We had our warm day

I am not sure if the temperature hit 50° yesterday or not, it certainly was within a couple of degrees of that, and it is 46° this morning; but it was not a day to sit in the sun and enjoy relief from winter; the land has been below freezing for a couple of weeks, without letup, now throw warm, moist air across this landscape, watch and listen as the gusts attack umbrellas raised against the rain that is blowing down at an angle. It was an interesting weather day, my barometer has made a 90° dive to the left.

The previous day everyone focused on the temperature, the respite that was coming our way, and ignored the second line of the forecast, the one that describes what happens when you flood the frozen earth with gulf air, the violent reaction. Our snow and ice have disappeared in a single day; there are storm warnings for the latter part of today, and interesting weather for the rest of the week. But we had our warm day.

I had three conversations yesterday that interested me, two were in person and one via email: Dave, who has a video store about half a mile north of here, had been out of town for a long weekend, on return he learned that an acquaintance had had a stroke and died, Dave missed the funeral. As he told this to me he made the point, twice, that he wasn’t friends with the guy, didn’t really like him, but he felt bad that he had missed the funeral. Missing the funeral bothered him more than the loss of someone with whom he had had a meal several times.

Mark, who is a big-time shrink at an equally big-time teaching hospital here, and I were having a conversation in his office, he is my shrink; in the course of whatever it was that we were discussing he said that he didn’t have answers to every question. I argued with him on this, that he does have all the answers, that each of us has all the answers, although we might not yet recognize them. We come fully equipped. Mark likes the open-ended aspect of things, possibilities and alternatives.

Mary, who is an internet friend, was telling me of the things she wished to accomplish in her retirement, her goals and causes, an ambitious list of activities; I responded that not being active is my goal, that it has taken me a long time to get to the point where I can sit in a room alone, be my own companion, to find satisfaction in that.

Three different friends and me, four sets of values, areas that are important and make each of us special.

I didn’t find these differences sanguine earlier this morning, I awoke feeling as if I had walls on three sides of me, walls of thick steel, that when I kicked these walls I gave myself a sore toe, that my three friends have boxed me in on three sides. The reason that these contrary views make me uncomfortable at times, frustrate me is that I am having trouble with my own, I can’t see the exit, the path that I know must be there:

There is a question that has been bothering me for a while now, perhaps forever, one that no one I know is interested in, that involves every facet of who I am, emotional, psychological and plain logical:– I don’t understand the connection between two poles of who I am; on one end there is a guy who eats, shits and has orgasms (occasionally); on the other end is that I enjoyed finding & playing again my recording of the Bach Double Concertos , Bach lighting up all sorts of circuits inside of me, carrying me to where I ought to be.

There is this animal needing continual nourishment, there is the other vague and ineffable. I know that this beast exists, and I know that I must die. The tension and separateness makes me uncomfortable, reconciling is what I should be about.

As I said above, no one I know has ever brought my question up, there is only one real reference to it on Google, and yet it bothers me in a deep, important way. I think that it has to do with why the symbolic aspects of Christ have been so powerful for so long; I don’t mean in any kind of catholic, organized kind of way, just the purest symbolism. This is important, to investigate within myself, to recognize what I know that I know. And it keeps the synapses of this aging fellow energized.

Having put this down, as best I can this morning, the first time that I am writing about this, know that it is disjointed and unfinished.

I hope that I’ll have some peace for the rest of today.

Nothing big today

I ordinarily write this thing early in the morning, but there was nothing special today.

I bought a new bird feeder, am waiting for the birds to recognize it.

I knew what was in the newspaper, learned everything the  night before.

Had said everything I know to say so far about the spiritual experience.

Have the date for my annual colonoscopy, next Tuesday.

The combination of these things has stopped me in my tracks, there can’t be anything new to an existentialist until everything catches up. Let me try to phrase this another way.

There are all sorts of things going on in one’s life, from the most mundane first piss in the morning to that of letting the mind approach what is divine; in between are the housekeeping chores that need doing regularly, earning money to pay for ‘putting beans on the table’, having fun in order to ease the tensions; and then there is the upcoming periscope exploration of my gut, something that was just an annual event, until it became something different. Two years ago they found that the expectedly benign polyps were not, that the one in a thousand chance became one in one; and the next year they found the same, the polyps were cancerous, an aggressive cancer. Each time the area was cleared and declared safe for the processing of shit, but it has changed my expectations.

Now is a time to test how well my mindfulness exercises work, how secure I am in whatever spiritual knowledge I have gained, to add another thread of connection to Bert who is dying of colon cancer that has metastasized. It was at 4 a. m. this morning that all came together to scare me.

A couple of days ago I wrote that I was sad, today I am scared.  It isn’t easy to put the word ’scared’ down here and then prepare to push the ‘Publish’ button, it just isn’t done.  The major part of being an existentialist-guy is to fully experience every aspect of what is, to exhaust the sap of each moment, leave it dry so that the next can be tasted.  Just as the sadness came and went so will this fear go, not for about a week or more, but it will pass through, it will pass through completely because I won’t cause any of it to stick behind due to denial.  This whole business has a wonderful analogy when I watch the video screen of the colonoscopy procedure, do it completely and then go on to whatever is next.

My gastroenterologist  likes to tell me that there are more nerve endings in the gut than in the spinal column, that there is a great system that keeps everything moving through, and doing it completely and continually; I think that he must be writing a paper on the subject.

On another note I know the date of the next meeting for bereaving children and widowed; this will be the third time I attend, what my role will be, can be, for these people these situations isn’t yet defined, there will be something that I can bring to the party, something about having been through the process, something about not having support or guidance and so knowing the value of it for others–for the time being I am just present and waiting.

Being present and waiting is a good way to be.

Letting go of meaning

For the last day I knew that I had to put down here what follows, it comes from saying goodbye to a new old friend, from the understanding that I am starting a new epoch, from that special insight that sets us apart from everything else that is alive. Any embarrassment I feel about writing this comes from my inability to put down just the right words that express what I know, what every one of us knows within.

My path led me to find meaning for who I was and what I must be about, “what will you be when you grow up?”, the route that took me everywhere but to peace. I don’t know why I never questioned the mission, never followed the clues that pointed to a wrong end; I searched and searched for the thing that would make me valid. Depression and terrible anxiety were all that I found.

There is being and knowing, that I am, everything is built upon this. Out of this came, comes, the knowledge of the mystical that I first experienced when Lydia Aello loved me and I loved her in return. Various experiences were of the mystical nature, mostly they happened when hearing a certain piece of music, looking at a picture, that kind of thing; most intense was when I believed that I was about to die, when I could see the deep black of the edge. It was from that intensity that came my daily exploration of the Spirit, the presence, etc.

I felt the need to put all of that down here again while we are at this new place, this beginning, this New Year. Intuitively I know that this direction is unlike the others, the goal a better one.

And I know that I have spent enough time analyzing and writing this: And that the bird feeder is empty, that the rent check needs to be delivered, that there is a cable for the new television that needs to be exchanged for the on that will do the job. And so it goes.

Saying goodbye gently

It was a good thing to do on the last day of the year, visit Bert in the nursing home on the day when the year is wrapped. Bert is wrapping his last chapter, though his memory is lessens he is coming to terms with it.

The city is quiet on this first morning, a couple of inches of snow and the general holiday combine on this blue-gray morning, a quiet, gentle morning.

Bert has both colon and bone cancer, he might also have lung and heart problems, is incontinent; the specifics of his condition are off limits to me a rule that doesn’t concern me. There is a scale they use to measure the level of life, 100 is someone who walks around and takes care of business unaided, 0 is dead, Bert was at 30 a couple of months ago, he has slipped since then. I probably wasn’t supposed to be told that, but what the hell.

He asked for a drink of water, butI am not allowed to give him one; all Ted’s liquids have to be thickened, thickener is added to his cup of water to prevent it going down the wrong way and choking him. Another reminder of his situation.

I have been told that bone cancer can be painful, and I ask Bert each time if he is in pain, he never is. Whatever drugs he is on seem to take care of the pain without making him drunk; but he is dying.

He is dying, there will be a time when I won’t visit him, that time isn’t far away. We had a nice visit, he thanked me for coming, couldn’t remember my name or if I had visited previously, a benign smile, maybe it was the medication, maybe it was the natural process of coming to terms with saying goodbye.

Goodbye is a quiet activity, it is the moments after the visitor’s car has left, the time when everyone has gone and the cleaning up is begun.

I did tell Bert a joke that made him laugh: “Bert I have a confession to make to you, sometimes I feel as if I am a lesbian trapped in a man’s body.” He got the joke immediately, the nurse who was nearby didn’t, she seemed uncomfortable hearing it; a dying man had a laugh, she might welcome that instead of acting otherwise.

I have shut the work radio off, bought groceries for a couple of days, sorting and put away clothes, papers, the empty box from the new tv, books and memories; putting on the shelf all those things that are not being used today. Playing a male Welsh choir recording, remembering my father’s memory of hearing the miners on their way to work before dawn, coming home after sunset, singing as they came and went in the dark, Sunday was their day off, the day to see the sun.

Saying goodbye is a quiet and gentle thing, but it brings great sadness, I am very sad this morning, and know that out of this sadness will come joy, later on today.

An empty bird feeder

There are about a hundred shades of gray out there this morning, the snow is old enough that it is in that category, the gray sky has a uniformity unusual in its consistency, the white clapboards of the garage are dull with winter grime.

The bird feeder hangs empty, a void that I should fill, perhaps the only void that I can fill.

Last night I drove an Italian man out to the airport, we talked for most of the trip about how the U. S. differs from Europe, nothing new in all that; I said that there is a subtle feeling that with all our prosperity and designer labels unease grows, not just in the state of the country and foreign policy, but dissatisfied on another level, not necessarily just people in this country, everywhere something is missing, something isn’t quite right, our focus isn’t on what is important, I don’t know just what it is with others, that would require mindreading.

I know what it is with me, I wrote about it yesterday in one of the most difficult messages I have done; it is the necessity for me to look beyond the symbols, the ceremonies, the holy books. All the easy ways that were designed or chosen to make us feel comfortable, to give that cozy feeling of children singing Christmas carols. I have had enough of that, the cozy, the soft, the unsubstantial has left me hungry.

I am not sure if what I have just written is just something of an Andy Rooney moment, a whiff of fart gas that relieves the pressure in my gut, but means nothing. I just know that I need to find my ultimate concern, to search deeper.

I have a bag of seed, I can fill the feeder, and I will fill the thing, and I’ll fill it again tomorrow, I know what sparrows need. And wish that I knew what feed would satisfy my hunger.

A man from Darfur

I met a man from Darfur; it was an early evening in August, I was walking in the livery staging area at O’Hare. The lot can hold about 200 livery cars and over 300 taxi cabs, a lively place to be on a pleasant evening. I doing what exercise I do, he the same, we walked and talked together for a while, I never saw him again.

The man told me that he had just returned from Darfur, that he had grown up in that area, emigrated to the U. S., had just returned from a visit. He described holding a child as it died, knowing there were other children in the village who were about to die, so many had died in the place he had grown up, so many more would die in the future. There was nothing he could do about it. He was sad, angry, confused, frustrated, and had to come back from that place.

He told me that he was a Muslim, but not a practicing one, that the religion based destruction and killing kept him from the rituals and ceremonies that he had learned growing up. They were responsible for the death of this child, the other child, and all of the others, they who were supposed to be his spiritual guides.

His angry argument against the religious authorities was familiar, I don’t imagine that there is anyone growing up in our culture who has not gone through the argument and history of religion based cruelty, it is something that we start in high school and keep through the early years of college: examples and blame, the frustration of not having a spiritual organization with clean hands. That there is no religious group that has not killed and injured. I don’t need to go through this old harangue, there isn’t anything new about it.

I suggested that he should temporarily lift the words from this business, Allah, Muslim, whatever the nouns are they should be set aside for now. Don’t throw them away, keep them close to hand, within sight and reach. Then go to how he had once felt, what feeling that the practice had given him, just the feeling experience. Stay with just that for a while. He understood what I was offering, agreed that it felt good, was a comfort against his frustration.

All of the words of a Spiritual life carry baggage, so much of it that it is almost impossible to grow from under that weight. Put aside God, Jesus, Christianity, Jehovah, Allah and whatever words, and let whatever it is that is behind those words rise to the surface. There is, always has been, something that needs to be felt, that can’t be ignored, it is the basis for all religions and cults. Just go to that place within, relive the feeling that that you find.

This is nothing more difficult than doing this, nothing takes more courage, and it is the most wonderful. Leave the safe words passed down from your father and mother, the authoritarian laws and directions that were to give lifelong guidance; set them aside, for a short time, be courageous.

The symbols, ceremonies, laws will always be there, they can be picked up and carried at any time—-but for just this short time set them beside me, when I come back to them they will have even more power than previous.

This piece has been the most difficult to complete, has taken nearly a week to get this far. It is far from complete, is disjointed, the words not exact. Writing about this is like engraving smoke. I feel as if I had done too much exercising, I am sore and creaky, and I have a headache; all for those couple of paragraphs. I’ll post this today, will come back to it again, and then once more.

Going about one’s business after the storm

The awe that comes with a good fall of snow has passed, walks  shoveled to the narrowest that allows for one-lane walking, cars  strained by repeated starts at low temperatures and by the physical assault of hitting  drifts and scraping underneath; but we need to go to work, need groceries, need to get out of these, now too small, homes, to just get out and walk around.  People on the street more likely to give a nod on the days afterwards.

Last night I attended, as a volunteer, the seasonal dinner and remembrance service  put on for kids who have lost someone, and for those who remain.  Mothers straining to hold together a rambunctious family, to hold themselves together; fathers doing what I had to do, searching for what needs to be done next, to play a role for which there was no expectation.   The whole evening is part of a schedule that allows people, of all ages & situations, to work through their grief, the natural progression that requires only that it be allowed to work.  What I am trying to say is that every one of us knows inherently how to sail through the grief of a great loss, the process is delicate in that a person needs support of the gentlest kind, someone there but not controlling, someone who stands testimony that there is a way through this difficult passage.

The temperature will rise a few degrees above freezing later today, the sun shining in a clear sky; the effects of this sudden drop of snow onto us will disappear naturally; appointments will be kept, shelves stocked, restaurants filled, and everyone will have a storm story to tell.

It is easy to imagine that attending a bereavement holiday ceremony will be depressing, will bring you down, will be just the opposite of what Christmas, Hanukkah  and  New Year’s Eve is all about—-but it is not that way at all.

The only heirloom I have from my Scots grandparents is a book ‘Poetical  Works of Robert Burns’

AULD LANG SYNE

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to min’?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And days o’ lang syne?

 

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld land syne,

We’ll tak’ a cup of kindness yet,

For auld lang syne!

 My long dead grandfather once told me that when he was young, in the time of Victoria, it was not unusual for a man to have to work on Christmas Day, but for New Year’s there would be at least two, perhaps three days to celebrate; sometimes it takes more than one day to say a proper goodbye.

For auld lang syne.

 

Hospice for children and parents

Today I had my first discussion about hospice activity that would involve both children and adults; I am giving thought to how a 69 year old guy can be helpful to those sorting out the new situation of loss.

I am attracted to this area because of the difficulty I had finding someone, especially a male, when my daughter lost her mother, and the unresolved issues that may now be addressed and put to rest.

That I went through this business and came out the other side may be helpful, at least that is the assumption that a few of us are making.

It has taken a week for me to write this much and post it, this tells me that there is more to look into here-and I will.