what turned my mind from light to dark? Was that passage what made me lose my mind?

A few hours later I was in the hospital with strangers around me. Everyone was a stranger.

Days went by as white coats came and went along with brief hopes that quickly vanished. I say I write through the eyes of a Lost Mind. That’s what I lost that day. I lost a filled mind. It is empty now, except for brief flashes of what might be memories.

“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.”
― John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

 

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-June 05, 2014.