Being in August

This is what I acknowledge:

Looking down,
all manner of things are moving;
the grass moves in the wind,
the tiny ants scurry up, down and around;
the clover moves beneath my fingers and toes.

Looking up,
the clouds move,
the leaves rustle in the trees,
the birds move on the branches,
my eyes move with it all.

Looking in front,
the water in the sprinkler moves,
the flies move about the lavender,
the bees move at the top of the oregano,
my eyelids move in the sunlight.

Looking behind,
I cannot see anything.

Karma, Trayvon, George, and We

I am currently studying various religions for my graduate program at the American Institute of Holistic Theology. In this term I am reading about Buddhism. In Damien Keown’s book, “Buddhism: A Very Short Introduction,” he writes that the “doctrine of karma holds that the circumstances of future rebirths are determined by the moral deeds a person performs in this life.”  (pg.29)

Karma originated in ancient India and was incorporated into many Asian cultures.  Here in the West, the practical understanding of karma is that “what goes around comes around.”

Keown goes on to write:  Not all the consequences of what a person does are experienced in the lifetime in which the deeds are done.  Karma that has been accumulated but not yet experienced is carried forward to the next life, or even many lifetimes ahead.   Certain aspects of a person’s next rebirth are thought of as “karmically” determined.  These include the family into which one is born, one’s social status, physical appearance and of course, one’s character and personality.  What then makes actions good or bad?  From the Buddha’s teaching, it is largely a matter of intention and choice.  (pg 39)

Flash ahead to February 26, 2012, Sanford, Florida; 17 year old Trayvon Martin is visiting family and friends in a Gated Community in the Florida town.  He leaves a convenient market around 7 p.m.   It is raining.  George Zimmerman, 29 years old, lives in the gated community and is part of a neighborhood watch program. He is walking in the rain and believes that Trayvon is a suspicious looking person.  He begins to follow him.  A series of events will lead to the shooting of this 17 year old man and his death.  It will also lead to a life-changing experience for the 29 year old man.  It will lead to a national uproar over the Florida law of “Stand Your Ground” that gives way to defending one’s life up to the point of extermination of the “other” should the one who feels threatened make that assumption (choice).

So here it is; intention and choice.  No one other that those two people were at the scene of the shooting.  No one really knows what happened.  A life was taken and a life was changed.  Whether the change will be a positive or negative aspect to George's life, we will never know.  We will never know how karma will affect Trayon's lives or those of his family and friends.  We will never know if those of us who have experienced this life occurrence will be changed.  How will it affect our karma?  And even if we do not believe in karma, how will we chose to live our lives having seen and witnessed or heard or read about this event?  It happens every day in our world in so many different ways.  The violence is consuming us.

In our Christian tradition we pray, “thy kingdom come.”  And yet, I think not.

 

Breaking the Heart A Little

This is an experience I want to share with you because I think it's a story that needs to be shared.  And isn't that what life is all about...  sharing our stories?

I was on my way to Naples, NY to have a Memorial Day and birthday party with my wife's family.  We were driving her car, which is new to her, because the old '99 Camery had too costly a job to make it worth the while to fix it.  It had served her well, 170,000 + miles!  It's true what they say about the Camery's that just keep going.  And this newer version, a 2007 year model seemed to be a car we could trust, except for one thing.  It's security system was extremely touchy.  It would lock itself and arm the car randomly. Then when we'd get in or out of it, the alarm would go off.  This didn't seem a big problem until that Sunday.

We needed gas, so we drove into the station at the Victor, NY exit.  I was driving and pulled up to the pump and Peg got out of her side and went in to give the attendant the money before she filled the car up with gas.  A car drove into the station and pulled in front of me to that pump.  A rather handsome guy got out to get gas.  I noticed this, because he seemed dressed professionally.  He went into the office.  As he walked by, our car  armed itself.  I heard it lock but didn't think anything of it.

Time was passing by and Peg had not come out of the office.  She was talking to the man who had gone in after her.  This kind of annoyed me as we were running late and we were due at a certain time for dinner.  They finally both came out.  Peg pumped gas, opened the door and our alarm went off... honk, honk, honk... etc.  The guy in front pumped and drove away. 

I asked her if she knew the man she was talking to.  She said no.  He came into the office and was very annoyed that when he walked passed our car, I hit the locks.  You see, he was African American.  I was morified!  Damn this car!  I felt embarrased and even angry that he would think that about me.  But then Peg and I talked more about the incident.

I am a white woman.  I was sitting alone in the car.  I am over 60 years old.  And yes... Ego says...  you are a good woman and would never do such a disrespectful thing.  That is MY experience.  But what is HIS experience?  Could it be that he has white women moving away when he enters an elevator, or stands in a bank line, or who lock their car doors when he gets too close? 

My first question to Peg was "Did you defend me?"  Well... no she did not defend me.  She explained to the man how our car was having security system issues, which may have seemed lame to him until our horn started blarring.  But twice she said to him... "You are absoluting right about this!" 

Yes, it was wrong to lock the car door at the moment he walked by, even if I wasn't the one who initiated the lock.

Learning To Love Like They Do In Heaven

 

I’ve been thinking lately about love and how I love others and how they love me.  I’ve been thinking about the restrictions I put on love, who I can love and who I sort of can love and maybe who I should not love, although the latter seems to rub against the grain of my religious teachings.  Perhaps the mystery is how much I can love someone or just exactly how I show my love for another, or out of fear, why I don’t show my love at all.

A recent article about Pope Francis kissing the feet of young women prisoners is an example of how they must love one another in heaven… with no restriction.

I think about when I have loved someone so very dearly here on earth, and they pass to the next journey, they are immediately with those whom they have loved before me.  And I find other people to love, perhaps even as much as I loved them.  What, then, will our love for one another be like when we all gather together in the same “other” place?  Is there enough room in my heart for it all? Someone once said that when we “cross-over” we take with us all the love everyone ever had for us, even those we might never have known or loved.

Jesus had a special way to love people.  And it didn’t matter whether they were men or women or young or old, or sick or healthy, or whatever the difference might have been.  So then we, too, are called to this “Christ-way-to-love.”  Scripture sort of says it is in loving God first that we learn to love others, and ultimately to love ourselves.

This kind of love is how I love my spouse and all my children, my parents, the parents I never knew, the brother and sister I never met.  The love I had for my first best friend or the neighbor who played jacks on the front porch with me when I was a child.  The love of my art teacher who told me never to be afraid to share my feelings, and my grandmother who loved me just because she knew I needed it.  Do we start this love here and now and then fully and fearlessly become that love in heaven?

Whatever this love is, and however we learn to share it with one another, I want it to be a part of my life right now, on this earth, at this moment.  I want to love you like they love one another in heaven… now, so when I get there I’ll know exactly how they do it.

The Presence of Healing

Recently my spouse took so sick from the winter virus that has plagued so many of us this year we needed to call an ambulance and have her taken to the hospital.  Once there she was stabilized and I sat at the end of the bed while the attendants poked, prodded, pinched and squeezed the body into the direction of healing.  I soon realized that another kind of healing was coming in the presence of the  person sitting at the side of the one who is ill—the presence of healing.

I was, however, aware that I too was becoming sick.  I didn’t want to alarm my spouse so I quietly excused myself and returned home for what I thought would be a short while to pick up clean clothes and check to see all was well at the house.  But the virus was a mean and insidious creature that soon took me down with chills, aches and pains, toying with my mind and balance.  I was not going to make it back to the hospital. 

I lay on the couch wondering what to do.  The weight of my responsibility as a caretaker who should be at the bedside of the one she loved was almost as bad as the virus that had overcome me.  What to do?  What I needed most was to sleep and what I wanted most was to be at the hospital.  But I had no choice in the matter so I called a dear friend and asked if she would be my proxy and sit by the side of our beloved one.  She said yes, and I then fell soundly asleep until the next day.

The specifics of the events that followed are not as pertinent as the simple act of someone being present to another.  Not only did this presence begin to heal the one in the hospital bed but it began to heal the one who was also at home with illness.  There are scores of examples where the mere presence of another loving person has become a healing or calming factor in an otherwise chaotic scenario. I think of  Job and his friends who sat with him during his crisis; of  Mary and Elizabeth who found comfort in each other’s presence as they faced an unknown future; of soldiers huddled together in a trench seeking strength from one another’s presence, perhaps even calming an uncontrollable fear.  The list goes on.  Maybe you have your own experience of presence.

This week I walked the sacred labyrinth with other women from my church.  The walk is always a sacred step but this night, as I watched the faces of the ones I have come to know and love, I was particularly filled with peace in my heart by the holy presence that each woman had for one another as they walked quietly through the paths.  And I was especially taken by the light on the face of my beloved, now healed from her illness, walking rhythmically to the sound of the harp playing, the soft sounds of fabric, the gentle breathing, simple healing presence that another brings to the moment.

                                        the Labyrinth at Asbury First United Methodist Church, Rochester, NY

The Snow Is Snowing

 

The snow is snowing, which it’s supposed to do in February here in Western NY.  It is a kind of lovely snowfall, full and white flakes determined to cover the ground and the trees, the bushes, sidewalks and rooftops.  If you venture to go for a walk, it will gladly cover you, too.

There is a Zen saying I recently read:  "The snow falls, each flake in its appropriate place."

As I went searching for the originator of that statement, I came across the following from a blog site by Jane Goodwin:  http://www.janegoodwin.net

These were a few favorite statements I liked about snow:

We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand … and melting like a snowflake.  Let us use it before it is too late. — Marie Beynon Ray

Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories. –From the movie An Affair to Remember

Silently, like thoughts that come and go, the snowflakes fall, each one a gem. — William Hamilton Gibson

The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn who it touches.   e e cummings

As the snow continues to fall outside my window today, there is a kind of melancholia that overcomes me.  Perhaps it’s memories of days gone by when I could actually “play” in the snow, full-snow-suited-up and not worrying one bit about frostbite.  Perhaps it is remembering that snow-shoeing trek I took a few years back with Pack, Paddle & Ski up in the Candice Hills and realized that it’s far easier to be at the end of the line of “walkers” than at the beginning.  Although I must say that being at the beginning of the line allows for one to view the forest untouched, blanketed white and shimmering with a kind of magical glow.  And you are the only one whose foot will touch the top of that white crest for that one moment in time.

As I bring my thoughts back into the “now”, and simply watch the snow fall, the melancholia drifts away.  The author who wrote “The snow falls, each flake in its appropriate place,” took the time to be in the “now” of that moment, not past, not future, and saw how the snowflakes fell one on one in their appropriate places.  All in all, it is only this moment in time that gives the greatest meaning to my life. 

O God, you are my God,

Earnestly I seek you;

My Soul thirsts for you,

My body longs for you,

In a dry and weary land

Where there is no water.

Psalm 63

 

How often I read or hear, “Where is God?” or “I am seeking God?”  It reminds me of when I am looking for the lost eyeglasses that are on the top of my head.  Why is it I can’t just feel the glasses on my head?  What made me put them there in the first place rather than down on the desk or table where I could then find them more easily when I need them?

 

One thing that comes to my mind is preoccupation.  How is it I get so tied up with my work or chores or whatever I might be worrying about at the moment that the preoccupation over shadows the most meaningful spaces of my time?  And why do I keep those resources or saving-graces so out of reach so that when I really need them, they are not there for my fortitude?

 

Ultimately, I believe I cannot be separated from God.  My Soul, my Spirit, the Light, the Energy, the essence of all things in and outside of me IS God, (aka: pantheism). Does that make me God?  Perhaps in some ways it does, in that it recognizes the God within.  But the human element called Ego, has the darnedest time letting go of materialism, control, attachment, worry, you get the idea. 

 

Until I can embrace the Divine within, I will always be looking for those glasses that are on top of my head.