October's Prayer

This morning I ate my breakfast outside. It is a kind of misty, damp morning; the weather is warm, but threatening rain. It’s the last day of my favorite month. Well, October is one of my many favorite months… each month has something unique and delicious about it. However, October has always been at the top of my list. I love the chill in the air, the feeling of drawing within, sweaters, fall vegetables and the time for making soups. Then there are the trees. I’m not sure I have words for the feelings that are aroused in me as I look upon a woods arrayed in the glorious colors of October.

There is sadness there for sure, and yet, it almost as if God is giving us one last gift before we settle in for the coming winter: the gift of breathing in unspeakable beauty. October awakens all these things in me, and more.

Today is the last day of October, yet today is warm enough to eat my Rice Krispies outside. I took my bowl and went out back to watch the leaves fall, wishing that I could pause time long enough to completely drink in the moment of following a leaaf floating to the ground. But, it is impossible to pause, of course, and even if we could, it would lose all of its power and magnificence. It is the moment of witnessing the falling leaf that is the prayer. Trying to grasp it or to slow its decent is somehow as wrong as it is pointless.

Our lives are like that. We are like the leaf. We move through time to an inevitable end, yet to cling or grasp after the moment before is somehow a sinful act. I’m not terribly fond of the words sin or sinful, but in this context it seems appropriate. We move through time, fluttering to the ground. It is in the fluttering that we are blessed.

Oh, dear God, thank you for October. Thank you for the gift of sight and the gift of colors. What a glorious month this was! My cup is full and I am at peace.

It occurred to me that happiness is in the little moments of our lives. It is like the young birch tree standing in the middle of a dense forest in winter. All the trees are bare, yet somehow the tiny birch tree manages to retain its leaves. They are almost white, no trace of green, for sure, but they stand out and shimmer against the backdrop of the gray and brown of the giant trees. Happiness is like the tiny birch in winter. Moments of little pleasures, that stands out amongst the rest.

Last summer, my granddaughter who was not yet two, came for dinner. She finished her tomato and asked for more. I cut up another slice and placed it on her plate. When she saw the tomato she clapped her hands and squealed, “Oooh, tomato! I’m so happy!” In that moment she experienced pure joy, it stood out like the tiny birch tree in the forest. That moment stayed with me, and I have thought about it often since then.

Happiness is a collection of tiny moments that stand out from the rest of our day. All we need do is to take the time to notice them as the pass; like the fluttering of a leaf to the ground, or the young birch tree in the forest, or even a slice of tomato on my plate. Joy comes in little doses. Yet, when we are able to notice them, they create a garland that we can follow, moving from one to the next. Somehow, the tiny little moments of joy can fill a huge space and totally wrap you in peace. Then as you look into the forest all you can see is the tiny birch tree illuminating your life.

Amen.

Somehow, during the night I came to the realization that much of my cynicism and maybe some of my anger is an emulation of my father. Is that even possible?

When I encounter a person that has obviously has money, whether they are driving a Mercedes or a Lexus, wearing beautiful clothing, what ever the outward appearance is, my reaction, is: “Look at them how rich they are, they are snobs, they are arrogant, they feel they are entitled….” Another example might be: “What do you expect? The politicians in Washington all have money and good health insurance, so they don’t care about the rest of us.” “The system is corrupt, so just forget it.” Observations that have no basis in reality, except in my own head. There is no way that I could know any of those things.

Now that seems like an obvious discovery and it is very superficial to be sure. I think, however, that it goes far deeper and its roots are in my father’s attitudes towards life. I aligned with my father growing up. Not because he was such a great guy or that he was my closest confidant, but because he wasn’t my mother. My mother was indifferent towards me. Her focus was on my brother and not on me My mother was down right cruel to me at times, so I aligned with my father.

In an attempt to win his favor, which in the end I was never going to do, I adopted an attitude of cynicism. Cynicism is a learned behavior. He is the king of cynicism. I can still hear his voice when I would tell him of an aspiration or a desire, he would almost growl, “Dream on.” It was ugly and it always felt like a slap in the face. It killed many of my dreams for many years.

Now this is not an attempt to bash my parents, I have done enough of that on my own, but rather, I am attempting to understand a pattern of behavior that I have carried with me for most of my adult life.

When I was younger, I would tell my parents of an injustice that I saw and I would want to right it, or perhaps, I would tell them I wanted them to right it. It could have been a political injustice or a personal injustice, whatever it was, their response was that I shouldn’t rock the boat, women shouldn’t act like that, or that I am always complaining, do you really think it is going to change anything? The result was that instead of being open and allowing my compassion to lead, I developed an attitude of cynicism and the accompanying emotion with cynicism is anger. I immobilized myself with cynicism and anger. I’m not sure that conveys deeply enough what I am trying to say.

My cynicism was an roadblock to social activism. Instead of acting on my instinctual compassion, my cynicism took over and cut off the impulse to help, to be of service. I have come to believe that compassion and the desire to help is our basic natural, we are imbued from birth a desire to be of service, and in my case, cynicism lopped it off at the root. Our nature is to be open and loving with all, but as a defense, we cut ourselves off from those around us. The walls go up and compassion is locked in a vault.

Take the key and open the gate. Allow your natural instincts to flow forth. There is no one that can call you back, there is no one leaning over your shoulder telling you that it is wrong to speak up. I am saying to you now; dream on. Yes, dream on, open the doors, the windows, and dream on!

This weekend was a very interesting look at myself. I was in my spiritual counseling class and we were asked to go deep within to an issue or a hurt, and speak to it. The first exercise was picking an issue or a person or a part of myself that I take issue with. My teacher used the example of the part of her personality that she calls “Sweet Pea.” Sweet Pea” is a people pleaser, etc. She had a conversation with Sweet Pea for us. When she was herself she sat in one chair, then Sweet Pea would answer while sitting in another chair. And a real conversation ensued that was interesting and you could feel that she was talking to another person.

Well, it was my turn. Each of us had a witness to the process. I spoke to my brother. What came out, I think, for me is that Karl and I are very much a like and the things that I loathe in him are qualities that I am afraid I have. That is frightening to me. Now, I see too that he has done nothing to change these things, and I feel that I have worked very hard to release some of my old feelings of self-loathing. However, I recognize that I have much of the same stuff.

One of his qualities that disturbs me the most is his lack of concern for anyone else. In my heart of hearts, isn’t that me? I tend to be completely self-involved most of the time.I feel that many times all I can give is lip service. I don’t want to be like that. Another is that he is such a slob. Look at my room, it’s a mess.

So, if I find these qualities disturbing in him and I feel that I have the same challenges, then do I loathe myself just as he does? Haven’t I worked hard to change that? And yet it is still there, just waiting to jump out when I least expect it.

The next exercise involved three people sitting together. One was the counselor, one was the counselee, and one was the witness. The counselee was to speak to something that came up for them this weekend, an issue that they faced or realized or something to that nature. The counselor was to ask open-ended questions that would lead the counselee to realize something new, or get a new perspective on their issue. The witness was to observe and to give feedback on what they saw. Their role was more about the process rather than the issue. i.e. The counselor’s posture was too intimidating and made the counselee withdraw, or something in that nature.

I teamed up with Andy and Debbie. I know them both very well and maybe that wasn’t really fair or in keeping with the exercise, but that was my team. Perhaps we would have been better served had we chose a team with people we didn’t know well. I’m not sure that’s true, but in any case, I think we got the team we needed.

Andy and Debbie spoke about their issues and both went very deep. They were in touch with their feelings. When it was my turn to speak, I felt such a reticence to go there. I was not going to be drawn into my feelings. It was a palpable feeling that I did not want to deeply look at my “stuff.” That frightens me to no end. What is it that I don’t want to confront? Is there something terrible there hidden in the cracks of my mind? Why don’t I cry? If I open the flood gates will it all pour forth? Or perhaps it is that I have worked through my major issues and there isn’t pain any longer? I’m not sure that last statement is true, because many times I feel so out of touch with myself. I am so conditioned to cutting off that part of me that is experiencing emotions (except anger), I can’t go there even when I would like to. Anger is the easiest emotion to connect with for me, I know anger well and I am comfortable with it. So, outside of anger, in the end, I have a flat aspect. I experience never pain nor joy. Although, I must say, I have cracked the joy aspect of this, thanks wholly to One Spirit. They have given me that and for that I am ever grateful. I know joy and it is a blessing.

I wish I knew the answer to why don’t I cry. I don’t. The last time that I really cried was when Itza died. Losing him was so hard to bear. That was seven years ago. I have not openly cried since. What came out in my session was that I feel that I must “do the work,” meaning that I must concentrate on the task at hand no matter what. Feelings are secondary and to be ignored.

What happens if I am repressing some memory that has cut me off from my emotions? If I continue with spiritual counseling, I am afraid that it will trigger some dark night of the soul that will be impossible to bear. Or am I being overly dramatic?

This peeling away of the onion is a difficult thing and not for the faint of heart. Every time I think I have conquered my issues, there is another layer just waiting to be peeled away. Does it ever end? No, it doesn’t, I suppose.

Irrevocable Change

Yesterday while I was at hospice, I was struck by how much sadness there is the world. Young children who have lost a parent at an early, parents that have lost children, husbands, wives all just disappear. What does it mean? I can’t quite figure it out why God would give us so much pain.

Is it possible that things like this just happen? There was a book written some time ago by a rabbi called “When Bad Things Happen To Good People.” In it he basically says that stuff happens. Accidents occur and illness strikes without regard for the people to whom it is happening.

One of my biggest fears is that in an instant my life will change without warning. I have spent many hours worrying about it. Of course, it was a waste of time because in the end you can’t do a thing to stop irrevocable change from occurring. It will take place whether you spend your days worrying about it or not. The only thing to do is to have faith that all will be well no matter what happens. Place one foot in front of the other. That is all we can do. Keep moving forward.

Does God have a plan? I’m not sure. It seems to me that if God has a plan it is mighty confusing and complicated. But, then again, I’m not God, so I can’t possibly fathom what it is or why. All I can do is to rest in my faith and allow whatever is happening to me or before me to unfold as it will and trust that I will be held.

I don’t know what God has in store for me. Do I get frightened sometimes, you betcha. I just keep on moving forward and know that God is right there with me.

I was listening to the podcast of my Spiritual Counseling class yesterday afternoon and as part of the meditation, we had to create a time line of our lives starting at birth. I was so resistant to this exercise. For a few days I would turn it on to do the meditation and then turn it off, or become distracted. It was so apparent that I didn’t want to do it, that I forced myself to do it yesterday after the soup was on and there was nothing of great import to do.

During the meditation, I had a few visions that were a little startling. The first one was, me as a little baby in my crib waiting for someone to come and pick me up. In my vision it seemed like a long wait, I don’t know if that was actually the case, but in my meditation it seemed like it. I didn’t see myself as crying or really disturbed by the wait, it seemed natural.

The next vision was when I was a little older, I’m not sure how old, but I had an awareness that my parents fought a lot after we moved to Cherry Hill. In my mind I had a realization that that wasn’t the case when we still lived on Pleasant Street. In this vision I was disturbed by the fighting.

Then the third vision, and this was just a little glimpse, was when I was in high school. I felt lonely, as if I were all alone with no one to turn to. In addition, I felt this as a smaller child in school. I felt that I had no one and that I was completely on my own. It wasn’t pleasant to go there again.

As a child I felt unloved. I felt that there was no one that I could go to who would nurture me. An image that I had very often as a child was being on the outside of a window and looking in. It was very sad.

I so identified with Shirley Temple in that movie she did, I think, it was called The Little Princess. Her father was off fighting in the war and was injured and had amnesia. The school that she was in made her a servant when the checks stopped coming. Shirley was cold and hungry. They overworked her and another girl. But, since Shirley Temple was Shirley Temple, she had an indomitable spirit and she made the best of it.

She made friends with the Indian servant across the roof in the next building and he provided them with heat, blankets and delicious food. When the headmistress saw their luxuries, she was convinced that Shirley Temple had stolen the items. Well, Shirley not to be kept down was convinced that her father was still alive doubled her efforts to find him. She would search the hospital wards every day, and one day, there he was. Queen Victoria just happened to be at the hospital that day and was pleased. (I’m not sure why, but she was especially happy when she saw Shirley, who wouldn’t be?) Anyway, Shirley found her father, he woke up when he heard her voice and they lived happily ever after.

That was my dream. I wanted to wake up and find that I was loved, cared for and nurtured. I would fanaticize that I was switched at birth and my real parents were searching for me tirelessly. I so wanted a different story. I so wanted to be loved.

So, this meditation brought all this up for me yesterday. I didn’t want to go there. I feel that I worked through all this long ago. I was in therapy for three years, and I thought, I had resolved all this long ago. No wonder I was resistant to doing this exercise.

But, I’m not angry. It's funny, I don’t feel the anger that I used to feel. This is now just a story… my story, but that is all it is, a story. It’s what happened and I can’t change any of it, but it doesn’t rule me any longer. I had moved past this and I am grateful. I am grateful too that this is my story, because this story has given me so much. I am independent and self-sufficient. I had to figure most things out for myself, so I am logical and intelligent. So, there was gold to be found in my story and for that I am grateful.

I am still working on forgiveness. My parents never understood. They never saw past themselves and their needs. I understand why they are the why they are, but I’m not quite up to forgiving their actions. I had a moment with my mother before she died, and in that moment, I saw comprehension. She got it… finally. But, more importantly I got it. She never felt loved either. I felt true compassion for her. So, is that forgiveness? It’s probably as close as I’ll ever come to it. My father is another story, maybe because he is still alive, but I don’t feel compassion for him. He just is so self-involved that he has no capcity to see what his actions caused. Maybe we’ll have a moment before he dies, but I doubt it.

I don’t miss my mother. That makes me sad. I really wanted to feel something when my mother died. The main thing I felt, and continue to feel. is relief, simple relief that I don’t have to face her criticism and disregard any longer. I suppose I will feel the same about my father when he goes too. Sad, isn’t it?

We are sold a bill of goods as children. We are told that he have to love our families. We have to love our parents. Well, I say that is a disservice. Where is it written that we have to love people that have no love for us? Saying that you have to love people that are cruel, neglectful or abusive creates a conflict in the child. It makes the child feel that there is something wrong with them. You don’t have to love someone that treats you like crap. You just don’t.

I wanted parents that loved and nurtured me. I didn’t get those parents. I feel compassion for both of them, because they are wounded too. I see that, I know that. But, it doesn’t change the fact that they could have been better parents. Their actions caused me a great deal of pain and they should have seen that, but they didn’t. Do I honor my parents? Yes, they gave me life, but I really can’t say that I love them. And that’s okay.

Wake Up!

Who was Jesus anyway? Was he a prophet, the son of God, or a simple teacher?

I am being to fall in love with Jesus. Jesus was a really interesting person, forget for a moment whether he was the Son of God, or the messiah, or the savior of the world. Jesus was cool. He had a temper, he could be a little caustic. He was annoyed with all the people following him all the time; he tried on several occasions to get away from them.

I don’t think he was warm and fuzzy like some people try to portray him. Even when he performed, a miracle there was an element of detachment to it. As if he wasn’t invested in the outcome. He was not fully of this world. To me it seems that Jesus was a teacher that was on a different plane than the rest of us and he would become impatient with our ignorance and refusal to wake up.

I like that phrase – ‘wake up!’ Jesus wanted us to wake up and see that we are one with God, just as he was one with God. “Wake Up!” We are one with God.

In Matthew, Jesus tells us to consider the lilies of the field, see how beautiful they are and they don’t worry about what they wear, neither do the toil, they just are… perfect as they are. The birds neither toil nor do they reap, yet God feeds them and cares for them… just as they are.

We have complicated everything. We have wants and needs that far exceed what we really need. We can’t conceive that we are perfect just as we are and that God will provide for us. We are dis-functionally independent. We have to amass huge quantities of everything in our lives because we fear that in the future we won’t have enough. Well, what would life be like if we were able to rest in faith that all will be provided as we need it? Peace would rule the world. There would be no need for greed, struggle, exploitation, or cruelty. We would live in peace with each other. Everyday the people in the Bible would go out and collect manna for the day. There was always manna, but only if they only took what they needed, if they exceeded their needs, the extra would rot and disappear.

Last night David asked the question why would Jesus not want anyone to tell if he healed them. Several plausible explanations could be true were given and yet they didn’t ring true for me. I thought about it on the train last night as I traveled home and I began to read Matthew, it became clear to me as I read. In Matthew, Jesus tells how to live life (and I believe he was telling us how to make our way towards enlightenment). He says that when we are performing acts of charity we shouldn’t let our left hand know what the right hand is doing. He shouldn’t tell of our good deeds. He should speak our prayers in a closet and not in public. We should wash our faces even in the face of hardship. Because if we don’t do these things then the telling of our deeds is its own reward.

I heard the Dalai Lama speak to this, he said that the act of compassion is its own reward, not because we will have recognition, or we will please God or anything else. An act of compassion just makes us feel good. Plain and simple, when we are compassionate, that compassion is its own reward, it stands alone.

Jesus wanted all of us to hear his message, not because he would become the biggest rock star of all time, or that we would actually measure time starting when he was born, or even start a new religion, but because he wanted us to know how magnificent we are. That we are God’s children, we are one with God, and we are all Christ. He wanted us to “Wake Up!” Plain and simple.

Get out of the way!

I taught last night. This is my “simply meditation” class. I was a little nervous that I would be too tired to lead the class effectively because I was exhausted from all the driving and lack of sleep. That wasn’t the case. I was on. Well, maybe I was off, I don’t know. Perhaps I was so tired that I couldn’t struggle and I was able to get out of the way of spirit.

I felt as if I was carried as I led the mediation. I used the meditation from my spiritual counseling class that I had listened to on podcast as I was driving. I centered them squarely in their lower dan tien. It was inspired. I know that they were moved and something profound happened in that room last night.

So, is that the key? Be so tired that my ego is unable to rail against the flow of energy? Maybe so, but I would love to teach more classes like last night. I felt breathless and invigorated when I left the room. It was a beautiful thing. Thank you, God.