Monthly Archives: February 2025

There’s Some Good in this World…It’s Worth Fighting For

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April 4, 2018

THE RIPPLE EFFECT

The more you sense the rareness and value of your own life, the more you realize that how you use it, how you manifest it, is all your responsibility. We face such a big task, so naturally we sit down for awhile. — Kobun Chino Ottawa Roshi 

Recently I watched the movies The Shape of Water and A Wrinkle in Time.

Guillermo del Toro, the director of The Shape of Water, describes the film as “a Fairytale for our troubled times…the shape of water is the shape of love. Love and water are the most malleable, powerful things in the Universe.” Sally Hawkins (who plays Eliza) said, “The film is about the transformative power of love. …we need this film in the world today. ”

Similarly, the primary message I took away from A Wrinkle in Time was the power of love to overcome fear, to overcome evil, to call us back to ourselves when we are lost in the pain of our own dark places.

I have been thinking a great deal about the power of love…of courage… and about the ripple effect of our choices. Sometimes it is one small, seemingly insignificant act or word on someone’s part that opens a door in someone’s life — or slams it shut.

In an interview, author Elizabeth Gilbert once described that she regards her ability to write as a sacred trust… she’s been given a gift that is meant to be shared. What happens to what she writes isn’t her problem, she said. Only that she makes the time to write and does her best. I may never meet her. She may never know of my existence. But her comment, recorded in an interview… changed my life. It is why I keep hanging in there with my writing, even if sometimes I abandon it for months at a time. I come back. Because of Elizabeth and her sacred trust.

What if Harry Potter had said, “Hey, I’m just a kid… I can’t deal with this.”

What if Frodo Baggins (Lord of the Rings) had said, “This ain’t my ring… ain’t my problem.”

What if Meg Murry (A Wrinkle in Time) had been unwilling to gather her courage, remaining frozen in fear, unwilling to act ?

I realize these are characters in a story… but, like all great stories, they accurately portray the choices we all struggle with. No superheroes here, no easy answers. The hero’s journey is not an easy road. So why do we bother?

Frodo : I can’t do this, Sam.

Sam : I know. It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy. How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened.
But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. Because they were holding on to something.

Frodo : What are we holding on to, Sam?

Sam : That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.

Yes, our world is worth fighting for. My grandchildren, your children, all the children — they’re worth fighting for. But most of us won’t be packing our bags and heading out on a quest. We won’t be marching in the streets or laying down in front of the bulldozers. We won’t be arrested for refusing to stand up or stand down when ordered to by those who abusively use their power.

Most of us will be minding the store, minding the children, doing what needs to be done to keep the world going.

The opening quote by Kobun Roshi was my pardon for sitting down — which I seem to often need to do. It was also what helped me get back up. I agree that every day I am responsible for how I use my life, for the energy that I radiate into the world through my thoughts, my beliefs, my emotions, my actions; for what I create around me. There is no one to blame, no one else responsible for my choices, neither my presence nor absence negates that I am making an impact in the world around me. Because I am.

When I remember this, when I allow it fully into my being, I realize that I am changing the world every day — for better, or worse. I am radiating energy into the world that is either aligned with the energy of love, or the energy of fear. This energy attracts like energy… and so it grows, it multiplies, it merges with like energy and makes stuff happen.  And it ripples out… through time, through space…

 

 

LOCKDOWN

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March 2, 2021

I’m feeling the absence of my mother today. A weight sits like a stone in my chest, the muscles tightening around it in order to carry it.

When did she begin to fade? The changes began to be noticeable sometime around 2012 or so. Small things. But after her stroke in 2016 that led to her moving into an Independent Living apartment, maybe that is when she lost some of herself. Momma tried so hard to hang onto her mind. Her body was weakening, but she was still independently mobile. It was the dementia that was gaining strength.

It began before her 90th birthday, but was subtle enough no one caught it. But then, a week before her birthday she became ill and had to be admitted to the hospital. Then she began having multiple mini-strokes. They only seemed to affect her brain — her memory and capacity to process information.

But we had to move Mom to a health care facility. She was cooperative, but she wasn’t happy. Would any of us be? Not exactly the sort of home I’d choose if I had a choice. But, as Mom had always done, she “made the best of it.” She championed those less able than herself, spending time holding their hand, or talking to them. The staff called her their Mother Hen. But the strokes kept hitting. And Momma kept losing ground.

She became more of a child. She was anxious and afraid all the time. Medication only made her worse. She would settle when we visited, or when we took her out to church or for an afternoon “tea” at my sister’s or my home. But when our visits were too long between, we received reports concerning difficult behaviors. Like a kid at school acting out.

Then COVID-19 arrived and all the health care facilities closed their doors. For some time they did not even allow window visits. We were able to visit her on Zoom a few times with the help of the staff, but she didn’t like it and couldn’t understand why we were talking to her on the computer and not coming to see her. Finally they began allowing visiting on the phone through a window. It was the only way to “see” her…but by then Mom was so confused she could never understand how we could be outside her window and on the phone and why we couldn’t come in. Often she’d be convinced it was someone else on the phone and either turn her back on us at the window, or hang up the phone so she could talk to us.

In the early summer they began to allow us to sit on the patio, eight feet away from her, weather permitting. There was little to say and she would often fall asleep. She was now wheelchair bound. When had that happened? Only a few months previous she was still using a walker!

Twice Mom was hospitalized during this time. Once due to sudden violent behaviors completely out of character for her. The second time because her blood pressure and heart rate had fallen dangerously low and they couldn’t get it to come back up.

Looking back, I am glad of those hospitalizations. Those were the only two times in five months of lockdown that my sister and I got to sit with our mother and hold her hand and kiss her cheek and comb her hair and laugh and cry with her.

Mom passed away on September 6th. In those 5 1/2 months from the onset of COVID Lockdown, we completely lost our mother. The woman who took her last labored breath after being unconscious for several days, was in most respects not the woman I had taken to Christmas Mass at the Cathedral a mere 8 months prior. She was not the same woman I read stories to in early March. The woman who was laying in that bed that day in September was the ghost of the mother I’d known all my life.

My Momma was a victim of Lockdown.