I'd like to preempt this by saying that I am not a macabre person and I do not dwell in morbid thoughts. I love life and the living, and I often go to noisy, crowded places to sit back and watch the world go by, connecting with the wonder of a present humanity so caught up in the mundane that its purpose and mortal presence is lost to all except to the observer. There is beauty around that speaks and images that disturb. These fuel my creativity. However, to feel alive and most connected when reaching for meaning to increase my self understanding, the most human, powerful and yet humbling experience for me is to go to the cemetery.
The cemetery need not be one where I have a connection to someone whose funeral I have attended, be it family or friend or acquaintance. I feel connected to all. I park my car randomly and walk over a carpet of well maintained green grass reading the names and dates of those buried in the area. Some are short lived lives, others long and longer. There are mothers, fathers, sons and daughters, sisters, brothers, grandparents, aunts and uncles, the soldier, the doctor, the hero; all loving. It is easy to observe the newly dead from those long buried. These are the headstones that are rubbed and polished to a gleam. It is as if every stroke of polish by the living has brought with it a small measure of therapeutic comfort as memories mingle with grief. Many of them are young, too young, infants even. I take time to stop at each one to read their names and say a little prayer for those they've left behind in this world. What intrigues me are the ones whose last day on this earth spans decades into history and who do not have an obvious frequency of visitors, if any at all....Time diminishes the strokes of polish. Here, I linger a little longer.
My first impression of cemeteries was not one of rolling hills carpeted with a soft spread of green, a burst of color here and there and trees with their magnificently outstretched branches. No, I come from places where cemeteries are tight narrow plots confined between buildings, and church yards. Tombstones high and low, statues of all shapes and sizes marking graves of young and old casting long shadows in the twilight hour. These are cemeteries where the earth has moved and graves have shifted causing hazard to those who walk among them and who are not sure footed. To walk across and between the graves, one almost has to dance and skip from one marbled tomb to the other. But regardless of the maintenance of the place I love to walk the graveyards. My affinity for walking among the graves comes from when I was a child, and in my easily impressionable childhood brain, I read the poem "We Are Seven" by William Wordsworth. The narrator asks a little girl of perhaps 8 about her siblings.The girl explains that there are seven of them including two that are dead. The narrator tries in vain to persuade the little girl that her two deceased siblings cannot be counted among them because they are no longer alive. "But they are dead, those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven," he says. However, the child insists that these two be included in her count. She lives her life among them and they still exist, maybe not in a physical presence, but she feels she can sense them.
"And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there." She eats with them and plays among them. "Their graves are green, they may be seen." She insists. They are seven. The thought of that child possessing a sure instinct of immortality left an impression on me. Just because the dead are not of this physical world doesn't mean they are not of the world. Their love lingers and mingles and strengthens. They just live in another form or state of reality.
A walk, a stroll through a cemetery, or if time permits, a sit down with those who are no longer of this world is comforting. The finest of people, the innocent, the guilty, the good, the rogue of rogues, all are buried within these walls and boundaries of the cemeteries. But their worldly professions and adjectives that define them do not matter. Here, I find an absence of all human emotions except an infinite acceptance and a love that roams through and in between the space. An inexplicable peace reigns among the tombstones or headstones. It is peace that overflows through me with love from beyond. There Is something beyond the beyond. Something that connects me to the world behind what we see and feel and taste. I am neither provoked nor tested. I have no fears, no doubts, no resentments. I am void of all human weakness of emotions. Only peace exists and a silent knowledge of a strengthening of kinship between souls centuries old and days young. It is an implosive magnetic force of a love powered by those whose hearts beat with sorrow, joy, grief, peace, loss, triumph, ...and by those who have departed and whose loves linger and float the atmosphere. A love supreme flows through me. It reigns. It Is, It just Is. And I am released of all entitlement to this world.
The experience of unity with All That Is brings me back to the truth...that none and nothing is greater than perfect love. I am renewed with the experience and awareness of how precious every life on earth is and how much we are pulled by the need to do, more so, much more so than the need to be. My mortal years, like all who are privileged to breathe, are unknown and limited. Time is entrusted to me and the years lent are just that, lent to me. I am struck by the power of connection by being fully there in the quiet unity of what Is--God's love linking my fingers with the soft caress of a love whispered from those no longer of this world.
A walk in the cemetery always changes me, and always for the better.
This I humbly speak.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Words To Inspire and To Remind
We all have one. A drawer or a box where we throw in pieces of paper of clipped articles or quotes or notes to ourselves for further use at a later date. Or at least I hope we all do, lest I be the "odd woman out."
As I was placing another piece of reflective thought in an already filled to capacity drawer, a wad of colorful paper of different shapes and sizes flew out of an envelope bursting at the seams with handwritten short lines intended to inspire. I picked up a bright pink paper folded in four. It rang a bell as I unfolded it. "Must be 4 ft or taller to enter through this door and enjoy the ride. Please keep your eyes open, your mind sharp, your words meaningful, and buckle up to face the adventures of challenge. Smiles and laughter are permitted. ENJOY THE RIDE." I remembered sixteen years ago having placed this sign early one morning on the threshold of the door leading to the garage through which members of my family would pass to greet the day at school or in work.
A bright yellow post-it note with "You can't have a positive life with a negative mind" took me back to dinner with a girlfriend whose negativity had compelled me to go to the restroom and write those words as a reminder to myself to not be such a drain on any one's soul as was she that night. That same night I came home to a household already in deep slumber, and in the darkness of the night I had pinned to the fridge "Most people are about as happy as they make their minds to be," a quote by Abraham Lincoln. Attached to the post-it I found the quote.
I picked up a lined piece of paper with the picture of a realtor in the corner. His face was not anyone I knew. What caught my eye was the familiar blurry scribble of my handwriting that ran across the page and through his name and face. It was a note to myself written on my way to a job assignment. I put on my glasses to discern the faded words penciled in a mad rush between stop and go traffic on the freeway. "Ask yourself if what you are doing today is getting you closer to where you want to be tomorrow." I suppose one could still use that to re channel priorities.
A few small pieces of paper signed "love mom" and dated 1998 were paper clipped together. I recalled the events that prompted these "words of wisdom" if you will. Here was one inspired by a teenage daughter whose diligence needed refueling. "Don't work for recognition, but do work worthy of recognition." This one was for a pre-adolescent boy whose perseverance was paralyzed by his fear of forging ahead. "If you don't practice, you have no right to dream!" "And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more," was posted after a long night of discussion to encourage a man to take a leap of faith and expand his ventures. Here was another that had stemmed from many a discussion of current political events to personal accountability. The conclusion was "The Four C's...Courage, Compassion, Conscience, and Character. How you choose to use and develop them is what makes you what or who you are."
This next one was not my handwriting. It was a beautiful script signed by a cousin who wrote "To learn how to stand up, you must first learn what it feels like to fall down." Here was another, and then another by family members while others jumped up at me through their vivid paper colors written by friends and guests.There were quotes about faith, about courage, love, life, truth, God, integrity, magic and even Santa. These were words of depth inspired by love, through failures, successes, hopes and despair, by births and death, by young and old. As I read each of them remembering the person and day and event that led to writing the note and taping it to the fridge, each told a story, and I realized that none could be considered obsolete and that all were as profoundly meaningful today as they were yesterday. Life's question and answers, the philosophies that ensue remain constant and unchanging in a world where we seek calm within the often chaos.
I returned the scraps and notes with their words of inspiration and life reflections to the drawer. Before I closed the drawer I re read the most recent addition to the pile.
"Know a pity that is beyond myself,
One that cannot turn away and forget.
It rests in sorrow too deep to understand,
A heart wrenched in pain for the senseless loss of humanity."
A reminder of the lives lost in Tucson, AZ shooting.
This I humbly speak...
As I was placing another piece of reflective thought in an already filled to capacity drawer, a wad of colorful paper of different shapes and sizes flew out of an envelope bursting at the seams with handwritten short lines intended to inspire. I picked up a bright pink paper folded in four. It rang a bell as I unfolded it. "Must be 4 ft or taller to enter through this door and enjoy the ride. Please keep your eyes open, your mind sharp, your words meaningful, and buckle up to face the adventures of challenge. Smiles and laughter are permitted. ENJOY THE RIDE." I remembered sixteen years ago having placed this sign early one morning on the threshold of the door leading to the garage through which members of my family would pass to greet the day at school or in work.
A bright yellow post-it note with "You can't have a positive life with a negative mind" took me back to dinner with a girlfriend whose negativity had compelled me to go to the restroom and write those words as a reminder to myself to not be such a drain on any one's soul as was she that night. That same night I came home to a household already in deep slumber, and in the darkness of the night I had pinned to the fridge "Most people are about as happy as they make their minds to be," a quote by Abraham Lincoln. Attached to the post-it I found the quote.
I picked up a lined piece of paper with the picture of a realtor in the corner. His face was not anyone I knew. What caught my eye was the familiar blurry scribble of my handwriting that ran across the page and through his name and face. It was a note to myself written on my way to a job assignment. I put on my glasses to discern the faded words penciled in a mad rush between stop and go traffic on the freeway. "Ask yourself if what you are doing today is getting you closer to where you want to be tomorrow." I suppose one could still use that to re channel priorities.
A few small pieces of paper signed "love mom" and dated 1998 were paper clipped together. I recalled the events that prompted these "words of wisdom" if you will. Here was one inspired by a teenage daughter whose diligence needed refueling. "Don't work for recognition, but do work worthy of recognition." This one was for a pre-adolescent boy whose perseverance was paralyzed by his fear of forging ahead. "If you don't practice, you have no right to dream!" "And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more," was posted after a long night of discussion to encourage a man to take a leap of faith and expand his ventures. Here was another that had stemmed from many a discussion of current political events to personal accountability. The conclusion was "The Four C's...Courage, Compassion, Conscience, and Character. How you choose to use and develop them is what makes you what or who you are."
This next one was not my handwriting. It was a beautiful script signed by a cousin who wrote "To learn how to stand up, you must first learn what it feels like to fall down." Here was another, and then another by family members while others jumped up at me through their vivid paper colors written by friends and guests.There were quotes about faith, about courage, love, life, truth, God, integrity, magic and even Santa. These were words of depth inspired by love, through failures, successes, hopes and despair, by births and death, by young and old. As I read each of them remembering the person and day and event that led to writing the note and taping it to the fridge, each told a story, and I realized that none could be considered obsolete and that all were as profoundly meaningful today as they were yesterday. Life's question and answers, the philosophies that ensue remain constant and unchanging in a world where we seek calm within the often chaos.
I returned the scraps and notes with their words of inspiration and life reflections to the drawer. Before I closed the drawer I re read the most recent addition to the pile.
"Know a pity that is beyond myself,
One that cannot turn away and forget.
It rests in sorrow too deep to understand,
A heart wrenched in pain for the senseless loss of humanity."
A reminder of the lives lost in Tucson, AZ shooting.
This I humbly speak...
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Life in Question
Why? Why can't I eat it? Why shouldn't I touch that? Can you carry me? Will it hurt? Are we there yet? Do we have to go home? Do I have to eat that? Am I a good girl momma? Can I have a dog? When will I grow up? Why does it hurt? Will the tooth fairy come? Will you tuck me in? Are you praying momma? Where does Santa live? Why is Buster sick? Is it tomorrow yet? Can I keep the cat? Do I have to get up? Do I have to go to school? Where's dada? Why won't you read "The Monster at the End of The Book" again? Why is momma crying? Are you guys getting a divorce? Do you love me? Why can't I play? Why did granny die? Will I die? Where did she go? Will God send her back? It's not fair, is it? Do I have to take out the trash? Why should I worry about starving children in Africa? Do I have to go to church again? Why can't I wear makeup? Are you sad, dada? Can I spend the night at Sara's? Tracy's mom lets her, so why won't you? What homework? Why doesn't he call? Did he call? Will he kiss me? Am I in love? Can I go to the prom? Am I too fat? Does he love me, does he love me not? God, why do I hurt so much? Can I borrow the car? Why do I have to be back by 11? Can't I stay later? Why? Don't you trust me? It's never fair, is it? Why won't my parents understand me? What if I don't want to go to College? Can I be an actress? A lawyer!? What if I want to be a doctor? What if I'm not good enough? Please God, will I get in? Is my room the guest room now? Why do we have to go to war for peace? Can't we put an end to world hunger instead? Why's life so hard? Why didn't you tell me it was this tough? Can you send me some money? Why are you crying? Aren't you proud I made it? When will I start earning real money? Is this true love? How will I know he's the one? Will you marry me? Who said marriage is all bliss? Who said raising children is a piece of cake? How was your day honey? Why didn't they tell me it was this tough? Do you know how much I love you kid? God, why can't I get a good night's sleep? Were you a good boy? Where does it hurt? Lets see, what did Santa bring you? Did you brush your teeth? Did you say your prayers? You hid your sister where? Why can't they just grow up? Which of you didn't let the dog out? Can't you just take the trash out for once without being asked? Why are you sad? How was your day? Why do you want the car keys? Oh God, will you keep them safe? Is this what my parents went through? What makes you think you're fat? What are you afraid of? Do you know how beautifully handsome you are? Can you believe they're out of high school? When did they grow up so fast? Do we convert his room into the guest room? What do you mean another semester? Do you know how much it costs to send you to college? Why am I crying? Did you get the job? Do you know how proud of you I am? Did you call your dad? Are you eating right? Isn't it pitiful that we're still at war, and world hunger is on the rise? Did you hear about Sara's cancer? Did she have to die so young? Life's not always fair, is it? When do I meet this love of yours? Son, is she good to you? Have you set the date? Do I look fat in this dress? Daughter, will you be at church this Sunday? Dada, can I help you with that? Momma, didn't you hear me? Will you and dada visit us this year? Kids, did you thank your grandparents for the gift? Do you miss your grandpa as much as I do? Why do I feel like an orphan without my parents around? When is our next church meeting? Did you sign up to volunteer for the cause? Have you seen my glasses? Why am I starting to feel old? Really? I'm going to be a grandma? Isn't my grandchild the cutest? Who knew being a grandparent would be this rewarding? Why don't you put some socks on those little feet? Won't he catch a cold like that? Do you want me to baby-sit? You want me to read "The Monster at the End of the Book"? Again!? Did you brush your teeth? Did you say your prayers? Do you know how much I love you? Isn't life wonderful? What did I do to earn such joy? Did you call the doctor? Why am I tired? Why do my joints hurt? Did my best friend have to die so soon? God, why does it hurt so much? Why are we still at war? When is the next church meeting? How are the grand kids? Did they get the birthday card I sent them? Did they get their graduation gifts I sent them? Where did you say you were going for Christmas this year? Will I see you soon? Did the kids call? Did anyone call? Is it time for dinner? Why do I have to stay up till 9 p.m.? Why can't I go to bed earlier? God, why can't I get a good night's sleep? Do I have to get up in the morning? Was it only yesterday? Do I have to swallow those pills? Why am I crying? What did I spend my time on? With whom did I spend my time? God, I don't remember...was I a good person? Why can't I stay a little longer? Do they know I love them? Do I have to go? Why? Please God, will you carry me? Did I make it God? Am I home yet?
This I humbly speak... with no more questions.
This I humbly speak... with no more questions.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread
Thanksgiving Day is a day nationally dedicated to prayer, praise and gratitude. It is a day of faith that dedicates us to something bigger and more important than ourselves and our possessions. It is a day where the truth in the words of the Lord's Prayers, "Give us this day our daily bread," comes to life. Truth as old and simple as this came to life for me on a Thanksgiving Day some 10 years ago.
Years ago, when my children were children, we made it a family tradition to volunteer for Thanksgiving at the local Salvation Army of Pomona and Ontario. We each took on responsibilities based on our strengths or abilities. My husband loved to wear an apron and serve the public, (although, for the life of me, I could never get him to do that at home!) My daughter held infants or looked after them while their mothers ate. My son enjoyed greeting people and waiting at tables. I helped cook, serve or manage the kitchen.
During one of those years of service, there was a little girl, impeccably dressed, who had come with her mother to volunteer. She must have been no older than eight or nine. Her mother must have brought her there for the same reason that I used to bring my children at that young age. To teach them that with their own good fortune came the responsibility to give back to the world. To encourage them to become more spontaneous in giving and sharing and caring and reaching out to their fellow men and neighbors. To be grateful for whatever they had.
The Captain, who ran the operation of the Salvation Army, said a prayer of thanks for the food to be received, and the the din of a lively dining room came to life among 200 guests with the hustle and bustle of volunteers who went back and forth eagerly serving plates of food. The aroma of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, candied yams, green beans and fresh oven baked buttered rolls was so intoxicating as it wafted from the kitchen into the service area and the dining room that it whet the appetites of all who attended, guests and hosts alike. It was too inviting especially for the little girl who had helped serve some hot rolls and who now stood next to her mother while guests were eating. Suddenly, she turned to her mother and, in a voice clearly audible, she blurted, "Momma, I wish we were poor also, so I could eat some of this food."
For a brief moment, silence reigned. I sensed the mother's embarassment. She didn't know quite what to say. At that moment a solemn laborer at the table looked up from his plate. You could tell life had knocked him around. But I remember vividly, his worn face lit up with a truth as old and simple as, "Oh child, you don't have to be poor to receive this gift...just blessed. Join us."
This tired man, despite the hardship in his life, had shown us the meaning of "give us this day our daily bread." The value of such a prayer is to remind us that regardless of our life situation, receiving the food that we eat is as much a gift as it is an earned reward. It is a reminder of our daily dependence on the graciousness of God. And especially today, when our hearts are more focused on the gratuitous blessings of family gatherings, let us become more spontaneous in our daily recognition of the divine goodness in our lives.
Have a wonderful and contented Thanksgiving, today and everyday.
This I humbly speak, with a content heart.
Years ago, when my children were children, we made it a family tradition to volunteer for Thanksgiving at the local Salvation Army of Pomona and Ontario. We each took on responsibilities based on our strengths or abilities. My husband loved to wear an apron and serve the public, (although, for the life of me, I could never get him to do that at home!) My daughter held infants or looked after them while their mothers ate. My son enjoyed greeting people and waiting at tables. I helped cook, serve or manage the kitchen.
During one of those years of service, there was a little girl, impeccably dressed, who had come with her mother to volunteer. She must have been no older than eight or nine. Her mother must have brought her there for the same reason that I used to bring my children at that young age. To teach them that with their own good fortune came the responsibility to give back to the world. To encourage them to become more spontaneous in giving and sharing and caring and reaching out to their fellow men and neighbors. To be grateful for whatever they had.
The Captain, who ran the operation of the Salvation Army, said a prayer of thanks for the food to be received, and the the din of a lively dining room came to life among 200 guests with the hustle and bustle of volunteers who went back and forth eagerly serving plates of food. The aroma of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, candied yams, green beans and fresh oven baked buttered rolls was so intoxicating as it wafted from the kitchen into the service area and the dining room that it whet the appetites of all who attended, guests and hosts alike. It was too inviting especially for the little girl who had helped serve some hot rolls and who now stood next to her mother while guests were eating. Suddenly, she turned to her mother and, in a voice clearly audible, she blurted, "Momma, I wish we were poor also, so I could eat some of this food."
For a brief moment, silence reigned. I sensed the mother's embarassment. She didn't know quite what to say. At that moment a solemn laborer at the table looked up from his plate. You could tell life had knocked him around. But I remember vividly, his worn face lit up with a truth as old and simple as, "Oh child, you don't have to be poor to receive this gift...just blessed. Join us."
This tired man, despite the hardship in his life, had shown us the meaning of "give us this day our daily bread." The value of such a prayer is to remind us that regardless of our life situation, receiving the food that we eat is as much a gift as it is an earned reward. It is a reminder of our daily dependence on the graciousness of God. And especially today, when our hearts are more focused on the gratuitous blessings of family gatherings, let us become more spontaneous in our daily recognition of the divine goodness in our lives.
Have a wonderful and contented Thanksgiving, today and everyday.
This I humbly speak, with a content heart.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
I Miss The Sounds
I read the other day, that the most dominant memories that seem to persist are smell and odor linked. Second comes sound. Strange as it may seem, for most of us it is our noses that have such a hold on our memories. The familiar aroma of baked bread, the scent of perfume or suntan lotion, the smell of coffee or herbs, the musty odor of a damp room or even the reek of rotten food...all have the power to retrieve a detailed picture of past times and either whet the palate and stimulate the appetite or repulse the body causing shudders up and down the spine. But, for me, equally important are certain sounds that evoke not just a memory but a yearning for the familiar, like a song or melody, a sound that reminds me where my roots were planted by a humanity whose differing beliefs have been under attack for many years but have not been defeated. I came to know these sounds of differing beliefs as a child raised in the Middle East and abroad.
I grew up to appreciate the vibrations of bells ringing from the belfry of churches during the long summer months of my childhood in Lebanon or schooling in England. Bells that beckon arrivals and departures, births and funerals, weddings, baptisms and a call to prayer. I miss the bells. I grew up to appreciate the echoes of praise by Imams bellowing from high atop the minarets and over flat roof tops during the hot drawn days in the deserts of Kuwait. I miss the Adham or "call to prayer." I grew up to appreciate the resonating sound of chimes and gongs from neighbors' homes leading their Buddhist friends into the early hours of meditation. I miss the gongs that beckon. I grew up to recognize the sounds that raised our consciousness into an internal state of refuge beyond our mundane concerns of day to day life. For these are the sounds that publicly call the populace to prayer and meditation reminding us to take a moment away from our quest for daily bread and reach within ourselves. In a world that is constantly moving at a pace that allows little time for personal introspection, I miss the daily sounds that act as a beacon for the vines of my soul, sounds that take me back to the roots of my upbringing. These are the sounds that bring forth a familiar calm, a feeling of mysterious connectedness linking me to others despite our vast differences in the complexities of our daily lives. These are the sounds that connect me to the solemn laborer with his bent back and to the woman with her gnarled hands; to the taxi driver who, in passing a church, automatically makes the sign of the cross while his fare in the back seat, twirls a string of blue worry beads between his forefinger and thumb; to the shopkeeper who takes a moment to recite verses of praise while listening to the cantor from a synagogue. I miss these sounds.
Like smells that unfold memories, the ability of sound to induce meditative states is a well known practice of thousands of years to Hindu and Buddhist, Christian and Muslim, Jewish or Shinto cultures which uses rhythmic chanting, drums, chimes, gongs, bells and repetitive verse to awaken the consciousness and revitalize the knowledge and need of prayer. In our quest for our daily bread we are often numbed by the outside world. We run to meetings, we run to leave, we buy, we sell, we negotiate and deal. As working people we have become careless with our religion, and we seem to have cut God out of our lives. And though we live in a country that allows for freedom of worship without public imposition of bells and chimes and Adham, I truly wonder whether the non exposure to sounds that remind us to respect the other man's time of worship is doing us more of a disservice by promoting a further lack of tolerance and understanding of the differing beliefs.
In our constantly moving modern world, we need some grounding. Life as we know it often catches us in a web of circular mazes. But for that brief moment when we hear the sounds that remind us to breathe... the tintinnabulation of bells, the Adham of the Imam, cantors in temples or the resonance of the gongs...it is our chance to slow down or even stop to listen, regardless of whether the bells call me or her or him to prayer. At that moment and ever so briefly, we are all being refreshed and become vessels of God.
Find that particular sound in your daily lives that will prompt you to take a moment to meditate and reflect, and for that brief moment you and I will remove ourselves from the web that robs us of our ties with God and we will find ourselves together gaining strength in our pursuit of the mundane.
This I humbly speak...
I grew up to appreciate the vibrations of bells ringing from the belfry of churches during the long summer months of my childhood in Lebanon or schooling in England. Bells that beckon arrivals and departures, births and funerals, weddings, baptisms and a call to prayer. I miss the bells. I grew up to appreciate the echoes of praise by Imams bellowing from high atop the minarets and over flat roof tops during the hot drawn days in the deserts of Kuwait. I miss the Adham or "call to prayer." I grew up to appreciate the resonating sound of chimes and gongs from neighbors' homes leading their Buddhist friends into the early hours of meditation. I miss the gongs that beckon. I grew up to recognize the sounds that raised our consciousness into an internal state of refuge beyond our mundane concerns of day to day life. For these are the sounds that publicly call the populace to prayer and meditation reminding us to take a moment away from our quest for daily bread and reach within ourselves. In a world that is constantly moving at a pace that allows little time for personal introspection, I miss the daily sounds that act as a beacon for the vines of my soul, sounds that take me back to the roots of my upbringing. These are the sounds that bring forth a familiar calm, a feeling of mysterious connectedness linking me to others despite our vast differences in the complexities of our daily lives. These are the sounds that connect me to the solemn laborer with his bent back and to the woman with her gnarled hands; to the taxi driver who, in passing a church, automatically makes the sign of the cross while his fare in the back seat, twirls a string of blue worry beads between his forefinger and thumb; to the shopkeeper who takes a moment to recite verses of praise while listening to the cantor from a synagogue. I miss these sounds.
Like smells that unfold memories, the ability of sound to induce meditative states is a well known practice of thousands of years to Hindu and Buddhist, Christian and Muslim, Jewish or Shinto cultures which uses rhythmic chanting, drums, chimes, gongs, bells and repetitive verse to awaken the consciousness and revitalize the knowledge and need of prayer. In our quest for our daily bread we are often numbed by the outside world. We run to meetings, we run to leave, we buy, we sell, we negotiate and deal. As working people we have become careless with our religion, and we seem to have cut God out of our lives. And though we live in a country that allows for freedom of worship without public imposition of bells and chimes and Adham, I truly wonder whether the non exposure to sounds that remind us to respect the other man's time of worship is doing us more of a disservice by promoting a further lack of tolerance and understanding of the differing beliefs.
In our constantly moving modern world, we need some grounding. Life as we know it often catches us in a web of circular mazes. But for that brief moment when we hear the sounds that remind us to breathe... the tintinnabulation of bells, the Adham of the Imam, cantors in temples or the resonance of the gongs...it is our chance to slow down or even stop to listen, regardless of whether the bells call me or her or him to prayer. At that moment and ever so briefly, we are all being refreshed and become vessels of God.
Find that particular sound in your daily lives that will prompt you to take a moment to meditate and reflect, and for that brief moment you and I will remove ourselves from the web that robs us of our ties with God and we will find ourselves together gaining strength in our pursuit of the mundane.
This I humbly speak...
Monday, August 23, 2010
I Believe in the Basic Goodness of Man
I inadvertently posted on my blog an article written for a literary magazine. Thanks to all who brought it to my attention. Here is the actual article written for the blog.
I have faith in the basic goodness of man. I am well aware that the conflict of good and bad merge, and it is often hard to distinguish beauty and virtue and kindness and laughter from all ugliness and wickedness and hurtfulness and sadness. But I accept the imperfections of the world (not because it was created imperfect, but was made imperfect by man's complexity of behaviour) and despite man's faults, I have faith that his virtues outweigh his failings. Kindness is at the heart of my belief that people are basically good. It is the vehicle through which, in the larger struggle of good and bad, we rely on to sustain hope. Time after time, it is through kindness that we rise above trying circumstances, putting others before ourselves. Earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes and hurricanes, mudslides, rock slides, fires and floods, famine, medical aid, vaccines, shelter, illness and death...our spontaneous impulse is to lend a hand sending ripples that bring us back to that place of instinctive goodness which is deeply rooted in us from birth...a place from where we sometimes drift away until we are reminded by some misfortune or crisis to return to.
I believe that there is more good than bad in this world, despite the negative outlook of radio talk show hosts and reports in the news of wrong doings and crime. For every report of a crime, there are thousands of decent, kind and honest individuals whose good deeds do not make the news but whose goodness softens hearts. I believe there are more people in this world who wish to create than there are those who wish to destroy. Take a look around. There are tens of thousands of volunteers in every fork and bend of our lives who spend countless hours doing their level best without thanks or glory to create, to shelter, to aid, to build, to strengthen a system in a world they believe in. For each single person who refuses to feed a hungry, there are hundreds who open their doors and invite the needy to a meal. There is ready charity all around. I believe that humanity has more people who are willing to work to find solutions with the promise of hope than those who sit back and shrug their shoulders in careless negligence often giving rise to fear. Doing good becomes a struggle we all face as we acknowledge that life is painful and difficult at times. I also know that the ability to take in the beauty and goodness that surrounds me is a grace to be recognized as fortunate as the goodness itself. Goodness is soft and subtle. It can sometimes go unnoticed because it is often hidden in the beauty we take for granted. When recognized and acknowledged, it permeates whatever it comes in contact with and reminds us of our basic impulse, our natural beginnings, and of what goodness could be and should be. After all, what is the measure of a society if not how well it treats the less fortunate among its members? We become the person who behaves spontaneously with grateful goodness, thus transforming a sometimes confused and discouraged world into one strung together with obvious goodness, the mirror of compassion.
This I humbly speak...
I have faith in the basic goodness of man. I am well aware that the conflict of good and bad merge, and it is often hard to distinguish beauty and virtue and kindness and laughter from all ugliness and wickedness and hurtfulness and sadness. But I accept the imperfections of the world (not because it was created imperfect, but was made imperfect by man's complexity of behaviour) and despite man's faults, I have faith that his virtues outweigh his failings. Kindness is at the heart of my belief that people are basically good. It is the vehicle through which, in the larger struggle of good and bad, we rely on to sustain hope. Time after time, it is through kindness that we rise above trying circumstances, putting others before ourselves. Earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes and hurricanes, mudslides, rock slides, fires and floods, famine, medical aid, vaccines, shelter, illness and death...our spontaneous impulse is to lend a hand sending ripples that bring us back to that place of instinctive goodness which is deeply rooted in us from birth...a place from where we sometimes drift away until we are reminded by some misfortune or crisis to return to.
I believe that there is more good than bad in this world, despite the negative outlook of radio talk show hosts and reports in the news of wrong doings and crime. For every report of a crime, there are thousands of decent, kind and honest individuals whose good deeds do not make the news but whose goodness softens hearts. I believe there are more people in this world who wish to create than there are those who wish to destroy. Take a look around. There are tens of thousands of volunteers in every fork and bend of our lives who spend countless hours doing their level best without thanks or glory to create, to shelter, to aid, to build, to strengthen a system in a world they believe in. For each single person who refuses to feed a hungry, there are hundreds who open their doors and invite the needy to a meal. There is ready charity all around. I believe that humanity has more people who are willing to work to find solutions with the promise of hope than those who sit back and shrug their shoulders in careless negligence often giving rise to fear. Doing good becomes a struggle we all face as we acknowledge that life is painful and difficult at times. I also know that the ability to take in the beauty and goodness that surrounds me is a grace to be recognized as fortunate as the goodness itself. Goodness is soft and subtle. It can sometimes go unnoticed because it is often hidden in the beauty we take for granted. When recognized and acknowledged, it permeates whatever it comes in contact with and reminds us of our basic impulse, our natural beginnings, and of what goodness could be and should be. After all, what is the measure of a society if not how well it treats the less fortunate among its members? We become the person who behaves spontaneously with grateful goodness, thus transforming a sometimes confused and discouraged world into one strung together with obvious goodness, the mirror of compassion.
This I humbly speak...
Monday, August 16, 2010
Surviving Gains and Losses
These past three years have hit hard the average citizen who's spending money has diminished while unemployment numbers have risen along with the cost of living. The consumer market is down as is consumer spirit. Residents of nearly every city have seen stores close, and in every corner, "For Lease" or "For Sale" signs are posted in windows of vacant buildings. Store owners and managers wait anxiously for that one customer or two or few to come through their doors with the slim chance that they will make a purchase, and if they are to buy, they 'shop 'til they drop' for that bargain piece or advertised special. Many retailers have not survived; some are on their last leg, while others will survive, getting through the current hard times by identifying with the customer base they serve.
One such company is Stater Bros., the largest privately owned supermarket chain in Southern California and, according to the Daily Bulletin, the largest private employer in San Bernardino County with 19,000 employees. Last week, the chain reported a third-quarter decline of 60 percent in profits yet sales were down only 0.6 percent for the third quarter. Because their customers did not have the spending power, Stater Bros. cut prices on 10,000 items last year and absorbed a 66 percent reduction in profits to accommodate their customers. Costs rose but prices did not.
For the past 30 some years, I have shopped Stater Bros. because they have shown to be a community minded company with one set of prices (regular or sale) available to all their customers without club, saving or membership cards. Despite losses, the chain continues to support area charities, food banks and children's hospitals among other benevolent acts of giving. I encourage everyone to find and support a Stater Bros. within his/her community. There are 52 markets in San Bernardino County, 47 in Riverside County, 30 in Orange County, 25 in Los Angeles County, and 11 in San Diego County. I encourage you to find and sponsor companies, retailers, businesses and organizations that know the essential right actions, that once taken, will put their customers, the average citizen in step with the natural order of things and on course with what comes next. Gains and losses are built in to our lives, like windows and doors in a car. Companies like Stater Bros. understand this. We experience prosperity when our actions with respect to money are righteous actions--that is, actions of generosity, actions of offering. Companies that seek merely their personal gain do not have an understanding of what money will do for them and others to sustain us through the windows and doors of life. In the long run, businesses such as Stater Bros. will be the survivors hand in hand with their customer base.
This I humbly speak...
(No, I am neither the spokeswoman for Stater Bros. nor do I have a vested interest in the company.I do, however, support many of their charities and charity events.)
One such company is Stater Bros., the largest privately owned supermarket chain in Southern California and, according to the Daily Bulletin, the largest private employer in San Bernardino County with 19,000 employees. Last week, the chain reported a third-quarter decline of 60 percent in profits yet sales were down only 0.6 percent for the third quarter. Because their customers did not have the spending power, Stater Bros. cut prices on 10,000 items last year and absorbed a 66 percent reduction in profits to accommodate their customers. Costs rose but prices did not.
For the past 30 some years, I have shopped Stater Bros. because they have shown to be a community minded company with one set of prices (regular or sale) available to all their customers without club, saving or membership cards. Despite losses, the chain continues to support area charities, food banks and children's hospitals among other benevolent acts of giving. I encourage everyone to find and support a Stater Bros. within his/her community. There are 52 markets in San Bernardino County, 47 in Riverside County, 30 in Orange County, 25 in Los Angeles County, and 11 in San Diego County. I encourage you to find and sponsor companies, retailers, businesses and organizations that know the essential right actions, that once taken, will put their customers, the average citizen in step with the natural order of things and on course with what comes next. Gains and losses are built in to our lives, like windows and doors in a car. Companies like Stater Bros. understand this. We experience prosperity when our actions with respect to money are righteous actions--that is, actions of generosity, actions of offering. Companies that seek merely their personal gain do not have an understanding of what money will do for them and others to sustain us through the windows and doors of life. In the long run, businesses such as Stater Bros. will be the survivors hand in hand with their customer base.
This I humbly speak...
(No, I am neither the spokeswoman for Stater Bros. nor do I have a vested interest in the company.I do, however, support many of their charities and charity events.)
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
I Climb a Mountain
I stepped on the treadmill. Reluctantly, I pressed the speed to a crawl pace just to go through the motion of doing something after having pulled myself out of bed.
"Come on," urged Id. "Put more energy into it. You're not going to get away with that, not after all the nagging you've done in the past about 'discipline and good habits that become character'," he said, imitating my tone of voice.
"Well that was then," I said. "I now don't see the need to develop any one's character. I'm comfortable without the challenge."
"What happened to all those years of telling us to get out of our comfort zone?" chimed Soul.
"Yeah," said Id. "you were the one who always pushed and said that challenging yourself physically and mentally and getting out of your comfort zone by doing things you usually spend time and energy trying to avoid were the things that kept you going in life."
"Yes, but..."
"No buts." I was interrupted by Soul again. "You seem to have forgotten how you dragged me into a hike up Mt. Baldy on a Sunday morning when I certainly wasn't wanting to go and Id was doing all he could to also avoid the activity, and remember what you said?" she asked, questioning my ideology.
I smiled at the recollection. In those days, I literally thought that spending a morning on a weekend lounging around the house in front of a TV was not the best example of disciplined behaviour especially since I held on to the thought that actions become habits and habits become character. Of course I remembered! I had dragged Soul and Id with the promise of feeling ultimate delight when reaching the top of the mountain telling them "to concentrate on the end result and know that the way down is always easier than the way up, no matter where or in what situation you are in life. Besides," I had said, "when you reach the top, you'll see the valley meeting the ocean below, a view crafted by the hand of God." And with that, Soul and Id had reluctantly accompanied me to absorb whatever I fed them of life.
"Practice what you preach," chuckled Id and brought me back to the dreaded treadmill. "Concentrate on the end result."
"Okay! Enough already!" I brushed him off with annoyance.
Yet, the recollection of my past perseverance ignited a spark that fueled the drive to motivate the challenge within. I increased my speed to a fast walk as I felt the soft rolling floor of the treadmill beneath the soles of my feet. It did not compare to the rugged terrain of the mountain, yet the instrument through which life is lived is the human body. All our experiences are made manifest through the body dictated by the mind. The fatigue, the pounding heart, the surge of adrenalin and the ultimate delight in reaching the top are all part of the mind--body experience.
I increased the speed once more. I started running. I made my heart pound with a boom... boom. My sides pained sharply. There was no one ahead of me and no one behind me. Just the sound of my shoes slapping the rolling stretch of treadmill. Slap, slap, boom, slap, boom, slap, slap, boom. The rhythm was intoxicating like an incantation. I raised the incline to resemble the last stretch of mountain elevation, as I pictured myself on the slopes of Mt. Baldy or Faraya, Mt. Whitsett, Sannin, or the Cedars and all the peaks I'd climbed to watch the views "crafted by the hand of God." I was like a bird stretching her wings to fly over the hills; it felt like a song, a gush of wind, a breathtaking gulp of air, an exhilarating shout.
I slowed down at last, breathing heavily, almost crying, having used both body and mind to relive the ecstasy of having reached the finish line, as it were, and proving once more that the climb was always worth the effort.
"Well done," said Soul softly.
"Thanks," I panted.
"Not too bad," said Id, always leaving room for more.
"Thanks," I repeated.
Tomorrow, I'll climb another mountain.
This I humbly speak...
"Come on," urged Id. "Put more energy into it. You're not going to get away with that, not after all the nagging you've done in the past about 'discipline and good habits that become character'," he said, imitating my tone of voice.
"Well that was then," I said. "I now don't see the need to develop any one's character. I'm comfortable without the challenge."
"What happened to all those years of telling us to get out of our comfort zone?" chimed Soul.
"Yeah," said Id. "you were the one who always pushed and said that challenging yourself physically and mentally and getting out of your comfort zone by doing things you usually spend time and energy trying to avoid were the things that kept you going in life."
"Yes, but..."
"No buts." I was interrupted by Soul again. "You seem to have forgotten how you dragged me into a hike up Mt. Baldy on a Sunday morning when I certainly wasn't wanting to go and Id was doing all he could to also avoid the activity, and remember what you said?" she asked, questioning my ideology.
I smiled at the recollection. In those days, I literally thought that spending a morning on a weekend lounging around the house in front of a TV was not the best example of disciplined behaviour especially since I held on to the thought that actions become habits and habits become character. Of course I remembered! I had dragged Soul and Id with the promise of feeling ultimate delight when reaching the top of the mountain telling them "to concentrate on the end result and know that the way down is always easier than the way up, no matter where or in what situation you are in life. Besides," I had said, "when you reach the top, you'll see the valley meeting the ocean below, a view crafted by the hand of God." And with that, Soul and Id had reluctantly accompanied me to absorb whatever I fed them of life.
"Practice what you preach," chuckled Id and brought me back to the dreaded treadmill. "Concentrate on the end result."
"Okay! Enough already!" I brushed him off with annoyance.
Yet, the recollection of my past perseverance ignited a spark that fueled the drive to motivate the challenge within. I increased my speed to a fast walk as I felt the soft rolling floor of the treadmill beneath the soles of my feet. It did not compare to the rugged terrain of the mountain, yet the instrument through which life is lived is the human body. All our experiences are made manifest through the body dictated by the mind. The fatigue, the pounding heart, the surge of adrenalin and the ultimate delight in reaching the top are all part of the mind--body experience.
I increased the speed once more. I started running. I made my heart pound with a boom... boom. My sides pained sharply. There was no one ahead of me and no one behind me. Just the sound of my shoes slapping the rolling stretch of treadmill. Slap, slap, boom, slap, boom, slap, slap, boom. The rhythm was intoxicating like an incantation. I raised the incline to resemble the last stretch of mountain elevation, as I pictured myself on the slopes of Mt. Baldy or Faraya, Mt. Whitsett, Sannin, or the Cedars and all the peaks I'd climbed to watch the views "crafted by the hand of God." I was like a bird stretching her wings to fly over the hills; it felt like a song, a gush of wind, a breathtaking gulp of air, an exhilarating shout.
I slowed down at last, breathing heavily, almost crying, having used both body and mind to relive the ecstasy of having reached the finish line, as it were, and proving once more that the climb was always worth the effort.
"Well done," said Soul softly.
"Thanks," I panted.
"Not too bad," said Id, always leaving room for more.
"Thanks," I repeated.
Tomorrow, I'll climb another mountain.
This I humbly speak...
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Housewife, Homemaker, Domestic Engineer
Let's face it, women have made substantial gains in the field of law, business, medicine, behavioral sciences, engineering and other areas of professionalism that were traditionally thought to be man's domain. This is a direct result of the feminist movement which has brought a variety of social and cultural changes, impacting and affecting family relations, religion, the place of women in society, gendered language (the she/he factor) and relationships between women and men.
There was a time when women were called "housewives." Then came the time when housewives were called to work in industry to bear the burden of breadwinner and keep the home front operating while men were fighting or dying for country. Upon the return of men and "normalcy" of life, women became fed up with the gender inequality and took enormous steps to change that image. During the early '70's, some men, whether envious of a woman's option to choose to be employed or through unfortunate challenges, stayed home and became "househusbands." Meanwhile, women moved forward with their plight for equality through education and employment. The gender language changed, and "housewives" and "househusbands" became "homemakers," especially since wife and husband were becoming less of a necessary factor in creating a family. The idea of working for extra comfort and material things, and deriving pleasure from owning a house (or bigger house), a car (or luxury car) became not just status symbols of 'old fashioned' men, but the measure of a modern woman's hard earned success. Women became self reliant and career oriented, moving the gage on the "equal-meter" closer to the center. Meanwhile, educated women who chose to put career aside to raise a family moved from the warmer, more homey description of their title of homemaker to the colder, rigid, linear approach of today's "domestic engineer." Even Roseanne Barr of the Roseanne show said in one of her episodes, "I hate the word housewife; I don't like the word homemaker either. I want to be called Domestic Goddess."
Today, the educated young generation of women are reaching new peaks. According to a recent CNN research report, 22% of women are now better educated than their husbands or make more money. While it is wonderful to be part of a generation that has evolved from a society that traditionally assigned women the role of money handling to that of money-making, I fear we are in the middle of a culture in which instead of moving toward the center, we are switching sides. At the risk of being gender-incorrect, I see current culture defeminizing our women and feminizing our men, or as some might prefer, masculinizing our women and demasculinizing our men. Currently, more working men than women are unemployed,* and with the rise of women determined to crack the "glass ceiling" or raise the bar further to excel at all cost even if it entails becoming romance resistant, men are filling in the shoes of domestic engineers and adapting to the reversal of gender roles with ease. There are men out there who choose to become more of a family man than more of a business man. Yet, with all the liberated idealism, this is a choice that, unfortunately, is often frowned upon by the career woman. Women,(whether because of need or desire)once again are bearing the burden--or the opportunity--of being breadwinners. Whether woman wants to be a career woman who runs the rat race and cracks the glass ceiling, or she wants to be a domestic engineer who focuses on raising a family and molding children by her values and ideals, is a rightful choice she makes. I support her choice. By the same token, if a man chooses or wishes to become the domestic engineer while the woman earns the keep, he should be able to do so without demeaning commentary from existing culture. I support the man. And perhaps in a few short years, a well educated, high salaried, well established career woman might come his way and ask for his hand as the perfect domestic engineer to form a family partnership!
Maybe it's time to reconsider the Feminist title and change it to the Equalist.
What say you?
This I humbly speak...
*Current Population Survey and Employment Statistics, Bureau of Labor Statistics published in The New York Times, Business Section, Feb.6,2009
There was a time when women were called "housewives." Then came the time when housewives were called to work in industry to bear the burden of breadwinner and keep the home front operating while men were fighting or dying for country. Upon the return of men and "normalcy" of life, women became fed up with the gender inequality and took enormous steps to change that image. During the early '70's, some men, whether envious of a woman's option to choose to be employed or through unfortunate challenges, stayed home and became "househusbands." Meanwhile, women moved forward with their plight for equality through education and employment. The gender language changed, and "housewives" and "househusbands" became "homemakers," especially since wife and husband were becoming less of a necessary factor in creating a family. The idea of working for extra comfort and material things, and deriving pleasure from owning a house (or bigger house), a car (or luxury car) became not just status symbols of 'old fashioned' men, but the measure of a modern woman's hard earned success. Women became self reliant and career oriented, moving the gage on the "equal-meter" closer to the center. Meanwhile, educated women who chose to put career aside to raise a family moved from the warmer, more homey description of their title of homemaker to the colder, rigid, linear approach of today's "domestic engineer." Even Roseanne Barr of the Roseanne show said in one of her episodes, "I hate the word housewife; I don't like the word homemaker either. I want to be called Domestic Goddess."
Today, the educated young generation of women are reaching new peaks. According to a recent CNN research report, 22% of women are now better educated than their husbands or make more money. While it is wonderful to be part of a generation that has evolved from a society that traditionally assigned women the role of money handling to that of money-making, I fear we are in the middle of a culture in which instead of moving toward the center, we are switching sides. At the risk of being gender-incorrect, I see current culture defeminizing our women and feminizing our men, or as some might prefer, masculinizing our women and demasculinizing our men. Currently, more working men than women are unemployed,* and with the rise of women determined to crack the "glass ceiling" or raise the bar further to excel at all cost even if it entails becoming romance resistant, men are filling in the shoes of domestic engineers and adapting to the reversal of gender roles with ease. There are men out there who choose to become more of a family man than more of a business man. Yet, with all the liberated idealism, this is a choice that, unfortunately, is often frowned upon by the career woman. Women,(whether because of need or desire)once again are bearing the burden--or the opportunity--of being breadwinners. Whether woman wants to be a career woman who runs the rat race and cracks the glass ceiling, or she wants to be a domestic engineer who focuses on raising a family and molding children by her values and ideals, is a rightful choice she makes. I support her choice. By the same token, if a man chooses or wishes to become the domestic engineer while the woman earns the keep, he should be able to do so without demeaning commentary from existing culture. I support the man. And perhaps in a few short years, a well educated, high salaried, well established career woman might come his way and ask for his hand as the perfect domestic engineer to form a family partnership!
Maybe it's time to reconsider the Feminist title and change it to the Equalist.
What say you?
This I humbly speak...
*Current Population Survey and Employment Statistics, Bureau of Labor Statistics published in The New York Times, Business Section, Feb.6,2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)