The Gift

Crybaby! Quit your whining! You are too sensitive ! Too sensitive? Thanks for the compliment! Seriously, if you have been told this in a negative conatation, You have a gift! Yes a gift! 

A few years back, I read a book about Highly Sensitive People or “HSP’s. 

We all go through adolescence where our hormones are changing, both body and mind are like the Polar Express train going off the rails just trying to make it to the station of adulthood. During this time period, experienced parents know, this is a only phase (this is also called the graying of hair phase for them). This phase is not the the topic at hand. 

As a society, if memory serves, about 30% of society are considered to be HSP. 

If you wear the mark of an HSP you may ask, “how can this be a gift?” 

Indulge me for a moment, 

As an HSP, You see things differently than most others. Standing on a crowded bus, an elderly man struggles to catch his balance and while most others are totally oblivious to his plight, you stand up to render aid. Almost on queue another HSP takes action with you. During that moment not a word is exchanged (let’s call it “HSP vision”), and you know you see the would through the same lenses. This is not to say non-HSPs are insensitive and unfeeling but rather let’s consider the contrast like that of two types of animals, an armadillo and a frog. The “non-HSP armadillo”, it trudges through life, able to endure heat and drought. It has poor vision and not keenly aware of what is going on around it. When the world throws rocks at  it, it has plenty of armor shall we say a thick skin. 


The HSP is like a frog. By taking in oxygen it needs to breathe through the pores of its skin. As it’s environment becomes toxic, it’s struggle becomes evident. Ever on on guard for predators with its large watchful eyes. When the environment is a pristine clean pond, with minimal chaos, it thrives. 


Of late “suck it up buttercup” “go to your cryroom” moments coined in abrasive news feeds poses the question, if this is a gift, how can we a a human race benefit from it? Take heart my super sensitive human being,,historically, we would have known HSPs as noblemen/women. Advisors to kings and heads of state. It was their ability to quickly assess risk in the political environment that earned them their place in history 

Not to say HSP are better but rather play a different role 

The book also talked about one of the burdens that come with being an HSP was to be “overstimulated”. Not being able to shut off your radar is inherent. 

The key to managing this is to withdraw, find a place of quiet and peace until you are able to process all that you have taken it. Just as the thought and acceptance of high sensitivity being a gift rather than a detriment spoke to my inner being, I hope that in some way, it would enlighten others of the same disposition. And for my armadillos friends , all the best! 

Peace 

Thank you to  Elaine Aron for exploring The Highly Sensitive Person in the spirit of understanding. 

“Day in Court”

I was 15 years old, visiting my Dad in Edmonton Alberta during my high school Spring break in Washington State. Strangely He and I went on a shopping spree. Blue plaid suit, deep blue shirt and a white tie. 


The next day we got up early. Dad standing in front of me shirtless freshly shaven, smelled of Aqua Velva, and his fine thin brown hair still wet. A lit Export “A” cigarette hung in his lips, the neglected ash fought the forces of gravity as he struggled to complete a full Windsor knot in my new tie. Looking me over, it was if he was searching for something he had lost long ago. 

Securing each button on his dress shirt, his “Born to Love” jailhouse tattoo on his chest slowly disappeared from sight…….
Sitting in a narrow hallway of a provincial court, for what seemed hours, little did I know, I was to be Exhibit A in his “day in court”. Dull humming of the flickering fluorescent lights was interrupted by a “Click, Clack” as the court door opened. “Raymond, come in here”. Wincing I entered the brightly lit court room. Unaccustomed to the tie, my throat tightened as I saw a room full of serious faces. I sensed that a dialogue had been taking place and I was about to become part of it. My ears were ringing, I felt like I was looking through a fisheye lens. My Dad glancing at me with out making full eye contact. (He was somewhere else mentally) “Raymond,tell everyone how old you are”. 

I blurted out, “15 years old sir”. 

All eyes were on me, still oblivious to what was going on. Through the fog, my Dad was pointing at me, I heard “Your Honor, this how I looked!” “This is how old I was when I was arrested for joyriding in a jeep and sent into general population”! Still a bit puzzled, Dad gave me a quick glance of reassurance, and escorted me back in the hall. 

The story continues with me coming to understand the high level of abuse and mistreatment my Father experienced as a teen while in “custody”. During one particular incident he was forced to clean up the room directly under the gallows. 

I hadn’t heard these details until I was sixteen and with his death shortly after that, I put these stories away. It was too much to carry as a teenager. 
If this was my Dad’s “day in court”. Why had I felt judged? Why did I feel the weight of the chains that seemed to still bind him? 
Was the click of the courtroom door the securing of an emotional lock for which I had not the key? 

What had I done? Answer? Not a damn thing! 
As a teen, part of the burden was simply knowing that injustices such as these even existed. Wanting to rectify the injustice against your loved one is only natural and I had to accept the fact that this was HIS “Day in Court”. Those were HIS choices, and not mine. I would and still have many of my own mistakes to pay for.

There is importance in speaking out against injustice. Getting a “Day In Court” may seem ideal but a sobering fact is that justice as you perceive it may not prevail. 

Secondly, understand who “The Court” is before asking for them to pass judgment. Otherwise, be not surprised when “the judgemental” judge you. 

Finally, as a Dad of 5, the only one wearing a blue plaid suit to MY “Day in Court” will be me.


RIP GJR 

Peace. 

Healing

Visualize Healing
Healing a relationship 
It can start with a small act of kindness. 
A kind word. 
Acknowledging that you made a mistake.
Acknowledging that you are not proud of your actions. 
Visualize a moment in time when you shared a laugh with that person.

Visualize a moment when things were not so complicated.
Visualize the other person being as human as you are.
Visualize forgiveness. It just may be the ember of hope that allows healing to begin. 
 #beinghuman 

Learn by doing

Happy Birthday in Heaven Tone, love you man!

goroyboy's Blog


In honor of my Stepdad Tony’s birthday in heaven, I wanted to share one of my favorite stories is about him. When I was about 10 years old, it was a beautiful spring day, in Lynden, WA. The sun was shining with a soft breeze. Tony and I had been planting trees(more like sticks we had ordered from the back cover page of The Family Weekly magazine) and we took a break. We sat on the soft pine needled ground under the shade of a big tree. Cars zipped by on Northwood Road. We were enjoying a Shasta soda talking about how nice the weather was.
Suddenly I felt something biting me on the legs, I jumped up, started dancing around, brushing away the ants that had crawled up my pant leg. Tony and I both burst out in laughter in response to my unscheduled ants in the pants routine…

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Traitors’ Gate by Raymond Roy Sunday Photo Fiction SPF

Traitors’ Gate

Floating along, looking through crusted blood on my eyelashes, I ducked under the spikes as not to inflict agony on my already swollen skull. Past the scarlet lace, I faintly made out the sign “traitors’ gate”. Fresh from the field of battle, Edward I aka “Longshanks” had made sure we felt his men’s full wrath for our feudal uprising.

Once beyond the gate, the moat was once again refilled as I felt our raft rise.

Our leader William Wallace beside me, was alert and continued to shout obscenities at the crown. As we filed off to the gallows,we were met with a storm of rotted vegetables, excrement, and high velocity mucous spat from toothless court funded protesters employed to patriotism. By day these “loyalists”begged in the street for a crust of bread due to over taxation. The irony was that these were the very people we were fighting for.

Waking with the sound of crunching, neurotransmissions from my lower torso told me it was likely a greasy rat having breakfast as I hung from the dungeon wall by my wrists, feet, barely touching the floor. In vain I try to shake it off.

Oh God take me now!!

Word Count=200

Written For Sunday Photo Fiction Hosted Special thanks to the host Al Forbes.

Living In Tension 

True personal growth comes when you choose to honestly communicate and understand those you have conflict with even if it means living in tension and being accountable for each of your own actions. This is when discrimination and self serving categorization of others ends. 

If you are of Christian persuasion, please remember, Christ did not come as more commandments on a stone tablet, rigid, cold and without feeling but, rather a warm, loving, and totally transparent being.