I saw this clip, and I think it’s so valuable!
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Category Archives: Community
SoulCollage®
I’ve been working on uploading my SoulCollage® cards to share. You can find the link to them here.
Be Mighty, Be Daring
I enjoy creating in so many ways. My friend L (mom of one of Bean’s friends) and I are developing an informal girl group. After spending many years driving to see friends (which we’ll continue doing) we want to create friendships and develop deeper connections in the neighborhood.
After careful consideration, we decided to forgo Girl Scouts for a number of reasons:
- They require parents having contact with girls to take training (online and in-person) and get fingerprinted. Our intention is to create an informal group of people we know and trust and make it easier for mothers to be involved.
- Secondly, GS is divided by age, and we believe there are benefits to girls interacting across multiple age and grade levels. We hope the girls will be involved as they grow up and develop good friendships.
- Lastly, we want to avoid the pressure of selling things to raise funds. We prefer to focus on developing activities and sharing the cost rather than have our activities defined by how much money the girls earn.
We plan to meet monthly. We have ideas of home-based activities to do; we also want to incorporate outings. For outings, each parent pays for her children and herself (if there are fees). To cover supplies for at-home activities, we suggest a nominal annual amount per child. We are researching the supplies and calculating costs.
While we want to have fun, we’re reaching beyond play dates. Our goal is to help our daughters become vibrant, confident, and engaged with the world. We want to nurture the development of their minds, souls, and bodies (and mother earth), and foster qualities such as integrity, curiosity, resiliency, and creativity. We are using several resources for ideas (adjusting for age with some activities):
A Mighty Girl
The Daring Book for Girls & The Double-Daring Book for Girls
What Do You Stand For? A Kids Guide to Building Character
So the girls and moms have a unifying element and develop a sense of belonging, we’re looking for inexpensive yellow t-shirts (a color that is sunny and gender-neutral). The quote we’re using is from Shakespeare: “Though she be but little, she is fierce.” That will be on the front, and on the back will be our group name: Mighty Daring Girls.
Our first meeting is March 2, and we have 8-9 girls interested!
Look Inside
One of my daughter’s favorite performers are Peter, Paul, & Mary, and one of her favorite songs by them is called Inside.
Tonight I was scanning Facebook and came across a link from A Mighty Girl. A Mighty Girl is an excellent resource of zillions of ideas, toys, book titles, articles and more to help girls to grow up confidently. They shared a link from the Huffington Post of a letter from a father to his daughter about society’s hyper-focus on physical appearance.
In the article, Words From a Father to a Daughter (In the Makeup Aisle), Flanagan wrote:
When you have a daughter, you start to realize she’s just as strong as everyone else in the house — a force to be reckoned with, a soul on fire with the same life and gifts and passions as any man. But sitting in this store aisle, you also begin to realize most people won’t see her that way. They’ll see her as a pretty face and a body to enjoy. And they’ll tell her she has to look a certain way to have any worth or influence.
But words do have power and maybe, just maybe, the words of a father can begin to compete with the words of the world. Maybe a father’s words can deliver his daughter through this gauntlet of institutionalized shame and into a deep, unshakeable sense of her own worthiness and beauty.
He concludes by asking, “Where are you the most beautiful? On the inside.” The article is worth reading, bookmarking, printing to share. A Mighty Girl also posted links to resources on their Facebook page; I’m sharing them here:
To help girls understand more about the impact of the media messages they encounter related to beauty and body image, check out “All Made Up: A Girl’s Guide to Seeing Through Celebrity Hype to Celebrate Real Beauty” for ages 10 to 14 and “Body Drama” for ages 15 and up.
For a diverse selection of body image-related books for Mighty Girls of all ages focused on fostering a positive self-image, visit our “Body Image” section.
For books for parents that address body image issues, including the helpful guide “101 Ways to Help Your Daughter Love Her Body,” visit our “Body Image / Self-Esteem” parenting section.
And, to learn about a few of our favorite books that celebrate the special father-daughter bond, visit our post “A Father’s Love: A Mighty Girl Celebrates Fathers”.
And to reinforce the message (and because it’s a fun song), I’m sharing Inside here.
The link to the video is here.
Interconnectedness of All Beings
This video was shown in church yesterday, and it left me in tears of awe, joy, and gratitude. It is set in the Sea of Cortez. A group of people encountered a Humpback whale that appeared to be dead but was instead deeply entangled with a fishing net. They labored to free her, and it’s all on film. Dive into a marvelous encounter.
Click this link if the embed doesn’t work: Amazing Whale Rescue
Michael Fishbach and Gershon Cohen established The Great Whale Conservancy to protect them and their habitat.
Compassionate Choices
Stella’s last days were hard. People told me, “You’ll know when it’s time.” I wondered. But in the end, I did know. On January 13 I noticed blood in her urine. We took her to the vet and they did blood tests and urine culture. She’d lost two pounds in four months. A few days later we had a diagnosis of urinary tract infection. So we began antibiotic treatment. After a week, there was no improvement, and instead, I noticed Stella starting just to lick the gravy off her stinky wet food rather than eat it.
By Friday the 24th, she couldn’t keep much down. She’d eat — she was hungry — only later to vomit. She felt more frail than usual. On Saturday, when she puked at least five times and even if it was just water, I knew it was bad. A visit at 4:00 p.m. to the vet showed she’d lost seven ounces since the 13th. We had an x-ray done; evaluation showed a lump on her lung. (Later examination by a radiologist also revealed tumors in her bladder, hence the blood.)
The vet gave options. We could send Stella to emergency care for fluids and stabilization and then have her transported back to them on Monday for biopsies. Or we could give her subcutaneous fluid and an anti-nausea shot and take her home to say good-bye. Without a biopsy there was no absolute answer, but her guess was that it was probably “Cancer, cancer, or cancer.” The choice was obvious. Stella was 17. She was tired. I wouldn’t put her through hell just to satisfy my curiosity or to chase a fantasy of a cure.
So we brought her home. We snuggled. She stopped eating. She stopped acting hungry. The only thing she wanted to eat were treats, but they didn’t stay down. All day Sunday we hung out on the couch, and she slept on me both nights. Sunday night she kept vomiting, but there was nothing in her.
On Monday I took her outside. She toured the back yard, sniffing corners, chewing grass, lying down and listening to birds. After an hour she was done and went inside. I lay on the couch with my face next to hers and looked into her eyes. She purred constantly. At one point she cleaned my hand, which was one of her many ways of expressing fondness. She was tired, uncomfortable. If I let her die a natural death, it would likely be by starvation. I wouldn’t do that to her. At 4:00, the veterinarian and his tech came to our house. Hub and Bean were also at home. They inserted a catheter, gave an injection to make her sleep, and then another injection to stop her heart. So fast. Irreversible. I cried.
—————
Bean and I waited in line for school to start. The mother of a classmate approached and held out a ceramic cat statue to Bean, saying, “Z made this for you because you’re sad about your cat dying.” Bean said thank you. She’s six, and she hasn’t cried much about Stella. She’s got more questions instead, and her grief is coming out behaviorally — intense anger, low flashpoint, general contrariness. And the occasional comment, such as, “I don’t like this house anymore. It doesn’t have any pets,” and “I miss Stella. Why did she have to have a shot that made her die?”
But this gift, and the kindness that prompted it, brought tears to my eyes. This little boy was at Color Me Mine and decided that he wanted to make a gift to console a friend. Bless his huge empathetic, compassionate heart. Bean will cherish this statue. It sits prominently in our dining room.
—————
I miss the thump-a thump-a thump-a of Stella going down the stairs. I miss the click click click of her toenails on the floor. I miss stroking her as I walk by her sleeping body on the sofa. I miss the yowling when she was hungry, or lonely. I reflexively look for her to bring her up to her room at night and then realize she’s gone. I feel the absence of her energy in the house. I miss talking to her.
So this gift from a little boy to my daughter? It’s priceless — and cradled deeply in my heart.
Just Doing It
I don’t know what else to title this post. Back in the early days of blogging, people started blogs as social interaction. If the blog had a steady readership, the author would feel a need to explain any gap in posting.
Then, other writers started to mock the self-importance of those posts. Who cares why you aren’t posting? Either do it or don’t.
So I tried to avoid that habit. And while this post may sound a bit like an explanation of why I haven’t posted (and maybe get picked up by Sorry I Haven’t Posted, which, um, hasn’t posted in three years), I’m also simply trying to break the mental tomb I seemed to have sealed myself into. Well, that suggests action. It’s more like mental rigor mortis.
When I first began blogging in 2002, I updated often and at length. I was engaged this way for many years. I also posted photos of my artwork and crafts, and my poetry. When my daughter was born, I wrote about my experiences with her.
And then Facebook came on the scene. Most of my social group (online and off) migrated to using that, and I started to as well. And when Bean turned four, I decided it was time to back off on writing publicly about her in detail, and that gutted my motivation to write. I’d still post about crafts we did, and other activities, but eventually I moved it all to Facebook.
In the past year, when I sit down to write here, I fumble. I grope for something to say. I might have a wisp of inspiration, yet some part of me whispers that it’s nothing new, it’s just more noise in the world. Why bother?
And yet. Writing is how I sort myself out. How have I become so disinterested in what’s going on? One voice in me says, “It’s all ego driven.” My practice is to engage fully in the moment, with the world I inhabit and the tasks I complete. I have made a judgment that to be Buddhist requires forsaking the mind. I’ve projected that judgment onto my teacher (not that I’ve told her). In my head, Maezen says this, even though she’s never uttered those words.
Another voice in me calls out, reminding me of other reasons to write. In childhood I felt a deep yearning to know more about my parents, about their childhood experiences, about what they thought of life and current events. Now, as a parent, I understand the difficulty of dredging up memories with specifics to make a good story. Bean often asks me, “Tell me a story about your childhood,” and I simply don’t have access to the memories. Writing is a pathway into them.
I’ve also a strong desire to be known, seen, heard since childhood. I want my child to know about me, if she is interested when she is older. So there is some value in writing. I’ve approached my blog as a kind of commonplace book, where one might read and see what piqued my interest. But as I read Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, I am tantalized by the idea of a Codex Vitae. What is that, you ask? In the novel…
The Codex Vitae is something that special members of this fellowship “earn” the right to create, after rising up in the ranks. When written, it’s submitted to the fellowship, approved, and encrypted. 3 copies are made of the book, 1 goes to the central library, and 2 others go to branch libraries in other parts of the world. The key to the encryption is only given to 1 person, and it remains a secret until the writer’s death.
–Buster Benson, The Way of the Duck
He thought this was a great idea, and so do I. What if I created my own book of knowledge? A blog is a living book. And perhaps no one will read it, or only a few. My daughter might have no interest. After all, it’s a pretty large resource already, having existed for 12 years. In the end, I’ll die and this blog will go someday, but isn’t there some value in scribing my journey?
The truth is, I miss myself. For now, I will close with a poem that captures my hope:
Love After Love
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved youall your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.–Derek Walcott
I want to give a nod to two long-term bloggers who in the past week have given me encouragement to try again (even if they don’t know it): Whiskey River and Euan Semple.
And a link to an article from a blog titled Thought Catalog about how and why to keep a commonplace book.
The Whale
Photo Journeys
Loneliness
The first few listens, it was the beat and opening notes that hooked me. I kept listening. More than two dozen times. I’m still listening. Each time the experience becomes richer.
There is a curve to the sound; the woman’s voice feels like caresses. The man’s voice is a gentle embrace. The duet of harmony, two voices connecting, the empathy: You’ve been lonely, too long. Let me keep you company. I see you. You are me.
And then the minor chords in the middle of the song. Feels like a palate expander opening in my throat, the ache is so deep. I think of the loneliness I wore for so, so many years, a sweater of desolation. I remember how it felt. I am not lonely that way anymore. But I know people who are. I let myself connect with that anguish, allow the tears to rise and flow.
I think of my father and my mother. Of their fear and frailty. I think of children, especially those born into circumstances where there is anger, abuse, fear, and pain. My own little girl self, tucked deeply away, holding that loneliness.
The loneliness of poverty, of struggling to get the next meal, a safe bed. The loneliness of being bullied, mocked, cast out. The loneliness of war. The loneliness arising when we believe that those who reject us speak the truth, when we accept those stories as tru. The loneliness we attempt to hide by doing better, earning more, buying more, “succeeding.” The loneliness arising from rigid beliefs about the way the world “should” work.
The loneliness of not being seen and met.
I feel the existential loneliness of being in this world where the sense of separation pervades; where division, difference, individuation, and distinction are coveted. How that coveting and striving cements the loneliness.
How many times do we interact without truly meeting each other?
Come, sit with me. Turn up the sound and give a listen.
If the embed doesn’t work… here.
Dust to Dust – The Civil Wars
It’s not your eyes
It’s not what you say
It’s not your laughter
That gives you away
You’re just lonely
You’ve been lonely, too long
Oh, you’re acting your thin disguise
All your perfectly delivered lines
They don’t fool me
You’ve been lonely, too long
Let me in the wall
You’ve built around
We can light a match
And burn it down
Let me hold your hand
And dance ’round and ’round the flames
In front of us
Dust to dust
You’ve held your head up
You’ve fought the fight
You bear the scars
You’ve done your time
Listen to me
You’ve been lonely, too long
Let me in the walls
You’ve built around
We can light a match
And burn them down
Let me hold your hand
And dance ’round and ’round the flames
In front of us
Dust to dust
You’re like a mirror, reflecting me
Takes one to know one, so take it from me
You’ve been lonely
You’ve been lonely, too long
We’ve been lonely
We’ve been lonely, too long
One Detail
When I dyed my hair purple for the first time five months ago, I did it for myself. I was turning 50, and I wanted to mark the occasion. Since that time, I’ve reapplied the dye three times. It starts out dark purple and fairly quickly fades to a fuchsia color. I knew it would make me stand out in a crowd. What I didn’t know was the good it would do.
I have only ever received compliments and sometimes rave reviews about my hair. Never a negative word. This comes from construction workers driving by, shouting out, “Love your hair!” And from grandmothers who touch my shoulder and smile and say the same thing. Little kids smile and ask why I have purple hair. I answer that I had a big birthday and wanted a party on my head. Adults also asked why I colored it. Sometimes I give them the straight answer; other times I say that I woke up on my 50th birthday, and my hair had turned purple. Last week in a museum restroom, as I washed my hands, a woman waiting said she loved my hair. She said, “It makes me happy!” Walking to school with Bean one morning, a young man passed us and said hi and “Love your hair.” I said thanks, and a few steps later he stopped and turned, adding “Your hair just made my morning.” I replied that I was happy to have been able to do that.
It’s an interesting experience for a fairly introverted person receive as much attention as I’ve gotten. It pleases me, of course, yet it also pulls me into the world, into connection with people, which I am often reluctant to do. But wait, there’s more! It seems as though having a colorful head does something else. It genuinely pleases others. It inspires joy in others. It adds a little color to the world. Goodness knows we can all benefit from more joy and color. I’ve jokingly said that it’s my ministry. One detail changed. So much good fun.
Overheard Yesterday
As they waited to retrieve their children from school at day’s end, a few parents were talking about their children’s Halloween costumes. One mother said her daughter didn’t want to just wear the princess costume, because it was too plain. In her story, the daughter said, “Mommy, I want you to bedazzle it!” The woman said, “Honey, I don’t know what you mean by that. What does bedazzle mean?”
The mother laughed and continued, “Then she said Oh Mommy, put some bling-bling on it, and sparkles, and make it shine!” The adults chuckled and the mother added, “Heh, little whore!”
The child to whom she referred was her kindergartner. There were preschoolers present with the parents. And I thought… who taught this little girl about “bling-bling” and dazzle? Who is the gatekeeper for exposure to these ideas? And why would any parent refer to her child this way, even in jest? I felt sad for the little girl who, by wanting what she’d been taught to want, was judged for it — by her own mother, no less.
Steps
Some more thoughts from my last post — a little progress report.
I met with the director of volunteers at the Hospice of the Valley. I came away with an internal tension. One one end, I feel the calling to work the the dying and the grieving. On the other is the rest of my life, which involves parenting a lively child just entering kindergarten, being on the PTA, and being involved in other projects. The training for volunteers working with patients is intensive. However, they do have a need for administrative support, and the training for that is easier for me to attend. So I’ve contacted her to ask a few questions about time commitments, and so on. I feel that Life is saying to me that one step in that direction is sufficient, and that it’s not time yet to delve further.
I’m on the waiting list to become trained as a SoulCollage facilitator at the next training. I hope I will get in. But then, if it doesn’t happen, it’s not the optimal moment.
I have several challenges ahead of me regarding the PTA at Bean’s school. There are a number of transitions occurring, and the incoming board (of which I’m a part) has less experience than the previous. Tending to the needs of fundraising and community building needs to be my focus.
We continue to attend the UU Fellowship in Los Gatos. I feel the path widening there, as though I’m entering a fulsome space of community.
I’ve been working in bits and pieces on transitioning my art supplies to the office.
And I continue to dwell in spacious curiosity.
Flow
A whole month passed without a post, though I’d thought about it. I’ve been immersed in some personal work and stepping out into new areas that feel exciting. The depression has abated. I feel a need to write but am doing so with interruptions by my little girl and husband every so many minutes, so this post will be less polished.
We’ve been camping twice and will go again soon for the last summer trip. In June we went to Pfeiffer Big Sur, and in July we camped at Prairie Creek Redwoods. Our next trip is to Calaveras Big Trees. We like big trees and rivers a lot, and we like the ocean some. Camping is uncomfortable and requires more work, but it’s also relaxing and restful. My body aches in the morning from the less-than-ideal sleeping arrangement, but the peace I feel compensates. I am bathed in Being, in nature, in the Mystery; living outdoors brings complete contact with the world that creates itself.
After exploring the Quaker Society of Friends, I talked with Hub about where I’m at and what Bean wants. She wants to go to church. Hub was raised Unitarian Universalist and I attended as one years ago. It’s the best fit as far as spiritual community goes. Bean loved it the first time we visited two years ago. The Quaker group only had children’s program once a month, and unfortunately the one time I brought her no one else with children came, and there was no program. I realized, too, that I need and enjoy the ritual of a service. The Quaker service was traditional silent meeting with socializing after. The UU service includes the usual ingredients of a service: hymns, readings, sharing of joys and concerns, a sermon. Hub isn’t a seeker and doesn’t have the same community needs, but we came to the conclusion that the UU church is good for me and Bean. I attended the UU Fellowship in Los Gatos the past two weeks; both Bean and I enjoyed it, and the members are very welcoming.
I had a pilot zazen session on the first Saturday in July. I got cold feet and cancelled on the one person who’d signed up; then another friend last minute showed up. As I set up the small altar on my coffee table, it felt right, like putting on a perfectly fitting outfit. I also reached agreement with Hub that I will go to Hazy Moon Zen Center a couple times a year to attend sesshin and meet with my teacher.
I’ve continued attending salons called Intimacy With Truth, led by a dear friend. They occur in a format similar to Honesty Salons but move into deeper exploration within and between ourselves. I’m learning to listen to, trust, and speak from my intuition and truth. I’m also sitting with the idea of becoming trained to facilitate Honesty Salons or becoming a Getting Real Coach with Dr. Campbell.
I’m re-reading and incorporating the practice that Eckhart Tolle’s books explore. One thing I appreciate about his work is that he echoes my favorite quote, a koan I have cherished for years:
The secret is within your self. – Hui-Neng
Tolle claims that he’s not teaching anything that we don’t already have within us. His work is guidance to excavating it.
In conjunction, I’ve started to explore the process of healing offered by Al-Anon meetings.
After years of thinking about it, I attended a mixed-media collage Meetup at Lori Krein Studios. I immersed myself in the process and enjoyed it, as well as enjoyed the other people who attended. I’ll be going back.
This encounter with collage at the studio prompted me to rearrange my art supplies so they are stored in the same room as my work desk. Proximity will probably inspire more play!
I gathered my many small pieces of art into a binder, and I was astonished at the variety and amount. Seeing them all together gave me a surge of excitement to make more. A friend has suggested I have my own art show at home; I’m not ready to do that yet, but I’m ready to show and share from the binder.
I enrolled in a November training to learn a process called SoulCollage and to facilitate in groups. SoulCollage is a creative, meditative process of exploring one’s inner wisdom in all the ways it manifests. It’s rooted in Jungian psychology.
I’ve emphasized boundaries in certain relationships by limiting what I can listen to and discuss. The immersion in repeated stories about the problems of people I love when I cannot do anything to help was contributing to the depression.
Lastly, I’m contemplating becoming a volunteer at a hospice. For many years (since the mid-1990s) I’ve felt a pull toward it, and in 2004 I took steps in a parallel direction by training to provide grief support to survivors. It was the Centre for Living With Dying. However, my father-in-law was dying of cancer at the time, and I just didn’t have the energy to serve. Since that time the Centre was bought by another social service provider, and it seems they don’t use volunteers any more. But hospice does.
The call to hospice coincides with the sad news that a friend — Jen Bulik-Lang — who is only 35 is dying of stage-IV lung cancer. She began feeling ill in October 2012, and it took awhile for professionals to come to the correct diagnosis at the end of January 2013. She’d been shopping in December for engagement rings with her boyfriend, Jeffrey Lang. She got aggressive treatment, and there was hope they eradicated it, but in mid-June she received news it had metastasized to her spinal fluid. My insides quicken with grief and love as I watch her live with this news. She chose to celebrate life, and she and Jeff got married in a marvelous wedding. I admire Jen for embracing what is and fully experiencing it as a transformation with the faith, as she says, “that [it] will benefit the highest good for all those concerned.”
So in all, the shift in my life is toward community and participating in healing myself, others, and the world. As I wrote that last sentence my self-talk was, “Boy, that sounds lofty and new-Agey, and grandiose.” And yet… The world is broken and insane and aches for love.
Sometimes a Retreat is an Advance
I’d sunk into a swamp of depression. Why bother going? It was only overnight. I cancelled, one day too late to get a refund. So I went.
Nearly there, I found the road blocked. The tunnel said “Under construction.” What next? Go back home? Try to find another way and arrive late? No and no.
So I broke rules. I drove around the barricade and through the tunnel. There was no ditch to fall into, no rubble to hit. I arrived. I showed up.
Teacher saw me and leaped with joy – literally! She hugged me, and I began to cry. Twenty of us sat in slience; we walked in silence. Zazen is painful drudgery. But the tears subsided.
I sat. I counted my breaths. I walked. I ate. I slept. I met privately with my teacher.
Sick of being mom, managing my child? Then be an easy mother!
Lonely? Get out of the Internet echo chamber. Talk to a person.
Bored? Reflect on what resonates; listen for my voice.
Scared about new responsibility? Just show up. Do the next task.
Stop hiding in the house. The world is right here and now.
Later, walking on the beach alone, I found rusty rose starfish washed ashore. It fit the palm of my hand. It was alive! Waiting for a return ride on the tide.
Hello, friend.
I looked up. Saw a man. Decided this discovery was too good to keep to myself. So I went up to him and shared. And he smiled and marveled. And then I did it again, with a woman jogging. And again, with another woman!
Their eyes widened, awakened. They smiled with the joy of the encounter.
Hello, friend.
****************************
Words swept from my mind
Scatter like moths in the wind
Wave meets rock meets wave
Day In Day Out
I wish my blog were famous and had millions of readers so this video could reach many, many people.
If the video doesn’t show/play then click to watch it here.
I’ve not read any of David Foster Wallace’s books, but hearing this speech I can’t help but wish he was still alive.
The Meeting
Oh, to sink into silence. To breathe. To wait.
No rituals, no incense, no chants, no words. Just silence
and a straight-backed wooden chair.
The silence is alive. Traffic zips down the highway.
Chairs creak. Birds gossip. Someone coughs or sniffs.
But if you really listen, you can hear the sunshine singing.
Sometimes the entire hour passes in silence. Other times
a few rise to speak, to share whatever they felt led
to share prompted by their discernment.
To wait in the Spirit, in Love, connecting with
and through each other. The tender embrace of silence.
Opening the door within. Welcome, quietude! Welcome.
After the hour someone shakes another’s hand,
signaling the end of silent worship; then handshakes
and smiles ripple through the room.
The invitation comes to share what we did not feel truly prompted
by the Divine to share in worship. Announcements are made.
An invitation is given to refreshments and conversation next door.
That is the Meeting of Friends.
Give a Little Love
Ideas for Practicing Love
Today, for whatever reason, I am feeling how we all struggle to be here. How much we need to love each other, and how we need to practice that love in deed and word. Once upon a time I struggled to meet my basic needs while working to reach some lofty goals. My life, through whatever process, has transformed into something full and comfortable. I want to remember not to abandon others and to pay it forward.
So I made a list of what I can do. I’m sure there are more, but this is what my first harvest produced:
- Donate money to community agencies that provide supportive services for housing, food, and education. There are so many, and I cannot do them all. I selected Sacred Heart because I volunteered with them some years in the past, and their mission resonates with my heart.
Sacred Heart Community Service is dedicated to bringing our community together to address poverty in Silicon Valley.
Our vision is a community united to ensure that every child and adult is free from poverty.
Our mission is to build a community free from poverty by creating hope, opportunity, and action. We provide essential services, empower people to improve their lives, advocate for justice, and inspire volunteers to love, serve, and share.
Sacred Heart Community Service is an equal opportunity service provider. No person shall be excluded from services because of age, ancestry, color, national origin, race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, creed, marital status, disability, medical conditions, or veteran status.
- If I have any, I can give my spare change to someone when they ask.
- I can offer my change for a cash purchase toward the purchase by the customer in line behind me.
- I can take the time to pay attention when someone is speaking, rather than thinking about my next turn.
- I can listen to my child and empathize with her, rather than try to manage her through my agenda. (And apply this to all interactions with people.)
- I can breathe, which helps me to slow down.
- I can cease judging another person by his or her past actions and perceived failures.
- I can give another person the benefit of the doubt and not personalize their behavior toward me if I perceive it as mean or rude.
- I can let go of predictions about how situations will evolve and how people will behave.
- I can remember to smile at people and say hello.
- I can say I’m sorry when I have acted or spoken in a hurtful way.
- I can empathize when someone is angry at me rather than leap to my own defense.
Can you think of ways to practice love? Please share your ideas.
Nothing Is Lost, Only Transformed
God pours life into death and death into life without a drop being spilled.
-Author Unknown
Until I attended graduate school at St. Edward’s University, I didn’t know much about Dia de los Muertos. In 1997, after I’d left the fundamentalist non-denominational church I’d been with for years — and with it my entire social network — I struggled greatly with loneliness and depression. Thus I found myself sitting frequently in the Our Lady Queen of Peace chapel, trying to root myself.
On November 1, I discovered an altar covered with painted skulls, candles, photos, and flowers. A number of people gathered, including Dr. Edward Shirley, Professor of Religion and Theological Studies. He led a meditation and gave a little talk about the meaning of this day. I remember at one point asking, “Is it possible to miss someone you never knew?” I was thinking about my maternal grandmother and paternal grandfather; both died long before I was born. Ed answered that yes, he thought so.
After that introduction, I got to know him and spent time talking with him. He was one of the most loving people I’d encountered. His laugh was infectious. His presence was healing. His friendship and guidance were a balm and ballast for me at this time of transition. He accepted people wherever they were at; at that point I was an atheist, certain that traditional Christianity was not my path. I searched for a way to connect with the universe and to find a vocabulary to voice this connection. It was Ed who called my attention to Buddhism.
Ed died suddenly in mid-August, leaving behind a devastated family and community of friends. His impact in the world was deep, and he was much loved. I miss his presence in this world, but his departure brought me to a threshold of understanding what Zen Buddhists call Big Mind.
So, in honor and remembrance of Ed, I offer this tribute on the day that brought us together.
Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life.
-John Muir