My husband and I come from two different backgrounds. As he describes it, he grew up with a lot of organ music and little symbolism. I, on the other hand grew up with a lot of symbolism and no organ music. As a result, his senses and passions are wide open whereas my abilities to analyse and interpret are well honed.
Opposites attract they say, and I guess it’s because they complement each other. Of course Alan would never ponder that, he’d just enjoy the life and beauty that surrounds him. Like just now, when he whistled a whippoorwill song and the loon sang back.
For him, life is like music; it comes in either a major or minor mood: happy or sad, good or bad, energy is going up or it’s going down. For me, life, like water, is always changing, flowing, interpreting: adjusting.
There seem to be three stages in relationships. After attraction comes repulsion: when you wished the other was more like you: if she’d just lighten up, if he’d just go with the flow.
Thinking there is a right way and a wrong way is one sure path to conflict. I remember my nephew the sailor telling me I had tied a knot the wrong way. His dad had taught him a different way so all knots had to be tied that one way. “Does it work?” I asked. “The boat’s still tied to the dock, isn’t it?” He shrugged his shoulders and moved on. Thinking there is only one way to dress, one way to pray, or one way to live has caused endless pain and suffering in this world, and relationships of all kinds split apart if they get stuck in this dualistic way of seeing things – my way or the highway.
My husband and I are still together twenty years later because through this stage, no matter what, we were kind to each other. We rarely said anything we regretted, and as a result, we continued into the third stage.
As I see it, when we get past criticism, get past thinking there’s only one way to do anything, a whole new world opens up. With respect, we’ve moved into reaping the gifts of union. Through the years we’ve come to appreciate the other’s strengths and have opened ourselves to the complimentary way. We’ve both softened and let go of our need to be right.
In yoga, there is a bending over pose where the intention is for the wisdom of the heart to flow to the head. This intermingling of opposites creates the third energy, or the middle way as some call it. This is what Goldilocks and the Three Bears was about: not too hard and not too soft, not too hot and not too cold – just right.
When the opposites not join but integrate, a different vision opens up. I’d read about this in different places but it’s taken a while to finally understand it. In The Little Prince, St. Exupery wrote: “What is essential is invisible to the eye. It is with the heart that one sees rightly.” I have a framed quote on my wall from Helen Keller who wrote: “Beauty cannot be seen or touched. It must be felt within the heart.” And Proust wrote: “The greatest journey is not to travel to new places but to see with new eyes.” Rising above the dualities and living in the goodness, appreciating things as they are, is what I think they’re talking about.
Like a symphony orchestra with its strings, brass, percussion, woodwinds and voice, there is more than one way to be on this earth. And when the different parts come together with respect and appreciation, an opening is created that lifts both players and audience to a higher place: that place of bliss we search for.
Alan may have a preference to perform and I to conduct, yet together we make beautiful music.
Marci Mandel has written a sonic performance piece for the Minden Fringe that stars Brigitte Gall, August 21 and 27. “And the Word Was...” is about getting to the root of things. “If you go deep down through the words to the primal feelings, you’ll find truths that are universal: mythical. What was at the beginning? This work suggests one possibility.” Look for ticket information.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
PLANTED SEEDS
As spring ends and the summer solstice soon arrives, I sit and take stock of the many seeds of ideas planted in my mind that are now gestating. For instance, I keep thinking my life is supposed to go a certain way; I’m supposed to create a certain body of work. But instead it’s more like I’m the star of the movie “Mr. Holland’s Opus.” I work on my screenplays and my music but nothing gets done to my satisfaction because the immediacies of life take my attention. As my neighbour said last night, we can either live for our dreams or we can live for the moments. Ghandi said: My life is my message.
It’s funny, we get an idea of who we are when we’re young and think that’s who we’re supposed to be for the rest of our lives. But then I heard a singer/songwriter interviewed on the radio and this angel spoke to my heart when he said there are many aspects of who we are and as we get older, new ones arise that need to be attended to. Eventually we realize that what we do is only one aspect of who we are. Balancing the doing with the being is the interesting task in life. Too much doing is exhausting, not enough doing is depressing: too much being is ineffective and not enough being is blinding. Hmmm.
And then I’ve been thinking about the difference between being humble and being humiliated. I said something that was taken to be arrogant but the fact was, it was true to my experience. The word respect comes from the Latin respicere, meaning “the willingness to look again.” Being respectful and being humble are linked, and so I had another look at what I had said and true enough, it was based on outdated knowledge; I hadn’t kept up with the times and I apologized.
The word humble comes from the Latin humus or “earth.” To be humiliated is to feel less than, inadequate, which feels bad. But humility is about being open to the wonders and knowing you are very small in the great scheme of things - and knowing, too, you are a part of something quite grand, and that feels good! And then there’s the word “human” that shares the same root. We, and all of life, are made up of the very same elements as the earth... “from dust to dust.” I’m not sure what to make of this. Is calling someone dirt really a compliment? Interesting, neither of the words - earth nor dirt - are pluralized; they represent collectives. Hmmm.
The third thing I’ve been pondering is prayer. There are three types, I have learned: petitioning prayers, prayers of worship and prayers of gratitude. I’ve been looking into this because I feel like maybe I need a more ritualistic practise. With all the natural disasters - or perhaps I ought to say - with all the disasters happening in/to nature (including people), prayer seems more relevant. An email has been going around inviting everyone to pray for the water: be bold and see the oil spilled waters being clear, writes Dr. Masaru Emoto. At 5 pm Eastern on July 21st a group will be doing just that. I intend on joining them, and I petition you to do so as well.
I’m not really sure what the difference between prayers of worship and prayers of gratitude are. When my husband praises the meal I make, I understand his words to also mean ‘thank you for the care you took in preparing this food.’ When I praise him for the renovation he’s done, my words also mean ‘thank you for the care you took in upgrading that.’ When I praise my young grandsons for blowing beautiful bubbles, my words also mean ‘thank you for bringing me such joy.’ If the only prayer you say in your life is "Thank You," that would be enough, said Meister Eckhart. I wonder if that’s what he meant. Hmmm.
There’s so much going on in the world today, so many possibilities. Is it all darkness? Is darkness bad? Seeds are planted in darkness.
Wow, there’s so much I don’t know, yet at the root of things, there seems to be some weird and wonderful connection.
Hmmm.
What if every day we imagined to ourselves: what seeds will come to fruition because today I have said thank you!
It’s funny, we get an idea of who we are when we’re young and think that’s who we’re supposed to be for the rest of our lives. But then I heard a singer/songwriter interviewed on the radio and this angel spoke to my heart when he said there are many aspects of who we are and as we get older, new ones arise that need to be attended to. Eventually we realize that what we do is only one aspect of who we are. Balancing the doing with the being is the interesting task in life. Too much doing is exhausting, not enough doing is depressing: too much being is ineffective and not enough being is blinding. Hmmm.
And then I’ve been thinking about the difference between being humble and being humiliated. I said something that was taken to be arrogant but the fact was, it was true to my experience. The word respect comes from the Latin respicere, meaning “the willingness to look again.” Being respectful and being humble are linked, and so I had another look at what I had said and true enough, it was based on outdated knowledge; I hadn’t kept up with the times and I apologized.
The word humble comes from the Latin humus or “earth.” To be humiliated is to feel less than, inadequate, which feels bad. But humility is about being open to the wonders and knowing you are very small in the great scheme of things - and knowing, too, you are a part of something quite grand, and that feels good! And then there’s the word “human” that shares the same root. We, and all of life, are made up of the very same elements as the earth... “from dust to dust.” I’m not sure what to make of this. Is calling someone dirt really a compliment? Interesting, neither of the words - earth nor dirt - are pluralized; they represent collectives. Hmmm.
The third thing I’ve been pondering is prayer. There are three types, I have learned: petitioning prayers, prayers of worship and prayers of gratitude. I’ve been looking into this because I feel like maybe I need a more ritualistic practise. With all the natural disasters - or perhaps I ought to say - with all the disasters happening in/to nature (including people), prayer seems more relevant. An email has been going around inviting everyone to pray for the water: be bold and see the oil spilled waters being clear, writes Dr. Masaru Emoto. At 5 pm Eastern on July 21st a group will be doing just that. I intend on joining them, and I petition you to do so as well.
I’m not really sure what the difference between prayers of worship and prayers of gratitude are. When my husband praises the meal I make, I understand his words to also mean ‘thank you for the care you took in preparing this food.’ When I praise him for the renovation he’s done, my words also mean ‘thank you for the care you took in upgrading that.’ When I praise my young grandsons for blowing beautiful bubbles, my words also mean ‘thank you for bringing me such joy.’ If the only prayer you say in your life is "Thank You," that would be enough, said Meister Eckhart. I wonder if that’s what he meant. Hmmm.
There’s so much going on in the world today, so many possibilities. Is it all darkness? Is darkness bad? Seeds are planted in darkness.
Wow, there’s so much I don’t know, yet at the root of things, there seems to be some weird and wonderful connection.
Hmmm.
What if every day we imagined to ourselves: what seeds will come to fruition because today I have said thank you!
Friday, May 21, 2010
Seeing Goodness
When I was in my twenties and looking for the perfect man, my Aunt Cherry advised me: “one person can’t fulfil all your needs.” She told me that she and my uncle had a circle of friends they enjoyed golf and cards with, but she also had friends with whom she alone enjoyed the art world. I found those comforting words then, and recently they’ve taken on a whole new meaning.
I became close with my aunt because I had a hard time communicating with my mother. It didn’t matter what I did, it seemed to me she would always find something wrong with it. I’d long since let go of those feelings and moved on, I’d thought, until recently. I was frustrated about a certain aspect of my life and returned to those old sentiments: it’s mom’s fault. And then I was shocked to realized, hey, I have a pretty wonderful life: a life of love and beauty...and this too must be mom’s fault.
Yes, if I wanted to, I could go back through my life and point out where my mom wasn’t what I thought I needed her to be, but what a childish waste of time that would be. For a young mother with four children and a husband with health problems, she did a heroic job of keeping us together. When she wasn’t available, others sure were: teachers, family friends, Aunt Cherry (whom she’d recruited), as well as the books she’d given me. If I’d only recognized I had not just one mother but many who were available to nurture me, if I had only focused on what she gave me instead of what I thought was missing, I would have been able to relax.
Today, as I stop looking at the world in black and white and instead see a rainbow of possibilities, I see how I have always had the guidance I’ve needed. Even when I’ve felt alone in the world, a chance encounter – a found photograph, a song on the radio, or a magazine article - could turn me around to a path of goodness. I am not alone and I never have been. There are so many angels waiting to fulfil what my tender heart needs, I just have to learn to recognize them and let them in.
One phrase that has always intrigued me is from the book The Little Prince: “What is essential is invisible to the eye. It is with the heart that one sees rightly.” How does the heart see? How does the heart know? Curious, I began to pay attention to my own heart. As I eased into relaxation, the thump, thump, thump......became tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. I am not alone; there is always something, however faint at first, guiding me. Silly little child, quiet yourself and listen: tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. You see? Now follow the lead; follow the goodness and everything will transform around you.
And so it has, for now I can feel my mother’s tenderness; I can feel my father’s approval; I can feel my siblings’ support; and I am so light, I could fly.
Will this feeling last forever? It’s possible. But usually it takes a while for new patterns to be established. Soon, though, I know I will be led into temptation, and it will be wonderful because I will enjoy being reminded of how I have blossomed, how I have chosen the direction of my life, and how I have come to see the invisible.
How fitting that I have just begun the crone phase of my life. Can you imagine: a child’s sense of wonder mixed with an adult’s sense of control? This will be the rainbow time of my life.
Thanks mom! You were exactly who I needed you to be.
Thank you, mother, I can finally see what you’ve done for me, and I love you forever.
I became close with my aunt because I had a hard time communicating with my mother. It didn’t matter what I did, it seemed to me she would always find something wrong with it. I’d long since let go of those feelings and moved on, I’d thought, until recently. I was frustrated about a certain aspect of my life and returned to those old sentiments: it’s mom’s fault. And then I was shocked to realized, hey, I have a pretty wonderful life: a life of love and beauty...and this too must be mom’s fault.
Yes, if I wanted to, I could go back through my life and point out where my mom wasn’t what I thought I needed her to be, but what a childish waste of time that would be. For a young mother with four children and a husband with health problems, she did a heroic job of keeping us together. When she wasn’t available, others sure were: teachers, family friends, Aunt Cherry (whom she’d recruited), as well as the books she’d given me. If I’d only recognized I had not just one mother but many who were available to nurture me, if I had only focused on what she gave me instead of what I thought was missing, I would have been able to relax.
Today, as I stop looking at the world in black and white and instead see a rainbow of possibilities, I see how I have always had the guidance I’ve needed. Even when I’ve felt alone in the world, a chance encounter – a found photograph, a song on the radio, or a magazine article - could turn me around to a path of goodness. I am not alone and I never have been. There are so many angels waiting to fulfil what my tender heart needs, I just have to learn to recognize them and let them in.
One phrase that has always intrigued me is from the book The Little Prince: “What is essential is invisible to the eye. It is with the heart that one sees rightly.” How does the heart see? How does the heart know? Curious, I began to pay attention to my own heart. As I eased into relaxation, the thump, thump, thump......became tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. I am not alone; there is always something, however faint at first, guiding me. Silly little child, quiet yourself and listen: tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. You see? Now follow the lead; follow the goodness and everything will transform around you.
And so it has, for now I can feel my mother’s tenderness; I can feel my father’s approval; I can feel my siblings’ support; and I am so light, I could fly.
Will this feeling last forever? It’s possible. But usually it takes a while for new patterns to be established. Soon, though, I know I will be led into temptation, and it will be wonderful because I will enjoy being reminded of how I have blossomed, how I have chosen the direction of my life, and how I have come to see the invisible.
How fitting that I have just begun the crone phase of my life. Can you imagine: a child’s sense of wonder mixed with an adult’s sense of control? This will be the rainbow time of my life.
Thanks mom! You were exactly who I needed you to be.
Thank you, mother, I can finally see what you’ve done for me, and I love you forever.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
SPRINGING FORWARD
One of my favourite movies of late is August Rush, and one of my favourite lines was something like: “You know kid, sometimes ya just gotta have a little faith.” Even with April being the cruellest month, the promise and beauty of the season is coming. The feeling is palpable, and with the anticipation of new sprouts and buds about to burst forth, I can’t help but feel part of a magnificent and glorious shift. Yes, it happens every year, but this time it feels like it’s coming from a deeper, more significant force.
Buffalo Springfield, in the sixties wrote: “There's something happening here. What it is ain't exactly clear.” It became a little clearer for me after watching the Olympics in Vancouver. There was something different about those games, those athletes, which set my body to relax into a state of comfort and confidence it hadn’t known before. It’s all going to be okay. Peace is in the air and in my heart today because the grandchildren of the folkies and hippies finally get it. “Tune in and turn on” wasn’t about drugs, and watching those victorious athletes pump their fists in the air demonstrated it.
The seventy’s movie hit Star Wars brought to light the concept of the hero’s journey - the myth about separating from one’s family, joining up with a guru and friends, confronting demons, and returning home to assist the community. These kids, these athletes, did just that, and at the finish line, or end of a winning match, we watched them experience this bliss, and we revelled in it with them. Who will ever forget the joy in Jon Montgomery’s eyes when he sipped from the golden goblet? This wasn’t the swagger of a conqueror but the jubilation of an achiever.
There are no shortcuts to this kind of thrill, and yet as we watched, we saw that no two athletes shared the exact same path to that peak experience. Each athlete trained differently, experienced their own list of setbacks, longed to give up at different times, and was seduced by self-doubt and various ease-bearing schemes. But the ones we called the champions, the Alex Bilodeaus and the Joannie Rochettes, persevered and won because they were not alone at the centre of their dreams. They knew the true meaning of life and showed us absolutely the hero’s journey and the hero’s reward.
These Generation Y’ers, these kids born in the 1980’s and after, grew up with play groups, team sports and technology. The Cold War, nuclear threats, and the Berlin Wall were not a part their awareness and supremacy was not a part of their vocabulary. The Vancouver Olympic Games reflected this shift. Gone was the fierceness of rivalries past, and present was desire for all to push personal boundaries. Own the Podium was not a call for these athletes to win at all costs but a call for them to release their personal power and let it soar; and oh, how they did!
And it wasn’t just the athletes. Fifty young Canadian musicians secretly got together in Vancouver and recorded a song with the proceeds going to Haiti relief. Wavin’ Flag quickly became an international anthem not just about struggle but also about hope.
And then there’s Craig and Marc Kielburger of Toronto, the two young men who have invented a whole new socially conscious business model. Craig was only twelve when he was so moved by a newspaper article about the death of a Pakistani child labourer. Today, Free the Children is a global brand which has brought over 500 schools and water projects to communities around the world. As well, the brothers run a for-profit business, Me to We, which receives income from the brothers’ speaking engagements and sales of socially responsible merchandise. This company offers young people trips abroad but channels most of the proceeds back to the “children helping children through education” not-for-profit.
Athletes, musicians, social activists: kids today are seeing their own clouds and silver linings and are not afraid of the hard work it takes to succeed.
It may feel at times like the world is coming to an end, but maybe the tsunamis and earthquakes are just shaking out the stale ideal of ‘powering over’ to allow the bright ideal of ‘powering with’ to once again flourish. “Tune in and turn on.” These kids get it: work hard on personal excellence and heaven is here on earth.
Isn’t spring wonderful! We all get another chance to create the life we want. We all get another chance to be artists and create heaven on earth.
Sometimes ya just gotta have a little faith.
Buffalo Springfield, in the sixties wrote: “There's something happening here. What it is ain't exactly clear.” It became a little clearer for me after watching the Olympics in Vancouver. There was something different about those games, those athletes, which set my body to relax into a state of comfort and confidence it hadn’t known before. It’s all going to be okay. Peace is in the air and in my heart today because the grandchildren of the folkies and hippies finally get it. “Tune in and turn on” wasn’t about drugs, and watching those victorious athletes pump their fists in the air demonstrated it.
The seventy’s movie hit Star Wars brought to light the concept of the hero’s journey - the myth about separating from one’s family, joining up with a guru and friends, confronting demons, and returning home to assist the community. These kids, these athletes, did just that, and at the finish line, or end of a winning match, we watched them experience this bliss, and we revelled in it with them. Who will ever forget the joy in Jon Montgomery’s eyes when he sipped from the golden goblet? This wasn’t the swagger of a conqueror but the jubilation of an achiever.
There are no shortcuts to this kind of thrill, and yet as we watched, we saw that no two athletes shared the exact same path to that peak experience. Each athlete trained differently, experienced their own list of setbacks, longed to give up at different times, and was seduced by self-doubt and various ease-bearing schemes. But the ones we called the champions, the Alex Bilodeaus and the Joannie Rochettes, persevered and won because they were not alone at the centre of their dreams. They knew the true meaning of life and showed us absolutely the hero’s journey and the hero’s reward.
These Generation Y’ers, these kids born in the 1980’s and after, grew up with play groups, team sports and technology. The Cold War, nuclear threats, and the Berlin Wall were not a part their awareness and supremacy was not a part of their vocabulary. The Vancouver Olympic Games reflected this shift. Gone was the fierceness of rivalries past, and present was desire for all to push personal boundaries. Own the Podium was not a call for these athletes to win at all costs but a call for them to release their personal power and let it soar; and oh, how they did!
And it wasn’t just the athletes. Fifty young Canadian musicians secretly got together in Vancouver and recorded a song with the proceeds going to Haiti relief. Wavin’ Flag quickly became an international anthem not just about struggle but also about hope.
And then there’s Craig and Marc Kielburger of Toronto, the two young men who have invented a whole new socially conscious business model. Craig was only twelve when he was so moved by a newspaper article about the death of a Pakistani child labourer. Today, Free the Children is a global brand which has brought over 500 schools and water projects to communities around the world. As well, the brothers run a for-profit business, Me to We, which receives income from the brothers’ speaking engagements and sales of socially responsible merchandise. This company offers young people trips abroad but channels most of the proceeds back to the “children helping children through education” not-for-profit.
Athletes, musicians, social activists: kids today are seeing their own clouds and silver linings and are not afraid of the hard work it takes to succeed.
It may feel at times like the world is coming to an end, but maybe the tsunamis and earthquakes are just shaking out the stale ideal of ‘powering over’ to allow the bright ideal of ‘powering with’ to once again flourish. “Tune in and turn on.” These kids get it: work hard on personal excellence and heaven is here on earth.
Isn’t spring wonderful! We all get another chance to create the life we want. We all get another chance to be artists and create heaven on earth.
Sometimes ya just gotta have a little faith.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
My Dad
My next birthday doesn’t look like a milestone on the calendar, no zero or five at the end of it, but it has tremendous significance to me and my family. My dad died the day before his fifty-second birthday, and as I approach it a lot of emotions are stirring.
I felt a strong connection with my dad: he was the calm in the storm, my personal encyclopaedia, and my scout leader. He introduced us to beauty in many forms by taking us rock hounding, gallery hopping and antique sale hunting. He didn’t have a formal education past high school, but his thirst for knowledge kept him pursuing new endeavours. He started off as a builder; became a stock broker after his first heart attack; and was a property manager, a mortgage broker and a real estate appraiser before becoming an officer of the Ontario Rent Review Commission – the only non-lawyer at the time to have been offered the appointment. At his passing, Gerald Irwin Mandel was so well respected in his job he’d been elevated to the post of Appeals Commissioner.
My dad also had a lot of hobbies. He was a skilled woodworker, enjoyed learning about computers and bonsai plants, and even wrote a song on the vibes. To say he was curious would be an understatement.
It is said the good die young, and I can’t think of a better death than my dad’s. He was dancing at the wedding of his friend’s daughter’s, went to bed, and passed away shortly thereafter. I’ll never forget the funeral and the rabbi telling us Moses also died on his birthday. This left me with a sense of completeness: a sense that his was a life well lived.
So here I am, twenty-six years later: half my life with my dad, half without. There was a tendency for me to measure my life to his, compare our accomplishments, but I don’t think that is useful anymore. Instead, I prefer to look at the foundation he, my mother and my other ancestors set and ask: have I added to it? My grandparents came to this country with nothing and created financial security; my parents had financial security and provided us with an education. I have tried to take that knowledge and transform it into shared wisdom, and whether I succeed or not, only time and my actions will tell.
My dad, like Moses, wasn’t perfect, and I find myself imperfect in similar ways. Life has thrown me some interesting curves perhaps in order to face parallel challenges and maybe find redemption for us both. We all, in our gut, seek to transcend our mistakes and find that place of freedom. I recently stumbled upon this excerpt while reading The House of Mirth (1905) by Edith Wharton.
“My idea of success is personal freedom.”
“Freedom? Freedom from worries?”
“From everything – from money, from poverty, from ease and anxiety, from all the material accidents. To keep a kind of republic of the spirit – that’s what I call success.”
“...There was no one...to tell me about the republic of the spirit.”
“There never is –it’s a country one has to find the way to one’s self.”
“But I should never have found my way there if you hadn’t told me.”
“Ah, there are sign posts –but one has to know how to read them.”
In taking us to galleries, museums, and nature trails, by continuing to pursue his education, by refining his craft as a woodworker, by providing for his family, and by being a just arbitrator my dad familiarized us with the landscape. The Republic of the Spirit for me is where people live in harmony with the land and with each other; where there are no wants; where there is only being curious, creative, and compassionate. My dad didn’t teach us this; he showed us.
The title for The House of Mirth, came from Ecclesiastes 7:4: The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth. I must be wise because I have such sadness in my heart: sadness that the sign posts have been so obscured and sadness that my dad is no longer here to talk to about these things.
Along the trail, the strongest two hikers are at the front and the back of the pack thus assuring the whole group gets to its destination safely. My dad died at age 52 and my grandmother died very close to her 104th birthday (26 x 2 = 52 x 2 = 104 hmm). Am I here to lead the way or to follow and help others along? I don’t know what my fate will be but what I do know is - I miss my dad.
I felt a strong connection with my dad: he was the calm in the storm, my personal encyclopaedia, and my scout leader. He introduced us to beauty in many forms by taking us rock hounding, gallery hopping and antique sale hunting. He didn’t have a formal education past high school, but his thirst for knowledge kept him pursuing new endeavours. He started off as a builder; became a stock broker after his first heart attack; and was a property manager, a mortgage broker and a real estate appraiser before becoming an officer of the Ontario Rent Review Commission – the only non-lawyer at the time to have been offered the appointment. At his passing, Gerald Irwin Mandel was so well respected in his job he’d been elevated to the post of Appeals Commissioner.
My dad also had a lot of hobbies. He was a skilled woodworker, enjoyed learning about computers and bonsai plants, and even wrote a song on the vibes. To say he was curious would be an understatement.
It is said the good die young, and I can’t think of a better death than my dad’s. He was dancing at the wedding of his friend’s daughter’s, went to bed, and passed away shortly thereafter. I’ll never forget the funeral and the rabbi telling us Moses also died on his birthday. This left me with a sense of completeness: a sense that his was a life well lived.
So here I am, twenty-six years later: half my life with my dad, half without. There was a tendency for me to measure my life to his, compare our accomplishments, but I don’t think that is useful anymore. Instead, I prefer to look at the foundation he, my mother and my other ancestors set and ask: have I added to it? My grandparents came to this country with nothing and created financial security; my parents had financial security and provided us with an education. I have tried to take that knowledge and transform it into shared wisdom, and whether I succeed or not, only time and my actions will tell.
My dad, like Moses, wasn’t perfect, and I find myself imperfect in similar ways. Life has thrown me some interesting curves perhaps in order to face parallel challenges and maybe find redemption for us both. We all, in our gut, seek to transcend our mistakes and find that place of freedom. I recently stumbled upon this excerpt while reading The House of Mirth (1905) by Edith Wharton.
“My idea of success is personal freedom.”
“Freedom? Freedom from worries?”
“From everything – from money, from poverty, from ease and anxiety, from all the material accidents. To keep a kind of republic of the spirit – that’s what I call success.”
“...There was no one...to tell me about the republic of the spirit.”
“There never is –it’s a country one has to find the way to one’s self.”
“But I should never have found my way there if you hadn’t told me.”
“Ah, there are sign posts –but one has to know how to read them.”
In taking us to galleries, museums, and nature trails, by continuing to pursue his education, by refining his craft as a woodworker, by providing for his family, and by being a just arbitrator my dad familiarized us with the landscape. The Republic of the Spirit for me is where people live in harmony with the land and with each other; where there are no wants; where there is only being curious, creative, and compassionate. My dad didn’t teach us this; he showed us.
The title for The House of Mirth, came from Ecclesiastes 7:4: The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth. I must be wise because I have such sadness in my heart: sadness that the sign posts have been so obscured and sadness that my dad is no longer here to talk to about these things.
Along the trail, the strongest two hikers are at the front and the back of the pack thus assuring the whole group gets to its destination safely. My dad died at age 52 and my grandmother died very close to her 104th birthday (26 x 2 = 52 x 2 = 104 hmm). Am I here to lead the way or to follow and help others along? I don’t know what my fate will be but what I do know is - I miss my dad.
Monday, December 14, 2009
GOODNESS AND MERCY
And so we drove to the airport where I was immediately turned away. I was quite surprised because looking back, I had travelled numerous times with the same lapsed passport. I guess the crackdown in the spring was now in full effect and there were no longer any discretionary calls. The attendant suggested I go to the passport office and try to get an extension like a previous customer had done. In the parking lot, my husband lost patience with a driver and I reminded him, if we wanted goodness and mercy to happen to us, we had to give it to others. He recognized I was right and calmed down. In the passport office we were greeted by a friendly security guard and sent to a wonderful young man who told us extensions were no longer available. The next option was to take a picture and reapply. After a few more harrowing obstacles and many, many hours, we were on the plane headed south. Good things happen to good people.
In Maryland, there was so much kindness and generosity in the air we were all rewarded by waking up to a miraculous white Christmas. That night, after a day filled with such joy, I turned to my husband and told him if I’d died right then, I’d die a happy person. He understood.
I think all religions have some version of Karma or the Golden Rule. It seems to be a universal truth: you get what you give. I don’t think there is a God keeping track of what we do, judging us to be worthy of this or that, but rather a vibration of love we give off that connects us to a web of like-hearted folk. Greedy, childish people who can often be heard saying ‘I want’ never seem to have any luck, while those who lend a hand even when it’s inconvenient find their driveways plowed on return from more travels to a family funeral. Good things happen to good people.
It’s very difficult to give up the ego, to give up thinking we are alone in the world and have to look out for our own best interests. We are bombarded with that message all the time from advertisers and even some religious and political leaders.
It’s like there are parallel universes here on earth, the hell of those who are anxious and needy, and the heaven of those who are at peace with whatever their circumstances may be. The funny thing is these two worlds have nothing to do with one’s physical reality, what health or wealth one has or doesn’t have, but rather with what one is a part of: a family, a community, the universe. When we feel a part of something, are interdependent, we know our needs will be taken care of.
On the flight south, I began thinking of the words ‘goodness and mercy’. They seemed familiar but I couldn’t place them – ‘may goodness and mercy follow you all the days of your life’? It wasn’t until we were at a funeral a few days later where Psalm 23 was a chosen reading that my answer came. When I change a few words, it had even more resonance for me.
Love is my shepherd; I shall not want.
It maketh me to lie down in green pastures; It leadeth me beside still waters.
It restoreth my soul; It guideth me in straight paths for its sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Love is with me; Its rod and its staff, they comfort me.
It preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;
It hast anointed my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life;
And I shall dwell in the house of Love for ever.
Wishing you all a season of goodness and mercy - wherever the branches of your family tree may lead you.
Marci
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
PRESENCE
A friend sent me a link to a YouTube site titled The Hubble Ultra Deep Field in 3D. It was a short documentary about what some scientists who were privileged to be allowed access to the Hubble telescope saw when they pointed it to where there appeared to be absolutely nothing.
In time, the computer that was attached to the telescope began to pick up images, and before long, they found that within the nothingness were several million more galaxies. Astonished, they tried the experiment again, this time pointing to the distant blackness in their newly viewed field. Once again, when they closely looked into the nothingness, they found even more millions of galaxies. This makes me wonder if there is such a thing as nothingness, such thing as absence.
Einstein, I believe, said cold is the absence of heat. There are no measurements for cold, only measurements of heat – British Thermal Units. So cold is a measurement of the absence of heat, but no matter how cold things get, even -75 degrees Celsius, there is still a presence of heat in the most infinitesimal measurement. Einstein has also been said to have added that fear is the absence of love, so that even the most evil person has at least a minuscule element of love present.
This would suggest there is absolutely, always some sort of presence everywhere at all times. So what is this presence? God? Love? Peace? I don’t know, but if I was to analyze it…I could no longer feel it. Thinking, it seems, veils it. When I breathe slowly and relax, there it is again. Breathing connects me to it, and thinking disconnects me from it. How curious. It’s like the relaxed breath is the drawbridge to this Presence.
If Presence is in the spaces, is there really nothing, no thing? Maybe, therefore, Presence is not a thing, it has no form; it is formless. The word Buddha is made up of two symbols - no and man: no man, no thing, no form: formless. Where there is nothing, there is Presence and since it is no thing, it must be a state of being: Being Present.
Is Buddha ‘no man’ because that which he is (formless) is also in all mankind? If that formless Presence is everywhere, even in the spaces between the far off galaxies, isn’t he and me and all things at the same time? The formless is in all forms? Hmmm.
So once again, what is this Presence? Can I possibly know something so vast? I can feel it. I can sense it. I can even trust it, but I’m not sure if I have the language to truly comprehend it. The language I do have helps me put some pieces of the puzzle together so I can get a sense of what is occurring. Being a detective, one looks for patterns and since I am a writer, I look for patterns in words - wanting: long for, sympathy: empathy, pretty: beautiful, comfort: ease, studied: wise, thinking: knowing. At first glance the pairs of words appear to have similar meanings. However, after a closer look, the first of the pair is about the form and the second is about the formless. Wanting, sympathy, pretty, comfort, studied, and thinking, are all about things a person does. Long for, empathy, beautiful, ease, wise, and knowing, all come from Presence, from being. It would appear that being leads to a deeper place than doing. Being a responsible parent or a responsible homeowner will lead to doing certain tasks. The doing comes from the being. If you do the things parents should do, will you be a good parent? Can you do caring? It seems to me there would be something missing, some intangible, formless presence.
Maybe people feel alone, rejected or inadequate because they aren’t connected to the Presence: they feel an absence of the Presence. But since the Presence is always there, they just have to open to it, let down the drawbridge, and breathe to connect.
This no-thing pattern of life seems to be all around us, within us, beyond us. Even the digital world, and its language based on a series of 0’s and 1’s, reflects this. The formless and the form are eternally linked, and when we stop thinking, stop doing, and open to it we feel the same awe, the same oneness in our inner space as those scientists who saw into the nothingness in outer space.
“It's absolutely mind-blowing if you stop to think about it, that by looking at a patch of sky that appears to have nothing in it, and you stare at it long enough, you see an image full of galaxies.”
- Tony Darnell
To view the video go to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oAVjF_7ensg&feature=channel
In time, the computer that was attached to the telescope began to pick up images, and before long, they found that within the nothingness were several million more galaxies. Astonished, they tried the experiment again, this time pointing to the distant blackness in their newly viewed field. Once again, when they closely looked into the nothingness, they found even more millions of galaxies. This makes me wonder if there is such a thing as nothingness, such thing as absence.
Einstein, I believe, said cold is the absence of heat. There are no measurements for cold, only measurements of heat – British Thermal Units. So cold is a measurement of the absence of heat, but no matter how cold things get, even -75 degrees Celsius, there is still a presence of heat in the most infinitesimal measurement. Einstein has also been said to have added that fear is the absence of love, so that even the most evil person has at least a minuscule element of love present.
This would suggest there is absolutely, always some sort of presence everywhere at all times. So what is this presence? God? Love? Peace? I don’t know, but if I was to analyze it…I could no longer feel it. Thinking, it seems, veils it. When I breathe slowly and relax, there it is again. Breathing connects me to it, and thinking disconnects me from it. How curious. It’s like the relaxed breath is the drawbridge to this Presence.
If Presence is in the spaces, is there really nothing, no thing? Maybe, therefore, Presence is not a thing, it has no form; it is formless. The word Buddha is made up of two symbols - no and man: no man, no thing, no form: formless. Where there is nothing, there is Presence and since it is no thing, it must be a state of being: Being Present.
Is Buddha ‘no man’ because that which he is (formless) is also in all mankind? If that formless Presence is everywhere, even in the spaces between the far off galaxies, isn’t he and me and all things at the same time? The formless is in all forms? Hmmm.
So once again, what is this Presence? Can I possibly know something so vast? I can feel it. I can sense it. I can even trust it, but I’m not sure if I have the language to truly comprehend it. The language I do have helps me put some pieces of the puzzle together so I can get a sense of what is occurring. Being a detective, one looks for patterns and since I am a writer, I look for patterns in words - wanting: long for, sympathy: empathy, pretty: beautiful, comfort: ease, studied: wise, thinking: knowing. At first glance the pairs of words appear to have similar meanings. However, after a closer look, the first of the pair is about the form and the second is about the formless. Wanting, sympathy, pretty, comfort, studied, and thinking, are all about things a person does. Long for, empathy, beautiful, ease, wise, and knowing, all come from Presence, from being. It would appear that being leads to a deeper place than doing. Being a responsible parent or a responsible homeowner will lead to doing certain tasks. The doing comes from the being. If you do the things parents should do, will you be a good parent? Can you do caring? It seems to me there would be something missing, some intangible, formless presence.
Maybe people feel alone, rejected or inadequate because they aren’t connected to the Presence: they feel an absence of the Presence. But since the Presence is always there, they just have to open to it, let down the drawbridge, and breathe to connect.
This no-thing pattern of life seems to be all around us, within us, beyond us. Even the digital world, and its language based on a series of 0’s and 1’s, reflects this. The formless and the form are eternally linked, and when we stop thinking, stop doing, and open to it we feel the same awe, the same oneness in our inner space as those scientists who saw into the nothingness in outer space.
“It's absolutely mind-blowing if you stop to think about it, that by looking at a patch of sky that appears to have nothing in it, and you stare at it long enough, you see an image full of galaxies.”
- Tony Darnell
To view the video go to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oAVjF_7ensg&feature=channel
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