My grandmother, for she would not allow herself to be referred to as 'Granny' or any other such demeaning slang, on my mother's side was a tidy woman. Her hair was tidy, her curtains were tidy, even her toast was tidy. In fact the only thing close to a flourish I witnessed from her was when she lay down her cards saying "Gin". Outside this reckless abandon she was simply 'tidy'. There were few, if any paintings to add color to the rooms that I remember. I do remember one small frame of a saying that was in a black frame and it said:
Rags make paper
Paper makes money
Money make poverty
Poverty makes rags
Kind of an odd quotation for the wife of the Vice President of the National City Bank of Cleveland. I remember being fascinated by the circle of words and thoughts. After almost 40 years of 'practicing' eastern
philosophies and an occasional religion; I've made my own sampler:
I make fear
Fear makes mind
Mind makes illusions
Illusions make "I"
Not haiku but true.
When the illusion of I (mind) is missing; fear is absent and the now of life is present.
Some years ago (everything is that now) a friend in recovery said that fear came from one of
two things: fear of not getting something we want or fear of losing something we have.
If I allow my 'self' and not my 'mind' to live in the now; there's nothing I fear to lose or gain.
Anyway, thanks grandmother for the little frame around a circle of ideas (and the copy of
Atlas Shrugged when I was 13) and I'm sorry for slipping the change out of your piggy
bank for candy for me and my brother.
Friday 9 December 2011
Wednesday 21 September 2011
It's A Wonderful Life
You know you're getting old when the only meal you cook and eat is breakfast. Wonder why that is? Perhaps it's the memories of starting a new day? Smells of the childhood kitchen, feeling safe and hopeful as you grabbed the brown paper lunch bag full of homemade egg salad sandwiches? Or simply because it only takes one fry pan, one plate and very little skill?
In any case, depression or fear of change (same saddle different horse) reflects the alone-ness in retirement.
Retired from work, contact, purpose, stimulus, challenges....NOT an attractive living condition when alone.
Odd thing is that I've lived alone for almost 8 years without giving it a thought; within the last year I have
had the pleasure (born of financial necessity) of a roommate. A former employee, neither of us close outside of the workplace, who turned out to be a close friend. Now her reality has changed with serious family problems and she's gone. Suddenly I feel the emptiness of having someone to make scrambled eggs for at
1 in the morning, discuss her work day and bad mouth each others rival hockey teams (a Canadian sport of its own in Ontario). Soon I will be living somewhere else, perhaps in the Canadian Tire parking lot in The Beast (a non-running 1980 Dodge recreation van), plugged into my ex's garage (helping with the grandchildren) or ?????
All this leads to the title of this blog: It's a Wonderful Life, a classic Capra film starring Jimmy Stewart. It's one of those movies I watch when I'm confused as to why I'm still taking up oxygen. It's a movie which
reminds me that I may have actually had a positive influence during my lifetime on others; and of course that I still may have in the future. For all I know I may not have completed what I was born to do here!
I don't need to watch the movie again to remind me how precious and important everyone's life is to this big thing called life; I just have to remind myself that it's a gift I cannot return without being truly ungrateful.
So in true Canadian style I phone for what pick up hockey for women meets tomorrow, get $10 from the ATM, pack my hockey bag, laugh at myself, count my friends & toes and get back into My Wonderful Life!
In any case, depression or fear of change (same saddle different horse) reflects the alone-ness in retirement.
Retired from work, contact, purpose, stimulus, challenges....NOT an attractive living condition when alone.
Odd thing is that I've lived alone for almost 8 years without giving it a thought; within the last year I have
had the pleasure (born of financial necessity) of a roommate. A former employee, neither of us close outside of the workplace, who turned out to be a close friend. Now her reality has changed with serious family problems and she's gone. Suddenly I feel the emptiness of having someone to make scrambled eggs for at
1 in the morning, discuss her work day and bad mouth each others rival hockey teams (a Canadian sport of its own in Ontario). Soon I will be living somewhere else, perhaps in the Canadian Tire parking lot in The Beast (a non-running 1980 Dodge recreation van), plugged into my ex's garage (helping with the grandchildren) or ?????
All this leads to the title of this blog: It's a Wonderful Life, a classic Capra film starring Jimmy Stewart. It's one of those movies I watch when I'm confused as to why I'm still taking up oxygen. It's a movie which
reminds me that I may have actually had a positive influence during my lifetime on others; and of course that I still may have in the future. For all I know I may not have completed what I was born to do here!
I don't need to watch the movie again to remind me how precious and important everyone's life is to this big thing called life; I just have to remind myself that it's a gift I cannot return without being truly ungrateful.
So in true Canadian style I phone for what pick up hockey for women meets tomorrow, get $10 from the ATM, pack my hockey bag, laugh at myself, count my friends & toes and get back into My Wonderful Life!
Wednesday 31 August 2011
First things first
After a week of not eating meat and feeling peaceful with a 'nothing died for me today' gratitude; my friend Bahdra Kali deflated my self-importance by asking "What about smoking?". Of course I immediately began
justifying that becoming a non-meat eater was quite a big leap for me and that quitting smoking would have to wait. Wait for what? Well as all messages from Badra Kali worm their way into my semi-conscious state; this one was no different. While I was meditating the next morning and renewing my vow to not have anything die or be killed for me today; it occurred to me that perhaps I didn't have the right to be killing myself by continuing to smoke. In fact, it goes against the first of the four truths of buddhism; celebrate the life you're given.
It would be untruthful to report I quit smoking simply because of the first truth; other elements were in play
before I re-read the truths. As an American who lives in 'the Tundra' (as Bhadra Kali refers to Canada); I play hockey. Now what has hockey got to do with spirituality, buddhism, truths and change? To me there is nothing more spiritual than the need to play and in Canada we play hockey. So at 63 years young I need all the oxygen I can get to play the best I can during this life I've been given. If this sounds like rationalization; remember what they said in The Big Chill "Bet you can't get through your day without one good rationalization".
Even after 30 years of recovery; rationalizing, minimizing and otherwising are old shoes I still wear. They get me where I want to be when fear says "Don't move. You're fine where you are. or Go back the way you came". Early in recovery they give you this tool called "Act as if". Act as if you are not scared. Act as if you are worthy of recovery. Act as if you can ask for help. Act as if there is a higher power than can help you, etc.. So, I 'Act as if' my hockey game will improve by not smoking to improve my life. Who knows tomorrow I may 'Act as if' I will be able to live so totally in the 'now' I won't rationalize, minimize or otherwise anything; including myself.
My friend, BK, says I need a teacher; but she is one of mine. Perhaps we're all teachers and needing to be very cautious about what are lives are teach others. I will ask myself at the end of my day what my life taught today.
justifying that becoming a non-meat eater was quite a big leap for me and that quitting smoking would have to wait. Wait for what? Well as all messages from Badra Kali worm their way into my semi-conscious state; this one was no different. While I was meditating the next morning and renewing my vow to not have anything die or be killed for me today; it occurred to me that perhaps I didn't have the right to be killing myself by continuing to smoke. In fact, it goes against the first of the four truths of buddhism; celebrate the life you're given.
It would be untruthful to report I quit smoking simply because of the first truth; other elements were in play
before I re-read the truths. As an American who lives in 'the Tundra' (as Bhadra Kali refers to Canada); I play hockey. Now what has hockey got to do with spirituality, buddhism, truths and change? To me there is nothing more spiritual than the need to play and in Canada we play hockey. So at 63 years young I need all the oxygen I can get to play the best I can during this life I've been given. If this sounds like rationalization; remember what they said in The Big Chill "Bet you can't get through your day without one good rationalization".
Even after 30 years of recovery; rationalizing, minimizing and otherwising are old shoes I still wear. They get me where I want to be when fear says "Don't move. You're fine where you are. or Go back the way you came". Early in recovery they give you this tool called "Act as if". Act as if you are not scared. Act as if you are worthy of recovery. Act as if you can ask for help. Act as if there is a higher power than can help you, etc.. So, I 'Act as if' my hockey game will improve by not smoking to improve my life. Who knows tomorrow I may 'Act as if' I will be able to live so totally in the 'now' I won't rationalize, minimize or otherwise anything; including myself.
My friend, BK, says I need a teacher; but she is one of mine. Perhaps we're all teachers and needing to be very cautious about what are lives are teach others. I will ask myself at the end of my day what my life taught today.
Monday 29 August 2011
Veins and other pathways
I can see my veins as I type. They are beginning to look like my grandmother’s hands. When I was very young I use to be fascinated by her hands; the way the veins looked like blue ridges surrounded by waves of wrinkles. They tell a story; the waves and veins, of a life. Mine.
Yet, now is a time for it not to be my life but to let in the voices.
A few weeks ago, while I was alone; pretending not to be, with a book in my hand and the idiot tube playing, I was interrupted by a bat. The first time it flew through the room I thought it was a bird that somehow managed to fly in the door. I watched the ‘poor thing’ fluttering around in circles. I opened the door to the hallway so it might find its way into the hall and then I was going to open the outside door to set it free. I went into my bedroom to let it find the door; to avoid frightening it. After a few minutes I came out and it was gone. So I returned to my chair, book and box. After about fifteen minutes it appeared again and this time I noticed it wasn’t a bird but a bat! Again I opened the door and began texting my absent roommate about the bat. Then I went into the kitchen to get a broom to direct the bat to the open door. It almost worked but then it turned and headed straight for me in the small kitchen and I swung at it. Again it went down the hall but then turned towards me and this time I swung to hit it. The second time I connected and it fluttered to the floor beating its wings wildly. I hit it again. It made a small cry and I hit it again. I killed it.
Standing there I was transfixed. It curled up into a small ball the size of wallet. I couldn’t look at it; yet couldn’t look away. I sat down in my chair and realized that I had taken a life. It was a dreadful, empty, frightening reality I created out of my own fear. When I thought it was a bird I was surprised, excited, and caring. When I discovered it was a bat my fear pushed my compassion aside and I chose to stop it; from frightening me, by resorting to mindless violence.
When I finally texted my roommate her response was a ‘good for you’; which I explained was not a ‘good’ anything. Finally I took it outside placed it at the base of some bushes, smudged it and asked for its forgiveness.
I’m not sure how the thought came but what was suddenly very clear to me was that I didn’t want anything to do with killing; which meant I didn’t want any other creatures killed for me. No chickens, cows, lambs, etc. killed for me to eat.
It has been a week since then and many interesting things have happened in my head. How we have become more savage from the time when we did our own killing to eat. Plains Indians only killed what was necessary and honoured the spirit of the animal which gave it life. Now we have neatly covered clear plastic over our dead laying on sterile white plastic trays. Someone else does the killing. Not for me. Not anymore.
In Ted Andrews book Animal-Speak the ‘medicine’ of the bat coming onto your path promises a ‘rebirth and coming out of the darkness’ an ‘opening to power within which will override all fears’ and asks us to look at ‘What (we) fear the most?’
Tonight as I consider that I will soon be living in a 1980 Dodge Rec van; which doesn’t run yet, that what I fear most are ‘the voices’. It’s the reason I fall asleep to movies I don’t even have to watch because I listen to them like radio shows; favorites are Bogie in To Have and To Have Not or the Maltese Falcon; Charles Laughton in Witness for the Prosecution also puts me to sleep. Perhaps their voices push the voices in my head aside.
Sitting here now I’m trying to think back to when I listened to music as I’d fall asleep and wondering why I stopped doing that. But a movie is a story, if it’s any good at all; with soothing voices speaking written, practiced, repeated dialogue without ad lib’s. Without the movies my voices take over. It is these voices, these fears with which I need to make peace.
As a counselor I am quite familiar with auditory hallucinations being a symptom of schizophrenia so talking about ‘voices’ frightens me just a little. Perhaps for some not listening to their ‘voices’ keeps them from being who they truly are or recognizing whatever gifts the ‘voices’ may bring. Today is August 26, 2011 and I am afraid it’s time to hear the voices.
My oldest friend, Bahdra Kali, has known me for over 30 years and when I told her of the visit from the bat and my new reality; she commented that living in a van sounded a bit ‘biblical…and Old Testament’. Oddly enough when I consulted two other books on the medicine of the bat it mentioned it was a sign for ‘saints and mystics’. Made me laugh, as I am no saint and I’m not quite sure what ‘mystics’ are. However, I know
this is a shamanic initiation; a rite of dying the old self to become more than what I currently am. She told me of an exercise she went through at her Ashram which was to ‘lose her ego’ (hope I got that right). Well, all roads lead to Home when your feet hit the path.
Yet, now is a time for it not to be my life but to let in the voices.
A few weeks ago, while I was alone; pretending not to be, with a book in my hand and the idiot tube playing, I was interrupted by a bat. The first time it flew through the room I thought it was a bird that somehow managed to fly in the door. I watched the ‘poor thing’ fluttering around in circles. I opened the door to the hallway so it might find its way into the hall and then I was going to open the outside door to set it free. I went into my bedroom to let it find the door; to avoid frightening it. After a few minutes I came out and it was gone. So I returned to my chair, book and box. After about fifteen minutes it appeared again and this time I noticed it wasn’t a bird but a bat! Again I opened the door and began texting my absent roommate about the bat. Then I went into the kitchen to get a broom to direct the bat to the open door. It almost worked but then it turned and headed straight for me in the small kitchen and I swung at it. Again it went down the hall but then turned towards me and this time I swung to hit it. The second time I connected and it fluttered to the floor beating its wings wildly. I hit it again. It made a small cry and I hit it again. I killed it.
Standing there I was transfixed. It curled up into a small ball the size of wallet. I couldn’t look at it; yet couldn’t look away. I sat down in my chair and realized that I had taken a life. It was a dreadful, empty, frightening reality I created out of my own fear. When I thought it was a bird I was surprised, excited, and caring. When I discovered it was a bat my fear pushed my compassion aside and I chose to stop it; from frightening me, by resorting to mindless violence.
When I finally texted my roommate her response was a ‘good for you’; which I explained was not a ‘good’ anything. Finally I took it outside placed it at the base of some bushes, smudged it and asked for its forgiveness.
I’m not sure how the thought came but what was suddenly very clear to me was that I didn’t want anything to do with killing; which meant I didn’t want any other creatures killed for me. No chickens, cows, lambs, etc. killed for me to eat.
It has been a week since then and many interesting things have happened in my head. How we have become more savage from the time when we did our own killing to eat. Plains Indians only killed what was necessary and honoured the spirit of the animal which gave it life. Now we have neatly covered clear plastic over our dead laying on sterile white plastic trays. Someone else does the killing. Not for me. Not anymore.
In Ted Andrews book Animal-Speak the ‘medicine’ of the bat coming onto your path promises a ‘rebirth and coming out of the darkness’ an ‘opening to power within which will override all fears’ and asks us to look at ‘What (we) fear the most?’
Tonight as I consider that I will soon be living in a 1980 Dodge Rec van; which doesn’t run yet, that what I fear most are ‘the voices’. It’s the reason I fall asleep to movies I don’t even have to watch because I listen to them like radio shows; favorites are Bogie in To Have and To Have Not or the Maltese Falcon; Charles Laughton in Witness for the Prosecution also puts me to sleep. Perhaps their voices push the voices in my head aside.
Sitting here now I’m trying to think back to when I listened to music as I’d fall asleep and wondering why I stopped doing that. But a movie is a story, if it’s any good at all; with soothing voices speaking written, practiced, repeated dialogue without ad lib’s. Without the movies my voices take over. It is these voices, these fears with which I need to make peace.
As a counselor I am quite familiar with auditory hallucinations being a symptom of schizophrenia so talking about ‘voices’ frightens me just a little. Perhaps for some not listening to their ‘voices’ keeps them from being who they truly are or recognizing whatever gifts the ‘voices’ may bring. Today is August 26, 2011 and I am afraid it’s time to hear the voices.
My oldest friend, Bahdra Kali, has known me for over 30 years and when I told her of the visit from the bat and my new reality; she commented that living in a van sounded a bit ‘biblical…and Old Testament’. Oddly enough when I consulted two other books on the medicine of the bat it mentioned it was a sign for ‘saints and mystics’. Made me laugh, as I am no saint and I’m not quite sure what ‘mystics’ are. However, I know
this is a shamanic initiation; a rite of dying the old self to become more than what I currently am. She told me of an exercise she went through at her Ashram which was to ‘lose her ego’ (hope I got that right). Well, all roads lead to Home when your feet hit the path.
Sunday 28 August 2011
Medicine wheel turns
The Medicine Wheel "is a symbol for the wheel of life, which is forever evolving and bringing new lessons and truths to the walking of the path. The Earthwalk is based upon understanding that each one of us must stand on every spoke of the great wheel of life many times, and that every direction is to be honored. Until you have walked in others' moccasins or stood on their spokes of the3 wheel, you will never truly know their hearts.
The Medicine Wheel teaches us that all lessons are equal, as all talents and abilities. Every living creature will one day see and experience each spoke of the wheel and know those truths. The Medicine Wheel is a pathway to truth and peace and harmony. The circle is never ending, life without end.
The Medicine Wheel is life, afterlife, rebirth, and the honoring of each step along the way." Jamie Sams & David Carson
Retiring from the work force spins the wheel from a life of being a human 'doing' to a human 'being'. I have found myself in the spiritual luxury of exploration for exploration's sake without the burden of making a living; discovering that what I need to live is very little. I am reminded of George Carlin's routine on 'stuff' where we end up buying larger spaces to put our 'stuff' to get more stuff. I decided last year to purchase a 1980 Dodge recreation van for $250.00 for my retirement journey. It cost almost that much to have it towed to where I lived at the time. I have spent hours scrubbing, removing wasps nests, and various other odd jobs since then. It starts but it doesn't run or pass inspection yet. I named it The Beast because it's big, heavy and kinda scary looking.
The Medicine Wheel teaches us that all lessons are equal, as all talents and abilities. Every living creature will one day see and experience each spoke of the wheel and know those truths. The Medicine Wheel is a pathway to truth and peace and harmony. The circle is never ending, life without end.
The Medicine Wheel is life, afterlife, rebirth, and the honoring of each step along the way." Jamie Sams & David Carson
Retiring from the work force spins the wheel from a life of being a human 'doing' to a human 'being'. I have found myself in the spiritual luxury of exploration for exploration's sake without the burden of making a living; discovering that what I need to live is very little. I am reminded of George Carlin's routine on 'stuff' where we end up buying larger spaces to put our 'stuff' to get more stuff. I decided last year to purchase a 1980 Dodge recreation van for $250.00 for my retirement journey. It cost almost that much to have it towed to where I lived at the time. I have spent hours scrubbing, removing wasps nests, and various other odd jobs since then. It starts but it doesn't run or pass inspection yet. I named it The Beast because it's big, heavy and kinda scary looking.
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