May/June 2003
Feature Articles
Holistic Health Q & A
by Julie Gatza, D.C.
To restore and maintain good health,
clean out your body's toxins first.
What is... Neurotransmitter Imbalance?
by John B. DeCosmo, D.O.
Depression, anxiety, fatigue and sleeplessness
aren't just in your mind. An imbalance of molecules in your brain could
be the cause.
UnCommon Sense!
by David Findlay
Winning the Pease.
Articles on the theme "Environmental Consciousness"
Cancel That Thought
by Dr. Audrey Craft Davis
You can stop contributing to planetary
pollution by changing your negative thoughts into positive ones.
An Inside Job
by Martin Montes
Recycling laws protect our outer environment;
good habits protect the inner.
Inside & Out
by Charles Larsen
If you're swimming behind a shark,
you'd better know where the rest of his family is.
Your Consciousness is Showing
by Nancy Buchanan
Manifesting the thoughts and things
that improve our personal and global environment.
Learning - Naturally
by Barbara Bedingfield
Helping children appreciate the environment
around them at the different stages of their lives.
Awareness of All Life
by Matt Guest
Our physical environment is a reflection
of our inner self awareness.
A Lost World?
by AnneMarie Dyer
The state of our environment is a reflection
of our overall spiritual condition.
Natural Wonders
by Suzanne Persons, Ph.D.
Connecting with nature is easy, and
often dramatic, when you live on Florida's Suncoast.
Natural Wonders
by Suzanne Persons, Ph.D.
I just heard on the news that two new record high temperatures were set for March in Pinellas County -- a 93 degree daytime high and an 80 degree nighttime low. Things are changing. I hope these changes don't go unnoticed. I've lived on the Suncoast for 49 years. I've always liked being outside more than inside. I've often felt more at home in nature. I breathe easier and my thoughts are simpler.
I don't know that I was environmentally conscious at six years old, but I do remember that when school was out, we took our shoes off and didn't put them back on until after Labor Day. Clearwater Beach was turquoise and white, with crystal clear air and water, clean and sweet. I could stand chest-high in the Gulf -- it always bothered me when people called it the "ocean" -- and see my feet perfectly. Sunlight swayed through the waves and warmed my shoulders. I tanned berry brown and learned to float in the Gulf. I learned I could let go, breathe, and not drown.
I grew up on Clearwater, Belleair, and Indian Rocks Beaches. For a while, I lived in Temple Terrace, the heart of the lightning capital. I've watched a lot of weather and even considered meteorology as a career. As a child, I learned to respect Florida's unique weather systems and came to depend on the consistency and reliability of seasonal patterns. Daily summer rainstorms would march across the afternoon sky, challenging the sun as to who would reach the horizon first. Before I saw the clouds, I smelled the rain and saw long streams of late afternoon light flooding the sky under the gray-black clouds. Everyone left the beach when thunderbolts announced the coming storm. The clouds always captured the sun and rained supreme -- for 15 minutes. You could set your clock by it. After the rain, the beach was quiet -- and mine again. Evening came peacefully. Once more, nature's resolution after conflict displayed itself for any one who would learn.
During late night thunderstorms, my family would wake up, gather on the screened porch, and watch lightning dance pink and white across the sky. No one said a word. We always stayed for the whole show. It was nature's own special light display. We seemed more together somehow, with a kind of closeness we could not express verbally.
When I was eight years old, we lived in one of the two stone houses right on the Gulf on Indian Rocks Beach. The seawall was made out of wood planks and the only way to get to the beach from the mainland was by the old wooden bridge by the pavilion. The bridge-tender had to hand crank the wheel and walk in circles to open the bridge for boats to pass through. It was slow. There were only two million people in Florida. Things took longer, life was slower, buildings were shorter, people were neighbors. Florida was a small town. Today, we go to workshops to learn how to slow down, take time, and make real connections with people.
We only evacuated off the beach four times when hurricanes threatened the coastline. We cross-taped our windows, brought in the bikes and garbage cans, and then went to a motel in Largo, where we played cards throughout the night waiting for the "all clear." There was no Doppler Radar, only Roy Leep on TV to tell us which way the wind was blowing. Of course, we could figure that out for ourselves. We stayed home for most hurricanes. I remember hearing the wind and rain stop. We went outside. Everything was still. We were in the "eye" of the storm. I knew it was a cool thing but nothing was happening until the wind began to blow in from the opposite direction and my heart jumped with anticipation. It was exciting to hear, feel and smell the force of nature bringing her will to bear on us. We went back inside, opened a window on the new lea side of the storm, and waited for the second half of the hurricane to pass. It seemed some things were just bigger than we were. We had to do what we could and learn how to be part of what was going on rather than ignore the circumstances or think that we could control the outcome.
I was usually the first one up to get ready for school, which was okay because I liked the peace and quiet in the house. Between mid-March and late May the sun rose, painting the sky with layered shades of pink, cream, gold, blue and gray. Flocks of green and yellow parakeets chattered above the trees announcing the day, while easterly breezes brought scents of orange blossoms and jasmine. These things made my day and I hadn't even left for the bus stop.
For all the difficulties in life that come along on a regular basis, I realize that I have only to step outside and be willing to learn from the environment ways of living in harmony and with gratitude. After all these years, I find that it really is the simple things that make me feel at home and happy, and I find them all when I'm outside, close to nature.
Suzanne Persons, Ph.D., LMHC has been a psychotherapist in private practice on the Florida Suncoast for 25 years. (727) 898-9080.
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