life – Page 7 – The View from a Drawbridge

In times of confusion or grief or despair, my first instinct is to find answers. Often there are none, but it’s a reflex action to reach out to grab something when you’re falling. Usually I turn to books.

At the scattering of my boyfriend’s ashes, a friend gave me a good one. “When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times” by Pema Chödrön. This book is so profound, so deep, that I can only read it in short spurts. Read one chapter, let it sink in for week or so while I read something less intense. I’m sure I’ll be writing more about this book in the future.

I also bought another book on line. “Yoga for Grief Relief” by Antonio Sausys. I have to admit I haven’t even started on this one yet. I know when I do, it will require that I pull myself out of this fetal position I’ve been in for the past month and a half, and I’m not quite ready yet. But I like to look at the cover and I take comfort in the fact that there are steps to take to feel better. Some day. Soon. I hope it’s good.

But what’s interesting is when wisdom comes along from an unexpected source. You’re sitting there, minding your own business, and WHAM! Insight. That happened to me a few minutes ago. I was reading “Odd Hours” by Dean Koontz. That is the light fare I am currently using to clear my mental palate between Pema Chödrön chapters. I wasn’t expecting advice. I was actually looking forward to having none. That’s part of the beauty of most Dean Koontz books. Pure escape. But there you have it. I don’t seem to be in control. Dammit. So I’ll leave you with this quote from Dean Koontz, because it sums up everything that I’m feeling right now better than I could ever begin to explain it myself.

“Grief can destroy you—or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. Or you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn’t allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it’s over and you’re alone, you begin to see it wasn’t just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or washing dishes together or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it. The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can’t get off your knees for a long time, you’re driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life.”

Namaste.

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Congratulations, You’re Alive!

Do you ever think about the miracle of your existence? It’s incredible, really. The odds of you… you actually being here to read this blog are greater than being struck by lightning.

Think of the one hundred generations that had to to procreate before you were even born. They had to survive plagues and wars and pestilence and catastrophe and childbirth. They had to be smart enough not to fatally injure themselves, and mentally healthy enough not to end it all. They had to meet just the right person to produce just the right child that would then meet just the right person… and so on. If even just one of those guys had spent just 5 extra minutes in the bushes or the outhouse or the bathroom on the day he was destined to meet his life partner, he may have met someone else and this current version of you wouldn’t exist.

And even before that, the planet had to develop in just the right way to sustain life. The primordial ooze had to be just oozy enough. The earth had to be the correct distance from the sun. It had to have water and develop plants and animals. Our ancestors had to be great swimmers, then great crawlers, then great climbers, then great runners. The dinosaurs had to be wiped out. The continents had to divide. The climate had to be just right in order for us to survive.

No wonder we have such high opinions of ourselves! What a miracle it is to be alive! What a precious gift!

Let’s try really hard not to screw it up for the generations to come, shall we?

[Image credit: beyondthedream.co.uk]

The Collage That Is My Life

Every one of us has life experiences, many of which we take for granted, but these experiences help shape us into the people we are. It’s like a very detailed puzzle or collage that, when put all together, forms a picture of you. No two images will ever be exactly alike, and that’s such a wonderful miracle when you think about it.

Here are some of the elements that are included in, or missing from, my picture.

I just tried lipstick, for the first time ever, at the age of 49. I’ve never tried any other type of makeup, and wouldn’t know where to begin.
I have never in my life paid for any type of television, and I don’t ever intend to.
I have traveled to 19 countries, and I hope to once again be able to travel in the future, because it’s my reason for being.
Through Kiva.org I have so far made 49 micro-loans to help change the lives of women in 39 countries.
I like to create fractals.
I love to write.
I’m much heavier than I would like to be.
I have a very high IQ.
I have never lived somewhere that has a dishwasher. I am the dishwasher, and I often go on strike.
I prefer most animals to most people.
Of all religious philosophies, Unitarian Universalism fits me best.
I have been rock climbing, parasailing, and snorkeling, and I’d love to do more of that. I’d love to go skydiving or ride in a hot air balloon, but could never justify the expense.
I’ve made some massive mistakes.
I can’t stand to have my belly button touched.
I’m extremely unlucky by American standards, but extremely lucky by global standards, and I try to be ever mindful of that.
My dogs love me.
Growing up, I lived in a tent.
I tend to laugh at inappropriate moments.
I have never owned a telephone that can access the internet or take a photograph.
I speak Spanish.
I’m half Danish, one quarter Irish, and one quarter French, yet I don’t speak any of the languages of my ancestors.
I am one of only three people in the United States with my last name.
One of my eyes is near-sighted, the other is far-sighted.
If I’m not paying close attention, I tend to stand on the side of one of my feet. The special shoe I wore as a toddler never broke me of this habit.
I snore.
I love to sleep.
More than anything, I want to live in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
I have never wanted children.
I find nothing as attractive as a healthy curiosity.
And I’m single!

I’d love to hear about your puzzle pieces.

This is a collage of several of my fractals. It’s called “Fractal Collage–Rainbow Star, and can be purchased in the form of a business card, poster, card or coffee mug here. Just sayin’.

Shocked

I heard this story once about a guy on a subway, stuck in a car with a man and his five obnoxious kids. The father sat there and did nothing as these kids ran around jumping on things and shouting and just generally making a nuisance out of themselves. Finally the guy couldn’t hide his irritation any longer. He said, “Can’t you get your children under control?” The father looked up and said, “We just found out their mother is dead.” Just like that, the man had a change in perspective and was no longer irritated.

I’ve been thinking about that story quite a bit in the last few weeks. As I’ve been running my errands, passing people in shops and on the street, they probably were looking at me and thinking I was basically like them, because I smiled and was courteous, as per usual. But in fact I was in turmoil. When you experience great tragedy or are in chaos for whatever reason, it doesn’t always show on the surface. If it did, mentally ill people wouldn’t be able to walk into crowds and start shooting.

Now that the shock is finally wearing off for me, I can express what it felt like because it’s still fairly close at hand. First of all, I felt completely isolated from everything around me, like I was in a big plexiglass bubble. I was completely numb. I couldn’t feel the sunshine. I couldn’t taste anything, but that was fine because I had no appetite. If the wind was blowing I didn’t feel it. Everything seemed as if it were at a distance. I would hear birds chirping and people mowing their lawns and it sounded exceedingly strange. How could life be going on without me going along with it? How could everything have stopped moving for me, but still be fast-paced for everyone around me? I couldn’t concentrate. And my God, the exhaustion was overwhelming.

When you’re in shock it’s like being in a vacuum. You’re deprived of all your senses except for sight, and what you’re seeing makes no sense at all. You know this isn’t normal, but it’s the place you are in, and you cannot see a way out of it.

Now when I pass people on the street I look at them and wonder if they’re crying inside. I wonder if they’re trying to feel again. I wonder if their smile is genuine or a courteous reflex. Of course, there’s no way to know. But just in case, I’m going to make an extra effort to be kind.

I suspect it will take me a long time to fully recover the loss of my loved one, but a few days ago the birds stopped sounding strange to me, and I actually felt the sun on my face. So perhaps there’s hope for me yet. I’ll take more of that, please.

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Things I Hope I Never Forget

The shock of having the person I loved most in the world die unexpectedly two weeks ago has taught me much.

Life is as fragile as a soap bubble. It could pop at any moment and that’s it. You’re done.
Because life is so fragile, it’s precious. You only get a little bit of it, so savor every single second.
Because it’s so precious, it is absurd to waste your time worrying about the little things over which you have absolutely no control.
Everything is a little thing, except for the people you love and the people who love you. Nothing else matters.
Nothing. Else. Matters.

I vaguely remember learning these same lessons when my mother died 23 years ago, but somewhere along the way I got caught back up in the minutiae of life and forgot these things. I hope I never do again. They’re important. They are the only things that really are important.

Once you start viewing life through this particular lens, all the petty crap and drama tends to fall by the wayside and things become really simple. Don’t take the people you love for granted. Appreciate everything and everyone that comes your way. But most of all, stop wasting time.

Live!

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The Other Place

When my boyfriend, Chuck Guerra, passed away on Monday, it wasn’t the first time. He died several times on the table 25 years ago during brain surgery. So this time he knew exactly where he was going.

Naturally I was devastated. I still am. I can’t imagine a time when I won’t be. But at the same time I know he is at peace because he has gone to “the other place”. That’s what he always called it.

He told me all about the other place on several occasions. He said that when he was there he felt an unbelievable connection to every single person that he loved, both living and dead. There was no anger, no pain, no worry, no sadness, no fear, only joy and freedom and pure love.

He said that while he was there, he only had to think of a place and he would instantly be there. He could learn anything he wanted to learn and know anything he wanted to know. He said classes would always start just when you arrived, because time isn’t linear like it is here.

And he could talk to animals. He remembered playing with a giant dragonfly and a bear. Here, he was often visited by butterflies to an unusual degree, and he considered them messengers from the other place.

At the end of that visit 25 years ago, a man sat him down and said, “You can stay here if you want, or you can go back. It’s up to you. But I will tell you that you’re going to have this for all eternity. You only get a little bit of that.” So Chuck, having young children at the time, decided to come back. He loved them so much he felt he had to.

But he always missed the other place, and he said he wasn’t afraid of dying. He also looked at every day here on earth as a gift, and one that you only get a little bit of. He used to say, “You have been given a perfectly good day. What will you do with it?”

I feel lost without Chuck, but I know he doesn’t feel lost. He knows exactly where he is, and that place is good. Somewhere, he’s playing with giant dragonflies and knowing whatever he wants to know.

Rest in peace, my love. Breathe easy.

I leave you now with a poem that my dear cousin Karen shared with me.

Death is Nothing at All
By Henry Scott Holland

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.

All is well.

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Leaps of Faith

Every once in a while you find yourself standing on a precipice staring down into a deep abyss of change. You may have a strong idea as to whether this change will ultimately be good or bad for you, but you can’t be sure, and that’s what’s terrifying about it. You may very well stand on that crumbling ledge for a long time. Some people are there for a lifetime. Agonizing. Second guessing themselves.

There are options. Leaping into that abyss isn’t always the best idea. Sometimes it’s better to back away from that precipice of change entirely, and focus instead on making the best of what you already have.

On the other hand, it may be that the best thing to do is to cross your arms, close your eyes, throw your head back and let yourself fall. It might kill you, or you might land in the most amazing place you’ve ever been. The whole experience might just be a hard lesson you need to learn on the way to the next change, or it might bring you joy that you never thought you’d encounter. Either way it’s the next step. It’s progress. It’s life.

So, step back and reevaluate or take that leap of faith? No one can make that decision for you. But either way, the answer is within you. On some level you already know that.

Just don’t stay on that ledge doing nothing. That’s a form of living death. That’s hell on earth. I don’t know how the abyss became a metaphor for hell. The abyss is just the unknown. Hell is the precipice. Hell is the hesitation. Do not linger there for long.

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Dumb Luck

I’ve never considered myself to be a particularly lucky person. I’ve never hit more than two numbers on the lottery. I’ve never bought a dusty item at a yard sale that turned out to be worth millions (or even hundreds). I’ve never dated anyone who didn’t turn out to be just as bat sh** crazy as I am. I’ve never been discovered for my talents. I’ve never gotten in on the ground floor of a really lucrative investment. I’ve never inherited anything of note. I’m not outstandingly beautiful, and Lord knows I don’t have the metabolism of a hummingbird. I’ve never caught a baseball while sitting in the stands.

But the other day I had a sneezing fit while going down the highway in rush hour traffic, and when it was over I realized I’d probably gone the length of two football fields with my eyes closed, surrounded on all sides by other cars. It’s good to be alive.

And I always seem to manage to get the best dogs on the planet. What are the odds?

I am employed at a time when jobs are hard to come by.

I have been born white and American at a time when that seems to accord me privileges that I didn’t earn and mostly do not deserve.

So far, knock on wood, I haven’t had any life-threatening health issues. I’ve even managed to make it through major surgery. And now I have decent health insurance, thanks to Obamacare.

I have the best sister in the world, and the most amazing friends.

And I have to say that I have fallen in love with this blog.

So I guess I’m pretty darned lucky after all.

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Turning Points

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the paths we take in life. None of us are on the same path, and none of us can really see the road ahead. It’s like driving with a blindfold on. Sure, you might be able to anticipate the occasional pothole or speed bump. You may even be able to correct for such things to a certain extent. But for the most part, we are along for the ride.

We cannot know what curves our paths will take. And then there are those sharp unexpected turns. Divorce. Death of a loved one. Loss of job. Health scares. Violence.

Not all sharp turns have to be negative, though. You might meet the girl of your dreams at the grocery store tomorrow. Or win the lottery. Or find out you’re finally pregnant after years of trying.

The thing I’m interested in is that exact moment when one’s life is forever changed. What is that like, and what is the catalyst? What energy exists in that moment? And why is it occurring right then, instead of 10 minutes or 10 days later? Could it somehow be altered? Is there a way to anticipate it?

When I had to tell my sister that our other sister had passed away, I remember thinking that I was about to hit her like a bumper that impacts with a pinball and sends it careening off in an entirely different direction. It had to be done, of course, but it’s an odd feeling, knowing that you’re about to effect someone to that extent.

There are also sharp turns that we bring upon ourselves, such as my decision to quit my job and go back to school. I had this image in my head of how everything was going to work out. Little did I know that I was making a huge mistake. That moment in time, that instant where I turned off the road into a dead end, is a moment that I wish I could take back.

How strange to think that each one of us could be heading for a sharp turn and it could happen at any second. I suddenly understand why people become agoraphobic. It’s not unreasonable to want to limit your opportunities for impending doom. But that also means you’ll limit your opportunities for impending joy.

Tag: life

The Secret Lives of my Dogs

I came home from work today to the smell of pee and saw a look of utter shame on both my dogs’ faces. The worst part about it is I can’t find where they did it. I’ve been crawling around on my hands and knees sniffing away, with no luck. Disgusting.

It’s disconcerting to think that my dogs have lives that I know nothing about. They have secrets. They know more about each other than I do about either one of them.

If they could speak, I wonder what they’d say to me? I wonder what they think about me? It’s a safe bet that they inwardly laugh when they see me crawling around sniffing for pee.

Cough. Gag. Found it! The bath mat. Well, at least it wasn’t the carpet. But still, yuck.

Unexpected Wisdom