Nonsense
05.28.07 (12:33 pm) [edit]
Nonsense
God is not something high up in the sky,
Not invisible,
Not a object to seek.
Nor are our ideas complementary,
Even the best,
An idol in the end
No matter how refined,
Each needing to be destroyed one by one
As we journey deeper into the mystery.
We are beings,
God is not,
Nothingness is the center.
No thing.
The experience of God is just life,
To talk,
Walk,
Sing and cry,
To love and hate,
And yes to finally die.
God is there,
Not separate,
Other, yes,
But one,
Fused with creation,
Even what I am saying is nonsense.
Infinite love is the best,
Incomprehensible yes understandable,
Since we love deeply if not infinitely.
Gelding god
05.26.07 (9:01 am) [edit]
Gelding God
In the world of religion arrogance is rampant
Cloaked under the heading of faith,
Each an expert unto their own,
Opening their holy books at random and speaking forth,
God becoming a pet of sorts,
Understood and controlled like a gelding in the field
Grazing peacefully causing no harm for those who have castrated,
Yet woe to others condemned with gusto,
Cursed, outsiders, living in outer darkness,
Cut off from their gelding god.
Wrath and fire for others,
Mercy and forgiveness for themselves,
Blessed assurance for those in their fold,
Hell fire for those outside.
So why do we continue on this road,
Speaking for God when God does not speak,
Interpretation rampant, chaos abounding,
Demonic pride religion brings to the surface,
Infinite love forgotten,
Forcing others to see theism for what it is,
Different projections making God in their own image and likeness,
When in fact divinity is beyond thought or understanding,
Anything else a human creation only.
Nameless,
Formless,
From which all names and forms flow,
In silence resting
Nothing to say,
From which all words flow,
From the Word, spoken and silence again,
Perhaps if we dwelled in silence
More truth and less bombastic speech would occur.
Memory from 1970
05.22.07 (8:10 am) [edit] |
Memory from 1970
With my date on an energy filled Friday night,
Waiting for the sounds to begin,
Deep bass guitar,
The pounding drums,
The screaming vocals let loose,
Allowing the threads of rhythm
So powerful and intense
To enter the blood and set it afire,
An intimate exchange between body and sound.
The band at last was ready to start,
Those addicted entered the arena
Anxious for the magic to begin
Where lifted up from ordinary time
Into the sphere of golden primitive noise.
I stood with my date head bowed
Almost as if in worship,
Perhaps it was,
God present in all music,
Touching the soul in diverse ways.
The first twang entered the silent waiting,
Then the drums with its incessant call,
At last the bass deep and profound
Sparked a joy in my heart as freedom showed its face,
The thread entered my blood and set it afire
I stepped on the highway of beauty and it took me away.
I lifted my hands into the air,
Hips moved as if on their own violation
Feet soon followed in joyful movement
We were off flying,
Weightless,
As free as it can possibly be in bodies heavy,
Flying is what dancing is,
If one with the rhythm;
Such joy.
The hours flew by as if minutes,
Hours of dancing,
Sweat,
Going higher and higher as the evening progressed,
Until last call,
The last dance,
A sort of a death,
It ended
Lights out we left until next time.
I wish for the eternal dance,
The ecstatic movement of my soul,
Diving and flying into the infinite,
The music unending,
Singing not for me,
I will dance before the Lord,
Leaving the song to others.
Fanfare
05.21.07 (8:24 am) [edit] | |
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Fanfare
About once a week I take William a hamburger at East Side Hospital. He likes them simple, just the meat piled with onions. So on the way I stop at Burger King, or Wendy’s and get him supper. In fact he has got me on that kick also. I just add a little mustard with double onions, best hamburger in the world. Yes the KISS principle can be used in many areas of life, hamburgers included.
So being the mighty hunter I am, I got supper in no time, and got to the hospital. I went up to the second floor, and signed in. The nurse told me at the station, that she would go in and get William for me. As I was waiting I noticed two elderly women also come up and sit by the door that leads to the lock down unit. They were genteel looking, southern bells no doubt about it, treasures of the south. One was a neighbor, the other the wife. They have been living next to each other for 35 years, and I was told that they were closer than family. Extended families usually are and it was easy to see the comfort and ease they had in each others presence.
Soon a nurse was helping a man through the door, a big man, about 6 feet tall, still well built, and I guess like the ladies between 85 and 90 years old. At first I was worried that he would not recognize his wife, but he did, he reached out and gently took her hand, raised it to his lips and gave it a courtly kiss, filled with love, respect, and a quiet joy in seeing her. The friend beamed, happy to see them together again. Then they slowly bent over and gave each other a big kiss on the lips, again gentle, but filled with a gentle love, the kind that comes after years of being together. Then they quietly went over and sat down and just talked.
I was touched by the simplicity of what I had just seen. A faithful relationship lived out quietly with no fanfare, no noise, just something that is. The enduring, the strong seems that way, quiet, not causing much attention. I guess fanfare needs noise, something flashy going on that catches others attention, so that they can somehow live through what the fanfare is all about. Usually, it is not about anything that is deeply rooted in what is good and healthy, the opposite really. How we love sugar, the sweetness that only makes us hungrier, instead of giving anything substantial, lasting.
There is a lot of good in our culture, we just need to look closely around all the lights and glitter and noise, to see the many who live quiet lives, that truly build community, deeply rooted in the reality of what life is all about. Commitment is a big part of it.
Chi
05.20.07 (8:42 am) [edit] |
Chi
She was short, under five feet tall,
Yet for all of that she was a fire cracker, full of life, spunk and anger,
With words that would cause a sailors ears to go red,
Flowed like a river from her mouth,
Her voice sharp like a whip, demanding to be heard at all cost.
Yes she was a fighter, a pit bull in a very small body,
Her hair curly, grey with the texture of cotton,
Two stubby pig tails on the side of her little head,
Yet it fit her this strange woman, whom I found beautiful
Her skin darkest black..... Black is beautiful so says the Song of Songs,
This I have found to be true.
(I am not white, I am pink, hence my love of skin darker,
Sun worthy, noble, gleaming in the sun,
While I merely cringe, burn and peel, turning lobster red.)
Her eyes wide, watching everything, not smiling
Yet she reached out and shook my hand as I walked by,
Looking me right in the eye along with her strong grip.
The staff loved her this I can see,
People with a lot of chi are loved or at least admired by others,
No she will not go gently into the dark night,
She will fight, and claw for her life,
Such is her nature this strange beautiful woman,
Impossible to ignore,
A warrior in a small woman's body.
It is her right to be the way she is,
Her own way of giving glory to God.
Some people are quiet, gentle,
These have their own kind of strength,
None better than the other,
Such is their right, to be who they are,
Respected,
Loved and cared for,
Gifts from God.
The more difficult teachers unappreciated
In the very difficulty in caring for them.
Each a work of art, unique, here only once,
Rough or fine, each truly a masterpiece,
Even if hidden from many.
Perhaps that is why they are here, the difficult ones
To make those who take care of them to look deeper,
Stretch, grow, which is often painful,
The fruit unsurpassed.
Eye contact
05.19.07 (8:50 am) [edit]
It was a beautiful evening one of those you cherish because you know that the summer is just around the corner, so it is best to truly enjoy the soothing cool weather that is Spring’s gift. Sun was out, clouds a delight to look at, and the other drivers for the most part seemed to be in a good mood.
As I arrived at East Side Hospital I noticed that a man was entering with a dog that looked like a Golden Retriever. I figured it was a Seeing Eye dog and thought no more about it. When I arrived at the elevator I noticed the dog there with it’s what I supposed to be owner. The dog was truly beautiful, well taken care of, shining coat of fur and quiet; the way trained dogs are. I waked up and asked the man what the dog was trained for, since he himself was not blind. He told me that it was a “patient dog”, trained to be around sick people and hopefully to lighten their spirits, or simply to draw them out. Now Golden Retriever’s are very popular as pets, they are intelligent, gentle, and good with children and from what some of their owners tell me, very easy to train.
This particular dog, stood out for me from other trained dogs that I have had the privilege to come in contact with. This dog seemed very solemn, perhaps even a little sad but in a way that ‘seemed’ almost human. Its eyes were intelligent and wise in way that I am not used to seeing in dogs, even the most intelligent. There was no urgency to be petted, even from its owner. It allowed me pet it; the dog even came up to me for some more petting after I did my bit with it and withdrew. There was also a silence that seemed to emanate from it, a deep peace, centered, something I have not experience from any dog before. Of course perhaps I was just more observant because it was in a place where dogs are usually not allowed. Who knows?
These little experiences make me think, that perhaps the neat world I live in, where dogs and other things have their place, may simply not be the way things really are. Years ago I came upon a mother with her infant son which was probably one of the strangest encounters that ever happened to me, perhaps because I was taken completely off guard. An outsider would have thought nothing of this encounter, it seemed so normal. As I walked by I looked down at the child, with the usual smile that adults have for babies, perhaps a silly one, never seen my ‘smile for babies’ in a photo. The infant could not have been more than six months old, was perhaps a little younger. In any case, the baby looked up at me and made eye contact, real eye contact, the way you do with an adult. This was not my imagination. I stopped in my tracks, shook my head, turned around and went in front of the infant, squatted and looked more closely. The mother did not seem nervous but she was keeping an eye on me for sure. The child looked at me like it was an old friend; it smiled a real smile, its eyes wise, and seemed to be full of knowledge and compassion. I told the mother my experience and she started crying, she told me that one other man told her the same thing a few weeks earlier. What to make of this experience? I have no idea. In my world a baby can’t be wise, can’t know me, certainly can’t feel compassion, yet perhaps that is what I experienced. Again maybe it was a simple projection on my part for some reason. That baby was a perfect mirror for me to look into. Or I am just trying to find a comfortable niche to put this experience into?
I get the sneaky suspicion at times that perhaps I really do have it wrong. Or perhaps the better way to put it is; I am just scratching the surface, and while what I believe may be true, again it is only the surface. People have told me that they remember being born, and the information that they gave to their families was veridical. What do you do with that? If true, then our understanding of human consciousness is severely lacking and perhaps we should pay more attention to these experiences.
NDE’s, ADC’s, and other experience that people have usually do not fit into any secular, religious or set theological understanding of what happens when we die. Do we take these seriously? The easy answer is to make them all hallucinations, or a true favorite is, make them demonic. That way a broader picture does not have to be looked into. Perhaps Carl Jung is right. After he came back from his NDE that called this world “a place of boxes”.
Dear God (a true story)
05.18.07 (2:46 pm) [edit] | |
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Our 14 year old dog, Abbey, died last month. The day after she died, my 4 year old daughter, Meredith, was crying and talking about how much she missed Abbey. She asked if we could write a letter to God so that when Abbey got to heaven, God would recognize her.
She dictated and I wrote:
Dear God,
Will you please take special care of our dog, Abbey? She died yesterday and is in heaven. We miss her very much. We are happy that you let us have her as our dog even though she got sick. I hope that you will play with her.
She liked to play with a ball and swim before she got sick. I am sending some pictures of her so that when you see her in heaven you will know she is our special dog. But I really do miss her.
Love,
Meredith Claire
PS: Mommy wrote this for me after I told her the words.
We put the letter in an envelope with 2 pictures of Abbey, and addressed it to God in Heaven. We put our return address on it. Then Meredith stuck some stamps on the front (because, as she said, it may take lots of stamps to get a letter all the way to heaven) and that afternoon I let her drop it into the letter box at the post office.
For a few days, she would ask if God had gotten the letter yet. I told her that I thought He had.
Yesterday, we took the kids to Peoria to a natural history museum. When we got back, there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front porch. Curious, I went to look at it. It had a white card on the front that said "To: Meredith" in an unfamiliar handwriting.
Meredith took it in and opened it. Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers, ''When a Pet Dies'. Taped to the inside front cover was the letter we had written to God, in its opened envelope. On the opposite page, one of the pictures of Abbey was taped under the words "For Meredith." We turned to the back cover, and there was the other picture of Abbey, and this handwritten note on pink paper:
Dear Meredith,
I know that you will be happy to know that Abbey arrived safely and soundly in Heaven! Having the pictures you sent to me was such a big help. I recognized Abbey right away. You know, Meredith, she isn't sick anymore. Her spirit is here with me--just like she stays in your heart--young and running and playing. Abbey loved being your dog, you know. Since we don't need our bodies in heaven, I don't have any pockets -- so I can't keep your beautiful letter. I am sending it to you with the pictures so that
you will have this book to keep and remember Abbey. One of my angels is taking care of this for me. I hope the little book helps. Thank you for the beautiful letter.
Thank your mother for sending it. What a wonderful mother you have! I picked her especially for you. I send my blessings every day and remember that I love you very much. By the way, I am in heaven and
wherever I am, there is love.
I love you Meredith, God
PS: My special angel wrote this for me after I told her the words.
As a parent, a professional, and a pet lover, this is one of the kindest things that I've ever experienced. I have no way of knowing who sent it, but there is some very kind soul working in the dead letter office !!!!
Cloesed doors
05.12.07 (8:34 am) [edit]
Closed doors
I first saw her as I entered into the unit,
An old woman perhaps in her eighties,
Frail looking as people of that age often look,
Bent over, very fired looking,
Safely placed in her chair,
Or perhaps imprisoned would be a better word,
Something very sad but necessary,
Yet I doubt that she understood the reason for it.
Both of her eyes blackened from what I do not know,
Though from abuse I doubt since she did not seem in physical pain.
I said “hi”,
She gave me a weak smile in return and I continued on.
William was disturbed and was glad to see me,
At first I was worried he was paranoid again
For his eyes had that look of fear and inner pain.
Thankfully this was not so,
Though for him it was something serious, immediate.
“I have no money he said, to pay for the food,
Two men had to leave because they could not pay”.
I could feel the anxiety flowing from him and the fear.
Of course he was hallucinating or trapped in some past event.
Rose was with me again and she stayed while I looked into the matter,
At least that is what we told William,
I merely stepped out for a minute pretending to deal with his problem,
Real to him, hence needed to be dealt with.
I saw the women with no name again,
Noticed that she was shivering, skin pale, miserable,
Missed it when I entered, I am not always observant of others,
There is so much I often miss, sad to say.
I got a blanket and wrapped her in it,
Not sure it would help,
Went back,
Told William everything was dealt with, so it is ok.
He said to Rose and I that he was afraid,
When he was by himself he would forget where he was at;
Everything strange, unfamiliar, frightening to him.
His disease continues to make inroads into his life,
Showing no mercy as it continues on its deadly march.
Concern over how we are going to be able to deal with this,
But deal with it we must, no other option will be considered.
We prayed for William and those in the unit,
Gave him the Eucharist,
Talked some more.
As we were going I could see he was afraid,
Alone again,
Another door closed that he can’t go through,
The lock keeping him from going outside,
Imprisoning in a place unfamiliar.
It is hard to do, but if I stay too long it only gets harder,
So we left.
Before I went out the door I said to him:
“Tomorrow I will bring you supper,
A hamburger, with only onions, fries and a coke”
His favorite food, oh yes and lots of salt,
He loves salt so.
He gave me a small smile.
When he hugs, he clings a bit.
So later today I will call so that supper will not be given him,
Take him supper and Eucharist.
There is so little I can do for him,
Perhaps it lets him know that he is still loved,
These little things done people do.
I often don’t know how I feel about things,
As if there is a box deep within and I keep my emotions there,
Something I wish were not so, but maybe necessary for me.
The lid however is not tightly locked; it opens from time to time,
Allowing feelings and emotions to be experienced.
I at times think the world is drowning in pain,
Yet,
I know this is not so,
There is joy as well, and yes love and concern,
Christ walks the earth in those around me,
We are his arms and hands that comfort.
He is also the one we comfort,
For Christ is not merely in us,
Christ is us, one to a degree not understood,
That is what immanence is all about,
It goes with transcendence,
They are one.
Rich in texture
05.11.07 (8:26 am) [edit]
Rich in texture
The chalice is golden
Inlaid with fine jewels of great beauty,
Its elegance unparalleled,
Unique.
Rubies large surround its handle,
Inviting a response,
To take and drink the wine of life,
Rich in texture
Intoxicating in its effect.
Bringing the joy of youth with all its pleasures,
As well as its struggles and pitfalls,
It goes down smoothly this wine of youth,
Leading one down life’s pilgrimage,
Its path slowly rising up to the mountain path,
Getting steeper as the years fly by.
Success and failure,
Love, desire and yes lust must be experienced,
Hatred and indifference towards some,
The same experienced from others,
At times wounding and yes wounded,
Part of the path that must be taken
If the chalice is to be drank fully from.
Falling and rising necessary,
Sin brings us back to ourselves,
To reflect and learn,
Slowly ignorance over come hopefully,
If not,
Well,
The chalices never emptied,
It contents can only be emptied when life is embraced,
The wholeness and brokenness each a part,
Equal in value,
One without the other useless.
So do not fear to drink boldly with large gulps,
Not fearing the mistakes,
The falling down
Or the getting up,
Nor the taking of blame and yes forgiveness.
We become real from living life,
Not from running away.
Each has their own path known only by the One,
The Eternal,
Who dwells in the depths and knows the true name of each.
When broken and worn with age,
The chalice empty,
Then the dark gate calls us,
The spirit if ready born into yet another life,
A larger womb perhaps that too must be outgrown,
Our growth eternal as we dive into the Eternal ocean of life and love
The mystery unending.
Unbeknownst
05.09.07 (10:02 am) [edit] | |
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Unbeknownst
The old man sat at the table by himself,
Unnoticed if not ignored by others,
Quiet,
Looking down at the book he was reading,
An aura of peace surrounding him,
Content with his solitude
Focused on the world within the book.
The waitress has a kind heart,
Easy to see in the gentle way she talks to him,
Touching his shoulder,
Asking in a whisper if he wants more coffee.
He returns in kind,
Smiling such a gentle way,
I can see why she dotes on him.
They see each other,
In that comes a knowing,
Yes a species of love that binds,
Perhaps only for an hour,
Or for longer periods if he comes often.
Little islands of healing often overlooked,
Since we can be healers unbeknownst to ourselves.
A touch,
The smile giving freely,
Little thing true,
However the seeds planted take root,
Who knows what fruit comes to fruition
When we become healers unbeknownst to ourselves.
A not so pleasant visit
05.08.07 (8:50 am) [edit] | |
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A not so pleasant visit
Rose and I arrived at Eastside for a visit with William. We had to take him back in to have his meds looked into, since he was starting to have some trouble dealing with his situation. He has now been there going on six days, and I guess his stay will be longer than what I hoped for. I always hope it will only take a week, but for him in the past, he has been there for three weeks or more.
My first visit took place on his second night there. I was pleasantly surprised that they had him in the wing for less agitated patients. It has a larger area to walk in, a large community room, and yes, somewhat quieter than the other two smaller wings, used for those who need constant supervision.
When I visited him for the first time, on his second evening there, he was in a bad way. His mood dark, feeling like he was in a dark place, seemingly trapped in some kind of event that may have happened in the past, made now present. He kept talking about how vulgar everyone was, and how the place was taken over by ‘them’, how disrespectful they were. I have always found it best to go along with the conversation, and eventually he seemed to get a bit better. I guess I stayed about 45 minutes and then left for home.
On my second visit he was in a much better place, talkative, jovial, and very happy to see me. The visit went smoothly, and near the end of the visit, I read to him from the scripture and gave him the Eucharist. I left with a feeling of hope that his stay at the hospital will be a short one and that soon he will come home. On the second visit I also meet one of the other patients there. He was an older man, I guess in his mid-seventies, but in very good shape. He likes to ride bikes since his wife died in 2003. He told me that he has lost a lot of weight, and he spends a great deal of time doing it; bike riding. His bike he bragged has 22 gears, so I guess he can pretty much ride it anywhere, hills not a problem. He seemed very normal, until he told me how he decided to take a two day bike ride without telling anyone in his personal care home his plans. So I guess that was why he was there. I don’t think he understood how he worried others, or even put himself in danger by taking off that way. Over all, a very nice guy, a man well met, so the saying goes, hopefully soon he will once again be in the saddle.
Last night, Rose, the RN who works here wanted to go in with me to see how William was progressing. She is a very caring Nurse, with enough compassion for three people, always helping others even when off duty. So we arrived, gave the code so we could in, signed in our names, and then went in to see William. We looked for a short time, and almost at once I could tell that he was not in a good space. He had a set smile on his face, but his eyes had a very intense look about them, like he was ready to burst with what he had to tell me. Rose, being very sensitive, excused herself and waited in the front sitting room for that wing. So we sat down and William starting telling me about the monsters that live there with him, who were out to get him, as well as me. He was very agitated and scared, and I felt some alarm since I have never seen him in this kind of state before; Angry yes, pacing, at times yelling, yes, but never paranoid like this. I excused myself for a short time and got Rose’s attention and told her what was going on. I also stopped one of the Nurse’s and notified her, she said that she would talk to his nurse. So I went back and the talk went on for a short time.
After awhile, I told William that I had the Eucharist, so let’s go to his room so we could pray and I could give him the sacrament. He agreed. So after we got into the room, his nurse brought him some medicine, which he refused to take at first. So I got the pill container and do what I always do when I give him his meds, I placed them in his hand, telling him that he takes medicine three or four times a day, so please take these. He did, and the nurse left. I asked William if he wanted to receive the Eucharist, and at first he said no, he was warned about that, and chose to ignore the answer. So we talked for a short time more, and I asked him again, and he said yes. We said an Our Father and a Hail Mary together, and he received. Usually he is very reverent, but at that time, he just chewed and talked, which was something new.
As I was watching him, I thought about the Eucharist, food for the soul. God comes to us in such a humble form, food, in such an unassuming way, like Julian said, He is always courteous towards us, gentle. God with us, even if at times we are not with him, whatever the reason. For William at this time it was his disease, Alzheimer’s, something that isolates William from others, but never from God. Yes God with us takes on a very intimate connotation when thinking about this sacrament. So earthy, immediate, bread, salvia, teeth, chewing, swallowing, digesting; yes God truly with us. The human bodily condition that many find unsavory seems to be embraced by God.
After he received, we continued to talk. Then he was saying something about his family, and as usual I go along with him when he is in a fragile place. He wanted to see them, and I said one day he will. He took that to mean that they were coming to see him. He went ballistic, and started screaming that they must not come here, that they will hurt them, how could I be so stupid. So I went along with him, and stated that when they arrived I would let them know, since they did not know the way to the hospital were he was staying. He insisted on calling them, getting louder, and I was starting to get worried, not sure were this was going. So I said that they were in the car traveling, and could not be reached. I then said I understood why he was so upset and angry. He was ok for a few minutes, then started thinking I was also out to get him, but did not try to defend myself, since that would make things worse. He was not of course rational. So I just listened, and that seemed to slow things down a bit more. At one of lulls, I decided it would be better for me to go, and hopefully the meds given would soon kick in, and he would start to feel a little better. So I got Rose, and we left, both of us with a heavy heart. One of the hardest lessons for caregivers to learn is that there are times when there is nothing to be done but simply wait, pray, and be there.
We work with a woman named Jody, and I guess we will call her tomorrow and see what is going on. I really hate Alzheimer’s, the suffering that some of those afflicted with it go through, cannot be measured. To have ones sense of time shattered that way must be beyond bearing. I guess the one thing that saves many of them is that they soon forget the immediate past, so in a way it helps, but then again each time they go another round it is like the first time, no memory to learn from, to put things in perspective. So until the disease progresses to the point where this kind of suffering ceases it can be a very long road for both the family, caregivers, and especially for the one who has to endure it. Still, even if William does not always know it, he is surrounded by those who do truly care for him. Like I told him once; “it is ok if you forget who we are, we will never forget you, or stop taking care of you”.
Where is God? Right in the middle, in the thick of things, unperceived but there none the less. All things work out for the good; all will be well, even when life at times seems to be nothing more than a shit-pie. Our temporality is a gift; beginnings and endings are something to be embraced and treasured. Without them we would soon loose our humanity. William is precious simply because he is a pilgrim, temporary, hence he is to be treasured like all humans. Christ truly among us, what you do to the least you do for me. I think we are all the least, so honor is due to all. I can’t say I always understand, or that my faith is clear or without doubt, but it has weathered a lot, and I suspect it will continue to deepen as my own pilgrimage slowly (or perhaps swiftly) moves towards its fulfillment.
Life is precious because it is short, it should be embraced in all of its manifestations. Hopefully all will find support when their times come, to give the gift of allowing others to take care of them. A strange sort of gift, but a precious one none the less.
Simple memories
05.06.07 (8:21 am) [edit] |
Simple memories
Sometimes, when I sit down at my computer with a desire to write, nothing seems to come up. It is like I am looking into a deep black well, knowing that there is life down there, but somehow it is hiding from me, playing peek a boo. I suppose the sides of the well can be slippery, so at times inspiration may just have a hard time climbing up. It seems to try, gets only to some point to where I get an inkling, and bam (!) it slides down again, below the water into the unconscious realm. Yet at other times when I write, whatever is down there just seems to flow out of me, into my fingers, and either onto the key board, or from my pen, if writing in my journal. One or the other, seldom in the middle for me; I seem to be a man of extremes.
Though at times if I focus on one item, I can often build up something around it; memories soon arise so that I can build some structure, a story about the experience. Let’s say for instance I think of ‘tea’. Well, there are lots of associations that cluster around that word. I love tea, we often had it had home. It brings to mind grilled cheese sandwiches, made just right. You know lots of Velveeta cheese, between two pieces of white bread. Melted butter in the skillet, with the sandwich smashed so hard the melted cheese flows out the sides, and its edges burned. Then having a strong cup of sweet hot tea to go with it; now that is a memory. My sisters know how to make them. When I visit them it is my most requested item on the menu. It is hard to get not only a good cup of tea in many restaurants, but also grilled cheese sandwiches; they are never made right. Never enough cheese, or butter, nor are they smashed; they come out perfect….never good enough. Sort of like ‘Barbie dolls’, that is what they look like. Bread not smashed, very little butter, and the cheese (not Velveeta!), is just one little slice. Now what fun is that? I usually don’t order them in restaurants, hence my desire for them when I visit home.
The whirl of a fan is another fond memory that I can build upon. When young, we always had a very large fan running all year round. It was placed in such a way that all the rooms could get some breeze from it. It was loud, soothing, and something very nice to go to sleep by. Almost as good as rain, another good memory. Even to this day I have a fan in my room running, even in the dead of winter, a good sleep aid. I can remember a funny incident that happened with the fan. I am a very light sleeper, so this really made an impression on me. One night the wind seemed to be more powerful than most nights, and I guess it blew one of the curtains so hard that it must of flown almost straight out, for it got caught in the fan. The racket was so loud that I think I woke up on my feet. My body must have jumped three feet off the bed. Not everyone woke up, but those who did had no idea what that awful noise was, loud, close, and yes scary for a 12 year old. I soon found out what it was, we fixed the problem, and went back to bed. I guess it took me a couple of hours to get back to sleep.
Life is full of homey memories that bleed into adult life. For me many of my favorite foods are based on that. For instance I love oatmeal. Many find it boring, but me, food from heaven. I even eat it raw, just pour in bowl and add milk and sugar. Something I loved to do in my childhood. I used to make my mother sick in the cereal department. I used to get Wheaties, or Corn Flacks, put in sugar and milk, then put in the fridge for a couple of hours until it got real mushy….hmmmmmm I loved it. Now that did not bleed over in to adult life. I don’t know how I got to like it, but when thinking of it today, the word slimy comes to mind.
Of course hamburgers and french fries. How wonderfully good they tasted when I was young. I think I still try to recapture that experience, and once in a while, I actually do it. Steak and Shake hamburgers to that for me; hamburgers from the 50’s, sort of like traveling to the past, all that is needed is one bite. Dad used to get them for us when we visited him for the day at the gas station, in East St. Louis. Every time I bite into one, I am flooded with memories of those innocent days. I really like burgers with simple mustard and a lot of onions, though fully dressed are good also.
So yes one small memory could lead to a great deal of memories being dredged up. The pleasant ones are of course easier to think and write upon. The not so pleasant are probably more important for me to think and write about. The more I learn of my past the less it seems to control me. Yet I am very thankful for pleasant memories and the not so pleasant.
A rant of sorts
05.04.07 (9:39 am) [edit] |
Ok another rant of sorts
It is interesting being a Catholic; we sort of get it from everybody. Atheist gleefully bring up the church’s history, which is of course is checkered, its past filled not only with the good it has accomplished, but also the evil it has also committed; which cannot be downplayed. Those in the New Age movement also love to denigrate the church, loving to bring up hair raising stories of abuse, both physical and emotional, which is also true. The best are some types of fundamentalist, not all of course, who usually have their set spiel. You know “you all are idol worshippers”, or my favorite “the pope is the antichrist”, with scriptures to prove it. I have always found that interesting, since the antichrist is supposed to deny Christ, yet the Pope and the Catholic Church have taught the divinity of Christ for two thousand years. Chick publication comes to mind, how anyone with any intelligence can believe the stuff he publishes is beyond me, yet there you have it. I guess it is too difficult for them to pick up a book and simply read it. God forbid that their minds should be stretched a bit. Perhaps it would be too painful, headaches are a bitch.
Here is another one, “if it is not in the Word then it cannot be part of Christianity”. People who say this tend to forget, or simply do not know, that the Canon of the New Testament was not collated until the 3rd century. Also that the letters of St Paul and all the other Epistles were written for the most part to deal with specific problems in the early church. I doubt that those who wrote the Epistles thought that they were writing scripture. They were letters; it was much later that they were considered inspired. I can just see St. Paul telling some friends, that he had to go and write something for the New Testament. Long before the third century, the liturgy, the sacraments, the Eucharist in particular, was central to the church; in fact they were from the beginning. Early Christian writings attest to this. So both scripture and tradition are two pillars on which the church is built. Though I know it is a waste of time to bring this up. I can see it now, someone seeking quotes to throw at me, from the very New Testament put together by the church that they hate…..we are a strange species, best to have a sense of humor. I suppose God does, or we would have been toast long ago.
The idol worship charge is always funny to me. The statures of the saints, or just that, representations of human beings, not of God, so how that is idol worship is beyond me. Catholics and many Christian in other Christian bodies, believe that death only brings one deeper into the body, the one body of Christ. I think many Christian’s think there are really two bodies of Christ. When you die, you are cut off from those remaining in the world, which is absurd to me. We are surrounded by a crowd of witnesses. Why it is wrong to ask a ‘saint’ to pray for me is something of a mystery. How that can somehow replace Christ, or dishonor Christ is another mystery to me. For Catholic’s, to ask a saint to pray with us, or for us, is no different than asking a Christian friend to pray for me. What gets me is that you can explain that until you are blue in the face, and in the end, you will get the same answerer, “you are an idol worshipper”. So I have given up arguing religion, I let people think what they will. Arguing with atheist, new agers, fundies of a certain bent, is a waste of time and energy. Again I am not talking about everyone in these categories; there are many, many exceptions. It is just that ignorance, like evil stands out, makes more of an impression that simple goodness and intelligence and tolerance. Tolerance is not agreement, it is simply respecting another enough to simply listen, learn, perhaps change a little in the process.
People fail, it is called sin. An act that is self destructive for the one who commits it, and also causes harm to others, without regard for their rights, or in many cases their humanity. Something good is desired, the problem is how far one will go to get that good. Theft, murder, control, torture, sexual abuse, etc, the list goes on and on. So why it should surprise anyone that people in religion fail is another mystery to me. The will to power is probably the greatest source of suffering in the world. People who seek power for its own sake rise to the top. They have the desire and the will to dominate others, it is again, called sin; another unpopular word in today’s world. Well for me, the failures of the church, our government, well everybody, myself of course included, is not a surprise. It amazes me how people get all hot and bothered when someone fails, falls, sins etc. Well if sin is denied, then people can be scandalized easily.
Religion, government, family structure, is not the problem. Well what is the problem, hmmmmm let me guess; perhaps it is just us. If only religion would go away the world would be a better place. Well in North Korea there is no religion, it does not look like a good place to live for me. In a Godless state, eventually, it is the government who will have to step in to make decisions for others. Read the book 1984, it is an eye opener. Talk about the will to power run wild. Ok this is petty, bringing up North Korea, but I will keep it here anyway. I can be very petty; this is after all a rant of sorts, a mindless one.
Sin simply means I am free to do whatever I want, the problem is that consequences follow, all one has to do is look at the newspaper, yeah full of consequences. If the concept of sin is embraced then it is possible to take responsibility for ones failures. If sin is not accepted then everyone is a victim.
Ok I also know that at times Catholics can be on the other end also. New Agers can be driven to distraction by Christians and Catholic’s in particular. Also atheists, many who are kind, gentle, open minded people also get clobbered. Also fundies get it from atheist in a big way; it is all spread around, shared. You know the saying, “sometimes you are the fly, at others the windshield”. Remember this is a rant, so I can’t be held accountable for anything I have said……&hell ip;I am a victim, which is of course bull hockey of the deepest sort.
The home (aldo 4)
05.03.07 (8:36 am) [edit] | |
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The home
For years I passed the complex that houses the building that Aldo is now staying in. At this point it only has three sections to it. One is an apartment complex dedicated for the elderly who can still fend for themselves. Another for assisted living, and the third, the building Aldo is in, is the Nursing home. When the complex first opened, all the buildings were owned by one commercial entity. Now I have heard that they were sold, and each is owned separate from the others. It is a nice complex. The grounds are well kept, quiet, pleasant, just another group of buildings that I see at least three times a week as I go about my business. Of course the seeing part is changing; I am getting inside, a world all to itself, a little universe if you will.
Now I am getting intimately acquainted with the nursing home. I suppose the actual experience of outsiders is unique to each one, though I suppose there are many connections there, but with each visit the connections might become more tenuous.
Also, what one believes about reality, would also help to color the experience. For some the world of nursing homes is one of unremitting grey, moving into black. A warehouse for keeping the elderly out of sight, hence out of mind, which of course has a thread of truth to it. There are so many threads that make up a tapestry, so many colors, some beautiful others perhaps not, it really depends on the one viewing, experiencing.
One lens is faith, something that I have, always had, and hopefully over time, it deepens as my life moves forward on its pilgrimage. The first visit of course can be the hardest. The smells that are often there, the seemingly vacant empty bodies strapped to chairs, at first can be overwhelming and depressing. I suppose one reason is that the inner life of the home, the relationships between staff and residents, the actual love and caring there, are not experienced right off the bat. As one who works with the elderly I know, there is a lot going on that is missed. Unless one has the eyes to see, and yes perhaps the faith to perceive what is below the seemingly obvious, which is not obvious at all, then the experience can be very limiting, and for some damaging. I am not sure it is good for everyone to go into nursing homes, though I think they are few.
On my second visit to the home, I was looking for Aldo; he was not in his room. As I was walking, I passed one of the recreation rooms. It is a large room, with a very large TV, and the residents are placed there. When I looked, all I could see were people strapped to chairs, some sleeping, others seemingly oblivious to their surroundings; the TV not really needed. There was one women with long grey hair stooped over in her chair. Next to her sat a man, much like her, bent over, eyes closed, but with a difference. He had his hand stretched out towards the woman, and the woman held on to his hand with one finger, perhaps the only finger she could use, yet she held tightly, and the man would not pull his arm back. So inside these bodies, broken with age, love was still there, powerful, mightily felt, life giving. The inner life goes on, perhaps much stronger than believed or realized. My faith leads me to believe that God is always at work in our lives. Deeply involved and in old age, the involvement may be very intense indeed.
As horrible as old age can seem and yes is for many in nursing homes, the inner life goes on, hopefully deepening. We do care for the elderly, perhaps we could do better, yet they do get cared for. Caregivers can tell you that it is an honor to care for those worn out by life. Difficult yes, but a worthwhile occupation, that most caregivers feel enhances their lives. They are overworked and underpaid, yet many stay in the field because they truly want to simply care for others.
If one perseveres in visiting a loved one in a nursing home, and is open to the experience, slowly the perception changes. Others or noticed, greetings given, and smiles exchanged. Staff members become like old friends, and respected for the loving service that they give. Words spoken to the other residents, even if the one spoken to cannot respond with words, there are other ways to communicate. At times a tear will be shed when the chair bound cannot speak, or a smile given, they become real, alive, just in a different way. I believe the mind is always at work, it is the brain that does not function, so the exterior can be deceptive. Of course many will think this nonsense. Well they have a different lens to view reality, mine is faith based, and yes also experienced and it is not just an intellectual acceptance of some abstract religion, but an actual experience of the love of the Eternal, not only for me but for all without exception. Infinite love is something I don’t understand, but experience. All are loved in that manner by God, infinitely.
It is a shame that more people don’t get involved in some ways with these homes. Their lives would be enriched, their faith deepened, hearts expanded, and yes they would become happier. The human heart is made to give, to love, we truly are what we are called to be, when we love and care for others. Many visit homes even if they don’t have family there; they do it because of the above. In loving they become their true selves.
Aldo 3
05.02.07 (8:11 am) [edit]
Well, Aldo is finally established in his new home. The social worker at Crawford Long Hospital was able to get him situated in the area where most of his friends and extended family live. It is a nice place, as far as that goes, but after all, a nursing home at its best is not what you would call a happy place. Most residents would rather not be there, those of course who can still care about such things.
On my first visit I found him in his new room, he has a room mate, who was not there when I arrived. I showed him some comfortable clothing that I picked up for him on the way in. Some sweat paints, and a couple of light color tee shirts that he likes. I told him that I would get him some more later, when he gets into a certain routine. The staff recommended that; to wait before we load up his closet.
He is of course still depressed, which is to be accepted, he has a lot to adapt to. Also he was having some trouble with his legs. His left leg he could move a little, his right not at all, which worried me, since on my last visit he could move his legs alright. He still has pain; sometimes it is in his legs, at others in his arm; his right arm, the one most affected by his stroke.
His complaint to me was that they would not give him his pain pills when needed, so I told him that Pattie and I would check with the doctor about that. I also went looking for the Nurse to ask her about this problem. She told me that his pain medicine is on a PRN basis and he needs to ask for it, something I am not sure Aldo really understands. So I went back to his room and let him know about the PRN status. I also talked to the nurse about putting him down to get pain pills at certain times during the day, every four or six hours. She told me that she would talk to the doctor about that. Later Pattie also talked to the nurse. She was told that when asked about pain, Aldo always told them that he was ok....so you see what we are dealing with. There is some dementia there, not always obvious, but there none the less. We are also trying to get something for depression, which may help a bit.
At this time he says that he does not want a TV, nor does he want anything to read, so he just lays there, which concerns me. Hopefully in a few weeks, I will be able to put him in the wheel chair van that I drive, and take him over to Pattie's and Michael's for a visit. Of all his friends, I think he is closest to them. Michael loves Aldo very much, and has spent a lot of time taking care of his car needs etc. So he and Pattie are very close to him. A visit to their house would do wonders for him.
I am at my worst visiting. I feel so helpless, there seems nothing to be done at this time to alleviate his interior suffering, and such is his journey at this time. Yet time moves on, and I feel that he will adapt to his new home. Even though it is doubtful that he will be able to go back to his small apartment, we did pay for one more month, so that he will have something to hope for; to go back home. That was Pattie's idea, she is better at that kind of thing than I am, more sensitive. I am not sure I would have thought of that on my own. He has lived there for 20 years, so it is really home for him. He is known by many there, and the owners are sad that he might not be able to come back. He is a very gentle, quiet man.
Changes can come so quickly. Hopefully his friends will be able to make a difference for him. Ann, Judy, Elizabeth, Michael, Pattie, and others, will continue to try to support him, which perhaps is his final mile on his pilgrimage, though it could be a very long mile. We are all in Aldo's life for a reason. Extended families are important, the ties are deep and enduring, and we will journey with Aldo until the time comes when he is called home.
I know he is tired; his life has been very difficult. My hope is that after he settles in, he will find some peace there. The staff is kind and really wants to help him, and I think when that sinks in, it will be a big help to him to let down his guard, and let go of the fear that he is feeling now. He has no control over his life, everything has been taken away, so yes he has a great deal to adapt too, to let go of, and hopefully again to find some peace.
I need to wake up
05.01.07 (8:30 am) [edit] | |
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I need to wake up
The prohibition against judging others is something that I at times spend a great deal of energy thinking about. I suppose it goes hand in hand with in injunction to treat others as or even to love others, as one loves themselves. Why? One thing I do know, I hate it when someone thinks that they can read me like a book. I remember an incident many years ago when a friend of mine told me that. Well it changed our relationship, I felt like he put me in a tight fighting box, so the trust factor dropped big time, and I guess the friendship ended, though I don’t think he knew it. Most people have an allergy to being judged. Probably because most judgments are false, or if not that, then fragmentary, only seeing bits and pieces. When judging, the other actually becomes an object, frozen in time, shelved, filled for further reference. I am not saying we cannot make judgments, but I feel that is different than the actual judging of another person. The “other” can never be reduced to being “that”.
People are very complex entities, if not infinite in depth, though that may be true, then at the least they are constantly changing, growing, evolving, or perhaps in some cases de-evolving. In any case people are not objects. Yet, often that is what happens with me. I make people around me props in my play, or pieces on a chess board that need to be moved around so that I can be comfortable. If the pieces don’t move the way I want, then I get anxious, angry, self-righteous…..etc., etc., the whole ugly picture. This is an automatic function. To break that I have to wake up, or become conscious in a different way, that would stop this vicious cycle. Judgments, at least the kind I am talking about, are for the most part reactions, robotic even, stimulus and response, nothing more. It is easier to look at the splinter in another’s eye, than in dealing with my own log, which is blinding me to the truth of those around me.
If I treat others the way I want, then it is obvious that I will struggle in trying not to judge them, box, file, or shelve. I find that it is what I call “constrictions&rdqu o; that gets me in trouble. When people are not at their best, then the flow from their inner richness is cut off, walls are built, and it is easy to reduce people to that state. Some have them more than others. Labeling flows from that. Some labels are vulgar, others demeaning, or cruelly humorous. In any case they are hurtful to those being judged, and perhaps more so for the one doing it. The more judgmental the person the more restricting his or her life becomes, since people tend not to hang around others who don’t accept them. The more people are accepted, the more willing they are to change and grow. Opposition only leads to entrenched ideas and behaviors. Guilt never really works, or if it does, for a short time only.
People are holy, sacramental, icons of God. Anything destructive towards them is what I would call sinful, because in the end all lose out. We are called to love others as ourselves, and not to judge for a reason. It is a wake up call to who we all are as individuals and also the identity of those around us. Like God, the consciousness of men and women and yes children, are not objects but subjects, and it is the least, those which stretch us where, Christ is more fully encountered. We are called to wake up, not sleep walk through life, to break away from the old way of doing things to Christ way, to see his face in the countenance of others. This is not pious sentiment, but something difficult to do. I have not even begun to walk down this path. I take a few steps, then fall back into the trance state of being the center of the universe and everything else objects. Hopefully as I get older, the waking moments will increase for me, as well as for all of us. The old way is not working, has never worked.