I had the mistaken notion that being "balanced" was always being "even-keeled".
For a person of extremes, like myself, that is next to impossible.
I am much more hopeful of "finding the balance" between extremes with someone else's definition of a balanced person being one who can move back and forth effectively between the two.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Life Without Answers
By the time I was twelve years old, you couldn't tell me anything. I already knew it all. Or so I thought.........
When I turned forty, I noticed that I knew less and less with each coming year.
Now that I am approaching sixty, I seem to be living my life more open-ended than ever. Gone is the need for answers that never proved to hold all the truth anyway. Gone is the need to believe that I know more than I do.
I am content to walk in faith - taking one step at a time - often with just enough light for the step that I am taking.
Hindsight has so often proved that I took the wisest steps for completely different reasons than I thought I was anyway.
When I turned forty, I noticed that I knew less and less with each coming year.
Now that I am approaching sixty, I seem to be living my life more open-ended than ever. Gone is the need for answers that never proved to hold all the truth anyway. Gone is the need to believe that I know more than I do.
I am content to walk in faith - taking one step at a time - often with just enough light for the step that I am taking.
Hindsight has so often proved that I took the wisest steps for completely different reasons than I thought I was anyway.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Life's Purpose
She was in her late nineties when I first met her. She walked with a walker - just needed you to walk behind her in case she lost her balance.
She had been a nurse in her working day. She and her husband had a very special relationship from the sounds of things; they never had any children. It was just the two of them.
She spent her early nineties taking care of him after he got Alzheimer's. She was able to keep him home until a week before he died - with pneumonia.
She was ready to go, too, when I met her. She couldn't figure out why she was still here. There was no purpose to her life that she could see.
But I see it different. There were three of us providing round-the-clock care for her. Three of us who were forever changed just from knowing her - just from getting to be in her world everyday.
Life isn't always full of busy-ness and hectic schedules. Part of everybody's life - if they live long enough will be full of days where nobody needs you - maybe even days where nobody even remembers that you are alive.
But as long as you are drawing breath, there is purpose to your life - even if you or nobody else knows what it is.
She was the most well-adjusted person I ever knew; and there's hardly a day goes by when I don't think about her for one reason or another - ten years later. Yes, she had grown tired of living without the man she loved; but she only shared that with you in a moment of confidence. She couldn't figure out why she was still here - another shared confidence.
Mostly she put all of herself into doing her best at whatever things she was still capable of doing. Her mobility was limited but she still read a lot of books, enjoyed watching certain television shows, and was willing to discuss anything sensibly and without judgement - no matter how controversial. And I will always remember how she was with anybody who came to visit her. She turned television off immediately and gave them her Undivided Attention - asking them questions about their life and listening - Really Listening to their answers.
Her life definitely had purpose - even if she didn't know what it was. And the purpose was probably different from day to day - moment to moment. But those last few years when she thought she was doing nothing worthwhile, she was teaching me and a couple other women how to grow old gracefully - how to get the most out of life when there doesn't seem to be any more to get - and how a conversation "should" take place between two people.
My life has been much richer ever since I had her in it. Anything I cope with "gracefully" today is because of her. Even surviving the loss of my husband; and rebuilding a life without him is partly because of her showing me it can be done. She's a part of every Real conversation I have.
More often than not, we have no knowledge of touching people the way she touched me, teaching people the way she taught me. We just have to accept (on faith) the fact that if we are still breathing, there is Purpose - and even if we don't know what it is - we should give it our best.
She had been a nurse in her working day. She and her husband had a very special relationship from the sounds of things; they never had any children. It was just the two of them.
She spent her early nineties taking care of him after he got Alzheimer's. She was able to keep him home until a week before he died - with pneumonia.
She was ready to go, too, when I met her. She couldn't figure out why she was still here. There was no purpose to her life that she could see.
But I see it different. There were three of us providing round-the-clock care for her. Three of us who were forever changed just from knowing her - just from getting to be in her world everyday.
Life isn't always full of busy-ness and hectic schedules. Part of everybody's life - if they live long enough will be full of days where nobody needs you - maybe even days where nobody even remembers that you are alive.
But as long as you are drawing breath, there is purpose to your life - even if you or nobody else knows what it is.
She was the most well-adjusted person I ever knew; and there's hardly a day goes by when I don't think about her for one reason or another - ten years later. Yes, she had grown tired of living without the man she loved; but she only shared that with you in a moment of confidence. She couldn't figure out why she was still here - another shared confidence.
Mostly she put all of herself into doing her best at whatever things she was still capable of doing. Her mobility was limited but she still read a lot of books, enjoyed watching certain television shows, and was willing to discuss anything sensibly and without judgement - no matter how controversial. And I will always remember how she was with anybody who came to visit her. She turned television off immediately and gave them her Undivided Attention - asking them questions about their life and listening - Really Listening to their answers.
Her life definitely had purpose - even if she didn't know what it was. And the purpose was probably different from day to day - moment to moment. But those last few years when she thought she was doing nothing worthwhile, she was teaching me and a couple other women how to grow old gracefully - how to get the most out of life when there doesn't seem to be any more to get - and how a conversation "should" take place between two people.
My life has been much richer ever since I had her in it. Anything I cope with "gracefully" today is because of her. Even surviving the loss of my husband; and rebuilding a life without him is partly because of her showing me it can be done. She's a part of every Real conversation I have.
More often than not, we have no knowledge of touching people the way she touched me, teaching people the way she taught me. We just have to accept (on faith) the fact that if we are still breathing, there is Purpose - and even if we don't know what it is - we should give it our best.
Friday, January 4, 2008
The Monk
He was austere in his piety, formidable in his girth, and above reproach in his actions - except for his forcefulness which he often used to beat spiritual truths into people's heads.
He could never understand why they all preferred to roll in the clover, dance among the daisies, or sleep around the clock.
Then, one day, he came upon some children playing by the brook. One boy was optimistically fishing for trout that didn't live there. Another boy was building a beautiful castle that tomorrow's rain would wash away. And the littlest one - a girl - was pouring tea for them from an empty teapot.
As he stood and watched, he remembered...... Innocence......Wonder......Awe.
He then remembered what it felt like to be truly alive.
And he walked home - a changed man.
He could never understand why they all preferred to roll in the clover, dance among the daisies, or sleep around the clock.
Then, one day, he came upon some children playing by the brook. One boy was optimistically fishing for trout that didn't live there. Another boy was building a beautiful castle that tomorrow's rain would wash away. And the littlest one - a girl - was pouring tea for them from an empty teapot.
As he stood and watched, he remembered...... Innocence......Wonder......Awe.
He then remembered what it felt like to be truly alive.
And he walked home - a changed man.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Swamp Angel
A few years ago, I stumbled across this children's book written by Anne Isaacs "Swamp Angel". It is about a Paul Bunyan type girl who single-handedly saves the settlers from a fearsome bear known as Thundering Tarnation.
Now any girl whose childhood hero was Mighty Mouse would not be able to resist such a book - and sure enough, the story lived up to my expectations - but the book itself is defective.
The second half of the book was put in upside down. It has created quite a quandary for me from the day I got it home. I keep wanting to get rid of the book because it is defective. But then I decide to read it one more time before parting with it. And, once again, I enjoy the story too much to part with the book.
Actually, when I think about that book and compare it with my life, the lesson it brings home by being defective makes it all the more valuable to me.
I look back over my life, remembering all my feeble attempts to "save the day" which failed miserably. I think of my more feeble attempts to save people from themselves which failed even more miserably. I ponder my hard-nosed attempts to force change on myself - which rates up there with "what I failed most horribly at".
So, it is very interesting to me that when I finally accepted my defectiveness, life as I know it became more beautiful. I find it odd that when somebody else authentically shows their defectiveness to me, I feel humbled and honored.
My mind now takes me back to a time when I loved a man unconditionally; and my inner world was filled with the delight known only to infants. And that memory encourages me to take another step closer towards loving myself - or at least accepting myself - defective as I am - even though my actions and attitudes make me feel less than loveable a lot of the time.
And what really blows my mind even more is how much good is accomplished when a person stops trying to Be more than what he is and just focuses on "Being Real in the moment" - being open to life "as it is" right where he finds himself today.
Now any girl whose childhood hero was Mighty Mouse would not be able to resist such a book - and sure enough, the story lived up to my expectations - but the book itself is defective.
The second half of the book was put in upside down. It has created quite a quandary for me from the day I got it home. I keep wanting to get rid of the book because it is defective. But then I decide to read it one more time before parting with it. And, once again, I enjoy the story too much to part with the book.
Actually, when I think about that book and compare it with my life, the lesson it brings home by being defective makes it all the more valuable to me.
I look back over my life, remembering all my feeble attempts to "save the day" which failed miserably. I think of my more feeble attempts to save people from themselves which failed even more miserably. I ponder my hard-nosed attempts to force change on myself - which rates up there with "what I failed most horribly at".
So, it is very interesting to me that when I finally accepted my defectiveness, life as I know it became more beautiful. I find it odd that when somebody else authentically shows their defectiveness to me, I feel humbled and honored.
My mind now takes me back to a time when I loved a man unconditionally; and my inner world was filled with the delight known only to infants. And that memory encourages me to take another step closer towards loving myself - or at least accepting myself - defective as I am - even though my actions and attitudes make me feel less than loveable a lot of the time.
And what really blows my mind even more is how much good is accomplished when a person stops trying to Be more than what he is and just focuses on "Being Real in the moment" - being open to life "as it is" right where he finds himself today.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
The Last Rose Of Summer
'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER
Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh!
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er the bed
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may I follow,
When friendship decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie withered.
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
- Thomas Moore
Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh!
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er the bed
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may I follow,
When friendship decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie withered.
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
- Thomas Moore
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Life As A Work Of Art
My friend and spiritual mentor paints. One day when we were talking on the phone, she told me she had just finished painting some pictures that were spiritually inspired but she didn't know who they were of.
She described the first picture which was of a woman. As she described the painting to me, I knew without a doubt that it was a picture of me. It had all the elements of some of my recent dreams and also a symbol of the powerlessness I had experienced in the past.
She had done a couple other pictures at the same time - they were part man and part animal. I recognized those pictures also from her description - a person who is on the same road I am on. Our spiritual paths resonate with some of the same vibrations.
My friend gave me the paintings - the one of me was my Christmas present. The other two were to be passed along to the person they were meant for.
She also loaned me a book - "Joy Lasts" by Sister Wendy Beckett. I thought it was a strange book for her to lend me because it is about the spiritual in art; and I have no ability in that area. But I have learned not to question anything she does. I knew there would be something in that book that I was meant to read, and could apply to my life. I was not mistaken.
In describing a particular painting, Sister Beckett uses these words, "This is pure image, moving us to our depths with its beauty and integrity, its passion for truth, its sense of wonder. The longer we look at......the more profoundly it will reveal to us our own potential for depth, perhaps our need for integrity."
Who among us has not experienced the painful longing for something we can not even put into words....a longing we keep trying to find some tangible thing to satisfy it with.....but it grows and grows....until at last we face the fact that this hunger can never be satisfied with anything we will find in the material world.
It is a Soul Hunger.....a Cry from the inner depths of our being.....a cry for Expression....a Need for a life lived with truth and integrity.....the kind of life that Fills us with awe and wonder.....the kind of life that fills us with a State of Grace.
She described the first picture which was of a woman. As she described the painting to me, I knew without a doubt that it was a picture of me. It had all the elements of some of my recent dreams and also a symbol of the powerlessness I had experienced in the past.
She had done a couple other pictures at the same time - they were part man and part animal. I recognized those pictures also from her description - a person who is on the same road I am on. Our spiritual paths resonate with some of the same vibrations.
My friend gave me the paintings - the one of me was my Christmas present. The other two were to be passed along to the person they were meant for.
She also loaned me a book - "Joy Lasts" by Sister Wendy Beckett. I thought it was a strange book for her to lend me because it is about the spiritual in art; and I have no ability in that area. But I have learned not to question anything she does. I knew there would be something in that book that I was meant to read, and could apply to my life. I was not mistaken.
In describing a particular painting, Sister Beckett uses these words, "This is pure image, moving us to our depths with its beauty and integrity, its passion for truth, its sense of wonder. The longer we look at......the more profoundly it will reveal to us our own potential for depth, perhaps our need for integrity."
Who among us has not experienced the painful longing for something we can not even put into words....a longing we keep trying to find some tangible thing to satisfy it with.....but it grows and grows....until at last we face the fact that this hunger can never be satisfied with anything we will find in the material world.
It is a Soul Hunger.....a Cry from the inner depths of our being.....a cry for Expression....a Need for a life lived with truth and integrity.....the kind of life that Fills us with awe and wonder.....the kind of life that fills us with a State of Grace.
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