Category: Faith & Doubt


Did He See That?

Filed under: Faith & Doubt, Life Lessons, Parkinson's — 2 Comments
September 3, 2020

Stuck in bed from excessive pain and excessive blood loss, l watched the world from a window. Laying horizontally, one views a different perspective of the world, its beauty, frailties, and trivialities. In the hours, and the hours after that, life’s opportunities are thrown to viewers to ponder, but only those who see.

I was taught God knows us. And, in an ideal world, not one shall fall ‘cept by His will. Christ said so. “Yet not one of them (sparrow) will fall to the ground without the will of your father.” Am I afforded the same? Does God willfully wish me to die painfully, either from a tumor or Parkinson’s like a multitude of others? If God sees sparrows fall, does He see all animals? How about cats?

A cat died today crossing the street. Naively darting into traffic to cross the street, its hind legs were trapped under a tire. In excruciating pain, it tried to maneuver back to safety, but could no longer function and finally succumbing to fate’s last breath. We were both unable to move: the cat and I, helpless, and unable to move. Hours later, the moment we both participated remain frozen. My only words, “Dear God!”

“Dear God? Did you will that? Was that YOUR will?” The driver who saw the cat drove on. Other vehicles passing by looked at the struggle and simply passed by. “Not my job,” one might say. “No time,” another may claim. In 2018, Five teenagers who taunted a drowning man while recording his death. Did God see it? George Floyd died with an officer kneeling on his neck. Was that God’s will? Jacob Blake was shot seven times in the back. As Blake was shot, did Christ believe the will of YOUR Father was completed? What the hell was He thinking?

When an Antioch, Illinois teenager shot protesters in Kenosha, WI, was HE good with that? If Trump refused to condemn the shooter (and the act), was that God’s will? When Trump plays golf while many painfully die from COVID, are we good with that?  If God does nothing, should we? If our leadership willfully throws children in cages on America’s southern border, is that the type of tough love God condones? If we remove the Affordable Care Act and thousands die, does Christ say, “Cool.” I come to ask these questions because I know of no better forum to bring such grief. As the Apostle Peter once said to Jesus, at a moment of confusion and doubt, “Lord, to whom else can we go?”

During my incapacitation, In Fakebook’s show Sorry For Your Loss, the lead character typed a deep heart penetrating comment. “Everyone says it’s not the end of the world. That’s because it’s not the end of THEIR world.” I truly believe our world no longer feels grief because we no longer experience connection.  I had no close ties to the cat, but in a searing single moment, part of us shared a body of pain. As the cat suffered, I suffered.

Many of us will succumb similarly to the cat. We come. We live. We get ill. We succumb. However, in order for us to get past the ideology of the day (whether Trump, QAnon, GOP, Democrat, whatever), we’ll need to feel scars, In the presence of Jesus’ scars, Jesus instructed Thomas to “Feel my hands” and “Touch my side.” In a flash of revelation, Thomas saw the wonder of a God who in some way, stooped to take on our pain. In that sense, I can attest that where there is misery, there is Love (God).

In moments of pain, I want answers. “(Looking at Trump’s antics) Like God, why?” Yet God appears to remain aloof. Or does He? Frederick Buechner said, “I am not the Almighty God, but if I were, maybe I would in mercy either heal the unutterable pain of the world or in mercy kick the world to pieces in its pain.” God did neither. He sent love (Christ). God joined our world in all its unutterable pain to set in motion a slower, less dramatic solution … one that involves us.

All that has happened in these past four years demonstrates that your life—the decisions you make, the kind of person you are—matters now. Neither the cat nor I have a future. I would like to promise an end to pain and grief, and that one will suffer again. I cannot. I can, however, stand behind the promise that all things are redeemable, and can work together to a greater good. It’s a lesson God, Kanako, and that cat taught.

Tags: , ,
Comment

The Need for Bridges, not Walls

Filed under: Faith & Doubt, Social Justice
August 25, 2020

Trump’s fifty-plus minute diatribe in Charlotte, North Carolina reminded me of a Tale of Two Cities, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way. . . .” I flashed to 1963.

In June 1963, Buddhist monk Thich Quang Duc publicly burned himself to death in a plea for President Ngo Dinh Diem to show “charity and compassion” to all religions. By November 1963, Diem was overthrown. Students of history, all of us should compare such self-sacrifice against the tyranny of the current administration. To be fair, Trump doesn’t hate protests, only dissent.

Pandering to cult leadership is not new. However harmful we thought previous leaders were, I don’t recall the overly targeted criticism of athletes who knelt, silently and peacefully, during the national anthem. Public rebuking NFL players in a series of tweets ended the NFL quarterback (Kaepernick); goodness of evil was emphasized when white supremacists marched; and black men and women are wrongly shot, most recently in the back. And most Americans sat on our asses and watched it all while the ‘shit-show’ ran amok.

In four short years, America witnessed institutional dismantling, justice to the preferred, truth for those who lied under oath, and rapping U.S. coffers for personal gain. In four years, healthcare dismantled, environmental standards ripped apart, legal norms suffocated, sought election interference from foreign powers, separated children from immigrant families and threw them into cages like stray dogs, told citizens to inject bleach (or maybe a light), spouted unproven medical quackery, and by December, will have witnessed 300,000 U.S. citizens die. We watch, all the while acknowledging the damage.

The president’s sister described him as a liar and fake. A former senior official at the Department of Homeland Security deemed him a danger to the country. CNN claims a prominent Fox News anchor had once called him “batshit crazy.” John Bolton, former Defense Secretary James Mattis, and former Secretary of State Rex Tillerson have described our leader as a danger to America. Sadly, none of these men or women were able to rise above the moment to demonstrate something greater. Perseverance of love failed miserably.

In his death, Thich Quang Duc demonstrated his compassion love – the need for bridges, not hatred. Presidential Historian Jon Meacham echoed Duc’s sentiment at the recent Democratic Convention, “Extremism, nativism, isolationism and a lack of economic opportunity for working people are all preventing us from realizing our nation’s promise, and so we must decide whether we will continue to be prisoners of the darkest of American forces or will we free ourselves to write a brighter better nobler story. Our (the American) story has soared when we have built bridges, not walls.”

Which story will you build? Bridges? Or walls?

Tags: , ,
Comment

Keeping It Real

Filed under: Faith & Doubt, Life Lessons
August 16, 2020

Sometime in the coming months, this blog will either stop, or a huge gap between writing could occur. I may be out of pocket, or I must determine how to write one-handed. God, nature, or life gifted the metacarpophalangeal joint in the middle finger (my writing hand) a lump. The doctors do not believe this is a Ganglion cyst. The doctors explained that since conclusive diagnosis appears improbable, they suggest surgically removing it. I, however, must think of some way to explain it to my employer.

There are some notable examples. Entering on stage with a shoulder spica cast, Phyllis Diller opened with something like, “I want to report a typo on page 164 of The Joy of Sex.” Another person said she sliced her hand, opening a frozen waffle. Another claimed to have broken her nose while adjusting her bra. (She was fitting her bra and slipped, releasing her fist into her nose.) Having such examples provided a creative license. 

“Hey everyone. I was coming into work and saw a cat (correct that: kitten) stuck on an overpass ledge. I saved the kitten but cut my hand. I will be out of pocket for two to six weeks.” There is an attacker’s excuse. “I saved a person from being attacked. The attacker cut my hand. I will be out of pocket for two to six weeks.” Then there is this one. “My girlfriend and I were play wrestling. My cat came to defend her and bit me. Stupid cat. I will be out of pocket for two to six weeks.” (The last one was real.) I want a great story, for truth is boring. 

Which is better? You fought off a shark, or you have cancer? I was free-climbing and cut my hand or arthritis created a node (bone spur) that must be removed? I saved a child from falling over a cliff or waking up this lump and having no idea what the hell caused it? Yet, capturing my cat’s identification tag forces me to keep it real. 

Houdini was my adopted cat for six months in 1998. His name was provided by adoption agency staff who swore to his ability to escape from anything. Place Houdini in a kennel cage for dinner, and he would be out by dessert. One afternoon, I went to see Saving Private Ryan. Houdini was placed in his cage, double pad-locked, and inserted molded concrete around the exterior. He was out when I returned. 

What keeps all this real was his death. Houdini passed away in my arms. He was real. He was alive, and to some extent, remains active in me. Houdini never complained about being weak. He never allowed himself to feel life’s sorrow, nor did he tell a tall tale. And secretly, he is probably the single essential inspiration for living today. Houdini’s aim was to love everyone and everything. He lived a pure life love, for pain was inevitable, suffering was optional.

All lives will be fraught with some measure of pain, but it is in leaning away from that pain instead of accepting it with a grace that suffering occurs. Anthony de Mellow said let the Spirit work. Stop straining your spiritual muscles. Become attuned to your deeper self and let the force of love take over. Let the Holy Spirit take over. 

There is a comfort in accepting that life is a continual ebb and flow between things going smoothly and going to hell. I think being a spiritual person means becoming a real human being. Thich Nhat Hanh said, “It is not so important whether you walk on water or walk in space. The true miracle is to walk on earth.” In other words, be real. Therefore, my medical condition will be explained as “I woke up this lump and have no idea what the hell caused it. The doctors believe it should be surgically removed. I will be out for two to six weeks.” Keeping it real.

Tags: , ,
Comment

Prayer

Filed under: About Love, Faith & Doubt
August 11, 2020

I was recently requested to write a letter of prayer to God for a late friend and her widowed husband. A few days ago, I searched for my good letter-writing fountain pens, ink, and letterhead. I wrote that letter, addressed it to God, Jerusalem, paid for postage, and tossed it into the mail. I figured I was done, but content stayed with me. In the end, I knew I wrote a pretty crappy letter, and decided I had to redo it.

Turns out, I forgot how to write a letter. I’ve become so used to typing, editing, and spell check that pen and ink seemed like a foreign language. It was hard to transition words to paper. I was stuck by the constraints of six-by-nine stationery. Whatever I wrote, must have been awful, for the finished product sat like dead weight.

I have no problem expressing my soul, bearing witness to my insecurities, and failures. I don’t fear the world knowing them either, for I presume, we all have faults we wish to bury from the world. It’s just that my late friend and husband deserved a thoughtful prayer, one considered honorable under God versus one in which the writer spent more time in search of the pen than then on the letter. 

Just as I lost a wife to mental illness during the early ’90s, my friend required prayer of grace. I have no idea what my friend endured. She lost her life. He lost a wife. It’s not like enduring a colonoscopy: drink some liquid the night before, camp out in the bathroom until morning, be escorted to the clinic, have an endoscopy inserted up your behind, get the results, and be back at work in three days. Losing a loved one is a landscape-altering event. No matter how one claims they’re ready, just a handful ever are.

One blogger wrote of his pain. “My wife went from fit, healthy, and beautiful in Sept 2017 to not being able to walk by Christmas – I cannot understand the cruelty my wife faced. I know I have been trying to ignore my grief, but the pain and sadness are all-consuming and I’m struggling now to cope with everything; my job, my friends and there lives, my family, my wife’s family – I am drowning in a world where everyone seems to be normal and my life isn’t anymore. I don’t want this life. I don’t know how to cope.” Everyone will say what you’re feeling is normal, but there is no normal. 

Normal is inapplicable within the screaming silence of an empty home, the reverberation of every picture, and a garden that dares to bloom in Spring. Life and the memories of that which was lost circulate throughout the void and pulses in every heartbeat. True prayer embraces this pain, acknowledges the soul, lifts hopeless.

Prayer is a conversation. Prayer is a conversation with God, that friend, a favorite pet. Children in western forms of religion are taught that Jesus began his prayer with some form of “Our Father,  who art in heaven.” Jesus focuses on a distinct person — the Heavenly Father with whom he has a personal relationship. It should be the same for us. Make the person we want to communicate with, part of the process. Written prayers force us to articulate our thoughts and feelings inside.

Love required me to properly articulate what was being asked. Instead of going through the motion, each word had to be formulated with purpose and driven from an authentic heart. Authentic prayer is neither a ‘tagline’ nor purchasing a condolence card at Walgreens and stuffing it in the mail. Written prayer is the process of heartfelt understanding being granted through God. This type of prayer is agape love in the present moment. My second letter became effectively powerful. I only wish my first was just as thoughtful.

Tags: ,
Comment

On The Road To Kingdom Come: Intuition

Filed under: Faith & Doubt, Life Lessons, Parkinson's
August 5, 2020

On an early weekend morning, I rolled over to the edge of the bed and realized I couldn’t get up. (At least initially I couldn’t get up.) “F●●●,” my body groaned. I reached for my cane, pulled myself upright, steadied on the bed’s edge.” I am getting old. Quickly. There’s a sobering likelihood that I will be one of the seven 65-year-olds who will be disabled before death. I’m not looking forward to it, but I find myself continually negotiating with ‘Father Time’ for a snippet’s reprieve.

Nora Ephron wrote, “What I believe … is that at a certain point in life, whether or not you’ve been diagnosed with an illness, you enter into a conscious, ongoing … negotiation between the two … This negotiation often includes decisions as trivial as whether to eat the second piece of pie as important as whether to have medical treatment that may or may not prolong your life.” I’m at a point where second helpings are intolerable. I know it. My body knows it. Call it intuition. Call it the ‘sixth sense.’ Call it, ‘Joe.’ Call it whimsical. Doesn’t matter. Most dying can name the time, and date life shifted.

July 15th, my body shifted. My back, stomach, intestines, and right hip awoke pissed off, as if to say, “We’re in charge, Obiwan. And we decided to drive off that cliff in the near horizon.” My former sister-in-law described a similar feeling. She awoke one morning, feeling something wasn’t right. “It was an ominous feeling,’ she casually noted during an afternoon lunch. A little over a year later, cancer claimed her life. Therefore, any notion that “70 is the new 50” never occurred to me, as I never expected to get to 70. My physician will test whether ‘60’ is my never ‘70.’

Several tests, including complete blood count and tumor marker, have been ordered. I won’t stumble into the results. I won’t get to read it online before hearing from my doctor. Post-results, I will hit ‘pause’ to wait and see what happens. I’ll internalize everything until I know just how true this ‘intuition’ (my decline) turns out, for I do not want to claim to be a victim. 

I never thought that anyone would be sorting through my life history 30 years ago. And at this point, there’s no optional editing that can be performed. History is written. I know how the scales of justice both God and man weigh each detail on trial. Afterward, everyone alive will understand I was no victim. It’s unavoidable. Accept it and move on. 

Moving forward is an interesting concept. Buddhists believe most illnesses are primarily karma’s negative energy-consuming the sufferer. If so, I have acquired a s●●●load of it. Such karma stems from greed, anger, and stupidity, including eating pizza, beer, and onion rings. I suppose a lot of cancer is avoidable. Not smoking reduces lung cancer significantly. Avoiding red meat reduces other forms of cancer. Protection from sun exposure reduces skin cancer. For me, cancer is … cancer. Just is. It’s part of life (at least mine anyway). I will take this situation like others and make it part of the path. The path is exclusive. It’s not filled with only right situations, but any situation. Fortunately, I have time to prepare. 

When told of the odds of my survival (a couple of good years), I instructed my physicians I was not interested in hearing about weird drug trials, new medications, or life-saving operations. What good would it do me? I decided to live until death. I refuse to get waylaid by the kind of emotional baggage that frequently accompanies others. Life is short. Admit your wrongs, make amends when you can, and live until death.

Tags: , , , ,
Comment

Deciphering God’s Call

Filed under: Faith & Doubt, Life Lessons
July 30, 2020

Parkinson’s can produce some wild dreams. Mine is no exception. I’ve never had evil forces chase after me, had a conversation with an ex-girlfriend in a submarine factory, or drive the Autobahn on a motorized Schwinn Bicycle. I did, however, dream Christ sat next to me and told me to write. “Here on earth or in heaven?” “Both,” He noted.

Let’s face it; thousands claim God has ordered them to perform something. St. Paul’s directive came on a Damascus road. By affirming Peter, Christ requested he lead the early church. And then there’s politicians, who’ve proclaimed God directed them to run for elected office. Other variations litter social media: God laid it on me, provided an idea, or said I must write a book. God may instruct someone to write, what comes after can be more demanding.

When you say ‘God told me to write’ the editorial segue is, ‘Yeah, but God hasn’t told a publisher to publish.’” Wayne Dyer struck a similar tone, “Ok. God wants you to write. Good. Who mentioned anything about publishing?” In response to a submission, a friend received this short, terse note, “I began reviewing your submission, but could not get past the abstract.” Such experiences frustrate God’s divine intent and direction.

If writing is about clarity, then being assigned to author material in Heaven should terrify the soul. Why? Well, everything is perfect. Think one can summarize Henry David Thoreau’s new work, “Walking Through Heaven?” Sure. The byline must be “Perfect.” Every cloud is perfect. Every raindrop is perfect. No vaccines, no medical discoveries. Why? Perfection. Assigned to watch Bobby Jones playing golf? “Perfect.” Sent to summarize Mozart’s Requiem of Heaven in C-D-F major? “Perfect.” Perfect is near impossible to publish, and I’m not perfect.

Therefore, even if you’re sure God instructs one to write, don’t infer publication. Maybe God wants you to write for reasons unfathomable―like growth. Maybe God wants something to share with a select set of people. Being inspired by God doesn’t have to mean perfection; maybe it means pleasing. Perhaps God seeks laughter, humility, thoughts of the soul, or friendship. One thing for sure, if the call is real, you can’t run.

Running means selfishly retaining everything for oneself. Therefore, personal feelings would matter more than others. Had I buried my talent and my message like the servant in the parable of the talents (the one who thought he was smart by keeping that one talent safe, I’ll run afoul for not investing it into others (Matthew 25:14-30). The more significant theme is trying to discover the larger purpose.

Paraphrasing Ken Boa, “God entrusted us with certain resources, gifts, and abilities. Our responsibility is to live by that trust by managing these things well, by design and desire.” Indeed, my writing skills cannot compare to great historical works of literature. But God asked me to write. You might be able to sing, play an instrument, or perform advocacy. Others of us may be good at sports or able to work as builders. Other talents might include understanding, patience, cheerfulness, or the ability to teach others. And we must be willing to share it.

Therefore, I am going to answer the call and write.

Tags:
Comment

On The Road To Kingdom Come: Billboards

Filed under: Faith & Doubt, Life Lessons, Parkinson's
July 17, 2020

On the way to work, a small simple yard sign caught my attention. ‘Don’t Give Up.’ My first snarky reaction was, “Why not? Why shouldn’t I give up? I’ve been through all this crap and am likely to pass rather painfully, so why shouldn’t I?” The fact that this sign was posted in the front lawn of a home estimated to be in the millions didn’t help.

If one made millions from investments, is it fair to proclamate onto others who haven’t to not surrender? Free speech allows an author to erect such messages, but we gain zero context. Maybe that author’s cancer went into remission. So, don’t give up. Then again, what if the resident lost his business during COVID and is saying, “Don’t give up, I’m not.” Or, I beat COVID. I got sick, nearly died, but recovered. Don’t give up. We can celebrate such victories, but the author had not taken time to understand the reader’s pain, me.

Rollen Fredrick Stewart (a.k.a. The Rainbow Man) was known for wearing a rainbow-colored afro-style wig and, later, holding up signs reading “John 3:16” at sporting events. Known as a born-again Christian, he was determined to get the message out that whoever believed in Jesus would not perish. Seeing him in the background a golfer, nothing indicated he knew me or my life’s experiences. No one in my home, or that I knew, ever said “John’s got it down.” I never watched a sports program waiting for Rollen’s message. He never spoke to me and it’s doubtful such messages mean anything for the average everyday ‘Joe.’

Just as ‘May God Bless You’ and ‘Jesus Saves’ litter highway barns, were not specific to me. Prior to March 2019, I neither would have thought ‘Don’t Give Up’ as a divine message targeted solely for me, nor would I ever believe the author thought of me. God probably never told the author that “In July 2020, the Unknown Buddhist will pass your home. Post a yard sign saying ‘Don’t Give Up.’ He’ll know it’s from Me.” Nor do I believe God was messaging when I drove past the ‘Hell is Real’ billboard on Ohio’s I-71 either. Projecting such views quickly fades from the minds of those whizzing by during a daily commute.

Just as television viewers zoom through commercials, travelers quickly dismiss billboard proclamations. They have no recall ability. Do pithy billboard messages buoy one’s mind? Probably not. Walk out of a room during a radio broadcast and ads fail to engage. If the communication were real-if that communication ever came from God- it would never fade.

God’s communication fundamentally changes life. For Churchill, it was “We shall never surrender.” Roosevelt experienced similar awe when speaking “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself” during his inaugural address during the Great Depression. Real communication challenges the soul, the very ideas about who are in the world, and provides the intellectual confidence to achieve great accomplishments.

Jesus said, “The Kingdom is like a mustard seed which a man sowed in his field. Mustard is smaller than any other seed but let it grow and it becomes bigger than any garden plant; it is like a tree, big enough for the birds to come and nest among its branches.” 

I envision the mustard seed fully grown, strong enough to bear the nests of birds. I sit before the full-grown tree and communicate with it. We talk about smallness in a universe so large. We discuss discouragement; risk-taking; change; fruitfulness; being of service; and finally, the power of God in life. I then kneel before God and tell him what the mustard seed taught. And I ask if He will teach me as well.

That, my friends, is the power of real communication.

Tags: , , ,
Comment

Only One Song

Filed under: Faith & Doubt, Life Lessons
July 10, 2020

I’ve been told music is good for the soul and that music therapy may assist those with Parkinson’s and other medical disorders. Listening to music may also be of great assistance, including improvements in balance, singing, voice command.

Harry Chapin is one of my favorite singers. Except for that which is available on YouTube, I’ve never saw him play in concert. Accordingly, a recurring dream is to play a number of his songs on a guitar. Part of this fantasy is an ongoing dream of being a famous singer. Part if it is forgotten time when my soul simply wanted to express itself.

Supposedly, age has nothing to do with learning to play a musical instrument. One could be 15, 30, 40, 50, 60, or 70. I used to play guitar as a teenager, but had neither the time, energy, nor devotion to learn to seriously study. I could read guitar music and play its associated chord, but spent little time learning the meaning behind the music, the words, or even the composer’s heart. 

Years I read Beethoven wrote of about hearing loss. Symptoms and difficulties caused him continual problems, both professionally and socially. An autopsy revealed he had a distended inner ear, which developed lesions over time. Still, regardless of distress, historians claim Beethoven’s hearing loss never  prevented him from composing music. He heard and played music for decades, so he understood how instruments and voices sounded and how they complimented one another. He could always imagine in his mind what his compositions would sound like. 

I took a similar approach when recently acquiring an Ovation classical guitar. I studied how the Applause guitar was manufactured and was overly critical of the small blemish in the binding. But, we’re all imperfect. And such imperfections shouldn’t prevent us from creating our own kind of music.

Therefore, I accepted my Applause as a living soul that will allow me to be creative, express myself and produce harmony at some level. Just as all things are interconnected, each one of us is part composer, part conductor. We shuffle through each day in hopes of creating our own music—to hear it, to play it, and to become inspired through it. 

I believe Chapin hinted at this type of synergy in his lyric “You Are the Only Song.”

“… when you sing from the inside
You hope that something shows
And that it why
Yes you are the only song, the only song I need
You’re my laughter and you’re my lonely song
You’re the harvest and you’re the seed
And you’re my first and my final song
For you own me indeed
Oh yes, oh yes,
Yes, after all is said and done
You’re the one song that I need”

In the end, I will try and create whatever music possibly. I will not become a star. I will not be ‘discovered’ by some record executive. I will study, learn the craft, the meaning, and soul. I do it for God and myself. Why? To reclaim an unfilled calling.

I will play these songs to silence
In empty rooms or crowded halls
I will sing to God in standing room
I’ll sing em’ to the stars

It’s just as God would want playing for the only song—the one song we need.

Tags: , ,
Comment

Creating a ‘Significant Relationship’

Filed under: Faith & Doubt, Life Lessons, Parkinson's
July 7, 2020

In my last blog post, I discussed losing communication. I find there’s always a way to rejuvenate and recharge. The resulting mental peace, inner satisfaction, and clarity are what makes me stronger. Lastly, I found the level of pain and pain medication has hampered this ability. The result often leaves me asleep after a few minutes.

If one is over-stressed or has been dealing with sleep-deprivation, it shouldn’t come as a surprise if you fall asleep. My original meditation teacher stated outright that sleep cannot be dismissed, that the body will take what it needs. After several weeks of dealing with a parent in palliative care, flying across the country, and living in a single guest room, returning home, and working remotely was physically exhausting. 

This repeated sleep condition has deprived me of a critical link in this world. Communication with a friend has been a godsend to the hustle and bustle of our overly crisis-prone times. Last week, I told my healthcare case manager, “I know she’s still there,” I told my case manager. “… I can’t communicate as clearly as I could before. I want her to know that I miss her and our conversations. However, it seems I’ve misplaced the phone number.”

The person I’ve been meditating upon has been a source of inspiration. Many who’ve lost a relative or friend have stated the most common way they know a family member or friend is nearby is through a sense of presence. Likewise, I can sense Ms. K. at various times throughout the week, even being touched. I have not experienced the same with other long passed family members or friends.

In-depth communication in meditation has been significantly impacted (maybe ‘restricted’ is a more appropriate word) these past several weeks. And finding the solution has been equally challenging. In the course of searching for a resolution, I may have found a path that might be helpful for all of us during such times.

First, all relationships require work. Each partner must be committed to listening, letting go of control, practicing vulnerability, overcoming resistance to change, being honest, even in the face of fear, and focusing on your work rather than trying to change your partner. 

I may have taken my meditation partner for granted. I have to realize that this is not a ‘one side benefits more than the other.’ Like most, my relationship was meant to be win-win, not win-lose, or mostly-win mostly-lose. It has to be interdependent, a relationship where each side is willing to come together to make something more significant. 

Second. I need to ask better questions. What steps can I do to positively inject a sense of value, even if it means becoming a better listener? Can I reflect upon my errors and understand the positive differences I make now?

Third. What can I do to maximize that which I currently have? I’ve already mentioned that I can sense my partner at various times throughout the week. I also believe she touches me, as well. Therefore, since everything has not been completely severed, how can I maximize what I already have? How can I enrich that which I already have? 

Life is an adversity response business. We have to create possibilities that do not currently exist. We must learn to course correct. We have to presume relationships in both heaven and earth require a continual course correction. If we do, we’ll find we’ll have created a significant relationship.

Tags: ,
Comment

Back To Basics: Fear

Filed under: Faith & Doubt, Life Lessons
July 5, 2020

Almost everything in Buddhism boils down to fear. Suffering is caused by fear, and either panic or freezing stops us from speaking up against injustice and often causes people to leave the path of goodness (i.e., the universal truth). When we get too deep, fear smacks us across the face and says, “This is no longer good.”

In meeting my case manager for the first time since March, I admitted to a host of fears: mainly losing my compass (i.e., the fear of the unknown); that I hadn’t processed my Parkinson’s Diagnosis; the fear of being unable to work; and, (after seeing many COVID-19 patients) the fear of dying a long and painful death (as opposed to quick and easy).

The compass throughout this ordeal was Ms. K. I have been successfully able to communicate clearly and thoughtfully since early 2019. As advancing pain presses, I fall asleep during meditation and fail to seize the opportunity for reflection of world’s events. (Ok. Maybe it’s about my circumstances.) 

“I know she’s still there,” I told my case manager. “. . . but I can’t communicate as clearly as I could before. I want her to know that I miss her and our conversations. However, it seems I’ve misplaced the phone number.”

In M*A*S*Hs’ “Pressure Points” episode, Sidney Freedman claims he’s conducting fact-finding medical research on stress. After making the rounds, Freedman meets Col. Potter. 

Truthfully, Potter called Sidney. Potter shares his feelings that his surgical skills are “. . . a lot less perfect than I can accept.” He’s worried but insists nothing’s wrong and wished to vent. Near the episode’s end, Potter tells Freedman he’s anxious about losing his touch (as a surgeon), and the idea of performing surgery fills him with terror. 

I’ve joked to colleagues and friends how surprised I am that my employee badge still works.

“Hey. How was your weekend?”

“Great,” I noted.

“Anything new or exciting?”

“Well, my badge worked.”

As M*A*S*H’s “Pressure Points” episode concludes, Sidney reminds Potter that someday he will get too old to be a surgeon. At this moment, the fear of failing has taken precedence. Whether or not that affects him is purely under Potter’s control.

My world is not as nuanced as a surgical room, for it is abundantly clear people are unobservant and aren’t paying that much attention. I come and go, and any notation of a trembling hand can quickly be dismissed to a remote COVID shift work or lack of sleep. When my work starts going downhill, I’ll have to recognize that the time has come to discuss the issue. I know that as time goes on, it’s going to get tougher to do the job. However, fear cannot be the driver of that moment.

As noted, there are other issues besides work that require my attention. However, it’s essential to remember Buddhism 101: fear must never be the driver of anything.

~ Fear does not prevent death. It prevents life. ~

Buddhist Teaching

Tags: , , ,
Comment