True
06.30.08 (6:38 pm) [edit] |  |
 |  |
True
Love can promise much at first flush,
until the time comes,
when off the pedestal each beloved falls,
then,
trails begin
to see if love be true.
 | |
| |
Intuition and faith
I think that it is important on the spiritual path, to trust ones intuition when encountering some kind of problem with the faith, images of God, or simply what is told by Father, or some other spiritual authority. As we mature in the faith and also experience, we have more to draw from than is sometimes understood. We do grow in wisdom as we slowly make our way up the mountain, and that needs to be trusted. When saying this, I of course think we need to have either a Spiritual Director, if not that a friend with whom we can confide, or if not that, then some author or authors that truly speak to our heart.
Fears have to be confronted, and the answer is often presented to us by our ‘simple knowing’. This knowing leads to a larger understanding of God’s place in our lives and how he works with what we give him. We are often chaotic, wounded, and failures can be common in most lives. Our intuition can lead us to understand that all that happens along the road is important. Our failures, as well as our victories, are the very stuff in which grace works from; where self knowledge slowly grows, leading to a greater understanding of what humility is all about; which is often other than commonly believed.
Low-self esteem is not humility, it is something that needs to be faced, admitted to, and worked through. What can be named, seen, can be brought to the fore in prayer, which in the end allows our self-defeating cycles to be lessened and even curtailed over time. Humility leads one to understand that growth is slow, healing comes in ways that are not expected, and in the end, through grace, we become people that we never thought possible.
Anything that cause servile fear is not from the Spirit. Jesus presented God as father for a reason. It is a sign, as well as a symbol, that can allow us to grow slowly into the wonderful mystery of God’s infinite love for each one of us. So take courage, for what St. Paul said is true:
"nothing can seperate us from the love of Christ".
Intuition
We often know more than we admit,
for truth is often too good to be true,
or least we believe,
not trusting in what our soul tells us:
that fear constrains.
While trust,
the hoping against hope is what we are called to,
a true death to self,
(for we often embrace our pain,
a safe harbor
from the deep tumultuous sea of faith,
to the something more,
stronger than death,)
to something more glorious than we can ever imagine,
is the road we are to travel.
So trust in God’s guidance.
move forward in courage and love,
no matter how dark,
how shattered on feels,
or
how deep the wounds,
God’s love is the only true thing,
and the growing in trust the second truth.
The magic word
06.28.08 (9:55 am) [edit] | |
| |
The magic word
It was supper time when I walked in to the main room.
Philip was there, sitting, not eating, but crying;
he goes through times like that.
He just cries,
mostly he smiles when crying,
perhaps reliving some past episode,
going back in time,
perhaps decades,
in any case he was not in distress,
just smiling and crying
He was not eating however,
his sandwich nicely cut up
so he could handle it,
lay uneaten before him.
So I sat down and tried to feed him myself,
but he just looked at me and smiled,
and yes crying.
So I used the magic word that is used all over the world,
it always works,
brings smiles to peoples eyes,
calms them down,
what is this word,
well you already now it:
Ice cream…..
So I said the word,
Philip smiled,
I got it,
he ate it,
though he still cried a bit.
We laughed while I spooned it for him,
loving each bite given,
and I said:
“I bet you could eat ice cream all night if I fed it to you?
He looked at me and shook his head up and down,
in solemn measure,
with great dignity,
as if I had spoken a word of truth,
which of course I had.
Images of God
06.27.08 (8:24 am) [edit] | |
| |
Images of God
One of the greatest obstacles for most people when dealing with God, are the images that are operative, either in their conscious mind, or in the unconscious. I would suppose that our unconscious images could cause the most havoc, since they are deeply hidden, working behind the scenes, at times calling the shots in ones spiritual life. Some unconscious images of God can be terrifying, placed there when we were children, helpless to be able to discern the truth or falsity of statements made about the Creator. God is often the projection of all the worst aspects of what it means to be human. For instance, God is seen and experienced as vengeful, angry, punitive, and seeking only to send the sinner into hell, to be tortured forever and ever. These images can cause an inner paralysis of the soul, keeping one a prisoner of these projections. It is not possible to love what is feared, nor to trust, to placate yes, but to love and trust, no.
It takes a lot of courage to be able to face up to these idols and to dethrone them, and it is grace that allows this to happen. For it is in the facing up to these false images, that God slowly draws us to Himself. We are taught that God is love, then oftentimes, after that statement is made, we are given a very large ‘but’, which nullifies any idea about love. So many have a rough road in unlearning false images, often taught by those also afflicted. There is no condemnation in this, for I think most people struggle with images of God, which cause much interior suffering. There are those of course who are free of this, and we should surely listen to them when they speak of God’s love. I am not one of them, for I have had a long struggle with what I call “the spider God”.
Self loathing, hatred, despair, self centered worry is not from the Holy Spirit, it is from our own broken and tormented self’s, who on some level think that this sort of thing is a form of humility, when it fact it is the opposite. For humility is something based on truth, and the basic truth of our Christian and Catholic faith, is that God is Love, period. Infinite love to be exact, an ocean without beginning or end, all poured out for you dear reader. Now this can be hard to understand, well it is impossible, I can’t, yet it should give us courage to go forward knowing despite all the inner clamor; that we are loved. We are called to make deep acts of faith and trust in this reality, until slowly we become to experience the freedom from too much self concern, which is narcissistic to the core.
Prayer is conversation with God, no matter what kind it is. It can be a wordless sharing, or thoughts can be present; in the end it is an actual being present to God, knowing that God is also present to you; more present actually, one with you, fused with your soul, holding you in existence out of love. One way to deal with fears is to drop all the pious ‘crap’ when praying, and to truly present what you may feel is the worst about you, and freely open yourself to this inner truth. If you are angry, state it. If you want to kill someone because of some horrible past hurt, say it. Lustful, admit it. If for some reason hatred for God is felt, it needs to be expressed. We all fear to be seen, often only showing part of whom we are to our dearest friends, yet even then we are careful with what we say. And for good reason, for we all have limits to what we can accept about others. Well truth be told, we are seen, fully, so why not just express it, name it, before God? Nothing you can say or do will keep God’s love a bay. We create our own prisons, God only wants to love and forgive.
If you find something impossible to do, or if you simply don’t want to do it, well again, speak it, loudly before the God who loves you. Be honest, childlike, open, and fearless before God. The fear of God spoken about is not the kind of fear that cringes, but the fear that does not want to hurt a loved one, we all know that kind of fear; at least I think we all do.
The sacrament of reconciliation is to allow us to experience that love and forgiveness of God, which is in reality always present, we just need to hear it from time to time. So cling to God, and when you can’t, ask God to cling to you. For have you not experienced God as faithful during the ups and downs of your life? In your darkness, have you not felt the light break through, God seeking you, embracing you, sweeping you up in His arms?
So strive to be merciful, for you, me, we, all of us, receive mercy all the time, so pray to be able to show that mercy to others. Allow you own brokenness, you sinfulness to draw you close to God, not to drive you away. God sees all; your soul is pure crystal before His loving gaze. Nothing is hid so speak the truth, and if you don’t know it, ask for the grace to receive it. Nothing can separate you from the Love of God; nothing. Well one thing, your freedom, yet if you are reading this, you are a seeker, you are open, you love, and no matter what happens, you are loved. Again only God is our judge, we cannot judge the inner relationship of anyone with the Transcendent, not even ourselves, which is meant to free us, not to burden us with worry.
Let go
On the cross where Jesus hung,
nailed to the beam,
thirsty,
gasping for air,
looking upon those who hated him,
tortured his body,
mocked,
as he looked upon them,
he forgave,
saying,
“Father forgive them for they no what they do.”
If those are forgiven who hated Christ,
what about those who seek and love him?
Aware of their own inner failures,
weaknesses,
inconstancy and sins;
should they fear(?),
or rejoice in such love freely given,
giving us strength to face the truth without fear?
To experience the lightness of being
that only love can bring,
to a world heavy burden,
weighed down
with fear and pain.
Beads
06.26.08 (11:01 am) [edit] | |
| |
Beads
Beads in hand, I sit my nervous self down, my body restless, mind scattered,
so I take a deep breath and slowly start to pray, feeling the round beads,
hard to the touch, calming, slowly, very slowly, flowing through my fingers.
My mind slowly relaxes, my body calms,
and my soul is free to ponder, praise, intercede.
Some days it is harder than others to become calm,
yet that is ok for I can still pray one bead at a time,
a rosary or a chaplet of mercy, or the Jesus prayer,
they all work to bring me again home, a place to rest,
life giving waters for my thirsty soul.
Inner wounds healed, sins forgiven, compassion felt,
allowing me to go and show the same to others,
the love of our all loving God
A ritual
06.25.08 (9:10 am) [edit] | |
| |
A ritual
Just about every night I have a ritual; putting William to bed with the help of Bernie, one of the CNA’s that works here with me. Some nights he is peaceful, other in a good mood, some nights he likes to scream and fight. Also it can be that all three are present. In any case it has to be done. I like doing it actually, not because it is fun, but simply for the fact that William and I interact with each other. He remembers my voice from way back, so sometimes, not always, I can calm him down, at least a little when he is in one of his fighting moods. It is hard for him, difficult; I doubt I can come anywhere near in describing what he has to go through some nights. For there are times when he has no idea what we are doing, and simply fights us out of anger and I would suppose at times, fear.
We clean him, and also do skin care and have to make sure he is safe in the bed, which at times can be a problem. We have something we give him with his supper, which thankfully is still working for him. So by the time we get him ready for bed, he is sleepy enough to fall asleep as soon as we finish. He likes the room cold, so after we finish we cover him and put the Air Conditioner on high, then he is snug and sleeps.
Last night he only yelled at us once, his usual: “Get the hell out of here”, then he calmed down. Some night, like last night, he gets fascinated by my long beard and likes to grab old of it. Not rough in any way, I think he is just trying to figure it out, or perhaps asking himself the question:
“Why would Markey want to wear such an ugly beard?” Hard to believe that everyone does not love my beard as much as I do; well perhaps not, from time to time, I get some funny looks in public.
So we finish, I say a little prayer over him, and make the sign of the cross on his forehead; he seems to like that. On nights when he thinks I am his mother, I give him a kiss on the forehead and leave him in peace. All in all he is a delight to work with, though he can like I said, get a little aggressive at times.
Bernie who works with me most nights has a rough time with him also, more than anyone. She reminds him of someone from his past. So on some nights she becomes that other person for him, from his distant past, and can really get angry and very aggressive. So I make sure I am always there, or if not me, someone else. Then other nights, we he is more present to the ‘now’ he treats her well.
Old age, when the filters are gone, allows acting out. So you often get an unvarnished version of humanity, perhaps the true one. What is hidden must come out, perhaps a final healing for those on the final mile of their journey. No mask, just them, stripped down to the bone, all pretension washed away, humility experienced for what it truly is; just simple truth. No fancy smiles, or bows or pretty wrappings, just what they are before God. I think that is enough, standing before God and others, just as they are.
It does not matter
06.24.08 (6:59 pm) [edit] | |
| |
It does not matter
I took Luke to the dentist today, a moved up appointment, which was good,
he needed an emergency root canal, so we gladly took the appointment. It is a very nice drive to the office, no traffic, pleasant day, again no rain, which I wish was otherwise. Nice days can be way overrated if you ask me. A little rough weather, a nice long downpour, would be good for the area, yet for the last two years we have seen little.
We arrived at the office in Lawrenceville, got there a little early and sat down to wait.
I noticed a very old lady sitting there in the corner, with a very big smile on her face,
she seemed to glow, and gave me a warm welcome. Across from her were two very young girls, I would say, 7 and 10, both on a small couch, talking and laughing with each other. The very old and the very young, both for me to survey, while pretending to read from the book on my lap. The older women I could tell was one who just loved others, she had an aura about her, welcoming, very much alive, and I would say young at heart.
The two sets of humans, the young and the old seemed the same too me,
the older women finding childlike delight in the young, beaming, shedding light, and the young not noticing since that is the way the young can be at a certain age. Yet if I had a choice, I would choose to be the older women, for if my intuition is right, it would certainly be wonderful to be her, at least for awhile. Perhaps she is at the end of a long journey in which her love and kindness was something hard won, a life well lived, at peace.
It does not matter, for I have my own journey, unique in its own way, yet so like others.I have a few more miles to go, not as long as the youngsters, nor would I want it, for one life is more than enough. For our journey is beautiful, full of joy and suffering, success and failure, lots of pain and pleasure, a mixed bag, but I would not have it any other way, for life is the great gift, the wholly freely given grace. A hard journey, with not as many answers as we would like that is for sure. However the elderly, at least the ones I have worked with and talked too are at peace with ‘unknowing’, more so than the young and the not so young.
A day with victor
06.23.08 (4:53 pm) [edit]
A day with Victor
Four days ago Victor took a turn for the worse. He became very weak at breakfast and during the meal he threw up some bile. So we took him to his room and put him to bed. He is DNR, (do not resuscitate) but we always talk to them anyway, in case they have changed their mind. So we asked him if he wanted to go to the hospital to see what the problem is. His answer was no. So we left him in peace about that issue.
He is a man who has a very good sense of humor, intelligent, but can be very stubborn about certain areas of his life. For instance he has very strange eating habits, and odd ideas about health and how best to pursue it. There can be some difficulty with him, but since he is very intelligent individual, some sort of resolve can often be worked out.
He loves Jack Mackerel, a fish that comes in a can, and smells like road kill left out in the heat for a week and then brought indoors. Well perhaps not quite that bad, but on some days I have to hold by breathe as I walk by him eating his supper. He eats mostly raw veggies, and likes his water room temperature. His appetite is huge, though I would not say he is overweight. A tad eccentric, colorful, and well loved by all who care for him…… and all of this from someone who can laugh at himself from time to time; life is good.
Over the weekend I noticed that he was not improving much, also a bit confused. You would ask him a question and his reply would be off the mark by quite a bit. He slept a great deal, though he has always been good at that, sleeping. I can’t say I was overly worried, for he is 89 years old after all, and he shows no fear of death, or dying.
This morning I noticed that his left thumb was red. Over the weekend he complained of pain and told me it was arthritis. After checking his med list, I started giving him some extra strength Tylenol, which seemed too helped. The redness was a new development and I notified the Nurse. So we both talked to him and tried to persuade him, to allow us to send him in to the outpatient clinic, at the local hospital. We needed to find out about his thumb, if it was broken or not (he had a fall on Thursday of the previous week); also to get an x-ray of his lungs, for he also seemed to be congested. Then we needed a little more clarification about what he wanted.
Even though we knew the answer to the question we presented, we asked it anyway. The question being; would he be willing to stay in the hospital if they wanted to do some more test on him. He looked at me and Rose and did not give a clear answer. So I reminded him that if he was not clear with me, and they found something in the hospital that need further test, I would admit him. So he thought a little more, saying that he did not want to be put in the hospital. So we called an ambulance service and I followed it in.
I was glad we could go to outpatient, for if I had taken him to the ER, we would have been there all day. He would have been far down on their priority list, since his life was not in danger. It was hard for him; he was a little confused and became quite impatient. We were there only about 45 minutes when he began to ask what the hold up was, he wanted go back home. So I talked with him a bit, sat down next to him and started reading a book I brought with me. He was soon fast asleep. Soon he was processed, the x-rays done.
After he was brought back into the waiting room, I asked one of the techs’s if they cold please get Victor some water. Soon a glass was brought to me; he took it, sipped, looked at me, at the glass and said two words….”ice water”…&hell ip;.. So I took the cup and got him some very refreshing room temperature drinking water.
The tech told me that she did not see any sign of a fracture, so I asked them to call the Ambulance service to take Victor home. They were there very soon, and he was off.
Soon he was in his bed, eating a very good lunch. The fact that his appetite is still strong, is a good sign that he may be with us for awhile longer. I like that, though I wish the Jack Mackerel could be dealt with, just joking.
I am both
06.22.08 (10:21 am) [edit] | |
| |
As I monitor how I live up to my own beliefs, my many failures, starting over again and again; it is hard for me to be shocked, though I am often saddened, and yes angered by evils committed by others. For I can find excuses for my own weaknesses, often playing down the harm I have done, yet exaggerating the acts done by others. I find this strange. For even when I know what I am doing, I find it hard to stop, to being harsh; so it one more thing I struggle with. The list so long that I have stopped counting many moons ago.
Empathy does not excuse, yet it does understand, for we each have our own burden to bear, inner pain unseen by others; for our facades work well, perhaps too well when the mask is taken for reality. So yes I fail, we all seem to, well perhaps their may be some who don’t, but I have yet to meet him or her; perhaps one day. Then, if that should come to pass, what would become of my many excuses, for my own evils done, to others as well as to myself.
Am I wicked? Am I good? Well perhaps the answer is no to both of those questions. For I see much conflict in the depths of my own soul, a war within that I do not know if I will win. Seeds planted when young take root, deeply embedded in the soul, the mind…… the unconscious waiting for their spring time of both good and evil. To be a simple loving human being is a struggle, yet many do it, so common that it is not adverted to, perhaps we should think about the good done and be surprised by that.
I am both dark and light, love and hate, good and evil, though evil seems the easier road, and easy slide, yet many fight it, seek something more. Perhaps this is what grace is, something given freely, each heart free to seek out the good, or to not.
So much pain, so much sorrow, the tears of mankind could drown the ocean. Make it solid, with the salt that is shed in the weeping of the afflicted over the thousands of centuries that swiftly fly by. We seek but are never satisfied, for once a mountain is climbed, well it is over, so something bigger must be desired, for we seem never to be at rest.
Many reject the reality of sin, for it is poorly presented. It is not an offense against a taboo. No it is an act of self creation that draws one further, one step at a time, from love, compassion, empathy; leading to isolation, rage, anger and eternal hatred……tho ugh I wonder if it is possible for it to go that far, for I do believe in infinite love, folly to some, truth for others.
Perhaps it does not matter, for is it not all a free gift. For mercy deserved is not mercy at all. The more a heart can love, the easier it is for joy to flow. Yet without self-forgiveness and mercy toward others, joy is but a fleeting dream.
I love Georgia
06.21.08 (9:43 am) [edit] | |
| |
I love Georgia
I like the cold, not like in the North of the country, but around 40 degrees or so. I like to feel my bones chill, it is so easy to breathe, I feel good. It is even better when a cold rain comes pouring down, just rain, and no snow. For as much as I love rain, I hate snow very much, don’t know why, but if I never see it again, I will be very happy.
I get sick in the heat, high humidity makes it worse, I feel nauseous, weak and irritable, like a piece of wilted cabbage. Rain relieves it, but the humidity can come back and kick me in the ass for sure. I love Georgia, so it is worth putting up with the heat, but when fall comes I am a very happy camper.
I am also not much a fan of the Sun, been burnt too often, so I shy away from it. My brother told me once that I looked like I was always sick, or perhaps a vampire. I laughed, for the sun or the thought of it makes my skin crawl, though I have yet to burst into flame when I venture out into it, perhaps one day. Though I don’t think I will ever want to drink blood; no I like the real thing, Coca Cola. Yeah I am a true citizen of Atlanta all right; Coke rocks! Pepsi is for sissies, for it taste like a coke that has been open too long, also too sweet for my taste, and it does not burn as it goes down…….nah Pepsi is for losers.
So here I am in a state that I love, Georgia, yet it gets way too hot in the summer, and to top it off, no rain, or any real rain for a couple of years, am I loyal or what? Or perhaps just stupid…..
Head banger
06.20.08 (6:31 pm) [edit] | |
| |
Head banger
I love the bass and pounding screaming voices,
Metallica,
Ramstien,
God smack,
Disturbed
and of course Korn,
must no forget the vintage AC DC,
with a voice like he swollowed gravel,
I love it so,
all played the way God meant them to be,
with the windows down,
volume up,
and at times me a balding overweight
(but not too much)
almost 60,
Santa Claus look alike,
refried hippie,
though I was never really one,
at least not refried:
screaming like a bloody teenager;
pathic I know
but I don't care
the hell with good taste at least for awhile.
Walk in silence
06.19.08 (7:40 pm) [edit] | |
| |
walk in silence
dark shadows cover the grey road,
trees whisper softly dancing with the gentle wind,
the full moon bright from the sun's light
as I walk in the silence
listening to the mocking bird giving its opera,
so peaceful
how I wish I could make time stand still,
but soon the sun will peek over the horizon
and a new day begun.
Photo album of the soul
06.19.08 (1:26 pm) [edit] | |
| |
A photo album of the soul
By John Barry, Times Staff Writer
Published Friday, June 13, 2008 1:30 PM
The doctor asks the nun to begin her centering prayer. It's a Catholic method of prayer, goes back to the 14th century, a form of deep meditation. The nun sits straight, in silence. She closes her eyes and focuses on a sacred word, or small prayer. She "rests in God."
A catheter dangles from her arm. After 45 minutes, the doctor injects her with a radioactive tracer. He lets her pray 10 more minutes as the tracer in her bloodstream wends its way through her brain.
Then he leads the nun into his lab, has her lie down, and scans her brain. He's using a process called single photon emission computed tomography, or SPECT. It's a common technique in nuclear medicine, used to photograph the brains of patients suffering anything from seizures to brain trauma to heart disease to Alzheimer's.
The nun isn't sick. She's "on God."
She's a person of faith donating the use of her brain to a scientist — Dr. Andrew Newberg of the University of Pennsylvania. Amid today's ideological struggles between people of faith and science, that kind of collaboration sounds heretical.
But Newberg is among a small group of doctors and scientists on a different track. They do not find science and faith incompatible. They are using sophisticated technology to hunt down and map the soul.
Newberg, a professor of radiology and psychiatry, is not religious. He's Jewish by birth, but Judaism isn't a big part of his life. If a dying patient asked him to pray beside him, he'd do it. But he wouldn't lead the prayer. When his 8-year-old daughter asks him about God, he answers her with a question: "What do you think?"
But he has searched for spirituality in the brain for almost 20 years. He has probed the brains of praying nuns, meditating Buddhist monks, and Pentecostals as they speak in tongues. He has written three books: Why God Won't Go Away, The Mystical Mind, and his most recent, Why We Believe What We Believe. He has another book coming out next year.
Scientific exploration of spirituality has quietly prospered outside the red zone of Darwinism, creationism, embryonic stem cell research and abortion. Newberg is a noncombatant. "The actual battle is overblown," he says from his lab in Philadelphia. "It focuses on extremists. It leads people to think scientists believe religion is a bunch of crap.''
In Why We Believe, Newberg suggests the human brain can't function without beliefs, without a search for meaning.
"In spite of our lapses of memory, our inconsistencies of logic, and the inherent shortcomings of consciousness, humans have done a pretty good job at surviving. For better or worse, we reinvent the world every day, searching for the ultimate reality we call truth, enlightenment, or God."
• • •
Besides, he wanted to know what's going on in there.
In the early '90s, Newberg had fallen under the mentorship of psychiatrist Eugene d'Aquili, an early pioneer in the effects of religious and mystical experiences on the brain.
Newberg was then a student at the University of Pennsylvania medical school. He was completing an extra year of research in nuclear medicine. But he had always been interested in psychiatry and brain research. D'Aquili's work looked especially novel, esoteric.
He made a pitch to d'Aquili: Why not test your theories in the brain scan lab, using human guinea pigs? Why not photograph brains during religious experiences?
They found willing volunteers among three disparate groups: Tibetan Buddhist monks, cloistered nuns and Pentecostals who speak in tongues.
Starting with the monks and nuns, they shot them up with radioactive isotopes and zapped them with the SPECT machine.
If the brain houses such things as souls, they did locate them:
Everywhere.
• • •
Looking for belief in the brain is like looking for God in the universe, Newberg writes. "God is everywhere and nowhere, depending on whom you ask, and the same holds true for beliefs: They seem to be everywhere and nowhere in the brain, again depending on whom you ask."
But as Newberg combed through his brain scans of nuns and monks, some hot spots were obvious. The frontal lobes got especially busy. They're the part of the brain he calls the "attention area." The meditators had clearly tapped their frontal lobes to focus on their task.
He also saw the thalamus kick in. That's a pea-sized piece of the brain atop the brain stem that, among other things, sends sensory information to the frontal cortex, where much of our heavy thinking happens. Whatever was happening in meditation, the thalamus was making it feel very real.
The surprise was elsewhere, in the parietal lobe, the part of the brain that helps us orient ourselves in relation to things around us. Newberg discovered that the nuns and Buddhists had actually shut down that part of the brain, suspending their senses of space and time. It was then that they entered the peak of their transcendent experiences — altered states of "timelessness and spacelessness."
Why the brain does it, no one knows.
But it's not by accident.
• • •
Newberg is still looking. His next book, How God Changes Your Brain, comes out in March. It includes an online survey of people's different religious experiences.
He concluded Why We Believe by saying we may never know all of why we believe. "It is the questions that give us meaning, that drive us forward and fill us with transcendent awe."
All the scientist really knows is what he tells his 8-year-old daughter when she invents another new notion of God, of faith, of truth.
"Isn't that interesting?"
This story is one of a series looking at how people reconcile science, reason and faith in their lives. John Barry can be reached at jbarry@sptimes.com or (727) 892-2258.
© 2008 • All Rights Reserved • St. Petersburg Times
Tit for tat
06.17.08 (2:06 pm) [edit] 
Tit for tat
I often wonder what it would be like if I finally got it? If I understood what for many, is nonsense, absurd, even immoral if acted upon. Lives can often be weighed down by the sense of wrongs done, or injustices done to oneself. How to handle such a thing? The feelings; the angst, anger and pain that flow from such a situation, that is common in our human lives. Such burdens are carried, so many deep wounds unable to heal, so much weight, it is a wonder that we do not sink into the earth. Though we often put each other there before their time, the earth wet from the blood of the many destroyed, in the name of justice.
Cycles within cycles, and unending path, passed on from one generation to the next. The intensity only growing as the fire fed, revenge sought, justice desired, even if the innocent suffer also. Which draws them into the ever growing circle of bloodshed and violence and the endless, bottomless void of hatred seeking fulfillment, yet finding none, making the world a desert, cold and dead, empty For fire given back only increases the flame, such is the trap of mankind, a very large spider web ever growing capturing mankind’s pain and its inability to stop the seeming never ending journey. Perhaps one day to make this world into a living hell, though it seems at times to come close to it already.
The only way out is the one not taken, perhaps it cannot be, though many like me parrot its teaching, themselves unable to live up to it scrutiny. In order to stop the flame, it must be starved, by showing mercy to those who do not deserve it. For mercy is not mercy if deserved. God’s mercy is freely given, for he forgave those who crucified him, knowing that they knew not what they were doing. Perhaps none of us really does, know what we are doing, acting out of passion, habit, jus another round of irrational tit for tat.
Woman Who Had Near-Death Experience Recalls Surprising Way She Was 'Judged'
06.16.08 (7:02 pm) [edit] | |
| |
Woman Who Had Near-Death Experience Recalls Surprising Way She Was 'Judged'
Several years back we met a woman from Syosset, New York, who had a near-death experience. We try to be cautious with all such reports. We're well aware that there can be deception in any realm, and also that near-death experiences, because they involve a reality far outside our own, can seem strange to some people.
But hers sounded legitimate -- one of the most powerful we've heard -- and the Church has been recording such experiences since the fourth century (when Pope Gregory the Great detailed them). Scientists recently issued a study saying that millions have had these experiences, and we believe this woman, who resides on Long Island, is one of them. We believe she has some lessons to teach us. As you'll see in the coming several days, her experience was a complex one that shows us something about God's judgment, the way we are to conduct our lives, and how the Lord watches over us. After her "death," she claims to have had visits from the Virgin and the Lord. That aspect of her experience we submit for your discernment.
Her name is Barbara Marie (we'll preserve aspects of her privacy). She is married, has two teenage children, and her "death" allegedly occurred in June of 1991 -- when surgeons conducting exploratory laparoscopic surgery for endometriosis perforated the membrane to her small bowel at the outset of the procedure, causing what she and her husband describe as massive bleeding. Before she was brought back, doctors had to frantically take her intestines outside her body to search for the source of hemorrhage, which was finally found. "They tore it right as they were putting the instruments through," says Barbara, whom we met at Our Lady of the Island Shrine in Eastport. "They had lost me twice. They told my husband they had lost me and didn't know if they could get me back. The first thing that happened was that I realized I was in a void. It was a total black place in space, is the only way I could describe it. For a fraction of a second, I was very scared -- but as quickly as that came, I was directed to the left side of me, and as soon as I turned, there appeared a Light in the distance to the left side which immediately comforted me.
"At that point I just started heading toward that Light with my being -- I don't know how -- and I was surrounded by what I would describe as a tunnel. There were like rings of wind, like the funnel of a tornado, and it was moving forward. Besides the Light, which was very bright, there was a prism within it and music unlike any that there is on earth. I don't know how to explain it. The music was so welcoming and it becomes a part of you. It was comforting, angelic. And I was moving up this tunnel and getting closer and closer to this Light.
"I know there was some kind of companion with me because every time that I had a thought, to ask a question, everything was answered immediately, as I 'asked' it. I remember stopping briefly because within the walls of this tunnel were beings.
"I never had a great religious upbringing and never thought of purgatory, but when I came back it seemed like part of that, probably the last level of purgatory. [The souls] were existing like on the outside of the tunnel and resting, as if they were sitting or standing or lying down. I had a surge of emotions. I felt sorrow for them and despair because they were stuck where they were but it was also made very clear to me that as much as there was despair, there was full knowledge and peace within [these souls] because they understood and accepted that they couldn't yet move forward."
It was a glimpse of purgatory. But the Light was still there and was still to Barbara's left. "Brilliant, brilliant," she says. "You can't describe the brilliance. It was just filled with love and peace and the knowledge of God. As you move through that tunnel, you're more and more consumed by it. And then at that point I was in the Presence of the Lord. I was prostrate. I was not able to withstand the awesomeness and the majesty of what was before me! I was nothingness compared to that. And then there was a period of being embraced by this love and peace and serenity and knowing I had reached my final destination, that this was truly a home."
It gave new meaning to the word "home." This, she realized, was where she actually belonged. This is where she wanted to permanently be. But first there was a "life review." Call it her "judgment." It was astonishing to see her life as God did. In many ways, things looked very differently, she told Spirit Daily. "I was not only shown the things I did good and bad, but like a three-way view," she said. "I was seeing it first through my eyes and how offensive it was. Then I was seeing it through the eyes of the person I had offended. Then I saw through the eyes of Jesus. When you see it in the Presence of Jesus, there's sorrow you can't even imagine, because there's true knowledge of the offense -- recognition and accountability. There's that inner cleansing and accountability. Then you take further accountability because you see it in how you affected somebody else. When you see it through somebody else's eyes, you see how it intertwined with their lives. You see it from a whole different point of view and you see how it affected their journey. And then when you see it through the eyes of the Lord, you see it as a whole. It makes the whole thing complete. You see how in the course of all creation it made a difference and how it then affected the Creator -- how it stops at the Creator when you offended one of His own.
It wasn't all bad, says Barbara. There were also the victories. There were the "magnificent" accomplishments that caused joy to the Lord.
These events of her life amazed Barbara because they seemed so minor.
"The Lord showed me the things that really mattered, the 'extraordinarily,' 'magnificent' things that I had done," said Barbara. "There were two profound examples. One was when my girlfriend lost her fiance and it was devastating; he had been decapitated in a car accident. The Lord showed me how I was on the phone with her one day for two or two-and-a-half hours and just sat there and listened to everything that she said. I remember saying to the Lord, 'I don't understand. I didn't say anything. What great magnificent deed did I do?' I could never comprehend how this was something extraordinary or magnificent. I did nothing. I just sat there. I didn't say much more than five or six words. I couldn't comprehend how that could be so pleasing to the Heart and Mind of Our Lord. Then I was shown another time that I had walked into church and this woman had lost her husband. I didn't know this woman, but I was so moved that she had lost her spouse that sitting in the pew I felt I had to do or say something and so after Mass I had just gone up to the altar -- she had been sitting in the front -- and just put my hand on her shoulder. Again, I didn't say anything to her. It wasn't what I said. The Lord made it very clear that it was the gesture, the placing of my left hand on her shoulder."
It was the personal touch. It was kindness. He was not great feats the Lord was looking for -- not great feats as men describe great feats. It was how we made others feel -- and how much we helped. "Nobody has the same journey," continues Barbara. "My whole experience had so much to do with where I was in my personal life. It had a lot to do with my children and my husband. The way I was offending the Lord the most at this point in my life was my nearly verbal abuse. It was my attitude and the way I spoke to my husband and children. It was my tone and the things that I said that were very offending to another's soul and heart. You can be firm with your kids, but the Lord doesn't want you to use an insulting tone. We don't see things the way the Lord does, and for me it was a tremendous eye-opener. I was shown my vocabulary and the tone with which I said things, because it was a condescending tone. Firmness is allowed -- but with love."
Barbara was also shown how particular events had a tremendous rippling effect -- far more than she imagined. When she woke up grumpy and was negative to her husband and kids, the Lord showed her how this spread to them and from them to others through the day: at the workplace, at the deli, at stores, and then through the families of those who were touched by the negativity until many had been affected.
"There was a circle of light around the world, and as I awoke and did this, the circle of darkness went over this circle of light and erased it," Barbara recounted. "Then I was shown the opposite, how when I got up in the morning and smiled and presented breakfast, hugging the children, how it went from my house and I was shown a drop of light that started in this one spot on the globe and went in this band of light around the globe. That was the way it was supposed to be."
The goodness might spread to her husband who spread it people at work or to a guy at the deli who then spread it to others who took it home with them or spread it elsewhere in a chain reaction that didn't seem to stop -- that seemed, at least in the spirit, to have global effects. "I was shown this ocean, this sea, and a drop of light that falls into this ocean and has this rippling effect," Barbara said. The trauma came when the Lord indicated to her that it was not her time, that she had more work to do, that she had to return to earth. She had great love for her husband and kids, but pleaded with the Lord to let her stay in His incredible Presence. She never wanted to leave Him. The thought of that overwhelmed her with "this despair so severe that I could never put into words." She still weeps in talking about it. But return she did. The doctors brought her back. After more than a week in the hospital, she returned "home" -- knowing this was not her real home, that her real home was elsewhere, that it was with Jesus.
We all need it from time to time
06.16.08 (9:04 am) [edit]
We all need it from time to time
When very young, before I was 10 years of age, I guess you could say I was afraid of the dark. The surrounding blackness always scared me, for I always saw (imagined) that there was a dark figure standing there, just watching, but scary all the same. Of course it was just the corner, even darker than the rest of the room. Closets where the same, for they became deep, pitch black cavern’s, from which all kinds of creatures would be looking out at me; so I kept those doors to other darker dimensions closed at all times. I suppose I was like many boys, a lot like Calvin in the “Calvin and Hobbes books”. In fact I still have a bit of him in me.
After a while, the dark became a friend to me, soothing, quiet, life affirming, also a place where I was just alone, with no demands placed on me, just me with my thoughts and of course dreams; of which I always had many. Until I was ten I had nightmares every night, with music, thick green fog coming in, alone in a dark, dank, dingy ,dismal, dungeon like forest and of course some people chasing me; sort of like the modern day zombie movies. Maybe that why I love ‘B” moves so much, I manufactured them in my dreams, everything was there but the credits.
I love low clouds, dark, and the closer to the earth the better. I feel more comfortable in that kind of environment, than in bright sunlight. I find nothing soothing about too much sun. Perhaps it is because I am light skinned, and in the past have had some serious run-ins with over exposure, leading to second degree burns all over my body. Very painful, so to this day I can say, that while I love the sun, the thought of being in it too long makes my skin crawl, give me darkness, cool and soothing.
I love to get up very early, perhaps at 2 AM and go for walks, listening to the breezes, the crickets, movements in the woods, deer running across my path, and yes the soft shining moon with its soft reflection of the sun upon the night landscape. I love waking up in the middle of the night when it is raining and find listening to the soft music of the rain better than sleep, a truly beautiful, almost ecstatic experience.
When a teenager, because the family was so large, it would become for me at times a little to chaotic, I would feel like a stretched rubber band, ready to snap. So having my driver’s license I would get in the family car and simply drive. Sometimes listening to music, at others just driving with the windows down allowing the moist Panama air into the car with me. Loving the glow of headlights on the road before me, very few other vehicles on the road; just darkness, in all of its gentleness and beauty, alone, allowing me to rest and to just think or not. Vegetating has its charms every once in awhile. With or without music, for sometimes it is just noise, at others, it speaks to my soul. I like all kinds of music, classical, country western, rock, heavy metal, rap, world music, each in its own time I seem to crave, at others it is just silence that I need. Music plays a large roll in many people’s lives, for me I just like to listen when driving.
I needed that escape from time to time, for I was a big part of the chaotic fun, fighting, arguing that went on in our home. We can be a hyper lot. So since I over did it I would become exhausted and needed to refuel. In fact I still do, when around people I can get on a roll, get hyper and yes exhausted. I guess many people have this kind of cycle that can’t be broken, at least I can’t, and perhaps some aspects of our personalities take a whole lifetime to integrate.
Perhaps when I am 90 I will not need that going and coming, I will be a perfectly integrated human being. Well I won’t hold my breath. It is kind of funny, that some of the aspects of my nightmares are what I came to love a little later in life. Don’t worry…. zombies are not one of them. Just the darkness, the forest and the fog; what was once nightmarish is now healing.
Holy man off Cleveland exit I-75
06.15.08 (10:00 am) [edit] | |
| |
Holy man off Cleveland exit I-75
He actually has a regal look about him, at least when first spotted, sitting on the side of the road. Long white beard, thin hair also uncut, in matching white shirt and shorts, soaked with sweat on some days. Looks almost like some sort of holy man one might see in India, along the roads there, begging while sitting in some sort of yoga position. Yet when one got closer to him, as he was sitting on the side of the road, near the light, off the Cleveland Avenue exit, off I-75, that first appearance quickly changed, to something much harsher and mundane; which could not be ignored I am sure by most people who drove by.
He was very thin, crippled, his legs useless to him. The first time I saw him, I wondered how he got around, have never found that out, but someone must help him out a bit, to just get from one place to the next. He looks like a veteran, one of those broken by some war or another, seeking solace from whatever was in the brown paper bag he always has by his side, from which he will often take a sip. He does not try to hide his brokenness, what life has done to him, probably would be honest in his own compliancy in letting it happen if asked. For his tragic state was complete, there for all to see. So I would guess humility would come with that, the truth unvarnished. Though perhaps not, I have not talked to him, just see him as I drive by, his image soon becoming a white spot in my rearview mirror.
I suppose I have seen him four times over the past two years, always on my way to the Veterans clinic that is about three miles up on Cleveland. A few times I would stop near him at a red light. The first time I did not know what to do, for you have to get out of the car to give him anything, so perhaps some silly fear kept me from doing anything. On the second time around, as he sat there drinking out of his bag, looking expectantly up at those passing by, I again came to a stop next to him. It was a long light, so I got some money for him, knowing that he would spend it most likely on drink, yet I did it anyway. I got out and handed him the money, he looked up and gave me a beautiful smile, saying: “God bless you friend”, then I drove on.
It is hard for me to even contemplate what kind of life he lives, crippled, living on the street, perhaps not wanting to do anything else; for mental illness must be part of it. Sometimes doing something is not much better than doing nothing, since if he used it for drink perhaps I harmed him, yet I don’t know. So if I see him again, I will again give me some money, having it ready in my shirt pocket as I get off at the Cleveland exit off I-75.
For after all he is my brother, a human, who is in pain, who is also a good target easy to feel contempt towards, put him in a box, shelve it and forget. Yet he is my brother and at times one can only do what can be done, which in the end is not much. Though I feel privileged that he gave me his blessing, for is he not made in God’s image?
Friday trip and traffic
06.14.08 (12:11 pm) [edit] | |
| |
Friday trip and traffic
I was with Luke, taking him to the dentist; an emergency, his teeth, a lot of pain,
so we got him an appointment, late afternoon on a Friday in North Atlanta, could hardly wait, talk about clogged arties, I was sure all road would be slow moving. Lucky for me I know the back roads, which was not too bad.
On the way in, I played some country western music, to help me stay awake, mid afternoon is always a bad time for me, my body feels like slow moving water, so music helps to keep me awake and alert. So as I was listening, Luke, who is 96, turned to me and asked: "could you play some rap for me, I have never heard any, and would like to see what it is like"?. Since I tend to like rap music, I gladly turned a rap station for him, knowing that I would not play it long.
So I got a song going, something fast, with lots of words, spoken with beauty and of course those special sound effect so beloved in modern composition. So he listened for a while, trying to make sense of it, then looked at me and said: “too many voices for me to understand, what is it about".
So we talked about it for awhile, and he said that he guessed it was really not for someone his age, but he could understand why young people like it. I thought that was kind of a cool answer, for there is a great deal about rap that is good, apart from the disrespect some rappers seem to have for their own people, there is still a lot that have some messages we could all learn from.
Got to the dentist, he charmed the receptionist for about 30 minutes, and then he went in. An infection, would have to come back in two weeks, meanwhile he got a antibiotic, which I picked up on the way home. We were lucky, no heavy traffic on the back roads; boy was I thankful, we were lucky with that. Sometimes on Fridays afternoons it can take two hours to make what is normally a 40 minute trip.
For some reason after these trips I feel rung out, like an old cloth,
limp, hanging over clothes line, yep not 25 any longer, but that is okay, I am happy with my age, sixty is still young to some people, though to me no, yet I have a lot of years in me, and miles to go before I sleep, as Frost would say.
 | |
| |
Our elders
They are everywhere, these very old people, each a call to meditate on our own mortality,
something most would like to put off until tomorrow, yet we only have today, tomorrow does not yet exist, will never in fact, well as an idea, for there is only this day where our potential can be lived out.
Our elders seem frail to us, but wonders of wonders they seem to enjoy life, their canes, walkers, rollaters, do not interfere with their pursuit of life and its gifts, in fact, they often seem more at peace and calm than their younger counterparts, and yes many seems filled with contentment, love and yes joy.
They laugh, their eyes sparkle if only we take the time to look, if we speak to them they often show deep wisdom, if not that, they show us an acceptance of what simply ‘is’,
often speaking of their deep faith and experiences of God’s faithfulness in their lives,
and behold they are truly beautiful, for their fragility speaks of a life well lived, worn out with work and worry, giving themselves totally to their life’s task, many veterans of our wars, who dare not talk of their experiences, so painful are they.
Many will speak of death, showing no fear, yet not wanting to go yet, for we are here for a short time one old man told me; “we should hang around as long as possible”.
They are brave, taking each diminishment with grace, though I am sure at a cost, gentle with others, based on a life lived with concern for those around them, enduing pain with grace, helping each other walk these last miles, sitting with one another when sick, helping each other take that final step through the dark door in to the arms of the infinite, of which many place their trust.
The aged should not be pitied, but admired, for while their sufferings are many, their dignity is also deep, and courage profound, just because it is a common trait does not take away from its preciousness, nor admiration off.
It is true that not all the aged are like this. For some, life has been brutal, a nightmare, they are wounded, often cantankerous, and some can seem mean, evil even. Yet they have also walked a hard road, they just could not overcome their past, these should be dealt with compassion, mercy, empathy and forgiveness, for none of us knows which group we will fall into. Perhaps they are there to teach us something of patient endurance, and in loving them, healing will come. That is my experience with working with those oldsters who are troubled, in the end all respond to love, for some it is just later than others.
For the gift of old age is the living out of truth, no mask, what you see is what you get, which can be unpleasant; in the end we have much to learn from the aged, they are our teachers, and in getting to know them, hopefully, old age will not be dreaded, but simply accepted as just another mile to walk on our pilgrimage.
Life is really a pilgrimage, it is a truth often forgotten, we so seek permanence, yet that is not to be. The aged, in which most of us will no doubt be one day, sooner for some like me; teach us the folly of seeking one point in life where we can finally sit down and rest, no each moment we move forward, dragging and kicking, or with acceptance, it matters not, we each have an appointment waiting at the dark door, which will open for each one of us.
Being with
06.12.08 (8:56 am) [edit] | |
| |
Being with
One of our newest employees, Fiona is her name, has very recently suffered a great tragedy in her family. One of her brothers died recently from drowning. I can’t imagine how horrible it must be to receive that kind of news; it is not something one can prepare themselves for. She is a gentle soul, a good worker and is respected by everyone who has the privilege to work with her.
She is very intelligent and can ask some good question when it comes to faith in God, about death and what comes after, if anything. She is honest about her doubts and struggles, something most of us go though in our lives. I guess no matter what one comes to believe about the nature of life, doubt will often be there, for any world view is not something that can be proven, for one is dealing with meaning and mankind’s struggle to find reasons for it all.
As we were talking one day about the above issues, I remembered a book that I had read, written by a doctor who ran a hospice clinic ( Into the Light: Real Life Stories About Angelic Visits, Visions of the Afterlife, and Other Pre-Death Experiences by John Lerma ). It dealt with the experiences that many of his dying patience went through as they were nearing their end. He would talk to his patients drawing them out and was able to pass on his experience in book form. I told Fiona about it, and she expressed a desire to read it. So I lent it to her.
A few days later she brought the book back and thanked me for lending it to her. She then started talking about Philip, who is our longest lived resident here. It seems that she has been having some experiences with Philip, that have touched her deeply. As we were talking she related how Philip was acting like some of the people she read about in the book. How he would often look into the right hand corner of the room, and often say that he was not alone. Bob came up a few times; he was one ours and died about a year ago. She did not think much of it, until one day Phillip said something to her that got her attention. She was talking to Phillip about her brother, the one who drowned, never mentioning his name to him. Well Philip said that her brother was here with her, and mentioned his name, which both shocked and comforted her. The next day she asked Philip if her brother was still with her and he responded with: “no thank God, he is not here anymore”, and smiled at her.
She wondered why this happened to her. The only thing I could say is that she received what she needed and God was using Philip to deliver it to her. I guess I can say that I have had my share of experiences with the dying as well and also from time to time, from those who have died, I guess you could say that I have had some visitations. Though over the years they have lessened, probably because I don’t need them any longer; for I really believe we only get what we need. I would imagine, that many who work in a hospice like environment, would also be able to relate an experience or two, if asked about it. Are they real? Well there are many ways to interrupt these experiences, but when they hit home on a deep personal level, I would imagine there could only be one way to deal with them; they are simple markers, telling us something about life. Perhaps a glimmer of the answers we all are seeking and perhaps what our faith is already telling us.
Just another day
06.11.08 (8:17 am) [edit] | |
| |
Just another day
It was a hot day in Georgia, so I guess it was just another day. Air heavy,
kinda hard to breathe, sweat, and yes more thirsty than hungry. I was
with Jerome, dental appointment, as usual went longer than it should have,
so I asked him if he would like to eat out. Of course it would be in the car, for
while he is getting stronger, he still needs a walker, or on some days, a wheelchair
to get around.
“Wendy’s&rdqu o; he said, “a hamburger”.
So I drove up to Wendy’s, left the air on. He told me that he did not need the air,
he like it warm. I laughed and said; well I think 92 degrees might be a tad too
much in the car. As I was walking toward the entrance, a man came out,
he was average looking, between 45 and 55, he looked at me and said:
“wow man ZZ top”
I smiled, my beard is a little longer than average, not quite to my belly button, have
had it for 37 years, so it is sort of a article of clothing. People give me all kinds of
reason for my wearing it. I agree with all of them, that always shuts them up. So he started telling about a ZZ concert he went to the other night here in Atlanta, dancing and singing at the same time. I could tell he was different, perhaps some mental difficulties, not deserving pity but perhaps a little more attention than I would normally give to someone else. So we talked, I told him of my love of the duo, their music, though I did not say that my beard was way better than theirs; much too humble for that or not.
“Legs, she’s got legs”
He again started to sing, the above. So I said, well I need to go in and get some food for me and my friend. So then he told me he was a veteran and was wondering
“if I could let him have 10 dollars for gas money?”
.Well I said:
“ let me go in and get my food and when I get some change I will give it to you.”
So I was getting my food, thinking about him, ashamed a little that I did not quite trust
what he told me. However I did believe he was a veteran, he had the look and the
way he treated me a fellow veteran, allowed me to believe him. He reminded me of
one of my brothers, a loving man, easy to be with, but carried some baggage from the Viet Nam war, this guy was probably from the Gulf War, and the baggage seemed the same, I felt right at home with him.
So as I was leaving, I gave me more than what he asked for. He looked at it and said he
did not need that much, but I told him it was ok to keep it all. He smiled, started to sing
and dance again. I think I loved the guy, or got to in the short time I met him. Was he a con, I don’t know, I doubt it. No he was Christ, he is everywhere on our streets, in our homes, and within our won hearts. For we all need compassion from those around us from time to time and we also need to show it. It makes us human, expands our hearts, and yes though it is not the reason for, happiness also flows abundantly.
You are closer than my skin
06.10.08 (4:22 pm) [edit] | |
| |
You are closer than my skin
If I understand
The reality of infinite love,
Would I die of joy?
Perhaps I grow only in darkness,
When I fail,
As I do so very often.
It is in the getting up,
Not despairing,
The growing in trust
That the slow understanding of love grows.
The faithfulness of God’s grace,
Always reaching out,
The comprehension slowly comes to light,
I am truly pursued by the most passionate of lovers,
My soul desired by infinite love and beauty.
How can such a thing be?
Am I crazy?
Deluded?
Many would say yes,
Yet in the end
I am still pursued.
We all are.
Baubles
06.09.08 (8:17 am) [edit] | |
| |
Baubles
Every once in awhile, one of my friends will ask me why I am so obsessed with death, time and the overall fragility of life. I am always surprised by that question, since I am not sure ‘being obsessed’ is the right adjective to use. I am pretty much an average person and I would venture to say, that the many test I have taken to see how I am doing psychologically, all point to the fact that I am pretty middle of the road, common, though that does not have to mean boring. So because of that, it takes no great leap of faith to believe that others also think along these same lines.
There are both great depths that can be found in life, as well as absurdities. In the book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible (the Old Testament for Christians) deals with it quite well. In fact it starts off with this sentence: “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity”; and that first sentence, has always stayed with me. Another quote, one of my favorites is: “much ado over nothing”, also sums up a large portion of life; well it does for me anyway. I don’t know if this is being negative, dark, depressed, or if it is indeed something real and perhaps is an important lesson for all to learn. In any case I am sure that it is a common subject that many ponder over, throughout the long or short years of their lives. It is just not something that is discussed at juniors’ birthday party, family gatherings, weddings etc. For many the subject comes up after they have had a few drinks, when inhibitions or lowered and that is when philosophical discussion begins. I have had moments like that and have found them rewarding; some friendships have started over such encounters. A great deal of literature and philosophy and yes theology, have been printed about the central issues of life. Perhaps the main one is simply that we will all die, for some I think that is the only one, all the other question flow from that one reality: ‘death’.
Nothing can really be held on to. Time takes care of that for us. It can be possessions, friends, brothers and sisters, spouses, children, well anything, eventually one by one they fall out of our life, or we fall out of theirs. I don’t know why it is considered negative to dwell on such subjects. It seems to me that when these truths are considered, many others areas of life will fall into place. If these last things are not pondered, then life can be squandered on nonsense, cotton candy, boxes with nice covers, with a pretty ribbon, but inside, there is no gift, just disappointment and for many loneliness.
Things, no matter how pretty, in the end are merely objects. Good in themselves, but they are not ends, they are just ‘things’. It seems, at least for the people that I have known; want something more. They want ‘subjects’ in their lives, that make all the’ objects’ worthwhile, but without that everything is empty, lonely, a gelded prison of sorts. Bars of diamonds, windows made of Tiffany glass, comfortable beds with gold and silver post, silk bed spreads; in the end however, a cell of cold, empty, isolation. Things are good to have, but if one is alone or empty inside, they bring cold comfort. Without relationship everything is flat, empty, absurd.
We are made for substance, reality, that which endures, yet often blinded by baubles. Forgetting the brevity of our lives, we can let others slip through our fingers, never to return. Life is precious because it is short. It is something limited, transitory, vapor; which is what gives it its intensity. So to be aware of the shortness of life; the reality that life does turn on a dime, can prompt us to live better, deeper, more fulfilling lives. True richness is the love of others and yes the ability to love in return which often takes courage and perseverance. Without that true color is drained from life, only gaudiness remaining.
Being a believer, a Christian, there is also something much deeper. So deep and enduring that even if all is lost and one is alone, isolated; well there is still ‘the’ relationship that all others point to. The prize that we all seek in our many wanderings in our lives; to be truly seen, loved, and looked upon as a true ‘subject’ and not as a mere ‘object’. For me that is the relationship with the divine, also the relationship of the divine with each of us, for we are pursued, for all else fails in the end, infinite love does not. For that is what we are made for, both a gift and a curse at times; we are pilgrims after all. We seek a place of rest, but there is none, for we are on a journey, and time is road we travel upon. This is not often a pleasant prospect, for truly life can be a hard journey for most of us, but in the end as Lady Julian says: “all will be well”. For some I am being infantile, well I let others believe what they want, for me I will dive into the arms of the infinite lover of us all; others must do what they think best for them. For I am the judge of no one; we are all on the same journey. Hopefully we can help each other along and not hinder with contempt, for that is truly is what makes others mere objects.
dissipate
06.08.08 (7:13 pm) [edit] | |
| |
dissipate
all others are like a thick fog
soon they dissipate into nothingness,
nothing left in its wake
but pain,
betrayal,
and for some death,
a once living heart turned to stone.
Dance
06.07.08 (9:39 am) [edit] | |
| |
Dance
The soul if allowed to be it’s true self,
each unique,
will respond to the rhythm of music presented,
the soul becoming ever more alive
as if God herself were caressing the soul,
allowing the joy of pure existence to flower for a time,
the soul bleeding with cosmic joy
blood running hot with ecstasy,
spirit and body one all clumsiness put aside,
lost in the joy of transcendent love.
Some fear such abandon,
perhaps they are wise
for the over concerned cannot move freely,
looking at their own feet in absurd concentration,
fighting rhythms influence.
To move to music a great gift accorded mankind,
people all over the world know of its charms,
dancing around in wild abandon
giving glory to the Lord of life,
allowing joy and life to flow
forever upward and outward,
gracing the world with its healing.
wordless
06.06.08 (8:18 am) [edit] | |
| |
wordless
the soul is made for truth,
yet truth is not something that can be owned
nor forced on others.
revelation accepted
is formed by the vessel which receives it,
that is where abuse flows,
from the deep well of human limitation
before the infinite.
infinite,
something without end nor beginning;
no depth
for there is no bottom,
no height,
for there is no ceiling,
on ward forever and ever.
terms have no meaning when talking about such things,
yet that is all we have,
so,
love,
endless,
how can it be understood
or even preached,
for in the doing limits are created
by a minds finite.
Perhaps it is best to live it,
simple,
its teaching for all to see,
wordless,
yet powerful.
taking like writing is cheap,
it is in the living
where truth is experienced;
that which we all seek and thirst for;
love.
after the living,
then the teaching will take root
and blossom.
in end it is all grace,
for love not freely given,
or received,
is not love,
just compulsion.
Prejudice
06.05.08 (8:18 am) [edit] | |
| |
Prejudice
I can remember an incident that happened with my mother when I was 16 years of age. This of course happened in Panama, where I spent my high school years. Before I go into my little altercation I had with my mother, I would like to say something about her. Like my father, I would say my mother was a liberal in her thinking, and as she aged, again like my father, she became even more open in her beliefs about life, people, government and religion. That does not mean that was skeptical about faith or belief in God, though she was wary of organized religion and she would often speak to me about that. For I was a devout catholic, and she worried that because of that, I would be unable to think for myself. So she would challenge me on certain points, and tell me to always think for myself, work it out; don’t let others tell you what to believe. I guess on some level that worked, for she would say something about my faith and I would go and study it and come back with an answer. I guess that is one of the main reasons I stayed in the church; I spent a lot of time answering her objections. She always thought that funny. It was her questioning me, and my studying, that kept me in the faith.
She was very open to others, and all were welcomed within its walls. Race, religion, social status, did not matter to either my father, or my mother to an even greater extent, and the mix of people who liked to come into our humble abode was varied and often very interesting. I would often prefer to stay and listen to the adults talk, than go outside and play, some pretty interesting things were talked about.
So the day I had my little discussion with my mother was an eye-opener for me. Not so much about my mother but more about the complexity that makes up what it means to be human. At the time I was dating a girl who was the offspring of a mixed marriage. White father and a black mother, so she was a beautiful latte color, and also at least for me, gorgeous, intelligent and best of all, a great dancer. A very important consideration for me at that time in my life, for I loved to dance. So out of the blue my mother said: “Mark why are you dating Ann (not her real name), you know that she is half black?” I was surprised by the question, but I answered “yes mom I know, what of it?” The question was not answered, for I think my mother felt embarrassed that she caught herself in a prejudice that she perhaps thought she did not have, but surfaced because of the situation of having a son dating someone from a mixed marriage.
People like to think that the loss of innocence happens only once. I suppose in a way that is true, but there are times when ‘lesser’ innocence’s are lost, when the world changes after some incident or another. I went away and thought about what my mother said and came to the conclusion that there are cultural prejudices that are absorbed and cannot be gotten rid of, they will always be part of ones life, and often a cause of embarrassment and bafflement.
Prejudgments are almost always false, or with just enough truth in them to be very dangerous. The greatest and hardest prejudice to get rid of or those that pertains to race, tribe, and religion; well I guess that pretty much covers it all anyway. I also came to the conclusion that I also had them, for being my mother’s son; I was certain that were unconsciously passed on to me. The above incident being perhaps one of many, they were just less obvious. Which over the years have proven to be true.
I am not sure people who have prejudices are a threat, since I would imagine it is very wide spread, it is a basic component to belonging to a species that has to strive to be rational and at times, even harder to be loving and just, which I guess is also part of rationality. The real danger is when people believe that their prejudicial thoughts are actually true, based on reality, which leads to a great deal of trouble when acted out. I would think most people have been the victim of some form of bigotry or another. Which is often experienced as a violation of sorts, and I guess that is exactly what it is. To reduce a complex, intelligent, human being to the level of something inferior, is truly a despicable act, so it behooves us to be aware of our own propensity to that condition. Prejudice when all grown up becomes bigotry, which is probably one of the main causes of suffering world wide.
I remember an incident that happened to me about 15 years ago in a McDonald’s restaurant off Panola road, in Metropolitan Atlanta. I walked in to order some lunch and was totally ignored by the staff there; it was like I was invisible, non-existent, a non-person. It was a very embarrassing situation for me, and I became very angry, but did not act out, just left and fumed in my car. So I was there feeling all violated and everything, when it occurred to me that this was the first time I was picked out because of race. So I stayed with the rage and then wondered if those black men and women who did this to me, perhaps they have experienced this quite often in their lives, or perhaps their parents did, in any case I got a small taste of what some people experience on a daily basis all over the world. It gave me some understanding of the rage that can be ignited by this kind of treatment; the thought of it still stings. They were wrong in what they did, but the root cause goes deep, perhaps impossible to dig out totally. In any case it helped me to have some empathy on what it is like to be looked down upon because I don’t have a certain skin tone. Besides I am not white, I am pink, sheets are white, skin is pink if it cannot tan, which is me.
I think I can be part of the problem if I don’t continue to watch my little baby bigot that sleeps down deep, it’s dreams are my petty little prejudices, but if it wakes up, like it seems to be doing in many, well then the nightmares start. The truth, we are all pretty much the same. The lie is that I am better than others because of race, religion, social status. The latter for some reason, irrational as it is, seems easier to believe at times. Perhaps it is a miracle that we do as well as we do, or on a deeper level it is grace at work.
