Saturday, December 27, 2014

Second Saturn Blues (58 to 60 years of age)



Second Saturns are tough.
Anything unresolved from the first Saturn
Erupts with pyroclastic force.
Sometimes ironic, mostly infuriating,
Second Saturn's presence is a harsh taskmaster.

Whether fleeting or chronic,
Intense issues unsettled increase
Forcing flight or fight reactivity.
Unrelenting unpredictable internalized emotion
Humbles even the most rationally arrogant.

The cosmic mirror awakens
Thoughts of inching closer to old age.
Denial melts like butter
Dripping with realizations of time
Speeding toward an unknown finale.

Conflicted hard change becomes a best friend
Teaching lessons of bravery.
The biggest question to answer is,
Who and what do I want to take with me into old age?
Frequently the choice is also delegated by the universe.

Loss figures predominantly in a Second Saturn
As a reminder of the impermanence of reality.
Cozy comfortable living is a memory.
Whether it is death, separation, health, change, or defeat,
Say hello to the process of grief.

Is there a silver lining to a Second Saturn?
Are lessons learned like bridges burned?
Will Saturn's spiritual awakening scorch or heal?
The answers come with deep questioning
Of the soul's purposefulness and future intent.

Bearing up under Saturn's grip
Requires courage, fortitude, resilience, and compassion.
Either armor up or soften up but choose wisely.
Pay close heed of your words and deeds,
Otherwise Saturn's true healing is circumvented.

A comforting shoulder and gentle discourse
Will alleviate the acerbity of Saturn's blows.
Accepting help, seeking solace, being contrite,
And asking for forgiveness, expedites the transformation
Needed to learn Saturn's stringent lessons.

This blog is dedicated to those who passed their second Saturn, those with Saturn in Sagittarius, and the one who made me his first Second Saturn casualty.





















Thursday, December 25, 2014

Christmas Without Christ

I am a Buddhist. For more than forty years I have not been a Christian, despite being raised in an orthodox Catholic parochial school system. Not many can say they have received as much Christian religious education (in addition to mass six days a week) as me. Years of instruction initially made me devout with a child-like acceptance of Church doctrine. But as I grew older and saw what I felt were aspects of this religion I did not believe, nor could I accept. Throughout my younger adult years my search to find a spiritual home led me to other more figurative Christian religions like Unity and the Church of Religious Science. Christ light, as I called them, was certainly more palatable but still I had difficulty accepting Jesus Christ as my personal savior. Then I began to read about Buddhism.

Through Buddhism I discovered a philosophy and way of being I could embrace. Though I do not consider myself to be a skilled practitioner, I do observe the teachings. The most difficult part of acknowledging and sharing my love of Buddhism is the reaction I get from people of other religions.

Today on Christmas day, this point is driven home all the more. My Christian friends are not at all happy with my Buddhist beliefs and constantly try to convince me to come back to Christ. I find their pleas incredibly disrespectful. Finally, after being badgered by one of my reborn Christian girlfriends about converting, I reminded her there is a constitutional right to freedom of religion. But to my Christian friends, it is about Christianity being the only religion and way into heaven.

The Catholic training I endured in my childhood also taught this. But the flaw I saw in this conflicted with the idea of loving your fellow humans only if you can convert them to Christianity. Of course, you show them charity, but they are nothing more than heathens. Sadly, this attitude perseveres.

This year I dated a pastor and a man who was a devout Christian. Both of them said I could never be happy unless I allowed Christ into my life. At one point, the pastor told me my natural intuition was really the devil whispering in my ear. I found this ironic. Isn't intolerance of any sort the antithesis of being a loving, spiritual being? I do not expect any of my Christian friends to understand or convert to Buddhism, yet they expect me to. When I am with my Christian friends I do not talk about Buddha unless asked. However, my friends feel no compunction about rambling incessantly about Christ wanting me to come back into the fold. What is wrong with this picture?

Religion has been used for centuries as a reason to treat women and children as property, start religious wars, and justify genocide. What I see very little of is the human aspect of religions supporting the higher spiritual values which support our humanity.







 


Sunday, December 14, 2014

I Am Always There

I am your ace in the hole
the dependable standby.

I am your mirror
with an unseen reflection.

I am your pursuer
running away from myself.

I am your friend
more peripheral than visceral.

I am your confidante
unable to share feelings.

I am your lover
always last on the list.

I am your past
seeking resolution.

I am your present
struggling with grasping.

I am your karma
needing purification.
















Monday, November 24, 2014

My Thanksgiving Prayer


I am grateful
In this present moment
To be with you, cherished friends and family
On this day of prosperity.

I am grateful
For all of our ancestors
Who bore burdens and strife
To bring us to this point in time.

I am grateful
For the great abundance and opportunity
Creating the freedom to actualize our dreams
And contribute to the welfare of humanity.

I am grateful
For simple pleasures,
Serendipity, the kind gesture,
And the touch of grace which whispers joy.

I am grateful
For the comforting call,
The supportive word, the reassuring hug and
Knowing you will always be there.

I am grateful
For saying hello, knowing how to say good bye
Embracing change with courage and
Being inspired by creativity and clarity.

I am grateful
For all those we love,
All those who love us,
And all those who are still undecided.

I am grateful
For all that I am, all that I have
All that I give, and all that I receive.








Saturday, November 15, 2014

Choosing to be Free




This morning while doing spiritual readings, I ran across this from "The Daily Word":

'Today, I choose to be free.
 
Freedom is a state of being beyond external circumstances. I can experience freedom regardless of what I see outside myself. I choose to be positive in my thoughts and feelings, attitudes and perceptions. By choosing to focus on the good, I am free.

I release negative thoughts and emotions, and feel lighter in mind, body, and soul. I nurture my mind with ideas of health and well-being and experience the freedom of a balanced and productive life. My outlook is positive—I expect only good.

Freedom is a choice, a state of mind. By holding positive thoughts and feelings, I experience life to the fullest. Today I choose to be optimistic. Today I choose my freedom.'

How often have I been so mired in my own dramas and internalizing that I have lost track of my freedom of choice? That is the freedom to not engage, or forego, or to distract, to make friends with, and actively and positively let go, etc. How do I incarcerate myself with my own imprisoning thoughts? Time to dream, think big, focus on graces I receive.

Friday, November 14, 2014

Precision, Gentleness, and the Ability to Let Go

The lovely blog title was taken from Pema Chodron's book, "The Wisdom of No Escape". In the 4th chapter she expounds on ripening the qualities of precision, gentleness, and the ability to let go through meditation. What inspired me the most about this chapter is her explanation that Buddha taught there is kind of and "innocent misunderstanding that we all share, something that can be turned around, corrected, and see through, as if we were in a dark room and someone showed us where the light switch was. It isn't a sin that we are in the dark room. It's just an innocent situation, but how fortunate that someone shows us where the light switch is. It brightens up our lives considerably."

Isn't this a inspiration to ponder? My experience with Catholicism told me I began with original sin, something I spiritually inherited. It was a bummer to live with the fact I was destined to a life of sin for someone else's mistake. That is why I like the Buddhist version better. In her book, Pema Chodron offers alternatives to dealing with the sufferings of life through Buddhists teachings which speak to the heart.

"In the same way, if we see our so-called limitations with clarity, precision, gentleness, goodheartedness, and kindness, and, having seen them fully, then let go, open further, we begin to find that our world is more vast and more refreshing and fascinating than we had realized before. In other words, the key to feeling more whole and less shut off and shut down is to be able to see clearly who we are and what we're doing."

Pema Chodron is clear this is not a self improvement plan or trying to be a better person. She has stated that the desire to change is fundamentally a form of aggression toward oneself because our neurosis and wisdom are made out of the same material.

"The idea isn't to try to get rid of your anger (or whatever emotion is predominant), but to make friends with it, to see it clearly with precision and honesty, and also to see it with gentleness. That means not judging yourself as a bad person, but also not bolstering yourself up by saying, 'It's good I'm this way, it's right that I' this way. Other people are terrible, and I'm right to be so angry at them all the time.' The gentleness involves not repressing the anger but also not acting it out. You can let go of the usual pitiful little story line that accompanies anger and begin to see clearly how you keep the whole thing going. So whether it's anger or craving or jealousy or fear or depression-whatever it might be-the notion is not to try to get rid of it, but make friends with it. That means getting to know it completely, with some kind of softness, and learning how, once you've experienced it fully, to let it go."

What if my routine, deadening life could be infused with this sense of restoration? How would I be different? What energy would be rechanneled positively because it is not being zapped by my own critical, harsh, and protective ways? How would my pitiful story change by precision, gentleness, and letting go?

"This is probably one of the most amazing tools that you could be given, the ability to just let things go, not to be caught up in the grip of your own angry thoughts or passionate thoughts or worried thoughts or depressed thoughts."

Amen.









Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Homage to My Mother

Today is my deceased mother's birthday. For thirty-one years I have not have to buy her a card, worry about what present to get her, or attend another stressful family birthday event. Yet, not a year has passed since her demise that I do not remember her on her birthday.

My mother was a very pretty French, Irish, English Scorpio with the trademark dark hair and dark eyes. She also had the Scorpio sexual allure-she had six children. There is no doubt my mother chose a hard life for herself. At eighteen she eloped with my twenty-seven year old father who then was shipped overseas in World War II. For four years she did not see him. Because he had married her against his parents wishes, he ran away once he returned from World War II to Council Bluffs, Iowa, for a period of time where no one seems to know what he did there. My mother never spoke of this; I learned about this incident from another relative years later. It must of been crushing to wait all those years and then have your veteran husband disappear. The only consolation she had was living with her parents, her sister, Betty, and my cousin.

About a year later, my father returned along with the beginning of my family. My mother became pregnant with my sister, Kathy, and post WWII life resumed. Within a span of five years, my mother had four children. I was the baby of the family. Fortunately for her, her parents, sister, and my cousin, moved upstairs from us in our duplex to help out. It was truly a European-style family. Then, after ten years, my mother got pregnant with my sister followed by my brother three years later.   Though she loved my younger brother and sister, those years took the most toll on her. Just as she had a glimpse of a life without child rearing, she knew she would go into her older life saddled with teenagers. My mother told me years later, never to have children late in life (she was 39 and 42 years old when my youngest siblings were born.)

Growing up in a large mixed WASP/Polish amalgamation presented itself with constant strife. It was not just only the difference in cultures but the difference in religions. My father was a staunch Catholic and my mother and her family were less than tepid Presbyterians. Because of my father, we lived in a Polish neighborhood near his parents (who hated my mother), were raised Catholic, and we were identified with the Polish culture. Looking back on it, I can't imagine how much it must have affected her to never have anything for herself. Her life was solely about her children and living in a culture which was about my father. No one ever looked past her being a mother of six children living as a stranger in a strange land.

My mother was an intelligent and articulate woman with a high school education. She read constantly. My love of reading came from her. Had she been born in another era, I suspect she would have had gone on to college and had some sort of career. Instead, she spent her life living less than her potential. But that was the norm for women of that time. Like many women of that era, she was limited in her options to contribute more purposefully. This reinforced her underlying anxiety disorder for which Librium acted as a somewhat effective straight jacket. But it also drove her anger and depression deeper as it lulled her into a sad acceptance that her fate was sealed.

There are many things I am grateful my mother nurtured in me. She passed to me her phenomenal ability to articulate and do so under stressful conditions like legal testimony. Every week she took me to the library fostering a life long love of reading. But she also had great empathy and was always willing to help others. Because she was an especially good mother with small children, I have a fondness for babies (which is something because I am childless).  She had a great sense of humor and loved to laugh. Everyone liked my mother-she was a good daughter, a supportive sister, a perfunctory wife, an excellent friend, and a good woman.

For decades now I have lived without a mother. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to have her for a few more years. I would have liked her to see how successful my life has been. I would have liked her to have seen her grandchildren. I would have liked to have spent more time with her. Even after all these years I miss her.

I once had a psychic tell me a dark haired woman named Shirley was always around me. No kidding, this actually happened without me giving out any information on my mother. There is something comforting to me knowing she is still around me.

Happy Birthday, Ma!








Monday, November 3, 2014

Remember, Remember the Fifth of November-Guy Fawkes Day

"Remember, remember
The fifth of November
The gunpowder treason and plot.
I know of no reason
Why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot." -Traditional verse recited on Guy Fawkes Day

So, who is this Guy Fawkes and why is he celebrated on November 5th?
Guy Fawkes
Black-and-white drawing
George Cruikshank's illustration of Guy Fawkes, published in William Harrison Ainsworth's 1840 novel
Details
ParentsEdward Fawkes, Edith (née Blake or Jackson)
Born13 April 1570 (presumed)
York, England
Alias(es)Guido Fawkes, John Johnson
OccupationSoldier; Alférez
Plot
RoleExplosives
Enlisted20 May 1604
Captured5 November 1605
Conviction(s)High treason
PenaltyHanged, drawn and quartered
Died31 January 1606
Westminster, London, England
CauseHanged
Guy Fawkes (13 April 1570 – 31 January 1606), also known as Guido Fawkes, the name he adopted while fighting for the Spanish in the Low Countries, was a member of a group of provincial English Catholics who planned the failed Gunpowder Plot of 1605.
Fawkes was born and educated in York. His father died when Fawkes was eight years old, after which his mother married a recusant Catholic. Fawkes later converted to Catholicism and left for the continent, where he fought in the Eighty Years' War on the side of Catholic Spain against Protestant Dutch reformers. He travelled to Spain to seek support for a Catholic rebellion in England but was unsuccessful. He later met Thomas Wintour, with whom he returned to England.
Wintour introduced Fawkes to Robert Catesby, who planned to assassinate King James I and restore a Catholic monarch to the throne. The plotters secured the lease to an undercroft beneath the House of Lords, and Fawkes was placed in charge of the gunpowder they stockpiled there. Prompted by the receipt of an anonymous letter, the authorities searched Westminster Palace during the early hours of 5 November, and found Fawkes guarding the explosives. Over the next few days, he was questioned and tortured, and eventually he broke. Immediately before his execution on 31 January, Fawkes jumped from the scaffold where he was to be hanged and broke his neck, thus avoiding the agony of the mutilation that followed. Fawkes became synonymous with the Gunpowder Plot, the failure of which has been commemorated in Britain since 5 November 1605. His effigy is traditionally burned on a bonfire, commonly accompanied by a firework display.  -Wikipedia

Guy Fawkes gained a resurgence in popularity with the release of the film, "V for Vendetta":

"V for Vendetta is a 2006 American-German political thriller film directed by James McTeigue and written by the Wachowskis, based on the 1982 Vertigo graphic novel of the same name by Alan Moore and David Lloyd. Set in the United Kingdom in a near-future dystopian society, Hugo Weaving portrays V—an anarchist freedom fighter who stages a series of terrorist attacks and attempts to ignite a revolution against the brutal fascist regime that has subjugated the United Kingdom and exterminated its opponents in concentration camps. Natalie Portman plays Evey, a working class girl caught up in V's mission, and Stephen Rea portrays the detective leading a desperate quest to stop V." -Wikipedia

This is my kind of holiday. We are celebrating a rebellious freedom fighter anarchist leading a socialist movement to take back civil rights from an oppressive government by bombing the seat of authority. What a minute, wouldn't he also be considered a terrorist?














Wednesday, October 29, 2014

The Truth about Witches

witch- noun \ˈwich\

: a woman who is thought to have magic powers
: a person who practices magic as part of a religion (such as Wicca)
: a very unpleasant woman
-Merriam Webster Dictionary

I have always loved witches. As a female role model they offer many delightful facets of being an alternative woman no matter what century, culture, fairy tale, or ghost story they are featured. They represent the 'bad' side of women frequently reviled in male dominated stories and historical facts. As the shadow side of a 'good' woman, witches are portrayed as wicked (my favorite word), profane, duplicitous, scheming, self-serving, and nefarious. Witches are the antithesis of how nice, maternal, nurturing women should be. How could I not be attracted to them?

As independent women, witches are usually linked to dark forces, special magic, and pagan religions. Christians they are not. This had me hypnotized when I was a small parochial school girl. Brujas do not act like the saintly women martyrs I studied in catechism. Witches defy convention, carve out their own lives as outsiders, and are a force to be reckoned with. They make good look boring. Being a CEO of a odious empire requires confidence in your curses, spells, and Machiavellian cunning. Daring to be different, witches reject the approval orientation that decent girls embrace. However, they do pay the ultimate price for their nonconformist ways by being burned at the stake, drowned, or hanged. 

"Éva Pócs states that reasons for accusations of witchcraft fall into four general categories:
  1. A person was caught in the act of positive or negative sorcery
  2. A well-meaning sorcerer or healer lost their clients' or the authorities' trust
  3. A person did nothing more than gain the enmity of their neighbors
  4. A person was reputed to be a witch and surrounded with an aura of witch-beliefs or Occultism
She identifies three varieties of witch in popular belief:
  • The "neighborhood witch" or "social witch": a witch who curses a neighbor following some conflict.
  • The "magical" or "sorcerer" witch: either a professional healer, sorcerer, seer or midwife, or a person who has through magic increased her fortune to the perceived detriment of a neighboring household; due to neighborly or community rivalries and the ambiguity between positive and negative magic, such individuals can become labelled as witches.
  • The "supernatural" or "night" witch: portrayed in court narratives as a demon appearing in visions and dreams." -Wikipedia
Some of my personal favorite witches are:
  • The Wicked Witch of the West. Margaret Hamilton's portrayal of a sinister hag jonesing for revenge cannot be beat. Her frightening demeanor and deviousness are mesmerizing. I loved how she addressed the naive Dorothy mockingly as "my pretty". All that wrangling over the symbolic red slippers gives us a clue that prepubescent hormonally-charged girls are also a force of nature.
  • Dame Gothel, the witch from "Rapunzel". This Grimm tale starts off innocently with a man whose pregnant wife insatiably craves rampion (aka Campanula) which only grows in Dame Gothel's garden. When the husband is caught absconding with some of the witch's rampion, a deal is struck: he will get all the rampion he wants for his expectant wife but the unborn baby she carries will be given to Dame Gothel at birth. The baby, taken by the witch, is named Rapunzel and is endowed with long golden locks of hair. When Rapunzel turns twelve, right about when she would be getting her first period, Dame Gothel locks her away in a castle with no doors or stairs. To visit Rapunzel, the witch summons her to let down her 'golden hair which is used as a rope. 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your hair." Eventually a handsome prince observes the witch  and attempts to liberate Rapunzel. Alas, he is cast down the castle onto some thorns and dies. So much for males outmaneuvering a superior witch.
  • The witch from "Hansel and Gretel". Even in these days of horrific child abuse stories, this Grimm tale takes it up a notch. Here we have a poor widower with two small children who marries a woman (stepmothers always get a bad rap in most stories) wanting his children dispatched because they are a resource drain. The stepmother convinces her husband to take the two kids deep into the woods where they get lost and stumble upon a witch's candy house (witches know what attracts). The witch captures them, makes Gretel her slave, and plans on fattening up Hansel for her own Hannibal Lecter-like feast. Gretel, the heroine of this story, manages to push the witch into the fiery hot stove, incinerating her before Hansel becomes an entree. Immolation is part and parcel for most fairy tale witches.
  • "The Witches" by Roald Dahl. You can't go wrong with a story about convention of witches called, "The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children". When a young orphaned boy and his ailing grandmother visit a hotel on vacation, they discover the creepy convention. Investigating the witches intent, the boy is is caught and turned into a mouse by the Grand High Witch. These wily witches with a loathing of children turn the youngsters into mice so that they are killed by frightened humans. Though Roald Dahl did not care for the film version, Angelica Huston made a stunning sorceress. The author took offense at the sanitized movie ending in which the boy is transformed back into being human. Witches, after all, are not the sanitary type.
Seeing the happy go lucky young witches at Hogwart's is too sugary for me. I like those gritty, gnarly, loathsome witches who wreck havoc on our natural world.




All Hallow's Eve



"The word Halloween or Hallowe'en dates to about 1745 and is of Christian origin.The word "Halloween" means "hallowed evening" or "holy evening". It comes from a Scottish term for All Hallows' Eve (the evening before All Hallows' Day). In Scots, the word "eve" is even, and this is contracted to e'en or een. Over time, (All) Hallow(s) Eve(n) evolved into Halloween. Although the phrase "All Hallows'" is found in Old English (ealra hālgena mæssedæg, all saints mass-day), "All Hallows' Eve" is itself not seen until 1556."  -Wikipedia





Wednesday, October 1, 2014

A Woman of the World

Being a woman is my biological destiny.

I inherited my physical looks from my mother and my tempestuous personality from my father.

I have been a granddaughter, daughter, niece, a Catholic, and a wife but not a mother.

I am a Virgo, a lover, a worker, a sister, a friend, an aunt, and a Buddhist wannabe.

I'd rather be walking in the woods around Lake Superior or trout fishing in the mountains.

Underneath, I am an introverted intuitive thinker.

Every day I am reminded on some level of my gender.

Some days are better than others.

Being unencumbered by a husband and children gives me more freedom than most women.

Even so, I do not have the same privileges as most men.

This is not a safe world for women (or for gays, minorities, and children for that matter).

I have been trained that my words, behaviors, and dress can affect my security.

Continually I am reminded to be nice, good, approval-seeking, quiet, apologetic, and obedient.

This has made me unrepentant, contentious, impertinent, defiant, opinionated, & rebellious at times.

Conforming to limited cultural, gender, religious, and sexual edicts are of no interest to me.

My wicked sense of humor frequently bails me out of trouble caused by my hubris.

Having keen strategic thinking makes me a force majeure.

Being adventurous makes me happy, being uninhibited makes me feral.

Having a spiritual base keeps me grounded.

I do not think anyone is inherently better or less than me.

I do not define myself in context of men determining my role in life.

However, I will cooperate with men from time to time because I enjoy them sexually.

Conventional relationships and marriage do not work for a nontraditional woman like me.

A woman like me is an rarity, if not an oddity.

My free spirit embraces copious creativity, laughing heartily, dancing daringly, and loving recklessly.

I can exhibit poor judgment, make bad choices, and behave questionably but I am solely responsible.

Bravely I step forward reinventing who I am as a wise woman.























































Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Three Funerals and the Mourners

Within just the last forty-eight hours, I have learned of the deaths of three people who were intimate friends with some of my posse. All three people died suddenly, surprising themselves and those they left behind. My friends dealing with these unexpected losses are devastated. They are lost in their grieving, inconsolable with heartrendering sadness. The lightning speed at which the sorrowful news was delivered rattled them beyond comprehension.

Unexpected death has consequences unlike death that is expected. No death is easy to handle but when it is expected, one does have some time to psychologically prepare. The difference is akin to knowing when a storm is coming versus experiencing a 8.0 earthquake. Being jolted by a sudden, unexpected, tragic, or violent death shakes the psychological foundation of one's core. Everything you thought you knew changes the second you are informed of the death. Life instantly becomes surreal. Utter disbelief is followed by emotional paralysis. As the shock sets in, disorientation becomes prominent. Time feels frozen. In this fugue one cannot imagine how tomorrow could ever follow today.

But one cannot stand still long for death. There are decedent affairs to contend with, funerals and/or memorials to arrange, relatives and friends to contact, and everything about the death itself needs to processed. Numbly walking through the motions of these first few days, one knows life will never be the same. The death itself acts as kind of a zeitsollwert, a time setter, when everything will be judged before and after the catastrophic event. Think of how 911 changed the world and you get a sense of how these shocking losses carry the same gravity to the psyche.

I tried to comfort my friends but my efforts seemed futile. Even though I know what is like to experience sudden tragic death, my words fell flat. Because we do not live in the same town, I could not reach out to them, hold them, or just physically be there to support them. As a bystander, one feels impotent. I did the most beneficial thing I could do: I just sat and listened.

This is the beginning of the grieving process for them. As their friend, I know once shock gives way to emotion. There will be tears shed, profuse weeping, unbridled anguish, anger unleashed, fits of heartbreaking melancholy, helpless/hopeless verbalizations, and most certainly a shift in existential beliefs. Life and death will take on a new meaning. Every nuance of what happened or could of/ should of happened are reexamined obsessively. Sometimes secrets hidden are revealed as pieces of the deceased person's story spills forth from various sources. The harsh mirror of reality shines brightly leaving no place for the bereaved to hide. The painful longing is unrelenting.

I have read that the peak of grieving in an unexpected loss can range anywhere from nine to eighteen months compared to four months in an expected one. And if it is a tragic or violent death, the percentages of the survivors ever coming to grips with the horror of the loss is less than fifty percent even after five years have passed. It is incomprehensible to me in this 'get over it' culture, we have no mechanism to acknowledge or recognize the length of time grieving exacts on the bereaved. We want them to stop talking about it, get on with life, and basically be anywhere but where they are emotionally. As one who has gone through this process, I know the time, patience, and fortitude it takes to grieve. There is no stopwatch on grieving, however, we can always be a good listener, comforting presence, and kind support. The true wages of death is bereavement.

Today I dedicate this blog to my deceased friend, Terry, who died suddenly a year ago. He was a consummate actor, director, and friend. Rest in peace, my friend.










Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Working in the 21st Century

These are very difficult times for those of us who were raised in a engaging, empowering work culture. The 21st century workplace is fraught with dysfunction, obsessed with data, and frigid when it comes to the needs of any carbon-based life form. For anyone who shows any weakness toward having a conscience, it can only be a continual struggle between morality and ethics. Even if one is armored up with rational thinking, one's equilibrium is easily fractured by the opposing demands of working in a highly competitive marketplace versus maintaining a sense of integrity.

In a global economy, anything remotely resembling an emotional tone is lethal. Well, maybe not lethal, but certainly it is deadly career-wise. In dealing with modern management, issues affecting stress, workplace politics, and legitimate problems such as intimidation, emotions are seen as the worker's inability to cope. Even if you address these dilemmas with fact-based examples, the response usually comes back to your inadequacy to fit in to the workplace culture. Whether one works in business or government, first and foremost management is charged with making money and/or continuing the revenue flow. Ironically, although most of this revolves around humans, customer service and the welfare of workers will always be last on their list of considerations. This is an era of technology, data, and gold standards documented on electronic records. Actual empathy and dignity for human needs is only pertinent if it is billable, produces dividends, or can be used to boost the reputation of a well-placed officeholder.

I work for the government. Yes, I am one of the many bureaucrats Washington politicos tout as the enemy of the people. They see me as lazy, unproductive, wasteful, and siphoning off the taxes of their hard-working constituency. It does not matter that statistically I can prove I have saved the taxpayers far more than I earn in salary and benefits. Saving money does not generate revenue. Every day I bob and weave to the bureaucracy which places pressure on me to justify my salary, validate my worth, and adjust to the daily conflicting demands brought on by political correctness. And as a woman, I earn far less than my incompetent coworkers and managers who do illustrate what our representatives see as reckless spending. This does not deter me from delivering excellent service but it does demoralize me. Oh yes, I never whine because I should be happy I have a job.

But I am not just another complainer. I believe we need a reinvented workplace where a healthy workplace meeting the needs of both the employee and employer is attainable. Unfortunately, I am not talking about unions here. Though unions have historically done a phenomenal job at workers' rights, they have also created polarizing the workplace by defending incompetent, inept, and bad workers. What I am proposing is a movement which examines workplace issues and balances them with the need for profit and accountability. I am not a socialist nor am I a capitalist. As a person with a strong work ethic I believe in cutting the fat, producing high quality work, expecting workers to live up to the standards for which they are judged, and understanding the very human needs of the workplace. However, I also think employers have the responsibility to provide us with a safe workplace, incentivize us by rewarding our productivity, balance the need for profit by accommodating a sane work volume, and by adhering to moral and ethical conduct. Am I asking for too much here?

When I first started in government, I had experiences working with highly effective, solution oriented, and dynamic people. My workplaces were some of the happiest and most productive in my career. These workplaces had competent managers, inspiring vision, and dedication to serving the public. I don't know where we went wrong but I believe this can be changed. It is a mistake to think this movement will start at the top. As workers, it will only begin with us.




Monday, July 28, 2014

The Bardo of Becoming

Birth is a messy process
Squeezed down the canal
One fears the process
Of becoming separate.

The bardo of becoming
Is primal suffering
Awakening a metamorphosis
From a tarnished state.

Rebirth awakens the same memory
Going down the canal
Does not get easier
Labor is exactly the same.

Between two worlds
The womb and the world
Delivery beckons the soul
To envelope its karma.









Monday, July 14, 2014

The Seasoned Woman's Heart


Could one be so fortunate
To admire a flower at its zenith
Bursting with omniscient perfection
Of alluring shape and glistening hue.

The striking sun highlights
Pedals soft with rain
Unblemished by storms
Undisturbed by wind.

Proud ornamental blossom
Gently garnished with leaves
Strengthened by a hearty stalk
Nourished by rich soil.

Rich color envelops an aura
Of nature's beauteous grace
For one dazzling moment
Radiating splendor and majesty.


















Saturday, June 28, 2014

A Letter from the Recently Departed

    Yesterday a friend of mine attended the memorial service of his close friend who died suddenly. His friend was anticipated to make a full recovery from his medical problem, but instead died shortly after being hospitalized. No matter how it occurs, sudden death is a shocking loss whose grieving numbs the soul, usurps reality, and leaves one searching for meaning. Watching what my friend has gone through emotionally since the abrupt departure of his friend left me helpless as to how to console him. I did not know his friend but I do know what is like to cope with the unforeseen death of a close friend. In an attempt to comfort him, I wrote the following letter I felt my friend would have wanted to hear to from his departed friend.

Dear G,
         Thank you for being a close friend to me for all these years. We have seen each other through many ups and downs in the short time we've known each other. This has added incredible depth and meaning to my life. Your friendship has brought something wonderful and unique which contributed greatly to my well being. Knowing you has made me a better man, a better husband, and a better father. I will miss those times and the wonderful conversations we had. It was especially touching to have you be with me at my end. It takes a true friend of strength and integrity to have overcome the squeamishness of seeing me at my most vulnerable and witnessing my final days. I am profoundly grateful you were there for me, my wife, and my family. As you remember me today, I want you to recognize how important your presence was in my life and how much I will also miss you. I did not anticipate I would go so quickly, otherwise there would have been much more we could have said to each other. Please do not have any regrets over any unspoken communications, unresolved issues, or anything else troubling you about our relationship. I left complete. My final request would be for you to honor my death by allowing it to be the impetus to live your life more fully. I have the utmost respect for you and want you to embrace the rest of your life with purposefulness and joy. Though I may not have said this, I want you to convey how much I love you and appreciate all you have done for me. Thank you for loving me and being a support to my family.

Your loving friend

Thursday, June 26, 2014

What Matters Most

 "What matters in life, is not great deeds, but great love." -St. Therese Martin
           This quote comes from one of my favorite saints. (It was also the name of my favorite first and second grade nun from Holy Hell grade school.) I even have a statue of St. Therese, known as the 'little flower" in my living room. What sets her apart from other saints, is that she believed it is the small acts of charity that defines one's life. After Lourdes, her basilica in Lisieux is the second most visited shrine visited in France. Like most saints, she had a tragic life. At 14 years of age, she entered the convent and died at age 24 from TB. In her short life, she emphasized kindness, compassion, and doing small charitable works. Considering the Catholic Church goes for grandiose, tortuous displays of martyrdom in order to get canonized, I am surprised her message took hold. There was something about her message that resonated with me, even as a 6 year old. The Buddhists, of course, would call this accumulated good karma. St. Therese embraced doing little good deeds as a way of alleviating suffering. They are a veritable demonstration of spiritual love. Amazing, isn't it? Here we have a young perpetually ill nun who became a saint by advocating doing little more than being kind. By the way, it was St. Therese who inspired Mother Teresa nun's name and to minister to the poor.
           Why am I calling this to your attention? Because in the reexamination of one's life, I have experienced most people judge themselves in terms of big impact, big deeds, big successes, and the accomplishment of their life mission. They overlook the numerous small acts of kindnesses and good deeds they have done which may have had a profound impact on the lives of others. Throughout my life I have remembered the lessons of St. Therese. Though I have changed the course of many people's lives for the better and even saved lives, this is not what I will be remembered for, or at least I hope not. I hope I will be remembered for being a good person, a kind person, a person who brought some grace, joy, and humor into this world.
        As you reassess your life, I hope you take this into consideration.
        Having attended a number of deaths, I have been struck by how one discards the façade to reveal the spirit within before one leaves the planet. One of the deaths that changed my life was caring for my psychologist friend, John, who died at the age of 43 from a brain tumor. I had been friends with him and his wife for years. Taking care of him when he was in and out of a coma at home his last week on earth was life altering. The day before he went into a coma, he was determined to get his driver's license back (it had been taken away from him because of seizures). It's comical for me to think of this accomplished and respected psychologist who was dying, and one of the last acts he felt was important was to pass his driver's test. Of course, this all changed when he realized he was soon to pass. That week as I cared for him, there was a parade of friends who came to bide their final farewell. They came to honor what he had brought to their lives. If someone were to ask me what was one thing I did that was truly selfless, I would say giving John a death with dignity was the most important. I will always remember those 24 hr a day shifts of hydrating him, bathing him, administering his meds, & changing his soiled sheets.
        This single act of compassion will forever be a reminder of the importance of humility and how even the smallest acts of charity make a difference. 

Thursday, June 12, 2014

My First Experience with Cultural Inequality


The following is a blog done by my friend, Greg, about his experience in growing up with gender equality. With his permission, I am sharing his touching story with you. -Atira Aura

Like most people, I suppose, issues of culture and gender touch my life from one degree to another every day. For this reason, my story is different, but only in flavor. I was raised in a large Midwest City far from Detroit, Michigan, which has been a major hot spot for racial tension and riots and was during my high school years. Uniquely yet totally void from my familiar rearing was the issue of racial prejudice. My parents were proactive and welcomed ethnic diversity; to say the least they were way ahead of their time. Outside our home cultural diversity was present and sometimes steeped with conflict; these are vivid memories. However, the issue – and my recollection of it – that had the greatest affect on me throughout my early life was a gender issue and although it only affected me indirectly, it affected me profoundly; indeed it transformed me. This issue involved my mother and sisters.

My mother worked professionally (politics), as did my two sisters, both of whom were eleven and fifteen years my senior. They were indeed high-achieving professional women. In those days and in that part of the world (Midwest America) – the professional business climates (and many other societal sectors) were very much occupied and, consequently, controlled by men. Many businessmen (I use the term “businessmen” rather than “businesspersons” for illustration, please kindly pardon me here) often considered their female contemporaries as outsiders, and occasionally as invaders, as it were. From that myopic and prejudicial perspective, my mother and sisters were counted among these estranged groups. For this reason, and perhaps some I wasn’t even aware of, I heard of the many struggles that my mother and sisters endured just to “compete,” as they would put it, in a “man’s world.” During that 2 year period of time one would hear of instances when a female business executive, or manager, who posed an idea or solution to a complex business problem, would be considered “opinionated” - or much worse. Yet a male of the same rank and offering the same idea or solution would be considered for a promotion. The many struggles that these women of my life experienced moved me, and from this experience, I remain so moved to this day.

Moved by the experiences and testimonies that my mother and sisters expressed and endured, I passed through a few different phases; I was first emotionless, then poignant, and then outraged. At first, and for a very short time, I was rather indifferent. I thought these were just stories that “couldn’t not possibly be true;” how could they be? From there I moved to sympathetic; I felt remorseful for them. Then I was empathic; I deeply cared and wanted to help. I could not understand why those injustices continued unabated, injustices such as unequal pay, biased promotions, categorizing, and often belligerence. Fortunately, my father, himself an executive, was also empathic and gave respect, support, guidance, and advice when and where appropriate. Looking back I now realize now that mostly he listened. He and mother had raised us with a different World View, if you will – a radically different World View, especially for that period of time. One of their rearing methods employed delegating household chores to us with an end in mind. This end, and central difference, was that there was an obligation in my home for a blend of household tasks, duties and routines for each of us kids. For example, I often washed dishes, prepared the table for meals, washed the laundry, helped my father cook meals, and accompanied my father regularly to the grocery market. Similarly, my sisters would care for the lawn, wash the cars, and sometimes help change the motor oil. Today I appreciate my father’s example and the rearing my parents gave us in this area.

Someone once said that we basically have two choices in life; to accept things the way they are, or to accept the responsibility to change them. My choice was to accept the responsibility and create change – that is, as much as I could influence change in this area. And my response to these challenges was both immediate and lasting. In my youth, I began a personal campaign, as it were, and spoke to anyone who would listen about the injustices, prejudices, and unlawful acts that female businesspersons underwent. I made sure that that my managerial work was inclusive of diversity fully respecting individual Intersectionality. And I made a point; indeed it was my passion, to live these values in every area of my life.

Soon, it seemed, I became a father of three beautiful daughters, and to my surprise the prejudice and injustice that was alive in my youth was still alive in theirs. Recalling my earlier choice and requisite responsibility, I worked throughout my daughters’ rearing years to encourage them in all aspects of their lives, both personal and professional; I acknowledged and affirmed them. I worked to create for them a vision of equality in all areas of their lives. Quickly it seemed, I saw my daughters grow in confidence as they grew in years, outwardly untouched by this pervasive and engulfing prejudice. Today all three of my daughters are successful businesspersons determined in their diverse, yet unique missions, and unaffected by the struggles that I saw my mother and sisters endure.

Naturally, I am grateful for this experience and the valuable lesson I learned, certainly it was a Critical Moment in my life. And, oh, by the way, I continue in my campaign for equal rights and Social Justice even today; after all, I have granddaughters.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

When Death Comes Knocking

When Death comes knocking
Time stands still.
There is no forward or backward
Just deafening silence.

Shock, disbelief, and sorrow
Paint the landscape black.
Paralytic surrealism
Escorts the grieving.

Hearts breaking, aching
Seeking rational sense
Of something unimaginable
Eviscerating the soul.

Comfort remains elusive
Solace cannot be found
Tears are the companions
For the weeping bereft.

No where to hide
No where to run
No where to go
No where to be.

Life continues unaffected
By Death's cruel blow
Mourners watch helplessly
While life stands still.















Sunday, May 25, 2014

Resiliency

re·sil·ience

noun
1.
the power or ability to return to the original form, position, etc., after being bent, compressed, orstretched; elasticity.
2.
ability to recover readily from illness, depression, adversity, or the like; buoyancy.
“When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.” Helen Keller
"Promise me you’ll always remember: You’re braver than you believe,and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." -Christopher Robin to Pooh (by A. A. Milne)
"Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." -Confucius





Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Beginning Again

There is a silence after everything has been said
The impasse has been reached
Positions are solidified
No turning back is realized

Can a person begin again, no matter what?
After so many starts and stops
Hope flies out the window
The stillness is deafening

Grasping for a lifeline
Wanting to be saved
Emotions flooding the senses
Looking for release

How does the heart mend from sorrow
From what could have been?
Is it all delusion?
Or attachment to communion?

Can I meet change with poise?
Put one foot in front of another?
Swallow my pride?
Fearlessly move forward?

Every day the sun rises
Beginning a new day
A blank slate of creation
Ready for a new painting






Monday, May 19, 2014

Tangled Up in Blue




The color blue cultivates images
Of clear crisp skies,
Cool calming waters,
And a dazzling starry night.

On the visible spectrum 
Blue sits between green and violet.
Hues of indigo, cobalt, and azure
Paint our world with natural divinity.

Blue is most associated with
Harmony, faithfulness, and confidence.
Identified with nobility and the Virgin
Kiln fired into ceramics and porcelain.

Between the devil
And the deep blue sea,
Illustrates the frustration
Of feeling blue.

The shadow side of blue
Denotes sadness associated with loss.
Where is the serenity of peacefulness
When blue turns to sorrow?





















Sunday, May 18, 2014

The Wisdom of No Escape

    My biggest fear is not losing control but being trapped.The basis for all fear is a perceived threatening activating event triggering anxiety laden beliefs which result in a flight or fight reaction. Paradoxically, in behavioral terms when it comes to fear one always gets what one resists, meaning fear becomes it's own reinforcement. Being trapped is not related to anything actually "out there" but rather how my mind translates these events and is known as cleithrophobia. 

    "Cleithrophobia is a fear of being trapped or locked in an enclosed space. The origin of the word is originally from the Greek cleithro which means to shut or to close and the English phobia which implies a persistent fear." -Wikipedia

    In reality, I am not anxious or claustrophobic in enclosed spaces, only the certain stifling situations I discern as preventing easy escape (like my second marriage). When these events arise, my first response is to strategically plan multiple avenues of flight. Obsessing about these schemes gives me a sense of empowerment. The litany of this treadmill goes on ad nauseum causing me tremendous anguish. Because I am an introvert, my internalized dialogue appears to the outside world like I am preoccupied. My external defense to all of this is to be a highly regarded achiever; all of this while exhibiting a cheerful, humorous mask which effectively disguises the torment within. From time to time I verbalize some of my escapist flights of fancy to my friends, but they know I have good impulse control which will quell any concrete plans coming into fruition. Though I talk about my angst concerning my limitations, rarely do I share the depth to how this affects me.

    Last week I came face to face with some predicaments which launched a cascade of cleithrophobia. It started innocently enough by planning a vacation back to Minnesota to visit family and friends. Since I had not been back there for five years, I began contacting everyone to let them know I wanted to spend time with them. One of my friends I was planning to see acknowledged she is dealing with the imminent death of her sister from ovarian cancer. Her description of her sister’s dying was horrific. As another intuitive thinker, I knew how despairing and devastated she felt. It shook me to my core as well. Why? Not only could I sympathize with her nightmare, but I am also facing the looming loss of three of my siblings from terminal illnesses.

    One of the people I will also be visiting in Minnesota is my oldest brother Steven, who is dying from end stage Parkinson’s disease. We have never had a close relationship, but in recent years we have been attempting to maintain closer communications. When I called him to tell him about my visit, he said he was looking forward to meeting with me. He talked about how his life has become more and more unmanageable due to the debilitating ravages of his disease. For the first time, I could hear the unmistakable death rattle in his voice. It was not just the content of what he was saying but the tonal quality of how he articulated his decline. Emotionally, it felt gut wrenching. This conversation generated a torrent of feelings, thoughts, and memories about our familial history. Suddenly I felt like me feet had just stepped into a big bear trap. But this was only the beginning
.
    Knowing I would soon have to come to terms with him also made me realize there were two more impending deaths I had to handle. My oldest sister is dying from an inoperable benign brain tumor and my youngest brother is dying from t-cell hepatosplenic lymphoma. For years I just shoved my feelings about my conflicted relationships with them into a nice shelf thinking that I would not have to deal with them. I have not spoken with them for years. I am uncertain how to even go about a resolving the years of hard feelings and nursed hurts which solidified the division in our relationships. The bear trap has now become tighter, gripping me with no place to flee.

    I have experienced enough death in my life both personally and professionally to understand the emotional process of grieving. However, the loss of my siblings is completely new ground to me. Reviewing our history together, I see the good, the bad, and the ugly of how each of my siblings influenced me. Approaching their deaths is akin to having surgical removal of parts in me that have internalized their traits. Psychologically, I can no longer deny I will be unaffected by their deaths. Spiritually, I feel I am being offered an opportunity to reconcile my external sibling relationships with the internal aspects of them I have either accepted or rejected. Needless to say, I am feeling fractured. The resulting emotions are a confusing mix of helpless sadness, abject dread, grasping for comfort, and attachment to anything that brings pleasure. In other words, I am trapped without my traditional avenues of escape. There is nowhere left to run.

    As someone with Buddhist leanings, my current situation is calling for compassion, loving kindness, meditation, gentleness, precision, and letting go. Can I become friends with my intense emotional grasping and attachment and let them be without bolting for the familiarity of my evacuation routes? Is there wisdom in no escape?

Saturday, May 17, 2014

Memorial to Anne Knickerbocker (1944 to 1991)

Today marks the birthday of my dearly departed sister-in-law and spectacular friend, Anne Knickerbocker. Twenty-three years ago she left this planet at the age of forty-seven. Her death was second in a string of six deaths I would experience that year. Five of the deaths, beginning with hers, were within a six week period. Of all those deaths that year, I felt hers most acutely. Hers was a sudden, shocking loss occurred only a week after spending New Years in Idaho with me. For more than a year the grief was so unbearable, I couldn't imagine how I was going to move forward in life without her.

Anne Knickerbocker was someone you would easily pass on a street or grocery store and not think twice about her. She never called attention to herself, even though she graduated magna cum laude, spoke fluent Russian, was a prolific artist, and was one of the most comedic conversationalists I have ever met. In her own ordinary way she was quite extraordinary. In spite of her intellect and verbosity, she was chronically anxious and depressed. So much so, she was too afraid to drive a car. Underneath this, she was brilliant. Weighing less than a hundred pounds dripping wet, she had a ferocity in her petite stature that was spellbinding. Being with her, I could always see immense scholarly potential in her held back by unmitigated fear. She labored under the never being enough syndrome: not smart enough, not courageous enough, not pretty enough, not being extroverted enough, never financially secure enough, just plain not good enough. Though I never felt I measured up to all of her phenomenal talents, she held me in high esteem.

I only knew her for seven precious years before her death. In those seven years I became so bonded to her that she became closer to me than my own sisters. We discussed everything, took trips together, wrote frequently to one another, made fun of the Catholic Church, and laughed endlessly. She was best part of my marriage to her brother. When my union to her brother dissolved, she wanted to me to get her as part of the divorce settlement. Our last conversation that fateful last New Year's day before she returned to Minneapolis was disheartening. We talked about our future sans her brother. I knew she was anticipating the divorce meant she would lose me as well. My reassurances did not ease her worries. Within seven days after this conversation she was found dead in her apartment of an accidental insulin overdose. I believe she died of a broken heart.

Twenty-three years later, I still grieve her loss and miss her terribly. Anne was a cosmic gift-she taught me about great conversation, intellectual diversity, batiks, art, wildflowers, and the importance of wit. I am so fortunate to have had her presence in my life. She believed in me more than I have ever believed in myself. How do I continually honor her memory? By dedicating myself to being the success she was unable to achieve in this life for herself. Thank you, Anne. Happy Birthday.