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REVELATIONS IN THE ER

LOVE IS THE “BOTTOM LINE”

January 7, 2017

“Life is fragile.” “Life is precious.” “Don’t take life (or your relationships) for granted.” Common, rather overused cliches, even if true.

And then suddenly one afternoon you stand up from placing a plant on the floor, step back, are in the middle of a sentence asking your husband something, and you can’t finish the sentence. And then you realize you can’t move. You can’t talk, you can’t move.

It only lasted a minute, less probably. But when I finally could move again and talk, I felt strange, almost like I wasn’t fully in my body. Husband’s eyes are huge and he is insisting on calling 911, or at least taking me to the ER. I said, “I’m still in my pajamas! I’m not going anywhere without taking my shower and getting dressed! And besides, I’m fine now.”

But I knew what had just happened wasn’t okay. Then, I started doubting exactly what had just happened. I seemed fine now. But during my shower I realized I again felt “off”–like my body was a stranger. I started to cry and didn’t know why. I was trembling, and didn’t know why. I reached up for my shampoo and my right hand suddenly decided it wanted a vacation. It obeyed, but rebelliously, like a child dragging it’s feet and trying to go somewhere you’re not, and only because it could hear the wrath of God rising inside me and got scared.

Me and my hand argued for the next 10 minutes as I finished my shower and dried my hair. By the time I tearfully headed for the closet it had given in and decided to act normal again. As my husband drove me to the ER, I sat on my side of the car shaking violently–from cold or fear, or maybe just cold fear. This fast, I thought, this fast I could end up being unable to write, or maybe speak, or walk.

More morbid thoughts rushed in on the heels of those. This fast I could have to leave this life I know in this body. Inside I started screaming–“I’m not done! My kids still need me. My grandbabies still need me. My husband still needs me. I’m not done with the work I came here to do. I can’t leave; I WON’T leave…and I need my body whole and functional!”

When we got there, I marched into that ER shaking like a dry leaf in a strong Autumn wind–but on my own two feet. By sheer force of will I passed every damn test they gave me. As the afternoon wore on, with CT scans and blood work and a hundred questions to answer, as mad and determined as I was, I couldn’t stop shaking. I also felt embarrassed. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” I thought, “and here I am in this hospital, having all these tests and upsetting my kids.” Per my request my husband had notified them since I didn’t know what was happening to me, and unbeknownst to me, news of the event was hitting Facebook scaring the bejeebers out of my friends.

As I lay in the ER for the afternoon, I thought about my family–I thought about the petty things I can get my undies in a bunch over. I thought about the relationships in my life that are wounded. I’ve heard it said, and I’ve agreed–none of that matters! But now that truth had taken a deep dive to somewhere inside me that suddenly made it imperative. Really, all that matters is love. Is connection. We are connected whether we want to be or not because everything that exists is interconnected. Kinking the flow of love, tying knots in the cords that connect us heart to heart–why? Why do I judge? Why do I defend? Why do I need anyone to be other than they choose to be? Why can’t I be content with who I am in this moment of my life experience? Peace does not elude me–it is I who bar the door.

Tests were inconclusive since I no longer had any symptoms other than a headache. The ER doctor figured it was probably a Transient Ischemic Attack–a mini-stroke that’s not really a stroke. If I understand correctly it mimics a stroke but resolves quickly leaving no damage. They said that the CT scan showed an area in my brain’s right frontal lobe that was damaged–“missing” as the doctor put it–which my husband said might explain a few things–that indicated a minor stroke in my past that I have no memory of, probably because that part of my brain is missing. They let me go home because there seemed no reason to keep me. I had to promise that I’d reduce my stress and come back for more tests.

Once home, I found myself immersed in a rushing tide of love and concern and prayers from family, friends, and even strangers via the FB posting my daughter had done. I sat and cried from the humbling truth of how much I am loved by so many. It was a deeply personal realization of how much love and goodness and caring there is in the world–perfectly imperfect people caring about other imperfect people, stepping out to offer support and sending healing energy through their thoughts by just being willing to care about someone they may not even know.

My mother taught me that love is about showing up. When you love someone, you show up. Practicing love, means you show up. I suppose that means that to love even ourselves means showing up for ourselves. Certainly, a whole lot of people showed up for me in my tiny little crisis. At first I felt ashamed and embarrassed, as if I didn’t deserve it since really, I was okay and nothing terrible had happened. I had to let that go, and just allow myself to be filled up with gratitude–for my life, for my health, for my body that allows me to experience life in this world on this planet in this time…and for all those people, these many many people in my life who love me. I don’t think I realized even how many!

It rather undoes a person. It reduces you to your own “bottom line”… What is my life going to be about? What do I want my legacy to be when that day comes when my body decides it’s done and isn’t persuaded to continue? The ultimate result, or outcome of my life, what do I choose to make that to be?

A long time ago I decided that the specifics of the story of this planet and the Universe and who is the Creator of it all and how will it end and by what means, though interesting since there are nearly as many stories and myths and opinions with proof to back them as there are people, was far far less important than whether and how I lived in accordance with the essence of all those teachings and beliefs. Whether it is the admonition in sacred texts of numerous religions and spiritual practices to Love, or the call by those awakening to the Light to raise our vibrational frequency to Love so we can evolve, it is still about Love. Every belief system, at its core, is about love as far as I’ve been able to ascertain.

So what does it mean to love? To love your enemies as yourself? To love your neighbor as yourself? To love yourSelf? To love the Earth? To love the Creator?

To love even if you expect to be saved from a dying earth by the Rapture or E.T.s?

To be imperfect human beings, bombarded by so much…confused, wounded, stressed, afraid for our safety or that of others, grieved by the harm being done to the Earth and to people all around us…yet still, called to Love. What does that look like when someone tromples on my dignity? What does that mean at home in my kitchen? What does that feel like when I have to take in the news of great harm being done by powerful people?

For one day I felt that. The undeserved outpouring of love and grace and concern upon my small, imperfect Self.

I owe it to all those who poured their love on me to make good use of this life I was given. To exercise the discipline needed to create beauty and peace with sometimes just the power of my thoughts–directing them in a positive and loving way. And to utilize the gifts I have been given, honoring the sacred trust given to me to share. Shining my small light bravely into the world–not hiding it away in a closet, or under a blanket.

Love is my “bottom line”.

THE PRICE FOR THE FUTURE

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December 6, 2016

THE FUTURE DOESN’T COME FREE–THERE IS A PRICE

The storm that snowed-in North Dakota has now blown across Minnesota, spilling into Wisconsin. All night the wind battered at the trees and leafless shrubberies; its howls given eerie voice across chimney tops and rain gutters. I got up this morning expecting to see deep snow piled up in drifts. But the storm split at the point of Lake Superior, just miles from my home. The snow went north and south–we caught only the ragged edges.

As I move through my morning, I am thinking about a quote I wrote down the other day from the book, The Song Poet. Author, Kao Kalia Yang wrote: “…the price for the future is the present.”

When the week began I continued to carry a heaviness that had begun slowly over the past few weeks, a heaviness that was draining my store of energy. Each morning I stretched my will long…longer, on mental tip-toes, trying to snag the edges of happiness and joy so that I might wrap my arms about them and press them into my body. But I could only brush the edges as they sat shiny on the shelf high above my head. I was weary of the effort.

But Kalia’s words keep repeating themselves in my mind–“the price for the future is the present.”

I cannot retreat. I cannot hide. If I am creating in this present what will be in the future, I cannot stop planting seeds of hope, seeds of wisdom, seeds of truth, seeds of beauty. I must water these seeds–or there will be no harvest. No hope, no beauty, no wisdom born of truth honestly faced to guide us tomorrow. I cannot shut my eyes, but must keep them wide open, searching for even the tiniest gifts of loveliness and laughter that bestow upon us a little sip of joy. I cannot close my heart, but must keep it wide open so that the flow of love can fill depleted tanks of any who may have need among those with whom I live and move and share my being.

I stretch my will again–no halfhearted effort this time–I snag the edge of Gratitude and hold it close…for the small comforts and privileges I mostly take for granted…for the big things that I oughtn’t ever take for granted. I take myself out for a walk in the grey light of a new winter. I stand by the waterfall where the creek tumbles down the bluffs a few blocks away from where I live. I throw my arms wide and release my little prayers of gratitude, a kaleidoscope of butterflies spiraling up into the heavens.

I smile at the water. I smile at the sky. I smile at the trees. I lean lightly against a cedar. I watch a little squirrel looking for where he buried his morning snack. I listen to the birds gossip. I watch what I think is a Raven playing in the wind. I think of my grandsons. I feel my belly waking up wondering what’s for lunch and remember I have leftover soup in the refrigerator.

Holding grief and rage in equal balance with love and joy is a high wire act worthy of Cirque du Soleil.

Change Isn’t Easy and Healing is Hard Work — Part II

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November 27, 2016

HOW DO WE DO THE DIFFICULT AND PAINFUL WORK OF CHANGE AND HEALING?

…We are confronted collectively as well as personally with choosing the way of Love and Compassion and Kindness and yes, Forgiveness on a local, national and global scale. How do we do this? This is what I wrestle with in the dark before dawn.

I move through my day, practicing smiling–meeting the eyes of strangers I pass in the park, greeting them. I pay attention to the beauty around me in this moment. I watch the children playing with happy abandon.

Finally I tentatively sidle up to the latest headlines.

Sometimes I weep.

Sometimes I push back at the stress and bury myself in my work and then find myself yelling at some technological device that isn’t cooperating with me–or my husband because he’s conveniently at hand.

Sometimes I close the news feeds and immerse myself instead in reading about the good things people are doing in the world and am moved to do the small things I think I can do: donating money to a school for Native American children and to the Central Asia Institute educating girls in Afghanistan and Pakistan; renewing my membership in the Sierra Club which works so hard to protect our lands and the animals that inhabit it; signing petitions, writing to the President and donating money for Standing Rock. I check in on the Iraq Veterans Against the War (IVAW) as they continue their stand against the Military-Industrial Complex (MIC), [MIC–an informal alliance between a nation’s military and the defense industry which supplies it, seen together as a vested interest which influences public policy; something Dwight D. Eisenhower spoke strongly against].

The other day I took a break and went to see a fun movie. Comic relief.

But it is another morning and I have again awakened in the dark before dawn, fighting the panic and the grief and the deep dread of my helplessness. None of it seems like “enough”. And it certainly doesn’t seem like enough to focus on love and kindness in a world so terrified and rattled. Yet, I know how difficult even this seemingly small work is. I sit with this in these quiet grey hours. Slowly, with the awakening dawn I realize that no, it is precisely this that really matters. Without it, nothing else will change much or for long.

We’re reading all over social media and the internet and in magazines, hearing on talk shows and discussing across kitchen tables that we must stand up for and protect those who are being targeted for harm. We must mobilize to put a stop to the raping of our Earth and oceans. We must protect the animals and plants and trees as well as our fellow human beings.

My throat swells up with the suppressed tears of despair. How do we do this? How can I do this? How do I stand in opposition to so much and love at the same time? How do I do this without acting from the same angry and arrogant attitudes as those who perpetrate the harm?

We just elected a man who passed himself off as someone who would make America great again–hearkening to a time when we were more prosperous, safer, stable. But when was America like that? For whom was it more prosperous and stable and safe? Have we learned nothing from history? How many of you have watched the Netflix Original documentary “13th”?

During the period of change between what has been and what will be there is a time of chaos. There has to be. We certainly can thank Mr. Trump for this at least…he has shaken us out of our torpor. We can no longer think that somehow it will all come right while we go about our lives. We have to do the work to make it so.

But then we run smack into those who also have been awakened but think that what must be made right, or the methods for doing so are deeply contrary to ours.

Some view Trump as a sainted leader, others see him as a ravenous wolf who pulled the sheep’s wool over the eyes of those angry and desperate for change. Both say they have “proof”.

Many said despite his flaws, he was the man for these times in order to save the unborn innocents being slaughtered because of our permissible abortion laws. Others said, “if you want fewer abortions, look to improving how we respect and treat our women, our mothers and families and our living children–here and around the world.”

Still others strongly claim that they have the right to choose what they will or will not do about a pregnancy. Will their views be changed with a law? Will we really stop abortions with a law? Can the Supreme Court actually overturn Roe vs Wade? Would they really even attempt it?

I propose that a deeper, more fundamental issue regarding the abortion argument lives in our overall attitude toward life. Where in our American culture do we see deep respect for all of life? Can we really blame those who see no problem with aborting a fetus when we as a nation condone drone warfare, [see the documentary National Bird] and when we raise false flags so that we can make war on a people–killing their men, women and children in order to gain access to their resources? When we dehumanize black and brown people? When we allow torture and oppression and view those of another religion with judgment? Is the problem really about having abortion be legal or illegal–or is it about our failure to respect life.

Who among us can claim a deep respect for all of life?

Even your enemy’s? Even the family member you just ripped apart with your words?

In only a few weeks post-election Mr. Trump has named to his future cabinet men and women who actively and vocally support a white, supremist nation–a white ‘Christian’ nation (what does that even mean, really?)

As he gears up to put the oil pipelines through that the public have stood against, it comes out that Mr. Trump has invested heavily ($500,000 – $1 million) in the Dakota Access Pipeline alone, as well as other companies engaged in these dangerous oil endeavors. An article published in June of 2015 presented data on over 3,300 incidents of crude oil and liquefied natural gas leaks or ruptures that had occurred on U.S. pipelines just between 2010 and early 2015. These incidents had killed 80 people, injured 389 more, and cost $2.8 billion in damages. They also released toxic, polluting chemicals in local soil, waterways, and air–damages that can’t be measured except over time. In October of this year a pipeline run by the same company trying to put the Dakota pipeline through ruptured in Pennsylvania and spilled over 55,000 gallons of gasoline into the Susquehanna River. And that is not the first time this company’s pipelines have ruptured. But if Mr. Trump has somewhere near a million dollars tied up in just the Dakota Pipeline, where do his interests lie?

If we are to know someone by the fruit of their life, it would seem that those Mr. Trump calls friends, and the money he stands to make personally by the policies he supports, his disrespectful rhetoric, the 75 pending lawsuits against him including fraud and sexual harassment, all call into question whether the fruit of his life is real and healthy, or artificial and poisoned.

The country is erupting with fear, hate, division. It has even affected our children and our schools where bullying and fear and the language of hate has increased in sync with first the campaign, and then spiked even further since the election. I have sat with teachers talking about the increased incidents of bullying and hate language and the fear of their young students. One teacher said that the day after the election several of her immigrant students came and tearfully said that they were worried that either their parents were going to be taken away or their family would have to go on the run…something they had had to do in their home country before coming here as refugees.

Is Trump and his rhetoric and methods solely responsible for all this fear and all this hate that has erupted? Some say, no, he’s being maligned and misrepresented.

Some others who also say no say that he has simply torn the veil of pretense off the ugly truths that have bided their time waiting for release.

It has also exposed the depth of naivety on the part of many who have not looked much deeper than their own mental constructs of the world and what makes their life feel safe and comfortable.

But watching closely, listening to him, it seems that he has also directly incited an irrational hate among those who are impressionable and for whom being angry and rebelling against ‘the system’ seems like a good idea.

Fighting ‘the system’ is a good idea–it is broken in many ways, on that just about everyone could probably agree. Let’s remember that Mr. Trump has benefited and profited from this system, and though it remains to be seen, many think he has every intention to continue to benefit from it–changing only that which will further benefit him and those whose ideology he shares. Would a Clinton administration, or any other for that matter, have been guilty of the same? Quite possibly, to some degree. However, none of the other candidates had as a goal to re-create America into a white, supremist Christian nation at the expense of all those who aren’t of European descent or who are not “card carrying Christians”. None of the others blatantly disregarded the evidence of the destruction and havoc we are wreaking on this planet. None of the others threatened to bomb the shit out of any country spawning terrorists–fuck the collateral damage.

Yes, our political system, our education system, our Energy system…our military policies…they all need to be re-made. But what is needed and how we accomplish it is where those who have given their trust to Mr. Trump and those opposed to him seem to have parted company. Unfortunately, the way we have parted has ripped deep gashes in the fabric of our nation–our communities–and for some, our very families.

As we’ve heard before, change begins with each one of us. Like never before, we have got to take this seriously and attend to our own attitudes, our own prejudices, our own divisive mental constructs, our own fears and grudges. Until we can each open up the flow of love from within us, we will be subject to fear and all that it spews. Until we can listen with genuine respect to views in opposition to ours, we won’t be able to make even one tiny stitch to mend the ragged rips and tears in the fabric of our communities. The thoughts we think and the words we speak will either ratchet up the fear and division, or power it down.

It is a tricky dance, loving while standing firm against that which causes harm. Loving while being reviled, or beaten or jailed–or while watching this done to others. Loving while risking the comfortable life we’ve known in order to speak up and care for those for whom this comfort and safety have been denied. Loving and supporting those with whom we may not personally agree–but realize that it is not right that they are denied basic human rights and dignity.

This is difficult work.

We have always been called to the way of Love, but now it is imperative that we respond. There are very few mañanas left to us before it becomes impossible to turn back. Love the Creator and all that has been created because the Creator is inside of all that is; love the Creator and this Creation with all your heart and mind and body and soul. And love your neighbor as yourself. These are the two greatest commandments and within them is contained all the laws and dogma and prophets…of every religion, of every spiritual practice, of every culture.

Change isn’t easy. Healing is hard work.

Love one another.

THE THUMPER RULE

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December 2, 2015

MY GUIDING BUNNY

Some people have Spiritual Guides in human form–counselors, priests, pastors, teachers. Some people have Spiritual Guides in the form of Spirit Beings, like Angels or other Beings of Light.

I have Animals. Sometimes real ones. A dragonfly brought me a message one spring day when I was trying to resolve a problem. She flew right up to me and hovered about a foot from my face…she just stayed there until finally the “aha!” broke through to my consciousness; then she flew off. Another day when I was particularly edgy and cantankerous I went for a walk and inadvertently walked into the middle of an entire herd of deer. Deer Medicine is all about Gentleness and Grace. I stood stock-still, with silent tears rolling down my face. Two young ones actually walked towards me, stopping about eight or ten yards away. After about 15 minutes, they all slowly wandered off and I went home, gentled, graced and peace-filled.

But my Animal Guides aren’t always real. I have a Tiger and a Bear and a Wolf in my Mind’s menagerie. The Tiger’s name is Jack and he’s the one teaching me that there aren’t any parts of my Self that I need to kill off…it’s more about integrating. He’s taught me that Ego’s aren’t monsters that we need to keep caged somewhere deep in the dungeons of our psyche. They just need to learn when to move over and let the more Enlightened One of Us drive the bus.

But this isn’t about Wolves and Tigers and Bears. No. This is about a Bunny. Yesterday, Thumper got loose from the Bambi set and came wandering into my bathroom. I had just scrubbed the floor an hour previously, but there I was wiping up a pile of whiskers. Evidently my husband had dumped the whisker bin from his electric razor mostly on the floor, with some on the toilet seat and in the sink, just to keep it interesting. I think he meant to put it in the wastebasket, but he was probably looking at something else, his brain three steps ahead of his body. Sometimes his brain is actually out the door and three blocks down the street before his body leaves the house. You can imagine what he doesn’t notice then! Frowning, I could feel my body tense as my mind furiously wrote up the negative incident report that I would surely deliver as soon as he came upstairs.

Suddenly, there was Thumper, shyly peeking out from behind the wastebasket.

I eyed him suspiciously.

“Hello,” said Thumper.

Wow, I thought. I haven’t seen Bambi in maybe, oh, 25 years?

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Well, ummm, I just came to remind you what my father taught me. It’s pretty good advice, ” said Thumper.

He ducked his head shyly. His foot started nervously thumping. And I remembered.

“If you can’t say somethin’ nice, don’t say nothin’ at all,” said Thumper and I. Together.

“You know this one?” asked Thumper.

“Yeah. I guess I do,” I said.

“Cool!” said Thumper. He loped out of the bathroom. Then he quick stuck his head back around the door-frame. “Don’t forget, now!” he said.

And he was gone.

I finished cleaning up the bathroom and joined my husband in the kitchen where he was making smoothies. I opened my mouth…

“Remember!” whispered an invisible Thumper.

I shut my mouth.

I never mentioned the whisker mess.

Not once.

I have been thinking a lot about my new Thumper Rule. My life will be so much more amazing because my focus will be on all the good stuff. I’ll bet I’ll smile more. I might even discover humor in the nooks and crannies of my life.

Thumper never said ‘If you can’t say something nice to someone…’. He simply said, ‘If you can’t say something nice…’ Period. About anything or anyone or to yourself.

Does that include the weather do you think? And stupid drivers? And insurance regulations? OMG–does it include politicians?!

I just finished writing a letter to someone because they had written one to me and it required a response. It took me 4 days. I had to keep applying my new Thumper Rule so I had to keep deleting shit–stuff– and re-framing, ah–stuff, and…Whew! What an exercise! It was like running a fucking–um–an exhausting–marathon. But different.

IF YOU CAN’T SAY SOMETHING NICE, DON’T SAY NOTHING AT ALL…

HIS MAJESTY’S KINGDOM

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September 9, 2015

WHAT I DID DURING SUMMER VACATION

I didn’t write much this summer. I created other things–things that didn’t involve words. I built kingdoms and sat at the bottom of a Lake. I ate goat meat and met people from half a world away.

*******************************************

“Come and see! There’s an Elf-wood and a Dwarf mountain and a lake and an ocean in my backyard!”

But two steps down the backstairs Poppi says, “Stop! I’m sorry, you can’t come down here–I’m having a battle with Orc-Ants!”

“Ork Ants? What are Ork-Ants, Nonna?” asks five-year old grandson, Morgan.

“Well,” I answer, “you know what Orcs are, right?”

“Yeah. Theys like goblins and theys ugly and they kill dwarves and humans and elves and stuff.”

“Right. Well, Orc Ants are mean, nasty little creatures that come from the Orc world. They live in the ground, and they think elves and fairies and humans are delicious for dinner. Poppi discovered them marching up the alley into our backyard…probably coming to attack the Elves in the Elf-wood…or maybe on their way to the Lonely Mountain–there are probably Orcs in the Lonely Mountain. So Poppi is fighting them off.”

“With a squirt gun, Nonna?”

“Well, it is a sprayer…and it is filled with some nasty soap that they don’t like–it makes them sick. So they can’t fight and they will go away.”

“Poppi, I need a gun too! I want to battle Orc Ants!”

The battle raged for thirty minutes.

Afterwards, we surveyed the carnage. We took a strainer to the Lake and hauled out piles of Orc Ants. We took a hose and tsunamied the remainder of the forces down the alley.

And then we went to explore the Elf-wood and the Dwarf Mountain, looking for survivors of the Orc Ant Attack.

It appeared that all was well. The Elves were hale and hearty. The Fairies were shyly peeking from their perches in the tree.

The Dwarves apparently were out of town and missed the entire kerfuffle.

The Forest Dragon, Fengore, was on site, preparing to take one of the Elves on a reconnaissance flight to get an overview of damages.

For several days, Morgan kept an eye out for the return of the Dwarves, and an eye upon the Lonely Mountain where dwells the vicious Purple Midnight…an evil Dragon Sorceress. There she guards her treasure, and her babies…

And then suddenly, early one morning, Morgan woke up to the strangest music…it sounded a bit like mice singing tunes from the movie Snow White and the Seven Dwarves…

And there they were…the whole dozen of them…back from some adventure in some distant country… Hi Ho, Hi Ho…

And so it was. And so it went. The summer.

Bike rides with Colombian Soccer players. Hikes to the creek to learn to swim with Morgan and Rowan. Dragon battles in the backyard. Fireworks and Thunderstorms. Sticky peanut butter on the front door. Picking raspberries.

And there were books. And there were boats.

I went diving in the Big Lake… My brother took me. I’d never sat on the bottom of the Lake before with 15 feet of water above my head…breathing. After they loaded all the gear on me, they said, okay, now stand up and take a great big step forward and just sort of fall into the water. Except the gear was so heavy I couldn’t stand up, none-the-less “step into the water”… I sort of launched myself, almost lost my mask, breathed water, choked and sputtered and wanted only to make it back to the boat. Okay, regroup…good to go…down we went…except Oliver had to haul me down and hang onto me or I would simply float back up to the top. Nuts to that…he sent me up top and loaded my weight belt with so much weight that when I let go of the boat, I sank 15 feet in about 15 nanoseconds. Sitting on the bottom, I looked around… Now what? And so my first lesson commenced.

And so it was. And so it went. The summer.

Working, water, weeds in the garden…and hiking with friends.

And in a puff of summer smoke, it’s over. It’s become memories. The gardens are tired and the leaves on the trees are losing their green. Last night I wore my flannel pajamas to bed. The school buses are back and the neighborhood ice cream truck has unwound its music box and unpacked its chests of treats. I am sitting at my desk with piles of papers and books waiting for me to return to my work. This work of words. This work of wading out among the stars, casting my net to capture a few shiny bits of Light to share with you.

SUPPORT OUR TROOPS

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November 11, 2014

I SUPPORT OUR TROOPS

I support the men and women leaving family and careers to go overseas to Iraq and Afghanistan to “serve their country”. I support them because I wish they didn’t have to go. I support them to remain safe, and whole and return able-bodied and able-minded, and most especially, able-hearted.

I support our troops. I support these men and women and pray that they will awaken deeply to the preciousness of all life— to the interconnectedness of all life—to the equality of all people and cultures. I support them to find ways to do good while they occupy a place that isn’t theirs to occupy, to do good to their fellow American service men and especially the women and to do good to the citizens of the country they are occupying. I support these men and women because whether consciously or not, intentionally or not, they are now in unique positions to bear testimony and Light to the world—to stand strong and courageously opposed to the continued mindlessness of killing and oppression. They are the most powerful witnesses for peace the world could hope for.

Several years ago I watched the testimonies of veterans at the Winter Soldier summit before Congress. One of the speakers was a co-worker of mine. These men and women spoke courageously of the crimes of war, of the violence and abuse that was not limited to being directed at “the enemy”, but was right at home within the barracks and the training fields. I will never forget the tall young man with the bright blue eyes who said that before he went to Iraq he was excited–he wanted to “go blow shit up!” Now he was ashamed of all that he had indeed blown up. This beautiful young man had shot an old woman under orders “in case she was carrying an explosive device. She wasn’t. She was just an old woman on her way somewhere and I shot her dead, bleeding out in the street.” I have read about the work of veterans against the Vietnam war, the Iraq war and the Afghanistan war—what they have seen and done and learned. Today I read the current suicide statistics of returned veterans—“every 65 minutes a veteran dies from suicide. That’s 22 per day!”

I saw a pie chart today indicating where our tax dollars are spent.

5.6% on Veteran’s Benefits to 55% on all that outfits us for war. Another 5.5% on the needs of government. That leaves approximately 35% for all the rest of our domestic needs: education and housing and health and social security and energy and science and transportation and food.

Clearly, I am not in support of war.

I do support the men and women who have been sent off to fight these wars our leaders and their corporate sponsors create.

When he was in office, former Congressman Dennis Kucinich proposed a Department of Peace. If we can have a war department, and a defense department, why not a peace department? Pour those dollars into making reparations and amends around the world to all those we have bullied and abandoned. Pour the big salaries into men and women who know how to make peace and build relationships and co-create plans with world leaders that will allow all of us to have enough to eat and drink and a roof over our heads and education for our children and medical care. Dismantle our own WMD rather than point our finger at some lesser brother for playing with the matches we invented.

Who better to ignite this movement toward reconciliation and peace and the possibility of prosperity than the men and women who were on the front lines, witnessing the carnage and the destruction and the grief that is war and oppression and occupation? May each “peacekeeper”, become a peacemaker.

Yes, I support our troops. I support their courage and their strength and the terrible personal journey each of them are on. I support them to find themselves, to know themselves, to separate truth from lie, Light from Dark. I love and support these brave and battered men and women—dads and moms, husbands and wives, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters.

May each one, abroad and at home, be blessed this day with a measure of peace, love and happiness. May each one find the unique healing that he or she needs, and in turn, become a healer of the world.

WE CAME HERE TO THRIVE

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October 10, 2014

WE CAME HERE TO THRIVE

“I did not come here to this Earth to struggle or suffer. Nor did you. I came here to thrive.”

Someone I greatly respect wrote this some months ago. It has set me to thinking deeply about my own suffering and that which I witness daily around me; to reflect on what I have been taught about struggle and suffering. Because, whether it is our purpose to suffer or not, we do struggle and we do suffer. Some of us wear our struggles and suffering as a badge of honor. I know I have at times. But if we are here to thrive, if we are here first and foremost to experience love and joy, happiness and abundance, then we have to own that our suffering and our struggles are messes we create. If we are here to experience love and create a world where all can thrive, then the suffering is the dross to be cleared away.

We are living on a planet in a dimension of duality, where all things have their opposite and we have been given the ability to freely choose between those opposites. Even the teachings of so many Wise Ones and Religious traditions aside, we see the evidence before our own eyes that all of the Universe conspires to create Life–and where we see life thriving, whether it is a body of water, a garden or a child, we find plenty of what will nourish that life, including love. Love in all its forms seems to be at the heart of Life itself. Doesn’t it make sense that we came here to learn what Love is? Where could it be better understood and experienced than in a place where we can also experience it’s opposite?

So, I agree. We did not come here to struggle and suffer even though we will experience these. We came here to thrive. We came here to Love. We came here to contribute good to this world. We came here to be Light. We came here to be filled up with joy and happiness. We carry within us the essence of the Creator of all things– the pure energy of Life. Why would we ever wish to choose to be miserable, filled up with anger and hate, to radiate energy that weakens and destroys?

Criticism creates an energy that does not feel safe, and those experiencing it instinctively engage their “fight or flight or freeze response”. The energy of criticism and judgment is destructive. I have suffered the fallout of this kind of energy, and I have too often turned it on others. It has never once helped to nurture life. What we are drawn to are those who radiate love, compassion, kindness; it is within this kind of energy that we are able to grow, to change if need be, to become our best selves. It is within this kind of energy that life is able to thrive.

Love, kindness, joy and gratitude, these are the badges of honor to seek. This is what I am here to experience, what I am here to do.

I am learning that it really is a matter of choice. And I have been given the amazing gift to do so–to choose.

TO RUN WITH WOLVES

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TO RUN WITH WOLVES

September 23, 2014

Serenity
This world is filled
With so much pain
And so much joy pours down like rain.
I lift my arms
And drink it in
And every day begin again.
     Grant me the serenity
     To accept the things I cannot change
     The courage to change the things I can
     And grant me wisdom–that hard bought wisdom–that holy wisdom
     To know the difference
When this world’s love
Meets this world’s hate
Which one will win I cannot say
I can’t control
What others do
I only hope it’s love I choose
     Grant me the serenity…     Words and music by Neal Hagberg

I am meditating as the sun slips above the lip of the horizon. Breathing in love and light; breathing out the knot in my gut. I am stronger this week. But the scouring winds of change still howl. I’m seeking that place of safety and silence deep down inside; listening for the quiet voice of Spirit.

In my mind I come to the creek in the middle of the forest where I come so often to Listen. It has always been a green and sunny season here…the water bubbling and tumbling, the tall pines whishing in the wind, soft moss cushioning the banks. But as the image of my quiet place comes into my mind……it is winter! Even in the midst of a meditation where my mind chatter never shuts up I feel the lurch of shock at the sudden intrusion of this winter image. The creek and the little waterfall are frozen; the ground buried under glittering snow; the sky grey and heavy with cloud. There is a small fire burning. I feel a second lurch of shock for next to it lies the Wolf who even when I sense his presence in this inner space, normally keeps back in the shadows of the trees. Only a few times has he come fully into my presence to speak.

My mind chatter goes silent. I look around wondering what this means. Stillness, absolute stillness. I notice that other Beings who are often present in this place with me are absent. Solitude. Is this winter image a message that I need to retreat into the frozen stillness between the dying flames of Summer and the new life that will come maybe with the Spring? It has never been winter in this place before. I sit by the fire, and look at the Wolf. He looks steadily into my eyes and places a single word in my mind. Stasis.

Stasis? That means a lack of movement, doesn’t it? Balance, but not necessarily positive balance. Uncertain, I look up the word in my dictionary app.

Stasis: 1. The state of equilibrium or inactivity caused by opposing equal forces.

Jaw drop. Light and Dark. Love and Fear. Joy and Despair. Peace and Rage. Indeed, have I not been stuck between these forces? And haven’t I indeed allowed the paralysis of fear to keep me spinning in unproductive drama–frozen as it were?

Stasis: 2. Stagnation of the flow of any of the fluids of the body, as of the blood in an inflamed area or the intestinal contents proximal to an obstruction.

Read: stagnation of the flow of my life–the flow of love, the flow of my creativity–due to the obstructions built of the old energies still operative in my mind and heart; energies that wear away my body’s vitality and cloud my vision with false perceptions because they “feel” true. Like feeling that the Source of Divine Love and Grace has utterly abandoned me–because I feel lost in the dark with a broken compass (in fact, I have been told repeatedly the way out), because I am without answers (in fact, I have been given the answers that matter in the moment), because one thing after another doesn’t work out according to my definition (or anyone else’s for that matter) of thriving (think tantrum, toddler style).

Ahhhhh… Breathe in. Breathe out.

So, this Winter in the core of my Being reflects my current condition–stasis, basically stuck–between Light and Dark, Love and Fear, Joy and Judgment. My life cannot flow. My writing cannot flow. Yeah, well, duh….

There is nothing that I can do but continue to do what I already know I’m to do: release everything made of the old energy of fear and shame, guilt and regret. Let go of all the dreams I have held in a white knuckled grip, even if letting go means their death. Let go of my rage and anger and judgment, toward myself and others.

There is nothing left but to open, open up to everything I fear. Open up to the nameless One, the faceless One Who refuses to be defined or confined to any one culture’s story. Open to this Love that I long for but resist.

Release and open. Relax. Allow. Remain carefully in the present moment and notice every blessing, notice everything that is imbued with life and beauty. And be grateful. Yes, truly grateful for what is in this moment. Who knows what will come along a few moments from now? Maybe the very dream I finally released to ride the wind!

A dear friend wondered once why this journey I am on that has taken me so deeply into the Universe that is within me never seems to come to resolution. I didn’t disagree. This is part of why I have been so discouraged and angry. After all the work I’ve done to heal–shouldn’t I be healed already? Wouldn’t I do more good putting all this energy into doing good stuff out in the world and cease spending so much of it on navel gazing? For having chosen to set the course of my journey to the learning of Love and the living of Joy, why indeed has it been so incredibly, impossibly difficult for me to live easily from this place? Having determined to live in a manner that allows me to thrive and therefore will enable me to help those around me and the world to thrive, why does the land of thriving seem no more than a mirage of water in the desert at high noon?

I don’t know.

Maybe it has to do with how prone we humans are to intellectualize so many of the beliefs we profess while not really working them into the skin and bones of our lives. How much of my “hard work” was mental gymnastics, emotional angst and the gathering of lots of helpful information versus the real action of choosing a different way to respond to the situations I experienced in the moment I was experiencing them?

Or maybe it’s onion layers. Peeling back the layers and layers of conditioning, of control-freak ego, of deeply entrenched and culturally reinforced beliefs. Now I’ve come to the core. Now there is nothing for it but to give way entirely to the Soul within me, “God Inside” as I’ve heard it said.

Both perhaps.

But the Wolf has returned for me. The first time he came to me he challenged me. He let me know that I would only be allowed to run with the Wolves if I chose to gather my courage and stand in my strength. I think he was a little bit disgusted with my wallowing.

Now, several years later he has come again. He has come to lead me out of this place of Winter stasis. It is time for me to run with the Wolves.

WINNERS NEVER QUIT

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WINNERS NEVER QUIT

September 17, 2014

“Quitters never win. Winners never quit. Quitters never win. Winners never quit. Winners never quit. Winners never quit. Winners never quit…”

Never? Winners never quit? Bullshit! We quit all the time. Because some days the unknown future is just too scary and the present is just too pain-filled with loss and disappointment and I have no desire to smile at the world. I’m too angry to be soft and gentle and kind. Some days I’m just too tired to keep hoping for the change I want so desperately to see. It’s a pitch black day of storms and I’m fresh out of faith.

I am told not to despair, not to give up hope. Everything always works out, he says. I am told to smile and be happy, to not allow my joy to evaporate (it leaves a salty stain), because life is good, and getting better, he says. When I can’t write I am told to keep writing because it is a sacred trust. I am told if I must rage to turn it on the Fear that is hell-bent to destroy every hint of hope and happiness. But I feel despair in spades. I could use those spades to dig my grave.

I sit to write and haven’t a clue what to write and nothing comes that isn’t saturated with self pity. There is no laughter in me–only tears that leave those salty stains; I have tankers full of tears. My feet are leaden, my heart is stone. Rage is eating me from the inside out. I ask for bread and I get a lesson in gratitude. Not gratitude for the bread because the bread isn’t here yet. No, a lesson in being grateful for all the things I DO have. I ask for a fish. I get more lessons that look suspiciously like stones and snakes. I am sick to death of lessons.

Losing hope that my dreams will ever be anything more than fantasies, I feel them withering slowly, one by one. The landscape of my heart is piled with empty husks in which my dreams once were ripening to harvest. I have instead an abundant crop of lessons; lessons in gratitude, lessons in being happy with ‘what is’. One problem; ‘what is’ isn’t at all what I want and never will be. I try, but I fail to ground myself with gratitude. Tethered to the dead dreams, something inside of me is dying with them. Weeping endures for a night, and a day, and another night and another…joy comes sometimes in the morning but leaves by noon.

I can’t help but wonder what the next lesson will be if I don’t get my shit together pretty soon. Yoda said, “There is no try. Only do.” The disillusioned, angry Tiger inside me snarls and I retreat with a book. A really good book; it has 3 sequels.

After days, weeks, months, there comes an hour in the deep darkness as I wait for the f-ing rose colored dawn to paint the f-ing sky (I’ve been awake since 3 a.m.) when for no particular reason I find a few scraps of courage and timidly stretch out my hand and whisper, “Help. Please help.”

And help comes.

But it brings nothing new or astounding. There are no miracles or flashing lights or angelic beings or even waves of energy or blankets of warm and fuzzy Love. Simply reminders of the truths I already carry within me.

… Winners never quit. I am loved. I am blessed. Joy is in me, all around me. Let it flow. Life is abundant and thriving. Let it flow. Love is in my every breath. Let it flow. Hold on…this will pass….

I know that there will be no new answers. No new magic. No way to dodge these lessons. It is as though I am birthing a child. Within me is the promise of life, of great joy, of great love; but first comes the hard and difficult work to bring this child into the light of day. There is great pain in separating this child from my mother-body. But if I am ever going to see the change I desire in myself and in the circumstances of my life, this labor must be embraced. The darkness must be lived through before the light can come. The more I resist this work of birthing, the greater the pain and the longer it takes.

I weep, hoping somehow to dissolve the disappointments and the discouragement. I run out of tears but the ugly knot is just as hard and I am still tangled up inside.

Quitters never win. Winners never quit.

I rise. I rise because winners…never…quit. I gently kiss my unborn dreams and release them back to God. Maybe the lessons for me are not so much about gratitude or embracing happiness no matter what is happening (or not happening) in my life. Maybe the lesson isn’t even so much about choosing to love when I want to rage. Maybe it is first and mostly about release. Releasing. Allowing. Flowing. Those are all action words. No try, do. To “try” conjures up an image of holding one’s breath while fearfully, timidly, attempting something. To “do” speaks of strength and energy and movement and sweat.

For a few minutes in the glow of early morning I can see that this experience is part of my Journey, a loop, a detour I didn’t plan or understand was coming. All my careful planning and visioning doesn’t seem to make any difference–this Journey takes me where it wants whether I will or won’t.

Quitters never win. Winners never quit.

The light breaks up the darkness. Maybe for an hour. Maybe for a day. But in this moment I have some bad news for the monsters.

I may have sat out a few rounds…but the game’s not over yet because I am not a Quitter.

Which only leaves one other possibility.

FOR MY HUSBAND, DAVID

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August 5, 2014

Dear David,

Seven years ago today I stood on a sandy beach of Lake Superior in front of a Circle of family and friends and made a promise to you. While you held my shaking hands, I said that for as long as I live I will choose to grow in my understanding of Love and my ability to allow Love to flow through me. I promised that I will never abandon my choice to learn to Love from the deepest place, unconditionally.

I also promised you that always I would love you to the best that I am able.

The God in us was smiling that day even though he may have winced once or twice knowing what lay ahead of us, for such a promise will reveal all the obstacles that are hindering that Love from thriving. And oh my, what obstacles we have encountered and tripped upon! What wounds we have suffered trying to find our way!

I told you something else that day on the sandy shore. I told you that you were like the earth beneath our feet…and I was the water contained within the bowl of you. Like the Lake, some days I will be serene, or a bit playful; others frenzied and stormy, raging perhaps; others rolling and purposeful. But always, always, contained within the bowl of the earthen shore.

Indeed, I have rolled–sometimes right over you as the wave rakes the sandy shoreline. I have stormed and raged. Sometimes I have been serene, even playful. Like the earth, though it’s sandy layers shift about and the pebbles tumble and roll–you have remained, steadfast and strong.

You have watched me keep my promises. I have never given up my pursuit of that great Love that is the breath of the Creator…that which enables all life to thrive. I have had to remove a lot of obstacles–release a lot of fear–open doors long closed–forgive. I have not always loved you well–but I have loved you the best that I was able. I too, like the great Water I also love, still remain, here, in the bowl of your embrace.

Seven years. There is something magical and sacred about the number seven. Among the meanings that it holds is the sense of completion and perfection. This is our seventh year. And it is contained within a year of sevens–2014. We have sensed a shift this year; a shift between us, within us, in the unfolding of our lives–individually and together. Good shifts. Shifts away from old energies, old “stuff”. It feels as though we have indeed completed some very difficult work, individually and together; as though we have sweated and hacked out way through a densely overgrown forest path and find it opening into a luscious meadow with a sparkling stream flowing through. On one side there is a vista overlooking a craggy mountain valley…some clouds are drifting lazily, a few shredding themselves on the tops of massive fir trees. There is a root-studded, stony path winding down the mountain along the stream. There is another winding up the mountain above us. We have to choose which we will follow. Down into the fertile valley–or up to the mountain heights?

You like to say, “Life is good and getting better!” Too often I have rolled my eyes and shaken my head and chosen not to believe you–too afraid that it wouldn’t get better–and not happy enough to honestly declare that ‘life is good’. But I watched you enjoying your life. I watched you not get too worried when things were not as we would wish them to be. I watched your life get better, filling up with many good things that you wanted to experience and do. Thank you for teaching me that indeed, life is good, and it is getting better. It will be as good as I wish it to be, as I notice that it is, as I make it. I am learning from you that it will only get better if I allow it.

You like to say, “Let it go…” I snarl at you sometimes when you say that because like a fish on a hook, I don’t know how to let go of the damn hook! In the moment it’s got me and it’s taking me where I don’t want to go! You repeat, “Just let it go”… I think I’m finally learning what that means. And I think I’m getting better at recognizing the hook before I swallow it…more adept at spitting it out before it has me…even at avoiding it altogether! Aren’t you glad?

I have learned that to be successful at Love really is about letting it go…letting all the “what ifs” and the “if onlys” swirl away in the stream of life. Choosing to smile at the morning, choosing to allow love to flow. Choosing in the afternoon and in the evening to release the expectations and demands, to forgive instead of criticize, to laugh instead of frown, to bless, to embrace. I am beginning to comprehend in a tangible way that love really is about seeing in you the divine spark of God…the same spark that is in me…recognizing that we are both Beloved…what’s there NOT to love?

Seven years ago today I stood on a sandy beach of Lake Superior in front of a Circle of family and friends and made some promises to you. Today before my readers, my family and friends, I choose again to publicly honor you, to renew those promises I made to you and to tell you with God and the world as my witness…I love you.

Happy Anniversary, David.

	Daniel Skillings on HONORING TRANSITIONS
	Mary Skillings on THE BREAKING
	Meridith on THE BREAKING
	Mary Skillings on PLANTING SEEDS OF LIGHT
	Mer on PLANTING SEEDS OF LIGHT