If You Fall...

I have been somewhat remiss, possibly even lazy, about many things lately. But since it is coming down to the wire for me to share anything more in 2012, I offer a single metaphor.  I credit Meredith Vieira's  recent TV Guide interview wherein she recounted her experience in a Broadway production of "The Lion King."  She recounted some advice given in the event she had a problem as one of the bird women in the "Circle of Life" number: "If you fall, don't get up. Just lie there and wait until the ambulance comes." 

What an inspirational metaphor!  

I do find it hilariously applicable in a literal way when I ponder my prospects for successful cross-country skiing.  I have only minimal experience in this sport, and since I am much older than my old skiis, and eons older than the boots I bought a few years ago, getting upright after falling does present quite a challenge. It's not only because the barely-broken-in-boots don't release from the skiis very easily, but my bones and body are less than lithe (if they ever were). Add the MN winter temperatures and you grasp that I might indeed  perish from the cold before an ambulance crew could find me!  

But metaphorically, there are many applications that occur to me. Some, but not all applications, are admirable.  Obviously, one has to recognize when passivity is virtue.  One has to discern between futile efforts at change, and change that is actually possible.  This can be even harder than skilled cross-country skiing! Nevertheless, whether one figures it out or not, it seems to me one has to forge ahead and, somewhere in the process, it will become clear when to just lie there and wait.  

Probably no one outside my own skin will ever know what fears cut into me most deeply, and sometimes I, too, am slow to see them.  And then there's the fact that terrors can survive even while lying there waiting, feeling  alone  even as I hear the sirens and see the flashing lights.  It can be a rather surreal sensation, and deeply spiritual.  

Going into a New Year, like any adventure, is exciting. The possibilities ahead are imagined and unimaginable.  I certainly hope for health, security, safety and sanity, resilience, steadfast faith, hope and belief in the triumph of goodness, love and peace. And I try to stay mindful of the many real blessings I've received, praying they will ever shrink the obstacles obstructing my path, allowing me to lean forward and happily move on.  

And this is the prayer I make for everyone else, near and far, in 2013 and beyond. (I might make one exception, albeit a political one, but only because I cannot stomach the subversive, self-serving "elements" in congress!  Forgiving their evils does come hard... )

MN State Veteran's Cemetery, Camp Ripley

Signs of Intelligent Life

What gives me great joy? Signs of intelligent life!  

But there is a rather formidable paradox here.  Truth, Beauty, Goodness get specific in all kinds of ways.  For example, a genuinely holy person compels my attention because I perceive an integration of all the most admirable human qualities.  And  such  beauty is so rare and exceptional that it stops me in my tracks, just as exquisite physical beauty does.

I began to feel this pulse more strongly this past week.  Now I'd like to examine why. It won't be easy, but it's worth a try.

Recent election results, as well as voter choices locally and nationwide, have stirred passions and challenged minds.  The good news: it is a widespread phenomenon. The bad news: it is a widespread phenomenon. 

So what's the problem, and why has it got my attention? 

 First, I found an actual Facebook Page titled "I Love It When I Wake Up In The Morning And Barack Obama Is President." Second, I learned that a pastor said from his pulpit that: "We are a people who are severely disappointed over the fact that our positions and our candidates lost.” 

I love the Facebook Page's candor, probably because It is actually and really how I have felt all week. The pastor's candor  not so much.  (And I have 'believed' longer than he has been alive!) I do not agree that "our" positions and candidates lost, and when a pastor becomes partisan in the pulpit, I am outraged.  But this gets at the key thing about intelligent life.  We need to recognize that no person nor political party has a franchise or monopoly on grasping total truth about issues and candidates. And separation of church and state is a good thing! We have a pluralistic society, and that also is a good thing. We honor that, and we honor those who died to ensure it.

What is so on the back burner is tolerance and respect for an opposite conviction. Shouldn't the differences still incite huge interest in understanding, learning and integrating all the political and  spiritual  issues and their philosophical and ethical basis?  Couldn't we find a way to reject tea party extremism since we know it promotes a scorched earth, kamakazi, jihadist mindset?

It is not an easy task. And, certainly, education is crucial.  But it has to go deeper than just the simplistic "I know what is right" or a wholly un-nuanced and fundamentalist, fire and brimstone belief system. Yes, I believe there is good and evil, right and wrong, BUT minds that can grapple with  the enormity and complexity of the universe, the mysteries of the human body and psyche, should also be humble enough to admit we can be quite stupid about a lot of things every day! 

I recall that I never thought in vitro fertilization would happen because God would not allow it. But it did happen (many times).  It is what it is.  And the ethical issues?  That's what we get to figure outI!  So I wonder why people are poor, or cruel or greedy or selfish or power-hungry or bigoted.  I wonder why kids get cancer, or AIDS, or abuse.  I wonder how dumb people get rich. I wonder why tyrants stay in power, why crops fail, why tsunamis, earthquakes, and hurricanes like Katrina and Sandy bring such incredible devastation. I wonder why "religious" belief turns into so many diabolical aberrations. I wonder why good people who value life also accept capital punishment, torture and pre-emptive war.  I wonder why people don't sufficiently see the evils of unbridled capitalism and how it  insidiously undermines democracy. 

And then I remember and am glad for signs of intelligent life. That's what fuels my survival in the face of the batshit crazy political person shouting disguised obscenities in the marketplace.  I remember that the God I believe in has created  us free. And the country I am citizen of endorses that freedom. And I am convinced that most of us barely grasp  even a tiny bit of what this means. And I wish I understood much more about the function of law in a civilized society, and  why multiplication of restrictive laws can destroy people.

However, I will never be convinced that the messes I make, or that others make, are anything but ours.  All the great belief systems, whether spiritual, political or scientific focus on problems and solutions and each finds empirical or mystical proofs that matter.  (And, yes, because mystical theology is experiential, it is empiricle in my estimation.)  But we often get it wrong.  Often we cannot add two and two and get four.  So then we blame God!  Example?  Most churches and  peoples were initially incapable of responding appropriately to the AIDS pandemic. Preoccupied with righteous blaming of victims, compassionate love for them was lost.  And way back when our Founding Fathers did their best for us, they did rather overlook racial and civil discrimination, and were themselves loathe to lose status, privilege, wealth and power. 

So this is a stab at expressing why I am now actually curious about the study of political science, and why I know it is never good to get stuck in what I have already learned - even if it still serves me well. There is no end to what I might yet learn and assimilate.  Life is hard and then we die. But the exhiiaration experienced by awareness - well, that's something extremely good and beautiful and true. 

Arlington Cemetery, May 2007

Table-Talk

These six friends all take their current jobs very seriously, as well they should. Why? Perhaps it's wanting to ensure that something they started when they started their own families continues well. But very likely they simply enjoy their work tremendously. To me, that their kids have kids is amazing. That's probably because I am just an observer, but I think they feel it too.

Anyhow, a few nights ago, our after dinner table-talk meandered from antique guns and bootlegged liquor to longevity of ancestors to winter getaway plans to medical insurance rates to the virtues of downsizing to pros and cons of Facebook friending and blogs.

What became apparent to me was that all politics is local, and varied sensibilities aren't  problematic at the kitchen table. This was just one time around one table that I noticed this, but it was not the first time.  Is it the gathering, the meal sharing, the physical proximity, the personal connections that kept us there? At some point we probably each had a felt need for the cushioned couches that were steps away, but  no one sought them and no one left until the hour was late and  the apple crisp a faint memory. 

It is good to have friends, to have time with them. Conversation is naturally on the larger menu when we gather, but the kitchen-table phenomenon distilled again (for me) the "all politics is local" vintage. The problem, the question, lurks: Why is it that we can't all get along? Having the job means doing the job, unless we play just for fun in the sit-down marching band. 

Half Moon Bay, CA - Michael R Ruhland

Binders Full of Women?

The Alpha Male would use them again tonight, those women in the binders. 

Were any of them Alpha Females? Did they detect his desperation? Possibly. 

I notice his plutocratic CEO nastiness surfaced again, probably from force of habit. The "I can do it, I know how to do it, I've been doing it all my life" mantra rang more hollow than ever.  But lust for power over his opponent exposed his inadequate manhood.   Predatory glances and repeated  insistence that history pay attention came to nothing, or less than that for him because he got it wrong, he kamakazied.  It is on the record.

Way back when "castrati" sang the songs of their lords, who knew what they were thinking? Maybe they felt important.  Maybe they felt used.  Or maybe they felt an Alpha Male overcompensated for socio-political impotence.  

Purissima Creek Redwoods, CA - smruhland

The Sky is Falling?

"The sky is falling! The sky is falling!" No. The sky is not falling, but ya gotta stay tuned!

Sometimes there's little comfort in knowing that it takes all kinds, but on second thought, it  does calm me.  It does take all kinds, and the village to raise the child.  Comparing and contrasting serves me well when I pay attention. The bones are all connected. And the eye is not the ear is not the heart is not the hand is not the foot.

Nevertheless, while rejecting the pious propaganda so widely published by those who try to box me in (or out) of their falsely select  block of "believers," I still stifle no small rage at the insult. Efforts to insinuate disbelief are presumptuous and their premise is completely stupid, but it's not the first time that Jesus and the Bible were clung to out of fear or sold like a snake oil remedy. Fire and brimstone, hell and damnation blather?  Easily blown to bits by fairly simple arithmetic: Bible + Jesus = Love.  No doubt about it.  Exclusive, unmerciful,  faith-based politics that denies personal and religious liberty, well, the math is just wrong.

 And it's not rocket science. Staying tuned can be a mixed bag, but what's the worst that could happen? I suppose the sky could fall. And if darkness covers the earth? It never lasts.

Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe, CA - smruhland

What's The Matter In Visuals? (Three Samples)

1.  For awhile, on a chilly, gray-clouded yesterday, I caught sight of a drab-capped, blondish, pony-tailed guy paddling downriver.  Red canoe, unbelievably blue paddle.  Another fine picture pushed into my memory bank, even as the imperceptible splash refreshed my bystander guilt and pleasure.

2.  Barely noticing anything else, I first identified the Macarena song track - which elicited the  happy memory of a cousin's wedding. Only then did I follow the smart image sequence which led me to the product. Kudos to the HP madmen/women, who masterminded this pleasantly painless office-jet printer pitch!  They got me dancing, took me boating and caught me happier at the end! Too bad I already have an Epson!

3.  Seriously superb film/TV graphics still make me covetous. Cinematography too.  And  experiencing them I say: 'Yes! I'd sign my name to that in a moment, unabashedly, unhesitatingly, admiringly!' When visual art is excellently visual it speaks for itself. But saying something that way is a difficult and wonderful process, one I am familiar with. I love the uniquely creative gift that selects, skillfully juxtaposes, smartly manipulates and playfully engages me as I have also managed to sometimes do. And even today, I am bouyed at the memory of having favorably impressed a remarkably gifted fellow-artist whose process differed so much from mine. The end-result is crucial, but so is the creative process. I love knowing that. Awareness of everyday art, as well as the fine art of awareness itself, requires no admission nor ticket price. However, without attentive sensibility and a somewhat alert, aesthetic appetite, everything fades to black. That makes living hard. 

Lake Itasca, Itasca State park, MN - smruhland

Shifting

The burden of her struggle and the weight of her pain are, even as I write, shifting onto her nearest, dearest loved ones. The classmate I barely knew, will die in peace, and soon.  She  occupies that space between here and there, a place holy and preliminary. Going through the doorway, she leaves us all behind, waiting for our turn. 

But I want to tell them this is how it works, so they can see and precisely say later on, that she did not suffer at the end. I think it's important for them to know they were the ones to do that, beginning now. They are the ones suffering at her end, and knowing this brings comforting clarity. They take up the task of being brave and uncomplaining even in their confusion and grief. She's done with it now, even though she's still here. I need to tell them I have seen it hundreds of times (even if they disavow actual heroism on their part): the weight of their present grief is her struggle lifted, shifted onto them. 

They do not know me. Why would they listen? Why would I intrude? Professional expertise and spiritual support are better offered directly and in person. So I find this way to assist. Ultimately, I have staked my life on believing that distance cannot prevent my participation in their journey or hers. 

Eyes haven't seen, ears haven't heard, and  wise hearts know they know next to nothing of what is prepared for those who love. Still, we make conjectures, and rely on them more than anyone might guess.  

Olympics, Los Angeles, CA - smruhland

Furious Winds

Suddenly, furious winds are blowing leaves off trees today, and to the ground they fall, ready to be blown again, or munched and mulched by mowers! Gray clouded sky, when predominant, prompts a sense of foreboding: naked chill of winter again inevitable, alas. 

Nevertheless, on a warmer note, reviewing some thoughts today about what bullys do, I was unexpectedly delighted by a political pundit who highlighted a journalist's analogy (Denver Post, John Ingold, 10/04/12) and then added his own cryptic question.  It went like this: "Like a bull to a matador, Romney time and again turned toward Obama to deliver attacks..."  Then the question: "And what does a matador do to the bull in the end?" 

Perhaps I am abandoning my initial intent to remain apolitical here, perhaps not. What I am definitely unable to do, it seems, is stomach (let alone comprehend) blatant dishonesty. That the madman, shouting in the marketplace, is given any credence at all, baffles me. (Not to mention his/her having any voice or presence there!)  Clearly, there is a problem of differing perceptions. And, of course, grappling with the question of suffering and evil is not unique to me! But often the enormous practical implications of the philosophical and theological questions do preoccupy and alarm me. That's when I inhale all the hope I can, study to regain perspective on exactly "what" politics is and isn't, and remind myself that narcissism, mendacity and greed for power have been in the picture ever since the first humans walked the gardens of earth.  

Ever since the first Fall, winds have blown and leaves have been munched and mulched. Now the mowers make a less organic and more disturbing noise.  But the din of that noise teaches: it is good, necessary and POSSIBLE to re-orchestrate the sound and the fury!  Every major belief system has shown us ways.  No need to reinvent the wheel on this, even though it sometimes sort of feels that way. 

And so I say: shalom, hallelujah, amen.

Olympics, Los Angeles, CA - smruhland

Resolute?

Resolute?  Possibly.  But definitely sure that I never want Sinclair Lewis's  summation of his MAIN STREET heroine to be applied to me.  "She was a woman with a working brain and no work." He also said so well that "She could not determine whether she was checked by... inertia -by dislike of the emotional labor of... asserting independence.  She was like the revolutionist at fifty:  not afraid of death but..." 

Clearly, about half way through it, I am enjoying my first reading of MAIN STREET.  Much to admire, love and renew my awe for the amazing gifts of insightful writers and thinkers of every time.  It's not only their larger observations, but also their creative, descriptive word-smithing in phrases like "The cold air gave fictive power" and "Carol was dream-strayed," but also the recurring introspection ("I must go on.... I will go on").

"The parlor was distinguished by an expanse of rag carpet from which as they entered, Mrs. Bogart hastily picked one sad dead fly. In the center of the carpet was a rug..." Lewis continues to describe a hideous room.  

He empowers my resolve to be strong against "The Village Virus," and read as much as I can, not letting the days drown my working brain in the poverty of unemployment.  But just as crucial, as occurred to me the other day, it's important to keep hanging, like a bat in the sunshine, knowing that vision will come again in the darknesses.

Ano Nuevo Point Trail, CA - smruhland

Rest v. Motion

They say that 'A body in motion tends to stay in motion, and a body at rest tends to stay at rest.'  So it seems I have been 'at rest' as far as blogging goes, but not otherwise. Downsizing:    what a lot of work it takes to get rid of stuff and to spruce up ones abode!   I do long for the time when I shared things I never wanted to own, like kitchen appliances.  But some old carpentry, painting and sewing  skills have come in handy lately and I had the tools. So my project progress is evident. Nevertheless, there are  still many things I  should toss, shred  or carefully give away. And so I wonder :  When, exactly, will it be time to get rid of the tools? And when will it be time to find a new place for my own best artwork?  

It could be very satisfying to divest myself that much, but perhaps I'll be forced to wait until the very end - for lack of takers.  And because I am not done living!  Unfortunately, making things, artistic or otherwise, necessarily brings certain encumbrances, e.g. the raw materials and the finished works. Neither are problematic if I have the space and if the art created years ago still works for me.  And it does still work for me.  Fortunately, I have created a personal place that is comforting and beautiful and perfect for me.  But because it is true that nothing lasts forever and you can't take it with you, I begin (often) to think ahead.  

I also begin to know (at least a little) what it feels like to offer your best loved children for adoption: I simply must find them good  homes where they will give joy and also be cherished.  Otherwise, nothing doing. 

Wenonah Canoe on Mississippi River, Little Falls, MN - smruhland

Pronto!

Only three minutes to post this before April Fool's Day! And why not confess that I totally forgot it was Earth Day, so I did not turn off my lights this evening.  But I did use less lumination than I used to as I watched my new energy efficient VIZIO TV! Amen! 

Choices: Spring or Splat

The daffodil bulbs I buried in the dirt of a decorative ceramic pot last Fall are actually starting to peek through!  I am very excited and so hopeful!  If they all bloom, it'll be one glorious bunch of brightness on my deck.  So I am trying to restrain my impulse to water them, lest they drown or rot from oversolicitude. I make a daily, deliberate choice to back off, and let nature take it's course.


Choices always have consequences, so they are pretty important.  Of course, many choices are rather inconsequential in the larger scheme of things.  For example, my potentially water-logged or rotting daffodil bulbs would sadden only me.  So, minor green thumb issues or choosing an occasional iced turtle mocha rather than a regular coffee at Caribou, matters less than the choice to BE rather than be employed (something every retiree understands); and less than the choice of an authentic hermit-paced solitary life over one perpetually hibernating in a black hole of thoughtlessness; and less than choosing to smartly flee the prospect of crushing debt rather than be overtaken by it.  


But whether clandestine or transparent, choices matter to both people and plants - and animals too. Hopefully, choosing the best existential refresh key, and decisively clicking on it, will keep nasty allergies at bay, and whatever goes splat on my windshield will nourish daffodil karma forever!

Breezes

People were walking themselves, their kids, their dogs. Neighbor downstairs was on her patio, summer sun visor in place making it possible for her to read in the bright sunshine. Ducks were squawking as they positioned themselves on the melting river ice. I stood on my deck, facing southwest into the sunshine, braced against the railing with eyes closed. Daylight saving time, 4:15 p.m. I noticed the gentle breeze only occasionally made the wind-chime sound above me, but strengthened  sometimes and waved the flag enough for me to hear it from half a block away. A train sounded from across the river and noisely travelled south through town. 


A glorious and atypical March 11 in central Minnesota. 


What was I thinking? Quite a few things actually came in and out of my mind.  But I tried to stay in the moment, and even wish myself to slimness as the sun washed away the cold of winter. Yes, I ought to go down for a walk in the park. But at least I was standing up here!


And I was doing something useful: I was busy  being, and soaking in all the peace I could.  I was mindful of the Syrians who had recently helped four journalists escape across the border to safety, leaving two of their dead colleagues behind; I thought about people I know whose health still needs to cross safe borders; I thought about some things that worry me; I realized that just wanting and praying for peace, security, health, justice (and even slimness)  is not sufficient.  But it is a start.  Awareness, alertness, compassion, thankfulness and a discerning honest heart really can jumpstart the changes necessary for another fabulous day of limitless positive potential.  Otherwise, my life is a total waste. And the gentle breeze might just as well be stagnant air.

Mud

In another month or so, when the ground thaws, there will be lots of mud, and the Minnesota mud rooms will be fulfilling  their purpose. This thought came to me a day or so ago, somewhat secondarily to another thought about mud.  If only all the muddy thinking apparent in current political polemics could be contained in a mud room!  


The worst, for me, is the way separation of church and state gets all mixed up.  And when power seeking individuals display such mendacity, cowardice and hypocrisy, well, I wonder how we can be spared their vitriol.  Sure, I can switch them off at will, but they continue to make headlines.  Pure hearts are proudly worn on sleeves and  foul moths spew muddy waters of bigotry and incivility.  Hence, muddy and tangled logic defies containment and  keeps getting tracked beyond the mud room and into the house. 


Usually what repels us is also something ugly within ourselves that we do not recognize. So I suppose I ought to be careful here.  But I think it is safe to say that critical thinking skills can serve us well these days.  If we have them, we need to hone them! If we lack them, we need to get them! It just isn't enough to quote learned scholars and saints of the past, or our country's Founding Fathers, or The Constitution , or the Bible or the Qu'ran.  The proof is in the pudding, really.  


Integrity, courage, compassion, truthfulness, generosity, intelligence, and holiness can be discerned any number of ways and so can foolish ambition and false religiosity.  Spirituality is always more than skin deep, but inevitably surfaces in quite tangible ways that even the most ordinary alert person can recognize.  But first we must scrape off, or wash off, the mud - and leave it in the mud room. Only then can we distinguish the universal freedoms at risk in our democratic society, the responsibilities we have as persons, as citizens, and  the disadvantages of a pseudo-theocracy where the idol always has clay feet.

Ashes, Snow and Dust

Marked with ashes today, I came home and read some good things, eg. John F. Kavanaugh's brief article "Try the Asceticism of Truth" in America, the Jesuit magazine.  I fully agree with his assertion that "...spiritual wisdom...tell(s) us that asceticism of the ego ... is more important..." because just giving up things can still leave us "radically self-centered or deluded." 


And then I remembered a wonderful  2006 exhibit at the Santa Monica Pier:  Ashes and  Snow. It was housed in "the nomadic museum", a  56,000 square-foot  temporary structure constructed of 152 steel cargo containers, stacked 34 feet high.  The setting, the photographic prints and the 35mm film were wonderful and very unique.  The artist, Gregory Colbert, admirably creative.


So today I am reminded that the senses need to be fed and starved, or at least moderated.  And ashes, snow and dust don't last.  And the mythological flying elephants, too heavy for their wings, do indeed fall to earth and transform into a beautiful mountain range.  


Perhaps  the website and images at ashesandsnow.org  can still be accessed.  I will try it. (Though I do have a few cherished cards from the exhibit, maybe a friend will take a look.)  And now, I'll keep striving for a sound and realistic perspective on persons, places and events. Otherwise, I'd waste the potential this day of ashes holds when it urges reflection on the stages of life, the meaning of life, and the wisdom early Christian hermits imparted: "Memento Mori."

Incongruities

I'm struck, with an almost blunt force trauma impact, by the wildly inconsistent thinking apparent in a single day or week or month of reported current events.  True, there is always going to be a gap between our potential and actual ability to grasp and really hold onto the truth (and to reality). But evidence of mental carelessness, superficiality and plain old sloppiness sure mounts up fast these days!  


One of the more astonishing things I witness is backpeddling or running-in-place by myself, another or the  supposed movers and shakers out there. Admittedly, speeding backwards is a tricky (and futile) way to workout, and highly counterproductive: it burns rubber but nothing else.  Everyone knows you cannot reduce an ounce of body fat by simply reading the labels, or stay sober by just thinking about it, or win the lotto without spending a buck.


So what can be done to realize our potential as consistent, logical human beings, actually capable of figuring out what adds up, or even what goes into the plus and minus columns?  Clearly, it's not always reducible to a bunch of numbers.  But it isn't necessarily as complex or incomprehensible as an algorithm. (I will never understand algorithms.) The core  solution may be abandoning our preconceptions, our robot-like mental processes, our shyness or habitual aversion to taking a new look or looking from a new perspective.  


Every genius philosopher, theologian, artist or great leader faces down their fear of being wrong sometimes.  Their courageous inventiveness benefits us all, and because they dare to ask hard questions and explore the edges of what they and we already grasp, they really do open up new, wonderful frontiers.  In the field of ethics, we are indebted to those who grapple with previously unimaginable scientific or medical realities instead of sticking their heads in the sand and smothering themselves. In theology, the wisely courageous application of timeless spiritual values to real-time lives reinvigorates belief.  In art, creativity stuns us and beauty pitches us beyond the banal and common pursuits that swallow up our  narcissistic, self-involved, consumer-driven existences.


Nevertheless, it is okay to shrink from the risks and  incongruities that threaten or puzzle us as long as we remember that these challenges can be catalysts. We really must act to avert traumatic tunnel-vision and, paradoxically, unite to minimize the idiocies of mob mentalities, secular or "religious." Whatever we can legitimately do to emasculate those Good Old Boy's Clubs or broaden the vision of Single Issue extremists (on the Left and the Right) would certainly be stepping towards a place where we can all get along in one world - effectively repudiating the backbreaking craziness paralyzing and decimating our famous muscle beach.

Unfinished Business?

It's good to be reminded, like the children we all are, to clean up our mess.  But even when I am mindful of the scriptural alerts Jesus often gave, my unsustained spurts of energy usually result in negligible progress. The tricky and hard part, is sustained effort.  And also, at least for me, the ability to shift gears, something I do more easily in my '89 Isuzu Trooper than in everyday life.  The unfinished business of life never gets completely done, but I'm hoping for a calm last breath rather than a grudging last gasp! I know it is possible; I have seen it.


We certainly should watch and pray, lest the end of our journey comes  as unexpectedly and perhaps as unwelcome as a thief in the night.  Yet somehow it seems that only imminent, enormous, life-changing and repeated loss is what it takes to sustain the clean-up effort.  Are we slow learners or what? Why live on the edge of known hazardous waste sites?  But we all do it.  Perhaps it's that gnawing need for instant gratification? Perhaps we know it's something else. 


Well, today I got another incentive to keep at my task of cleaning, shredding, tossing, donating, selling and effectively downsizing the "stuff" of my life:  Another classmate is undergoing chemo, another politician is vying for a place in the sun (at any cost), the very poor are still discounted and discarded, the 1% shamelessly flaunt their lust for power, and time marches on. There is plenty of upside-downness in every age, but keeping one's equilibrium seems particularly challenging these days.  I know there will always be poor people, greedy people, evil people, hypocritical people and good people, even really holy people. Therefore, the rush of life need not overwhelm me completely, but it will unless I watch and pray that it won't. 

Algorithms and Digital Identity

In wonder and concern about my carbon footprint, I recently realized that this is apparently not enough.  I must also consider my digital footprint and digital identity.  So now I'm really in trouble: I have become curious about algorithms, the kind that have been such good tools for FaceBook's Mark Zuckerberg!  What exactly is an algorithm?


I doubt that I'll ever get a handle on much of anything  that might educate me about algorithms because anything more than the most basic math is beyond me. (And here I am just assuming that we're dealing with some kind of esoteric mathematical formulations.) But I think I have a loose grip on the carbon footprint / digital footprint concepts. Maybe.


We really have both, right, carbon and digital? That seems obvious. So here's what else I know: I am going to find out more, one way or another, and see what I can make of it all. Then I suppose it'll be time for a plan.  Stay tuned! 

Travel Trunk

I had no furniture then, and the trunk was given to me when I made the move cross country.  It still safely holds my silk-screens, relics of a previous life.  Having no furniture then was easier than now having to rearrange the mostly useful but eclectic assortment accumulated somewhat on purpose and somewhat by chance. Donating what clutters and crowds gives me lots of exercise, and at day's end  the treacherous hits on my body are more than a memory. But  there's also a felt lightness of being.


So I am relearning  (again) the lesson that gets lost when I'm lazy and too comfortable.  Things in my living space were placed conveniently enough and functional, but now that I've  moved the trunk twice in three days, I am surprisingly pleased and find the new plan the best so far.  And the bookcase also seems so much better in it's new location, making me wonder why it took me so long to move it. But now, overall, a sense of accomplishment animates me, probably because in downsizing I am also beginning to feel a very notable advantage: greater ordering of the "stuff" surrounding me means I will actually find things more easily!   


And I do know that what worked well for me perhaps looked odd to anyone else, especially sticking my bed there by the window, so I have reluctantly moved it. But I love seeing the starry, starry night before I sleep, and hearing rainfalls, and tracking clouds, and feeling gentle breezes and waking to the dawning day. (Sleeping farther from my wonderful windows really is a lamentable deprivation which may indeed become intolerable!) 


Nevertheless,  tossing, shredding and discarding allows some hope of simple order.  (I think it'll also reducing my carbon footprint but don't know exactly how that translates. ) Besides, it would  be a chore to move everything  anywhere else, and extremely embarrassing to think of leaving truckloads of things behind when I die, things of little value to anyone else.  So here's hoping I can keep a forward momentum and then savor the victory of finishing what I've started.  Admittedly, there's more to it than meets the eye (e.g. my garage!) but at least there's a working plan! 


Good chess players may think five steps ahead,  but that's not  easy for someone who only plays checkers.  Nevertheless, the game has begun, and  though I need timeouts to catch my breath, that's mostly to regroup - not to quit. Picture that scene from Arsenic and Old Lace when the Teddy Roosevelt Brewster character rushes up his San Juan Hill (stairs) exclaiming: "Charge!"  It was a crazy scene, but not without purpose, eh? I'm not sure if he was going up or down the stairs.  I think he was going up!  So the travel trunk will stay in it's perfect location (for now) and, for fun, I'm adding that old movie to my Netflix Que! 


  

Radiant and Unabashed

It's good to have goals.  I've never articulated any "five year plan," but realize that certain decisions necessarily put me on a path to carry them out.  And the most difficult decisions, the ones that have been hardest for me, never came overnight.  Lots of procrastination and other "things" went into the mix, and percolated or ripened into something that became really, really sparklingly clear.  Then when the pieces fit together, and confusion about conflicting options was dispelled, I could put my hand to it.  


Ideally, it'd be great to say I've always moved  forward radiant and unabashed, but a review of the facts suggests that maybe unabashed is all I can claim. That time my flight circled over Dallas-Fort Worth provides an apt metaphorical description of other journeys completed: once  safely on the ground, welcoming friends saw me walking unassisted but looking whiter than the whitest sheet, anything but radiant! 


The thing that gets in the way is, I suppose,  wintering in my discontent. Thinking about that I pause, lest I unwittingly misuse Shakespeare, but I know I've been seriously disgruntled when I've had to assume the role of a grown-up, and put away childish things like timidity, fear, laziness, expectations of instant gratification and stupidly counting on someone else to step in and save me. Who likes being an orphan? That's a killer aspect of having to be a grown-up: actually parenting myself, knowing it all depends on me (nevertheless trusting it all to God, since I do believe there's a God). 


But admittedly, others definitely do save me little by little since no decision comes out of a vacuum. Every suggestion or bit of shared experience nudges the process.  The crushed  grapes are forced through winepresses, distilled in barrels, then bottled and corked and Voila! fine, aged wine! Somewhere in it there's a miracle, but turning grapes (or water) into wine always meets a need and requires fermentation.

Time often runs faster than I do, blurring and changing the world I know. But however slow  my pace during the marathon, I've set my goal to finish radiant and unabashed.  Then I'll leisurely savor that fine, aged wine!

Why?

I know, and have heard, that bad things happen to good people.  Nevertheless, the logic of it is something I cannot keep a grip on for long.  Adding to the confusion is that old, ever popular and vigorously unchristian belief that blessings rain down to reward  kind, generous, loving, upright individuals.  It's that idea that we can earn, that we really deserve the sunshine and blessings, when there's really scant empirical proof of this.  


But when this popular mentality is preached from the housetops, it does indeed seem to motivate a lot of good behavior. The trouble comes when the wicked, selfish, unscrupulous scoundrels skate by unscathed and healthy, or even prosper into old age from their greedy and devious machinations, passing on what they have gained as inheritance to their children.  And the trouble comes when the sweetly innocent child is diagnosed with cancer, when families scramble to pay medical bills and mortgages,  when the unsuspecting blue or white collar worker jobs and pensions go up in the smoke of mergers or outsourcing.   Who is to blame? Not God. The sun does shine on the just and the unjust, but sometimes that fact is both infuriating and crazymaking.  


So the question arises: What changes would be more fair? Do I prefer a less merciful God?  Sometimes. Maybe.  But not, of course, in my own life because I need all the mercy I can get!  Admittedly, I indict myself. But I wonder still about the playing field and why it's often so uneven.  I also wonder why the wit and wisdom of some is so disproportionate to their  success and failure.  Clearly, some people seem jinxed and, clearly, there's an awful lot of dumb luck  going around!  


And  that thought saves me from wishing all the worst all the time to all the  bad people. And from having to decide who they are. And maybe even lets me benefit from some of that dumb luck now and then.  So it is comforting to recall the lesson Job learned,  and  a greater consolation to know that he articulated it to his "comforters."  The bottom line is that Job understood only that he understood nothing.  Hugely humiliating, this was also ultimately liberating because he gained  a true perspective.  Life in this world is often more simple and more complicated than we realize.  


There are, in fact, shades of gray  to tolerate and maybe even value, nuances which escape me.  Word that a child is diagnosed with liver cancer immediately alarms and draws compassion from me and from hundreds, even thousands  of friends and strangers.  Why not the same impact if the diagnosis  befalls an old coot on medicare? No matter how beloved, the effect is very different.  So my job is to focus the lens, not to control the shutter speed.  I've been convinced for  a long time  that context and content matter, and just because the madman shouts in the marketplace doesn't mean he's right and sane.  Often it just means he's got a soapbox. And a voice that certainly doesn't require my attention.  Why do I keep forgetting that?

No Rhyme

Off and on today I remembered  that it is Friday the 13th.  I am not superstitious, so no particular importance attaches to the day, but then I recalled starting my blog a whole month ago.  And, with no particular rhyme or reason, various familiar clichés kept popping into my brain:  there's just a dusting of snow on the lawn; he's  got salt and pepper hair; she had no wind in her sales; he had no stomach for that; we had an early frost (or a hard frost, or a killing frost); he looked a little green at the gills;  you nipped it in the bud; they wilted in the sun; stranger things have happened; he withered on the vine; why her not me!  


It's been a good day, all in all.  Yes, there's been some very terrible news, but even while on my knees mentally, praying and wishing all the bad stuff away, I took comfort going about the day again pondering why, then moving on to delight in something I read, then reaching deep into  the little gray cells for something I'd almost forgotten, then wondering about  the difference between El Niño or La Niña years and, finally, studying how on earth a mosquito can fly in the rain. (Okay, that last thing was something I just stumbled upon!)  I needed a day like today.


And so the clichés kept coming.  Today was good proof that the mind is a wonderful thing: sunlight, music, awareness that life is hard yet it is always changing.