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    Just Be Your Self: Whoever That Is!
    Just Be Your Self: Whoever That Is!
    Just Be Your Self: Whoever That Is!
    Ebook154 pages1 hour

    Just Be Your Self: Whoever That Is!

    By Carolyn Franklin M.A.

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    About this ebook

    Just be Yourself - what a great idea! The search for Self started, in earnest, in the 1960's. But of course in that decade Enlightenment hit us like a whirlwind. The ancient beliefs of Yoga, TM, EST, Esalen, opium, weed, free love, down with Capitalism, up with Socialism, Existentialism, Baba Ram Das, Be here now.

    Viet Nam war protests,Black rights, Women's Rights, NOW, zoned out hippies, San FranciscoState protests, Patty Hearst kidnap, blow up students' cars, smash store windows, Malcom X, Nixon resigns, Riot squads, police brutality,The Beatles, Grateful Dead, Smothers Brothers - it was a drama to please the gods!

    One friend left the City to find himself and he did! in New York City! I was happy for him. I hope to find my Self- I hope I'm in Monaco. But, is that Self-ish? What about Other? Should I share Me, change my Self to make Other happy? or be true to my Self? Do I search for my Soul Mate? Or, let Karma be my guide?

    Well this book may help you find your Self - if you're lost. And, if you've found your Self, I hope it's in beautiful San Francisco. I'll meet you there for a chilled crab salad and a chilled martini at Fisherman's Wharf.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCarolyn Franklin M.A.
    Release dateApr 3, 2019
    ISBN9780463411186
    Just Be Your Self: Whoever That Is!
    Author

    Carolyn Franklin M.A.

    M. A. Communication StudiesM. A. EducationB. A. Psychology30 years voice training (San Francisco Opera)Voice/Speech improvement CoachContact Carolyn - voicedynamicscf@yahoo.com

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      Book preview

      Just Be Your Self - Carolyn Franklin M.A.

      Just Be Your Self - Whoever That Is!

      Carolyn Franklin M. A.

      voicedynamicscf@yahoo.com

      Copyright Carolyn Franklin M. A. 2019

      All rights reserved

      Cover Designer:

      Joleene Naylor

      joleene@joleenenaylor.com

      Table of Contents

      AS THE HART LONGS FOR THE WATER BROOK...

      ON THE ROAD TO LIFE

      IT’S ABOUT TIME

      SOCIAL REVOLUTION - in other words, HELP YOURSELF

      MY THEORY ABOUT THEORIES

      PROTESTS AND… RIGHTS?

      THE DESTRUCTION OF SELF

      ESTABLISHED RELIGIONS

      NEW AGE RELIGION

      APPS AND THE SELF

      HOW TO MAKE SOMEONE HAPPY… EVEN YOUR SELF

      MORE = MORE REAL

      BIGGER IS BETTER?

      WE NEED A VILLAGE

      YOU’RE JUST LIKE…

      HIPPOCRATIC OATH

      OF THE EPIDEMICS

      TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE…

      THE PURPOSE OF LIFE

      HOW TO FIND YOURSELF

      THE ONE GREAT LAW

      YOU ALWAYS WERE AND ALWAYS WILL BE

      REQUIRED READING

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      OTHER BOOK BY CAROLYN FRANKLIN

      As the hart longs for the water brooks, so my soul longs for thee, oh God.

      Back in the ’60’s America was deluged by an avalanche of new-wave thought. we began an earnest search for the Self. The revelation was that humans were somehow imperfect, flesh-covered ideas that could be re-designed, perfected.

      At school, San Francisco State (the word University had not yet surfaced), as psych majors, we sat in the classroom and exchanged banter, arguments, propositions, theories, Zen thought, Buddhism, Existentialism, Capitalism - you name it, we’d discuss it.

      Our goal was to discover the mechanism of Life, dissect it, analyze it, probe it, understand it and re-model it to our perceived needs - perhaps improve on it. Since Life was nebulous, a haze of thought rather than a tangible schematic, we had lively discussions about no-thing, proving the existence of no-thing and getting plenty of brain-cell stimulation.

      The Self was a no-thing, a hazy concept of a Being that was independent of the carnal, flesh-wearing apparition that took us from class to class and out for coffee. If we could find, meet, and reason with the Self, we could understand the purpose of Life and its Source.

      This way, with all the answers, we could discover our Self hidden in the rhetoric of arcane teachings, no matter how obscure - we would hear the sound of one hand clapping.

      In class, the question of the moment was, Can you cross the same river twice? The correct answer is, No. Because the river is forever changing; it’s not the same river at any time. My response, Yes. Because I AM the river. I can cross or not cross myself. The river is an illusion - it doesn’t exist.

      But, nothing exists - "no thing exists; it is all illusion, an illusion stemming from the I AM, the ONE beyond all understanding. We are every thing," and "no thing."

      You can see these thoughts took a great deal of time and a great deal of Chablis. To this day my stomach rebels even at the thought of Chablis!

      The fact that we were clueless as yet about the vicissitudes of life was not an issue.

      Young in years, but ancient in the quest for Truth, we had the answers to all problems of Life as it was and will be - but, I had been there. I, having had two children and two divorces, was smug in knowing I had Experience; I was the Source, the One with Truth.

      I look back and the memories make for a good laugh. We had no clue as to who we were, what was in store for us, the pitfalls, the high’s and low’s that momentarily snatch us from complacency into a personal vortex. Thank goodness for youth and innocence.

      It was a comfortable time in a comfortable, small city, San Francisco - the most beautiful city in the world. That’s why we called it, The City - it’s the only one as far as we were concerned. Diversity, in its best form was apparent. We didn’t know it was diversity - we thought we were all just people. The Chinese were in China Town. Japan town had not yet been built. The Japanese merged with the Chinese and any confusion between the two cultures was not an issue.

      Once, when I couldn’t find a certain restaurant on Stockton Street, I asked an Asian man walking along, Excuse me, do you know where this restaurant is? He said, You look for lestaulant? He didn't know where it was. I asked another Asian man walking along, he said, You rook for restaurant? I thought, Hmmm, those two should get to know each other.

      Accents, oddities, differences, were not an issue - in San Francisco.

      Little Italy was peopled with real Italians, playing bocce ball, speaking Italian, sitting on the benches enjoying the passing parade. The aroma of garlic and salami permeated the air - heaven!

      The sun always shone in Little Italy. People moved easily, with grace. No rush, no push, Va bene. Che sera, sera.

      We ate subs then - pizza had not yet captivated the fast food mentality. The sub was a work of art; on a medium-long bun were layers of salami, onions, tomatoes, cheese and some kind of olive oil dressing that was sheer heaven.

      Down at the Haight, psychedelic posters blared from open windows of pocket-size apartments. Death heads, smeared, broad circles of intense colors and words printed in warped obese letters touted bands, fantasy lands and an imaginary drop-out Paradise where one can wander, unmolested, in a world of mind-numbing drugs. Flowers, in pots balanced on the paint-peeling window ledges, watched the parade below (I assume they were flowers!). The world was open, pan handlers, street musicians, magicians, Shields and Yarnell performing in the middle of Union Square - oh so funny!

      Shields and Yarnell, our home-grown pantomimes, actually did get married in Union Square - a real wedding! They were dressed as Raggedy Ann and Andy and, as rag dolls, had a great deal of trouble trying to stand up during the ceremony! Sacrilegious? Perhaps. Funny? Yes. Hysterical - yes!

      Jazz was a staple at the Tin Angel, Billy Kyle on piano. Comedian Phylis Diller was featured at the Purple Onion. I sat in the front row on a shabby, frayed metal folding-chair. Her opening line was, I see they redecorated - they vacuumed.

      I shrieked in laughter!

      (But, when the lights were on, you could see it had never been vacuumed- hmmm, I guess that was part of her act.)

      We had the best of everything.

      In those days you could still park on Market Street and go window shopping. The cable cars were .25 a ride; but the music the conductor played on the cable car bells was priceless.

      Yes, beautiful San Francisco, the Promised Land, Over the Rainbow - it was the pot of gold - where bluebirds always fly. Yes, we had fog, mystical, cool, brisk fog with the haunting cry of fog horns to lull us to sleep. All was well.

      On sunny days, which was almost always, the city sparkled, the cable cars rattled, sea gulls cawed overhead, street musicians played for their own enjoyment, pan handlers and rail-thin hippies smiled, cheerful at any hand-out.

      I lived, on campus, in married students’ housing. Even though I was single I had the two girls; a friend, another student, managed to get us situated there. It was $35.00 a month, utilities paid! Two bedrooms, the front room faced due west, the kitchen faced due east. We had the sun rise in the morning, the sunset at evening, plus a cross breeze all day…life was good.

      San Francisco State was a relatively small school at that time. Most of the students knew each other; many of us worked on campus where classrooms, administration and library were close by. No one ever had to rush across the grassy campus square to get somewhere - we were already there.

      People were themselves; the riots, bombings, class disruption and protests had not yet started in earnest.

      Occasionally stray dogs ran around campus that were always open for a game of catch and strategized to keep whatever was the prey. Once a German Shepherd was playing with a frisbee and a couple of jocks tried to take the frisbee to play catch. The 4-legged opponent dodged them, then stood, at full attention, waiting for their next move.

      The boys took the bait.

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