Inner View with Vimala Rodgers

INNER VIEW with Vimala Rodgers 

by Ronney Aden - Worldwide Wisdom Directory

10/07/2010

Q: Who was or is your mentor and why?

A: I have several wise and trusted mentors who, by their examples, show me how to live. 

• Plato, because he saw humanity as One Whole, was utterly brilliant, always kind, and never judged.

• Paramhansa Yogananda, because his guidance was practical: “Meditate each day, and serve humanity with your gifts.” His philosophy of life echoed Plato’s with the addition of meditation. 

• Annie S. Peck, because, in 1920, after four years and five attempts, 60-year-old Annie S. Peck reached the summit of Peru’s Mount Huascaran, the first person to have done so. Not only first WOMAN--but first PERSON! Awesome accomplishment in 1920!--an outstanding example of courage and determination. 

•  Annie Jump Cannon, because, after classifying almost a quarter of a million stars, she celebrated her accomplishments by writing a story for her Christmas cards in 1915 entitled, The Story of Star Light, which briefly explained this “new” science and her work to her friends. What a woman! Her mind and heart danced together effortlessly.

• Opal Whiteley, because of her attitude toward life expressed in her diary, The Singing Creek Where the Willows Grow. I have read thousands of books. This one is my very favorite. VERY favorite.

• Gustavo Dudamel, because of the way he inspires young musicians, respects them, and raises them to a higher awareness of who they are through music.

•  Ogden Nash, because of his ability to put his sense of humor into radically   wise and funny poetry.

•  Elwyn Brooks White, because he made grammar truly fun, had an untrammeled sense of humor as evidenced even in his Elements of Style, the bible for writers who want to be grammatically correct. He also wrote one of my favorite books: Charlotte's Web. 

Q: Who inspires you?

A: Anyone who is kind, laughs WITH people as a habit, smiles a lot, listens, and finds it easy to stop me short when s/he feels I am out of line or what I am writing could be done better. In other words, a happy person who is straight forward and honest, always there to help, never to judge and laughs a lot. 

Q: What makes you unique?

A: Who I am and what I came in to accomplish. 

Q: What are you personally working on at present?

A: Spreading the Vimala Alphabet worldwide, especially to teachers and parents, so they may adopt and therefore experience the transformational power of this writing system and share it with their students and children creating the possibility of peaceful thinking globally. 

Q: Do you have a favorite color? 

A: Indeed I do: The deepest blue violet (PMS#5255C) 

Q: Who would you like to have dinner with?

A: Mark Twain, Albert Einstein, Mother Teresa, or Leonardo da Vinci, because we think a lot alike; but they’re all dead, so hm-m-m... no one else I can think of. 

Q: If there were NO obstacles, what would your life look like? 

A: Just as it does right now. It's unfolding beautifully. 

Q: What activities make you lose track of time?

A: When I'm researching, writing, cleaning house, meditating, chanting... 

Q: What are your deepest values?

A: Each day, living “the 26 qualities we must perfect before we can be free”...as mentioned in Chapter XVI of the Bhagavad Gita (Song of God). 

Q: Is there a philosophy you live your life by or apply to life on a daily basis?

A: Because each letter of the Vimala Alphabet reflects a soul-based quality and I write it every time I move my pen, my philosophy is simple: "Living the Alphabet." 

Dorothy

Vv.  *  Tt  *  Jj *  Cc

I was born with a natural gift or instinct for what handwriting told me. Before I was able to read, I could tell things about people by looking at their writing--in particular, the way they shaped individual letters. It certainly wasn’t sophisticated---how refined can a two-year-old’s interpretation be?--but it was astonishingly accurate. Second generation Germans, although loving, hugging, and filled with laughter, my parents were c-o-n-s-e-r-v-a-t-i-v-e, with a don’t-step-out-of-the-box approach to life.

Early on, they discovered my ability to identify personalities through handwriting. It became one of those “Oh isn’t she cute” kind of things. When they realized it wasn’t going to go away, they stopped mentioning it within the family, and talked over me when I would bring it up. Because of this, by the age of three I decided there was something wrong with it, so I kept it pretty much to myself.

I was in nursery school four days a week. I loved it there. We colored a lot, drew pictures, learned to write and read, played all kinds of games, sang songs, wore paper crowns and made baskets of flowers on May Day and danced around the Maypole. Our teacher Miss Ames was not only kind, she was always laughing or smiling and wouldn’t hesitate to put her arm around anyone who was feeling the least bit like they needed it. She loved everyone the same. 

I had a best friend in nursery school; her name was Mary Lou. It was one of those friendships made in heaven; something like a soul mate---at least it gave the feeling that we had spent many, many years together, although we were both only four years old. We never quarreled. We shared our lunches, took naps next to one another, liked to use the same color crayons, held hands when we danced in the class circle---like comrades of old.

Then one day a new girl came to class. Her name was Dorothy. She had naturally curly hair which was almost white blonde; mine was black and straight. Hers was often done up with a huge taffeta bow that matched her dress; my mother was lucky when she could anchor any kind of ribbon in my hair and make it stay. The new girl also had a ridge of lace on top of her socks. (Isn’t it funny what we remember?) My favorite shoes were cowboy boots. She cozied up to Mary Lou.

Gradually Mary Lou began to play more with Dorothy than with me. She also shared her lunch with her. When they laughed together I wasn’t included. Sometimes they whispered, then giggled. I could feel Mary Lou drifting away yet I had no idea what I had done or how to restore our friendship. 

It was writing time, 15 minutes before lunch. We never learned to print; we learned cursive. Our teacher Miss Ames would have it no other way. The class sat on both sides of long tables with our paper and pencils. The blackboard was at the end of the room. As Miss Ames wrote on the board, we copied what she wrote--usually something like “Kindness is its own reward” or “Love your neighbor.” It depended on the letter combinations we were learning. I remember what a difficult time I had connecting the g to the h. 

Today the sentence was “Haste makes waste.” We all began to move our pencils, tediously copying the letters, the words, the phrase. Again and again we wrote it, filling the page. Lunch time! 

I had counted on eating with Mary Lou, because my mother had included extra strawberries in my lunch box just for her. But as we jumped up off our stools she and Dorothy grabbed each other’s hands and started for the door. In desperation I shouted, “Mary Lou! You don’t want to eat lunch with her. Look at the way she crosses her ts!” They both stopped, turned around and looked at me, not understanding what I had said. 

I grabbed Dorothy’s paper, ran over and put it in front of Mary Lou’s nose. “Look! Look how low she draws her ‘t’ bars! That means she doesn’t feel good about herself. You don’t want to play with her! I cross my ts on the top!” Startled, Dorothy asked, "What did you say?!" Pleased as punch, I said it again--and with that they both ran from the classroom squealing with laughter. That not being enough, they told everyone in the lunchroom. Then they told Miss Ames. 

Having my classmates laugh at me was humiliating enough, but I wanted to run away when Miss Ames came up, put her arm around me and with her warm, disarming smile said, “Look now, Honey. You mustn’t talk like that. What you said was hurtful and untrue, and you know how important it is to tell the truth. I want you to apologize to Dorothy.” 

My one ally, the person I could count on through thick and thin, the person I knew would love me no matter what, the person who always understood--told me I had lied. I hadn’t, but I didn’t know how to explain. First Mary Lou, then my classmates, now Miss Ames. I knew they thought I was stupid; in my gut I just knew it. Now they thought I had lied. It felt as though my heart had been shattered into thousands of pieces. 

To restore something of my self-dignity, I looked up at Miss Ames and quietly whispered, “I was only kidding.” Yes--To save face, to not be ridiculed, and to be “like everyone else” again, I sold my four-year-old soul.

I remember so clearly that as I spoke that lie, from the very depths of who I was, I made myself 

a promise: “When I grow up I’m going to show people how to write.”  

The Milk Man - How it all began

Just as you came into life with a driving interest of some kind, so did I. We all do. The purpose of adopting self-affirming writing patterns is to give life to that passion and begin living it!  I have a grandson who, at the age of 18 months, was found in the family garage attempting to remove his older sister's bicycle wheel with a monkey wrench. He's now 19 years old and a star Motocross athlete. I'm sure you know of stories like this. You may have one of your own--or be one yourself!

When I'm asked about my background in handwriting, I simply reply that I've been fascinated with the letters of the alphabet from the crib. I am not alone in this. On page 401 of his book Fluid Concepts and Creative Analogies, Dr. Douglas Hofstadter shared these thoughts: "I have had a fascination with the shapes of letters from early childhood. I loved mastering the alphabet, printing out names and words, assimilating the intricate swirls of cursive writing, perusing books about letters and their evolution, observing both the grace and the irregularities in the handwriting of my friends." 

As his fascination grew, it took him in the direction of computer science.  My fascination took me the direction of spirit. In truth, neither of us "took our fascination" anywhere; it took us. From the crib to today is a long leap—one filled with many non-alphabetical adventures, and yet, through the years, my love of those letters has only grown, one step at a time.

We all have a dream; we all have a reason for being here; we all have our unique way of making the world a happier place. It may take time to evolve and mature, but if you hold firmly to it, by changing your handwriting (thinking) patterns, it will manifest. 

Some of the stories I'm sharing will make you laugh knowingly---because you have experienced something similar. It happens all the time.  Ready -- set -- go...!

When I was about two years old, the milkman made deliveries in his truck, and left our milk in glass bottles on the doorstep. My mother would leave empty bottles on the back porch, and every few days the milkman would come and replace them with full ones. Whenever she wanted something extra, like cottage cheese or butter, she would write a list on a small piece of paper and slip it into the neck of the empty bottle. When the milkman came he would read the list, go out to his truck, and bring back what she had ordered.

I remember that my mother and the milkman were often unpleasant with one another. After the milk delivery she would often grumble that he had not left the additional items she had requested. When she confronted him the next time around, he would say that there had been no note, and my mother--a woman of strong will--would insist that she had left one. The relationship was an ongoing confrontation.

One day my mother had an especially long list of extra items for the milkman to leave, and rather than busy herself in another part of the house, she stood by the kitchen window, peeked from behind the curtains so as not to be seen, and watched him as he made his regular stops in the neighborhood. "I was going to make sure he left all the items I had listed, and if he didn't, I was ready to chase him out to his truck and get them myself."

She watched him as he finished the delivery at the next-door neighbor's, then sat in his truck momentarily and wrote down his post-delivery notes. "My eyes had him in range, like a camera on close-up, when, suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement on the back porch. I leaned over to get a better look and I saw you take the note from the milk bottle and go back into the house. I was shocked! Then in a flash I realized, 'Wait a minute. She cant read!' and I raced down the hall."

When my mother found me I was in the back corner of my bedroom closet actively stuffing the note in an old shoe box. When she took the note from me, the shoe box tipped over and out spilled old shopping lists, scribbled notes, hand-addressed envelopes, and old lists she had left for the milkman. Why had I saved them? Although I couldn't read, I "saw" people in handwriting, specifically in the way they shaped their letters. I had samples from my mom and dad, my favorite aunts and uncles, my godmother, my grandmother, some of my grandmother's friends, and many people I have long since forgotten. Having a sample of someone's writing with all those letters was, to me, like having treasured photographs.

When I promised my mother that I would no longer take notes out of the milk bottles, she, in turn, promised to save handwritten envelopes for me. And so my alphabetical collection began.