The Five This's and the Ten Thats

Have they gotten you yet?  The Five This's and the Ten Thats?  They are both epidemics, so watch out!  There are also other This's and Thats that are almost as virulent, using almost every number, except maybe the number one, to confuse the innocent reader into thinking that he or she is safe.  But beware.  It is only a matter of time before no article - on the web or on paper - that includes a number will be safe to read.

Here are a few examples of the too many to count strains of Five This's and Ten Thats:

Dieting:

The Five #1 Diet Rules for Fat Loss
10 Unbelievable Diet Rules Backed by Science

Finance:

5 Personal Finance Rules You Might Have to Break
10 Rules to Guide You Through a Lifetime of Financial Decisions

Sex:

5 Rules for a Satisfying Sex in Marriage
The Top Ten Sex Rules for 2015

As a means to inhibit the spreading of these virulent strains, I did not read the articles that followed the titles above, and for your protection, I did not link to them.

(Well, okay, I did check out the Top Ten Sex rules for 2015.  Number one:  Let the Women Rule. Yes!)

As a public service, I am warning everyone to avoid these highly contagious and virulent diseases by avoiding contact with any article that offers a list that could make your life better.  Don't buy in to the idea that these sneaky little germs can't infect you with the feeling that if only you would let them inhabit your mind and body, you will finally be good enough.

Trust me.  YOU ARE GOOD ENOUGH RIGHT NOW!

You're welcome.

Silent Healing

  A huge, gray cloud hangs low as I drive toward downtown Denver in the 5:30 cold morning darkness to meet Arnie for our silent walk.  The cloud is quite heavy.  And loquacious. It is full of its ideas:  I could be home writing; I am behind on some jobs, and I don't have time to create something by tomorrow; No time to even think about my book; Oncologist appointment will take up the afternoon; And be a waste of time. No time.  No time.  No time.

  At still-dark-o'clock, I park on the street, walk down an alley, and find Arnie.  We decide to head south, on the east side of the river - the side that passes a sleeping amusement park.  To do that we first walk the bridge across the river.  Water freefalls and tumbles over rocks below us. 

  I step off the bridge onto the sidewalk, notice a little cottontail come toward me then hop away, and five steps later, I become aware of the sidewalk under my feet.  Instantly, my mind travels to the men who created it.  They may have wished that they could have been home with their babies or their wives, writing their manuscript, creating something from inside of them, instead of creating something decreed by others.  But build it, they did.  Most likely in order to earn money to feed themselves, their children, their wives, maybe their mothers.

  My heart is touched.  Tears mimic the river, tumbling over my cheeks, freefalling off my chin. 

  Ducks fly beside us, gossiping loudly as they pass.  Then up ahead, splash!, feathers meet water.  I feel that I am walking on holy ground. 

  Did those sidewalk creators know that while they were working for money, possibly putting aside what they thought they really wanted to do, they were building a path of bliss on which unknown numbers of people would walk, some realizing the holiness like I finally did today?

  Oh, the high rises.  Those, too.  Humans creating homes for others.  And the amusement park beside us, quiet now, with floodlights casting ghostly shadows on the roller coaster.  Man, I loved the roller coaster when I was thirteen.  Riding it over and over, stoking my love of altered states.  People built this place where eight year olds go wild with excitement, young teens find freedom from parents, and teenagers work their first jobs.  All holy, holy. 

  Halfway through our hour of silent walking, Arnie and I turn back.  Though it's not even March yet, songbirds sing the sun up over the skyline. 

  As we near our meeting place where we end our walk with a cup of tea (well, Arnie will have coffee), a muskrat swims toward us, her tail barely under the water swishing back and forth, propelling her forward until she dives down, not to be seen by us again this day.

  After hot tea and coffee, and conversation about Hafiz and cancer, I drive home in the car that many people spent their days creating.  Gas from deep within the holy, holy earth propels me forward.  And I notice that I need my sunglasses.  The gray cloud is gone.

Lost

I got lost today.  Actually, I've been lost for the last couple of weeks.  At least I was home when I couldn't find my way through the jungle of a new computer program I was trying to learn.  I'm grateful that I was physically safe while teetering on the edge of nerve wracking crazies.

There is a sweet spot when it comes to getting lost.  It falls somewhere between the excitement of the unknown as we test our ability to be resourceful, and the terror of realizing that we don't know where we are and don't know where to go next.  Numerous times over the last couple of weeks, I have visited both ends of the spectrum.  My head hurts.

But today, I threw in the towel, surrendered, cried uncle.  I heeded the STOP sign, and found my way back out of the Cyberspace mire.
 

The U.S. Parks' website gives the following five suggestions for things to do in the case of getting lost.  Now that I have found my way back home to peace and equanimity, I see that not following rule #2 was my biggest problem.

1. Signal for help.  Check.
2. Build a fire.  Damn!  I'm assuming they mean a fire for burning the computer.  Good idea!
3. Find shelter.  Check.
4. Stay warm.  Check.
5. Stay put.  Did that, but it didn't help a bit.

Coincidentally, I just started reading Rebecca Solnit's book, A Field Guide to Getting Lost.  From the book:

"Explorers, the historian Aaron Sachs wrote me in answer to a question, 'were always lost, because they'd never been to these places before. They never expected to know exactly where they were.'"

Do you hear the liberation in those two sentences?

We are always lost, because we've never been to this place in this moment before.  But we don't remember that we are lost - we think we know exactly where we are.  Or we expect to know how our spouse will behave, or how a computer program will work.    

Admitting that we are lost in life requires courage and trust.  But it offers us exciting exploration and the freshness of seeing everything with new eyes.

May I always be lost, experiencing the wonder of never having been here before.

But I'm still done with that feisty old computer program.  There are some paths that just don't call to us (or that are closed, due to bear activity).

Many Gates

For too long, I have thought that it was because she is the way she is. 

I gave up on thinking that she would change.

And I also gave up on thinking that I would change, since I kept trying the same things.  Over and over.

I was right.  We didn't change.

I have banged my head so many times, and I have also walked away, hopeless.

But now I realize that when one gate won't open, I can try others. 

The Moment Before

The moment before you and your husband received the biopsy results.

The moment before the car hit you, doing damage to your body that will be with you the rest of your life.

The moment before your mother died, before you got the eviction notice, before you lost your job, before you were robbed.

The story goes that all was fine, until out of the blue...

But is that true?  Did you really not have a care in the world before your boss called you into his office to deliver your pink slip, before the doctor called to announce your fate?

This is the moment before.

And so is this.

And so is this.

Yes, it can feel like a perfect life was turned upside down by events.  But isn't that a pretty limited view?

I know that the day I walked in the door, only to be greeted by Michael announcing to me the diagnosis the doctor had given him over the phone, I had been walking in a beautiful park with a friend.  I know it's a beautiful park, because I've been there many times.  That day, I don't think that I noticed the views, because I was distracted with worry.  It had been a week since the biopsy, and we were waiting for the results that were supposed to have been available four days earlier.  I felt a dark shadow hanging over my head.  So, by the time I walked in the door of our house and heard the news, darkness was already with me.  The "moment before" was not much happier than "the moment that changed everything."

Before diagnosis, I could be lost in thoughts while walking in beauty, and after diagnosis, I still can find myself lost in thoughts while walking in beauty.  Before diagnosis, I noticed sunsets and red-tailed hawks, and ever since the diagnosis, I still notice sunsets, red-tailed hawks, and the beach ball of a full moon rising.  Maybe I notice them more often now.

Of course life might change drastically after a major event - we might need a wheelchair, we may never see a loved one again, we may be uprooted to a new environment.  We may think we want to go back to "before" (as if that is even remotely possible).

But this is the moment before.  Notice it.  Be it.  We don't know what comes next.

Right now, I am alive, breathing.  The sun is rising outside my window.  Oops. I'm missing that show!  I'll be right back!

Ahhhhhhh...  gray skies grounded by dark skeletal tree silhouettes gave way to a hint of blue, light caught the edge of our neighbor's roof, and a bright ball of yellow and orange peeked over the house behind us making bare trees glow golden.  Welcome, sun!

I don't want to walk in the park caught up in thoughts that take me away from the skies and water and geese around me.  But I probably will.  And I'll miss sunrises as I type on my computer.

Truly, there is no "moment before".  That is only a memory, thoughts that take place now in this moment.


Each moment. An opening.  Every moment of our life, we walk through the door of the moment - we have no other choice.  Life says, "Let me show you the way" and we let it carry us.  Sometimes kicking and screaming, wanting that last moment back.  But it has never come back.  Just opening and opening.

“What day is it?"
It's today," squeaked Piglet.
My favorite day," said Pooh.”
― A.A. Milne

Sacred Money, Part V

Four days ago, Denver police killed a 16-year-old girl.

So, what's new?  It seems that every day I read of police officers killing someone.

The teen was not perfect - neither was I when I was sixteen.  When we are sixteen, we are still learning how to be in this world.  We are young owls, sitting on a branch right outside the nest, taking little test flights, trying out our wings.  We screw up.

Grown-ups screw up, too.  They are not perfect, either.  But it is their job to protect, to learn from, to teach, and to empower the young people of this world.  In an ideal world, grown-ups would lead by example, doing their best, while taking ownership of their mistakes.

I wasn't there when the killing happened.  There are different points of view coming out, and I don't know if the police are telling the real story, or if the truth is being told by those who were in the car when the teen died.  

I do know that it is a rare event in our country for a police officer to take responsibility for killing someone he shouldn't have.  So rare that I don't have any hope of an officer being charged in this case or in any other police killings.  This is not only unfair to the victims and their families, it's unfair to you and me, and it's unfair to the police officers who kill.  When a person doesn't admit wrongdoing, he can't ask forgiveness, he can't heal.  How would you like to live with the blood of another on your hands and in your heart?  It takes a lot of armor to silence the heart of someone who has killed a girl not much different than one's own daughter or sister or niece.

This killing has sickened me for days.  Like Jessica's mom, I, too, raised teenagers.  When I put myself in Jessica's mama's place, my legs nearly buckle out from under me.  And when I think of the girl's friends who witnessed her killing, I wonder how they can possibly grow up respecting the people who are charged with serving and protecting.

So today, I sent some of the Sacred Money to Jessica's family in order to help with her burial and other expenses.  What a small drop in the large ocean of grief...

I broke my rules by doing this.  I had intended to form a relationship with the receivers of the money, but I have not met Jessica's family.  I probably won't know how the money is spent, and I won't know the journey of Jessica's mama's grief. 

The only "better" I feel, now that I have given the money to Jessica's family comes from getting rid of the itch that kept bugging me to donate.  Jessica is still dead, and police - and others - will still kill.  Hopefully, the family feels a little comfort in knowing that there are people who care.

May we all be kind to one another.



Sacred Money, Part IV
Sacred Money, Part III
Sacred Money, Part II
Sacred Money

There is only $50 left in the Sacred Money fund.  Some ideas for where that money will go are brewing in my head.  This has not been the journey that I expected it to be.  I will write about it soon.