Chuck Murphree – YA Author – Educator – Mental Health Speaker
Lessons: Obstacles
He raises his hand and says, “I hate it that life has to be so hard.” I look around the classroom and see heads nodding in agreement. He continues, “Like, why does it have to be that way? Why can’t we always be happy?” His question is valid and he and the others wait for my reply. I will do my best to answer it.
“You will set yourself up for a lot of disappointment if you think that you should always be happy,” I say. I get looks that tell me that is not what they wanted to hear. We are in a society where we see “happy” people on social media, acting like their lives are perfect. It’s a set-up, a one act play, and the actors are posing the best they can trying to get more likes and followers.
I have had this talk many times as an educator. You will have much joy in life, it is true, but you will also have a lot of suffering. Things will not always go your way. You will experience break-ups, friendships that end in anger or without reason, and you will experience loss. People that you love will die. You may have a tragedy in your life that will leave you different, hanging onto life and your sanity, and it can happen within a moment. Life is like that, one minute it feels like everything is going well, and a split second later, your world is turned upside down.
Please do not wait for something to happen. Don’t let life happen to you. Do not become one of those people that become so scarred by life that they anticipate bad things will always happen to them. That will produce anxiety, and worse yet, it may make you bitter. Don’t let that become your existence. I like to say, “Be prepared, not paranoid.” When we prepare ourselves for the bad things that might happen, it simply means we have built our armor to withstand the storm. This happens by gaining resilience, which is formed in many ways. Perhaps, you exercise and eat healthy so your body is ready to take the physical and emotional pain that comes your way. You build your coping skills by practicing daily meditation, mindfulness, and yoga. Maybe you get a therapist or a good acupuncturist that is always on standby, a tool in your box to help when needed. Being prepared could mean saving money for when the time comes that you need it quickly so that the impact of the cost is not as dramatic on your pocketbook. It could also mean being ready in case someone decides to harm you or your family. It could be someone that decides to attack you emotionally, or it’s an unknown attempt to dominate you physically. There are bad people in this world. Will you be ready for them? Prepared, not paranoid!
Hopefully you will age. I hope that you get old enough where you will experience creaks in your knees and pains that were not there in your youth. I wish for you to have painful memories and memories that were so joyful that it breaks you down in tears every time they enter your thoughts. This means that you are living a full life. It means that you have experienced happiness and you have had your share of obstacles and suffered. I believe that is how we truly appreciate life. It is how we become mindful of our days on this earth and accept it all, the good and bad. If you deny the bad, you deny yourself and your life.
Always remember, you cannot have joy without sadness. It is not possible to live an entire life without suffering, and you will go through your life having a great deal of joy. Happiness is there. The problem is when you do not recognize the joy and always focus on the suffering. The people who do that are the negative, rude people, who are resentful of everything and everyone. They are the ones that find problems and not solutions. The people who live their lives spreading their misery to others because if they cannot be happy, why should anyone else? Use caution with these people. Try to help them if you are able but know when to leave them behind. Cutting ties with someone can be extremely difficult, but allowing them in your life can be harmful to you.
There are many things that will happen in your life that will bring a smile to your face. You will have love and friendship, and you will read a good book that may change your life. Perhaps you will help someone on your journey, and their joy will become yours. You may find yourself in a small cafe, drinking the finest wine and eating a meal that the taste will never leave you, or you will find yourself walking in the woods and the trees bring a calmness to your mind that makes you revisit them often. Life has many wonders, absorb them all. Drink life in and let it soothe your throat, and when that drink turns sour, approach it with curiosity, realizing that it will eventually pass, and the pain you are feeling, the obstacle before you, will make you stronger.
Born in Alabama to a Native American (Chickasaw) father and an emotionally absent mother since birth, raised by a father, a Native American great-grandmother, and an African American woman who were all grand storytellers.
Summers she lived with her fathers’ sister in Birmingham, Alabama; her aunt Vina would help her discover a library and mingle with a circle of friends that included local writers, artists, and politicians. As early as four years old, she was roaming the countryside alone or with her father; in the evenings, she sat at the feet of these strong-minded individuals listening to the stories of their lives. Her aunt encouraged my imagination by introducing me to journaling, which I filled Big Chief Tablets with reports over the summer. Planted was the desire to write, a seedling waiting to spurt from the warm southern heart of a child. A cabin deep within the Black Warrior Forest was on weekends was also my playground. Summer was also spent going on vacations to Florida, where they had a small cabin on the Gulf Coast.
Nonetheless, the desire to write buried itself deep within; the dream wilted but did not die. It laid dormant, gaining experiences. These experiences became short stories and poetry, began painting as a child and later as an adult, and then lay dormant for years. She writes of life experiences in her poetry, questioning everything from Mother Nature to God…the poetry is raw, sometimes dark, and may not be understood by all. Yet, it comes from deep within and reads of truth within her soul. The harshness that shrouded her life would cause her to withdraw from most of the world accept immediate family; it fills the pages with heartache, abuse, and the denial of a mother, all frankly portrayed.
Today, she enjoys her children, grand and great-grandchildren, four-legged companion Dixie, lives in Southern Wisconsin, far from her southern roots, and continues to write and paint almost daily.
Below are the books that have been published in paperbacks at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com, under the name of Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree:
Echoing Images from the Soul
Beyond the Voices
Reflections of Poetry
Honeysuckle Memories
Sachets of Poetry on Adoration, Anger, Asylums, and Aspirations
Authors Note: This plain and simple bit of poetry was written when I lost my little dog Mason to illness, he was nine years old.
The picture is at the Vet’s during his last moments. I wanted to go with him. Today I have close to the same problem. My little dog Dixie is only two years old.
She is not only young but very healthy. This time it is not Dixie, but I that will be leaving her. I never thought that I would be leaving her alone, and soon. I make the best of every moment with her before I cross over to be with my Mason and we will wait together on the current love of my life, Miss Dixie. She is my reason for every waking moment. I hope that you all enjoy the poem as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Best Friend’s…
A little dog barked and leaped with his
Master in a quiet little town on a quiet
Little street. He fought with the he-dogs
And sniffed at the she-dogs, life to this little
Was a treat.
Years went by, and the Master walked with
A cane, the little dog limped along silently,
Their lives had changed. The little dog had
Lost his sight, he could no longer fight he
Dogs and the she-dogs, he had just enough
Strength to wag his tail.
The town people watched as the two of them
Aged, the Master never walked again; he had
Become just another tired old man. Within
Time no one saw the Master and his little
Dog, a neighbor knocked at their door, peeked
In the window, and there, they both lay on the
floor.
The Master and his little dog had watched the
The morning sky lose its cast of grays; it was to be
A wonderful day. Then they watched the sun.
Go down, and the lamp lights lit in the quite little
Town.
They closed their eyes; Master dreamed of
Walking along the quiet little streets, the little
Dog dreamed that he could see once again bark and
Leap.
Master woke to find the little dog lying at his
Feet, he thought maybe he was just asleep.
Painfully he knelt, knowing neither would ever walk
Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)
Authors Books at Amazon.com and Barns&Nobel.com
Author Bio
Born in Alabama to a Native American (Chickasaw) father and an emotionally absent mother, raised by a father, a Native American great-grandmother, and an African American woman who were all grand storytellers.
She lives with her Aunt Vina from birth to the age of three, then returned to her father. Summers she lived with her fathers’ sister in Birmingham, Alabama; her Aunt Vina would help her discover a library and mingle with a circle of friends that included local writers, artists, and politicians.
As early as four years old, she was roaming the countryside alone or with her father; in the evenings, she sat at the feet of these strong-minded individuals listening to the stories of their lives. Her aunt encouraged my imagination by introducing me to journaling, which I filled Big Chief Tablets with reports over the summer. Planted was the desire to write, a seedling waiting to spurt from the warm southern heart of a child. A cabin deep within the Black Warrior Forest was on weekends was also my playground. Summer was also spent going on vacations to Florida, where they had a small cabin on the Gulf Coast.
Her poetry is raw, sometimes dark, and may not be understood by all. Yet, it comes from deep within and reads of truth within her soul. The harshness that shrouded her life would cause her to withdraw from most of the world accept immediate family; it fills the pages with heartache, abuse, and the denial of a mother, all frankly portrayed.
Today, she enjoys her children, grandchildren, four-legged companion Dixie, lives in Southern Wisconsin, far from her southern roots, and continues to write and paint almost daily.
Below are the books that have been published in paperbacks at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com, under the name of Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree:
Echoing Images from the Soul
Beyond the Voices
Reflections of Poetry
Honeysuckle Memories
Sachets of Poetry on Adoration, Anger, Asylums, and Aspirations
This is my daddy. It all started with these two…Ruth and Roy Johnson. First Roy worked as a water boy on the rails in Alabama. When he was a bit older, he work laying those rails. He then wanted to be the free spirit that he was, he road the rail as a “hobo”. He left me with many memories in the stories he told of his life as a hobo. He continued to be a free spirit when he begin to run “moonshine” whiskey from Birmingham, Alabama to Chicago, Illinois. After getting his vehicle shot up, and escaping the Tennessee law enforcement he went to Morgan County, Alabama to help farm. All this while he held onto a dream of playing baseball. The Birmingham Black Bears was going to give him a try-out in the spring of 1932, he was prepared to leave the farm and go on the road with the Black Bears. He came from a family of “Nomads” of the times. Born into a Native American family who had lost all they had to the white man. He would be twenty years old before being recognized as a citizen of the country, and given the right to vote. He was 28 years old when he met my mother. His taste for a life of freedom was buried deep within him..
The woman in the picture is my mother. She was nineteen years old. The oldest of nine children she too dreamed of freedom. She was to her family an unpaid field hand, housekeeper, baby sitter, and when all of her dreams came crashing down, she had to get away. She met my daddy in the spring of 1932. In February 1933 my sister was born. She, my sister became the only thing she cared about or loved. She did not want any more children. Six years later I was born, a burden, a yoke around my mother’s neck. True to her word, she gave me away at the age of one day. I returned to my daddy when I was 3 years old. My mother by this time had established her own world surrounding my sister, and getting away from farming. She accomplished that, and to her word her love never went beyond my sister.
ALL ARE GONE NOW, MY SISTER AND MY PARENTS I HOPE THEY WERE THANKFUL FOR THE LIVES THEY WERE GIVEN TO LIVE.
MY LIFE IN PICTURES…I AM SO THANKFUL THAT GOD HAS GIVEN ME A LONG LIFE TO EXPERIENCE THE WORLD THROUGH MY EYES AND HEART. LOVE THOSE THAT CARE FOR YOU, AND BE MINDFUL OF THOSE WHO NEED TO BE LOVED.
Sharing with you another post from my son Chuck Murphree
Chuck has two books published and the third soon to be, all of his books can be found under his name at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com
He lives in Prairie du Sac, Wisconsin, with his wife and spoiled dogs. When Chuck isn’t writing, he can be found teaching adolescents, talking to others about mental health, reading, biking, doing yoga, or taking a mindful hike deep in the woods or straight up a mountain.
Life Lessons for My Students: Lesson Two: Celebrate Your Youth, But with Caution
Our society currently celebrates youth more than any time in our history. Social media has told us that you must have smooth skin and straight teeth, with a full set of hair, to be “liked.” We are seeing a false dialogue being read to our society telling us that aging is somehow a terrible thing. Yet, we should all want to age.
Youth is to be celebrated. I too was once young and felt invincible. I still do at times, when my nineteen-year-old self creeps into my brain and reminds me of clearer eyes. I was once more able bodied and less prone to injury. I had a full set of hair and a few less wrinkles around my eyes. I had less memory, only nineteen years’ worth, so my smile had not been stolen as frequently and my mind sent spiraling into dark places. My entire life was ahead of me, and the excitement of uncertainty was there, ready for me to explore. The problem is, we strive to hang on to our youth with all our might and the cost is great. We forget to continue celebrating the life that unfolds before us, thinking as if we lost something along the way. We often grieve for that loss, which is our youth.
We are meant to grow old if we are lucky. Life is extraordinary if we get to see ourselves in the mirror, changing each year as time goes by, and the reflection becomes someone we get to meet for the first time. That is how I approach aging. I am meeting myself for the first time through new thoughts, older memories, aging hands, a fading hairline, and eyes that are starting to blur. I like this new person I am meeting. He has experiences that I am proud of, and some that I am not, but I like his presence because he has become a reflective man. His wisdom is carrying me through life mindfully and allowing me to experience it all. The man before me is strong and capable and has built a foundation that allows him to bring understanding to his world. He has learned to serve others. He is aware that life will change, and that suffering is a part of the miraculous journey of his human experience.
Use caution when celebrating your youth. Use caution when mocking someone who is older than you. You too should want to reach their stature and display their gray hair. Your youth is impermanent. It will go away, and you will be middle aged before you know it. Yes, celebrate your youth, but celebrate the time you turn forty and fifty with just as much vigor and excitement. Say, “cheers” to the moment you reach sixty and seventy, and screech with joy if you make it to eighty. It is then that you know you have made it. It will be then that you will know all the dilemmas and dramas that you had anticipated in your mind during your youth, most likely never came to fruition. It will be then that you can become content with the face before you, secure in your presence.
I have heard some older folks say that getting old is cruel. I do not understand this, though I am not technically old yet. However, I have lived life into my early fifties, and I regret none of it. The pain in my body is from playing hard and placing myself well outside my zone of comfort. I challenged my mind and body often, and even though I paid the price for some of my feats, I am okay with the aches that are my reminders of what I have accomplished. I have seen things, glorious things, that make me thankful for the time I have had so far, and I know that if I am thankful for that time now, I will be grateful if I am blessed to have another thirty years.
One of my biggest complaints of aging is that the old do not listen to the young and the young do not listen to the old. We can all learn from each other. If nothing else, for those of us that are passing our midway point in life, the youth of today can remind us of the beautiful unknown of yesterday, when the mystery of life stood before us, and maybe give us the spark we need to light the fire in our belly to continue to discover new paths on our journey. For the young, tap into the aging masses and learn all you can from them because they have paved a path for you to follow. That is, if you are aware enough to use them as your guide.
Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)
Authors Books at Amazon.com and Barns&Nobel.com
Author Bio
Born in Alabama to a Native American (Chickasaw) father and an emotionally absent mother since birth, raised by a father, a Native American great-grandmother, and an African American woman who were all grand storytellers.
Summers she lived with her fathers’ sister in Birmingham, Alabama; her aunt Vina would help her discover a library and mingle with a circle of friends that included local writers, artists, and politicians. As early as four years old, she was roaming the countryside alone or with her father; in the evenings, she sat at the feet of these strong-minded individuals listening to the stories of their lives.
Today, she enjoys her children, grand and great-grandchildren, four-legged companion Dixie, lives in Southern Wisconsin, far from her southern roots, and continues to write and paint almost daily.
Below are the books that have been published in paperbacks at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com, under the name of Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree:
Echoing Images from the Soul
Beyond the Voices
Reflections of Poetry
Honeysuckle Memories
Sachets of Poetry on Adoration, Anger, Asylums, and Aspirations
“Dreams, words, the images, do not doubt them; try to find a meaning of what is tumbling around in your mind. Written below is what my mind laid out for me to explore.” EA MURPHREE
Beware Beneath the Ground…
Thieves, vagrants, gangs, satanic cults, and catacombs beneath the streets, where unsavory people meet. Ask the old man on the corner, and he will say it is below the earth where evil lurks; as he smiles, his face forms a smirk.
Rituals that are created straight out of hell; if you stay long enough, his story he will tell, then he will take you quickly to a doorway leading to that awful place. He will say, mind my word, if you go down below the ground, your body will have welts and scratches, and you will be surrounded by growling sounds.
Words of caution “Mate,” if you adventure out at night, ghosts are not the only thing lying in wait. If you poke fun at my story and go beneath the ground, you, too, may never be found.
Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)
Authors Books at Amazon.com and Barns&Nobel.com
Author Bio
Born in Alabama to a Native American (Chickasaw) father and an emotionally absent mother since birth, raised by a father, a Native American great-grandmother, and an African American woman who were all grand storytellers.
Summers she lived with her fathers’ sister in Birmingham, Alabama; her aunt Vina would help her discover a library and mingle with a circle of friends that included local writers, artists, and politicians. As early as four years old, she was roaming the countryside alone or with her father; in the evenings, she sat at the feet of these strong-minded individuals listening to the stories of their lives.
Today, she enjoys her children, grand and great-grandchildren, four-legged companion Dixie, lives in Southern Wisconsin, far from her southern roots, and continues to write and paint almost daily.
Below are the books that have been published in paperbacks at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com, under the name of Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree:
Echoing Images from the Soul
Beyond the Voices
Reflections of Poetry
Honeysuckle Memories
Sachets of Poetry on Adoration, Anger, Asylums, and Aspirations
Another great and heartwarming post from my son Chuck Murphree, Chuck and Karen are both in Education, she works with teachers to improve their skills. Chuck works with children, and young adults teaching special education. He is a published author, and speaker on mental health
Many of you have sat before me and asked me about the great mystery of love and companionship. As you come of age it is often on your mind, and I have witnessed your exploration into love in the hallways of the high school, cafeteria, football games, and dances, and for you former students, I get to see you fall in love through social media. It’s a new beginning for you, and I see the glowing, sometimes awkward look on your face.
I have often had one of you in my classroom or office in tears, wondering where love went wrong? Why did it not work out? You feel demoralized by the break-up, and you start to look for blame, or even your so-called flaws, in order to find a reason for why the relationship did not stay strong, intact
I see many of you on social media with a newfound love. In the still life of the photo, I see that same glow and look of wonder I did while you were in high school. It brings a smile to my face, staring at the screen before me, knowing that you are happy. Some of you have even gotten married, and many have invited me to your wedding. I apologize for not coming. A few of you have started your family, having children, and that is when I truly feel my age just a little more. I often think, I wish I could have shown you these photos of how your life was turning out when you were back in high school. I often tried to reassure you that it would be okay, but your teenage brain felt like losing love was the end of the world. My teenage brain thought the same thing, so there’s never any judgment.
Out of curiosity, you have often asked me about my love life. At times, I tell you my story about how I met my wife when I was thirteen, and how we were friends before I finally got the courage to ask her out on my fifteenth birthday. There is always an “awww” following my story, but a few of you say that it gives you hope and something to believe in. I tell you my story because I never want you to lose hope. It’s why I share with you many things about my human experience. I want you to know that life will throw many obstacles at you, but in the midst of the dark clouds, there is much light. Love is one of those lights and the brightest.
In the case of love, I have never claimed to be an expert. I do not have the answers to the mysteries of love and how to solve them. I am far from a perfect husband, if there is such a thing. However, I reflect on love often and the complexities, and more important, the simplicities, of being in a relationship. I have been one half of a relationship that has worked for over thirty-seven years. Thirty of those have been married years, but when you meet the love of your life at a young age, the years are a continuation and it would be remiss not to count them all.
I offer this, be mindful of your partner. Be aware of love and never stop thinking about it. Enjoy your moments and experiences that you have together. Love the other person with all your might and tell them. Tell them often how important they are to you. I believe that something that failed relationships have in common is that they do not express themselves enough to the other person, and we all need reminders that we are valued and cared about. We need reminders of how much we are loved, so say it often and with meaning.
I always want my wife to know she is loved. I do this in many ways, and one is writing her letters, or leaving a thoughtful note somewhere where she will find it within her day, and I hope it brings a smile to her face. I sometimes send or bring her flowers at her work. I am very mindful of telling her how beautiful she is or that she looks pretty before she leaves in the morning. I show her love by listening to her and paying attention to her needs and what she is saying. Other times, I show her my love by holding her and exploring her body with gentleness. I have been doing this since we were fifteen. For those that wonder about that last statement, and how I can put that into a letter to my students, then you have forgotten what it is like to be a teenager. Making love is on their minds as often as it was on ours, and we must understand this in order to educate them on what is appropriate and what is not.
You will have your struggles in a relationship. Perhaps you fear the other person will lose interest in you. Maybe your fear grows so you decide to move on before you are hurt. You have to build resilience in your relationship, and that comes from trust. You must trust that your partner cares for you as much as you do for them. If trust fades, so will your relationship.
Other struggles may come from wanting the same thing from your relationship or even the same thing from your life together. Certainly, it is important to have similar needs and wants, but also be mindful that you are different people, and therefore you will naturally have different priorities. Do not complicate things by expecting that because you have an interest in something, or because it is a priority for you, that your partner should feel the same. This becomes a source of resentment that I have seen many couples go through. I think a better approach is to respect one another’s values and passions, and the things that matter to them, and then give them the support and space to do those things. It could be as simple as them wanting to watch a movie that you are not interested in. The question I have is, are you more interested in getting your way and not watching the movie or do you value your time with the person? That may seem like a simplistic example, but selfishness in relationships are usually from small things that add up over time, and then become unbearable for the other to take.
I have found that when my relationship struggled the most, it has been from my own doing. It is usually because my depression has convinced me that I am not good enough for my wife. I am not worthy of her love. This can cause me to push her away. I have also let my own ego get in the way of me being aware of her needs. I have been consumed with my mental health, the pain my body has gone through, and trying to find a “fix” for it to stop. This strayed me away from her needs. As a published author, I jumped into promoting my books with vigor, and upon reflection, I realized my self-absorption took me further away from her, something I swore I would never do, but ego is a powerful thing. Be aware that in love, you must put your companions’ needs first.
If you stay together long enough, you will have times of great suffering. It could be losing people that you love, or maybe one of you will struggle with your mental health or stress from a job. You may even have money troubles that seemingly feel overwhelming and are drowning you both. Much of the stress that happens in relationships, is outside stress. It is the unexpected things that happen and will feel like it is out of your control. I have seen stress such as this torment couples to the point where they think if they leave one another, somehow the stress will get better. Perhaps, they feel resentment towards the other person and that is when blame sets in. None of us are perfect humans. Our relationships will not be perfect. Perfection is in the eye of the beholder. When times of suffering hit you, no matter what those things may be, be gentle with one another. Focus on your love and relationship. Take more walks together and remember what has true meaning in life. When things seem out of control, what you can control is the love you have for the other person that walks beside you. Couples who make it, make it through hard times.
If you stay together for long enough. If you have found a life partner, you will change. Your partner will change. They will not remain the person you knew when you first started. This is often a good thing, I know I would not want to be the man today that I was when I was twenty-five or even thirty-five. If I were, that would be a major problem. We should all want to grow and develop. The relationships that work, the ones that last, are when two people grow and change together. They support one another in that change and recognize it. The other option is that people grow apart. They no longer have value in the other person’s changes and maybe they even refuse to or have stopped growing as an individual. If you notice your significant other has stopped talking as much, going to do things without you more often, leaves you behind as they explore, or stops showing interest in you physically, they are most likely moving further away from you. It is a warning sign. Be aware of the other person and grow together, celebrating your differences, growth, and change.
Some other changes that will happen is your looks. Your partner may start to lose their hair. Perhaps they will have stages where their weight will fluctuate, wrinkles may start to develop on their face, and their bodies will start to look different. Our society is obsessed with youth. It is all around us on social media, movies, and magazines. It is as if growing older has become a bad thing, a flaw, that everyone tries to avoid. We see people trying every product they can to smooth out their wrinkles and keep a youthful appearance. Some go to extremes and get surgeries, which often make them look fake, like plastic. People tend to exercise because of vanity and aesthetics, instead of doing something because it feels good and is healthy. We are tied up in a superficial world where growing older feels like a punishment. If you want to make a relationship last, you have to find beauty in the person before you. It is a privilege to age together. I tell my wife often that she is more beautiful now than she has ever been. I am not just saying this, I mean it. I find that her grace, intelligence, and physical beauty has increased year after year. I wish she could see herself through my eyes because she often feels like she is not beautiful as she ages. Yes, she is growing older, as am I, and all of us should want to. When we stop aging, we die. There are people out there trying to sell you on their way of staying young. I say find beauty in growing old together. I always remember the girl I fell in love with so long ago, but I am in awe of the woman that stands before me.
I will end with this, communication will be the key to your survival when it comes to love. Tell them how much you love them, but go further and tell them why. Tell them your dreams and then listen to theirs. Find out what you both want out of your life together and talk about it. Then, when the tough times come, be honest and listen deeply. Those difficult times may come from you or they may come from something outside of your control, but nonetheless, you must sit across from one another and communicate. I have always told my wife if she loses interest in me, falls out of love, or finds another, please just tell me right away. Even though it might be hard and sad, it would be a tragedy to live a life with someone that you are no longer interested in. I would not want that for her, or for me.
However, a great life is one where you find a compassionate love where you lift each other up above the clouds. It’s the kind of love where you ache for that person when they are not next to you, thinking about them always, waiting in anticipation for them to walk through the door so you can see them come towards you and gently kiss your lips. It is feeling their touch and looking down at their hand in yours realizing that it is the greatest moment you have ever had. If you are lucky, one day you will look down and find that your hands have turned from smooth to wrinkled, with age spots and lines running through them that hold a story within their grasp.
I have enough memories from the past to last me for the rest of my life. My bountiful memory will not bury them from which they were born.
A small country church, a chorus of crows, the splashing sounds of the brook running through the Birch trees. The wind caresses the colossal row of Oaks in the field.
Death, a road away from the weathered house of worship, followed by black-feathered angels. No longer will the water beneath the Birch cool, nor will the winds surrounding the Oaks embrace flesh.
The rocker on the porch is stilled, and no hand waves goodbye. In a cobwebbed corner of the room, the sun shines through a cloudy window as the image of tattered curtains dances in a nearby mirror. Childhood is dead.
Author Bio Born in Alabama to a Native American (Chickasaw) father and an emotionally absent mother since birth, raised by a father, a Native American great-grandmother, and an African American woman who were all grand storytellers.
Summers, she lived with her father’s sister in Birmingham, Alabama; her aunt Vina would help her discover a library and mingle with a circle of friends that included local writers, artists, and politicians. As early as four years old, she was roaming the countryside alone or with her father; in the evenings, she sat at the feet of these strong-minded individuals listening to the stories of their lives.
Her aunt encouraged my imagination by introducing me to journaling, which I filled Big Chief Tablets with reports over the summer. Planted was the desire to write, a seedling waiting to spurt from the warm southern heart of a child. A cabin deep within the Black Warrior Forest was on weekends was also my playground.
She writes of life experiences in her poetry, questioning everything from Mother Nature to God…the poetry is raw, sometimes dark, and may not be understood by all. Yet, it comes from deep within and reads of truth within her soul. The harshness that shrouded her life would cause her to withdraw from most of the world except her immediate family; it fills the pages with heartache, abuse, and the denial of a mother, all frankly portrayed.
Today, she enjoys her children, grand and great-grandchildren, and four-legged companion Dixie, lives in Southern Wisconsin, far from her southern roots, and continues to write and paint almost daily.
Below are the books that have been published in paperbacks at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com under the name of Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree:
Evidence is clear about an unwanted Soul; upon conception, the possessor wanted to cast it away, fear or greed. One life could not see a future, yet starvation by the mother did not kill the seed, no fear… self-greed.
Why did the tiny Soul survive destiny or fate; it survived life without love, never held by the mother with her heart filled with hate. The new Soul is born within a life of oppression from birth, scared and burdened with emotional wounds throughout its journey on earth.
All of its tomorrows found the Soul’s path long and steep; it searched a lifetime to find out why the mother’s anger ran so deep, to the moment it laid the mother in the ground. Truth in its abandonment is never found. This abused Soul tries to remember that sanity and sorrow are closely bound.
Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)
Authors Books at Amazon.com and Barns&Nobel.com
Author Bio
Born in Alabama to a Native American (Chickasaw) father and an emotionally absent mother since birth, raised by a father, a Native American great-grandmother, and an African American woman who were all grand storytellers.
Summers she lived with her father’s sister in Birmingham, Alabama; her aunt Vina would help her discover a library and mingle with a circle of friends that included local writers, artists, and politicians. As early as four years old, she was roaming the countryside alone or with her father; in the evenings, she sat at the feet of these strong-minded individuals listening to the stories of their lives. Her aunt encouraged my imagination by introducing me to journaling, which she filled Big Chief Tablets with reports over the summer. Planted was the desire to write, a seedling waiting to spurt from the warm southern heart of a child. A cabin deep within the Black Warrior Forest was on weekends was also her playground. Summer was also spent going on vacations to Florida, where they had a small cabin on the Gulf Coast.
Nonetheless, the desire to write buried itself deep within; the dream wilted but did not die. It laid dormant, gaining experiences. These experiences became short stories and poetry, began painting as a child and later as an adult, and then lay dormant for years. She writes of life experiences in her poetry, questioning everything from Mother Nature to God…the poetry is raw, sometimes dark, and may not be understood by all. Yet, it comes from deep within and reads of truth within her soul. The harshness that shrouded her life would cause her to withdraw from most of the world except her immediate family; it fills the pages with heartache, abuse, and the denial of a mother, all frankly portrayed.
Today, she enjoys her children, grand and great-grandchildren, and four-legged companion Dixie, lives in Southern Wisconsin, far from her southern roots, and continues to write and paint daily.
Below are the books that have been published in paperbacks at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com, under the name of Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree:
Echoing Images from the Soul
Beyond the Voices
Reflections of Poetry
Honeysuckle Memories
Sachets of Poetry on Adoration, Anger, Asylums, and Aspirations
The Last Chapter 