Magic and Misery

Michael has come and gone. Everything is "back to normal." The debris that he left in the yard has been cleared and piled next to the street. The generator packed away in its storage shed, power having been restored to the neighborhood. The bird feeders are reattached to their poles, and garden beds inspected for damage to the freshly planted baby vegetables.

A few nights earlier, sleep having eluded me at 3 am in the morning, I stepped outside and sat down on my front porch. In the stillness of the night,  I could feel the pulse of my neighborhood slowing down, allowing me also to slow down from all the stress and worrying about the storm. The sky was awash with stars, their magic permeating my being. with the lights of the neighborhood now off. A myriad of emotions enveloped me, from gratitude for all the blessing I have in my life, sadness for the misery of those who bore the brunt of Michael; and anger over the fact that my daughter and her future children will inherit a world where more intense future storms and other natural disasters will become the norm.

Back to normal. I'm not sure I want to go back to normal if it means continuing on our current path of ever increasing environmental degradation and the acceptance of policies and actions that contribute to earth's destruction. Will Michael and all the other future named storms not teach us the folly of our present path? What will it take to acknowledge that we need to change our ways? How many more Michaels will it take for us to learn our lesson?

 Back to normal. For me, it means going back to the stars.

Simply Living

I woke up early this morning to the exquisite smell of freshly laundered sheets, the sun rays softly peeking through the bedroom window shades,  hearing the the song of birds breaking through the silence of the early morning, listening to the rhythmic breathing pattern of a person I've been with for 34 years. I felt the luxury of being able to just lie there and curl up deeper into the sheets and let all the these comforting sensations wash over me.

Lately, I've been pondering the meaning of what it means to live simply on this planet. I've come to think that it means more than just making choices and living a lifestyle that minimizes our ecological footprint on the earth,  I think living simply also means staying very present and feeling the beauty of our common everyday actions: the satisfaction of decluttering a closet, refolding and reusing paper bags, noticing the movements of birds in the yard, baking cookies, reading a good book. I know I'm not saying anything particularly new or profound here. I guess it's really just the old Zen way of living. But it feels so nice to have figured out for myself the secret of living simply: simply live.

Sister Love

My sister Pat died yesterday.Even though I knew she was battling liver cancer and that her time on the earth was short, her passing has still had a profound effect on me. She was the oldest of three siblings and because there was that 7 year age gap between us, she would often be the one to help my mother in caring for me as a baby and toddler. And though we lived 2000 miles apart, over the years I have always felt the strong bond and love that existed, and still exists, between us. There was great comfort in knowing that she was always there. 

Pat was the last of my nuclear family.And in a strange way it feels like I am now a little more alone in the world. A large part of the events, memories and family histories died when she did. I think what I feel the most is a sort of emptiness, more like a hollow spot that has been carved out of me that will take some time to heal. In the meantime, I'll cherish the memories.

One thing though Pat..Keep the scrabble board handy,. I'll beat you at it yet!

That Which Binds Us

Last night the world dropped into freeze frame. All became still and calm. For a brief time I felt cleansed and shielded from all the negative forces that exist in the world today. Sitting on the beach at sunset by an open fire and surrounded by those who are dear to me, I understood on a cellular level, what was meant by the phrase "all the world is love."  All of nature conspires to help us understand this simple truth. It patiently invites us to part the curtain of illusion that we are separate from all that surrounds us.

Sitting with each other around the fire, we spoke of simple things; of stars and sunsets, of gardens and weddings, of the joys of seeing our children happy, and the sadness of seeing our friends in pain.

It reminded me that it is in these moments we connect to the mystery of life; that we connect to each other and to the love that is the glue that binds the universe. As the Beatles sang, "all you need is love."

The Wisdom of Clouds

Recently, I've been feeling a little bummed out, mainly because of having to deal with the pain due to the plantar fasciitis. It's been hard just to walk so I've had to cut back on a lot of activities which hasn't helped my mood. But one good thing is that I'm able to ride my bike, so I'm able to ride around the neighborhood every day for exercise. 

Riding my bike early last evening, as I stopped at the top of a hill to take a drink of water, I happened to look up and noticed this beautiful glowing cumulus cloud dancing just above the tree line. It was one of those moments where everything kind of faded away and I was left with just the crystal clarity of the moment. And I became aware of feelings of great gratitude for all that I do have in my life: the ability to ride my bike, to feel the working of my muscles straining up the hills and the exhilaration of speeding the down hills; having a loving partner who has shared my life for so many years; having friends who I love and who I know love me; biting into a home grown tomato; sunshine, laugher, summer thunderstorms; crystal blue skies. Well you get the picture. It felt so nice to come back to the true reality of my life: that all is what it is. That all is well.

And now back to those physical therapy exercises!

Life Is Like This

On my last birthday, as a birthday present, a friend of mine gave me a book called "Dancing With Life" subtitled Buddhist Insights Into Finding Meaning and Joy in the Face of Suffering (thank you Crystal).. At the time I didn't especially feel like I was "suffering", so I didn't immediately pick it up. But as usual the universe had other ideas and gave me a motivation to start reading it in the form of my developing a severe case of Plantar Fasciitis, a foot condition that makes it especially painful to walk. I figured it counted as suffering. So I started reading.

From my readings this simple phrase in particular spoke to me: "life is like this". It encompasses the Buddhist insight that all suffering stems, not from the negative circumstances that we encounter in our lives, but from our resistance to those circumstances; our wanting things to be different than what they actually are. Resisting rather than accepting and embracing the reality that my "life is like this" right now in present moment.

Intellectually, it seems relatively easy concept to understand. Putting it into practice, not so easy. But to me  it seems important to delve more deeply into this in the hopes of grasping this insight on a deeper level.

Old Friends

Can you imagine us years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy
            Simon and Garfunkel
                                    "Old Friends"                                    

I was looking through some old emails yesterday and noticed I hadn't responded to someone who was one of my best friends growing up. In it he shared some funny and poignant memories about playing together in our old neighborhood. One particular incident he recalled was of me at a little league opening day as I triumphantly emerged from underneath a pile of bodies attempting to retrieve the first baseball of the season thrown out by a local celebrity. I looked up from the computer and stared at that ball sitting on my dresser. A few years back I found it in an old shoebox and I've kept it my dresser ever since. Tears came to my eyes as I realized he was the only one besides me today who would remember that incident and would understand the importance of that baseball to me.

I 'm turning seventy in a few days and along with the lyrics from the Simon and Garfunkel song came poignant memories of those days of youth and of those special friendships that nurtured and helped shape me into who I am today. These are friends who knew me the longest and who remain the co-guardians of the memories of my youth. Friends who I am eternally grateful for having been in my life.

So here's to you Tom, Jimmy, and Merch. Thanks for your gift of friendship and for your love and support. Thanks for the memories.

Oh how terribly strange to be seventy.                                                                                  .                                                               

Emerging From the Mist

Yesterday LucyAnn went back to the cancer center to review the result of her first aftercare CT scan and CA 125(tumor marker) blood test. On the surface she and I felt confident that all would be well, as LucyAnn has been getting her energy and strength back and has gained back most of the weight she lost. But underneath the optimism, fear enjoyed playing with us. Fear whispered in our ears, "what if the cancer's not all gone? What if more treatment is needed?? What if we have to reverse course and have to retreat back into the mist?" 

I suspect that for the next 18 months of 3 month follow-ups we will have to contend with that petulant little voice. But for now, that voice has been silenced, as LucyAnn's CT scan was perfectly clear and the CA 125 indicator and blood work were all good  So now we continue our journey out toward normalcy, whatever that is. And the weather up ahead is looking pretty good. Prediction is for clear skies and only sunshine ahead.                                              

Awakening Spirit

We always get what we need, even if sometimes it's not always what we want. Not being unaware of all the scary signs, I am still beginning to feel that way about prospects for 2017. I think it's going to be an unsettling year and a pivotal one.Watching all the images and feeling the energy of the women's marchs yesterday, I sensed in those crowds an awakening, a stirring that's been dormant for a long time. Maybe it's a reflection of my own feelings as LucyAnn is free of cancer now and continues to gain strength and continues to heal. We are beginning again to awaken to the outside world, having had to go inward during her chemotherapy time. The personal feels connected to the global, as we begin stretching, moving slowly back into consciousness. Where it's taking us is a mystery, the puzzle pieces only now beginning to fit together. But I'm going along for the ride, not yet knowing the form of travel or the destination, but willing to accompany and embrace my fellow travelers along the way. We will get what we need..

The Promise of the Bell

LucyAnn rang the bell this week marking the end of her 6th and final round of what we hope will be the last of her chemotherapy treatment.  

There's a long standing tradition at the the cancer clinic in Tallahassee where, on your last day of your chemo treatments, you get to ring a bell for all those present to hear and to celebrate your accomplishment.  It serves as a testament to the courage and persistence you have shown in completing the therapy. It's an acknowledgement that it's no small thing to go through this process and that it's one of  the hardest things in your life that you will ever be asked to endure. 

The ringing of the bell was met with much applause, hoops and hollers.I think not only for LucyAnn but for the all the cancer patients at that time in the clinic. It serves as an reminder for those still undergoing treatment that one time very soon they too will get the chance to ring the bell. That there is light at the end of the tunnel.

So congratulations LucyAnn! You did it!

Endings and Beginnings

Christmas Day 2016

Waking up to the carols of Christmas, to the sweet melodies of the songbirds outside my window; to the feeling of stillness, holiness.. A little chill in the air (for Florida that is). Feeling the sweet melancholy of endings and the exhilaration of new beginnings. Beginning to let go of the emotions of past events and embracing a new and hopeful future. Today, simply being grateful for the gifts of the past year: the embrace and support of friends, the gift of new insights and deep recognition of all the love I have in my life .Preparing to celebrate. LucyAnn's last chemo treatment is this Tuesday Dec. 27th. Yay! Merry Christmas.

Questions

We will fight, not out of spite

For someone must stand up for what's right

Cause where there's a man who has no voice

There ours shall go singing

                    From Hands by Jewel

I was listening to Pandora a few days ago and this song by Jewel began playing.  It's a song I've always liked and heard hundreds of times. But this time the simple lyrics above stirred me more than usual. Of course it's not surprising what with what's been happening the last few months over the last year really. It's hard  to think about. So many questions. So many changes occurring both personally and in our nation. . What does it mean for me, for us, to fight? How will that manifest itself into my life now? Old ways don't feel attractive now. LucyAnn and I will not be facing water cannons any time soon. How will we effectively stand for those of us who have no voice? How will we protect our children? What is our role now at this time in our lives? Answers, I hope, are coming.