Saturday, November 24, 2012

It's in the rearview mirror...


"A cat, even when mortally ill, keeps those wide calm
eyes focused on the ever-changing kaleidoscope
of the here-and-now.  There is no thought
of death, and hence no fear of it." 
- Lanza R, Berman B. Biocentrism

It was close…so close that everything around us felt as though it were standing still.  There was quiet chatting, but the sounds seemed, in that moment, to completely disappear.  One might say it was surreal…

The time had was at hand…
As the hardwood trees of the north present brilliantly colored leaves in the death throes of their short lives, so the season of my sister’s life had come to an end.  We had all been drawn to this place, not simply because it was the end, but rather by some primal urge to be part of the transition…a powerful and compelling feeling that there was nothing else we could do...nowhere else we could be.  In the oddest of ways, it was quietly comforting to be in this place to say good-bye.

Saying good-bye…this was not a “…see you later…” or “…see you in the morning…” This was not a “…see you…” at all.  It was standing on the wharf of life watching a loved one walk up the gangplank with a one-way ticket in hand…. it was the end.  There would be no more tomorrows…no quick and knowing glances that come only from the intimacy of the years…no inside jokes that comfort one in their familiarity.  No indeed, the end was coming with the unrelenting mass of a one hundred car freight train entering the darkest of tunnels…too much momentum…there would be no turning back.

Some things can’t be explained…
In those final moments, fixed securely in my mind, I took her drawn and shrunken face in my hands. I leaned in to whisper how deeply I loved her – her skin cool and surprisingly soft.  In the most primitive of ways, I rubbed her cheek with my cheek…her forehead with my forehead…her neck with mine.  It was as though I hoped I could give her heat and life where there was no heat and little life.

Her daughter Mariah had been putting lotion on her face and dehydrated lips…some saline drops on her closed and dry eyelids.  As the tide was slipping quickly away, I was compelled, to open her eyes and gaze one last time…to see if there were something I could understand…some comfort in this comfortless moment.

During the final months of her life, the brightness of her eyes, those sparkling windows of the soul had begun to dim like the greying waters of a stagnant pond robbed of its underground spring.  They had slowly taken on a dullness that added injury to the insult of watching her life drift away into the darkness of a starless winter’s sky.

In that most intimate of moments, something magical happened.  Magic…there is no magic…for magic is but illusion.  Yet in that moment, as I opened her eyes, I was captured by their liquid clarity.  I am not sure I have ever looked into the eyes of another human being that were so clear.  Those eyes…those eyes transcended the devastating disease that had stolen my sister’s life like a thief in the night.  Something happened that moment for which I simply do not have the words to express…no well so deep, no ocean so wide, no universe so expansive that can speak to that moment.

Nancy and I had always been close…the closeness that comes from years together, tempered by the knowledge that we liked each other…we loved each other…in many ways celebrated each other.

Love simply is…
Love is one of those curiosities of the human condition.  Writers, who in their self-indulgent wisdom separate love into different categories, often amuse me.  I get there is a difference between affection and carnal love, but all of it…all of it finds itself on the continuum of an expression reduced to this:  Whatever the motive, love is the long distance run of unfettered affection…the volume of which can be as high as the loudest audio speakers at a rock concert and as subtle and soft as the brush of silk against a young child's cheek.  No matter the ‘volume’ there is a texture of unbreakable strength in the desire to know and be known.  “For God so loved the world…”

In those last moments, lost in the clarity of my sister’s translucent eyes, there was a conversation…a dialogue…an indescribable knowing.  It was clear there was no fear, no sense of discomfort regarding the unknown.  There was an understanding…a softness…a comfort and consolation…for me!  Her final gift.

Five minutes later she was gone…she had slipped away…the ship freed of its mooring moved beyond the horizon.

Retro – no introspection…
I am not sure I have ever experienced a moment with any living creature as intimate as those, and yet even now I cannot recapture their richness.  Writing these words has been an attempt to record them…revisit them…relive them if possible, but of course it is not possible.  In the scripture, it says that after the Angel visited Mary to tell her of the impending birth of the Christ, she “…pondered these things in her heart…”

As I “ponder” the last moments of my sister’s life, in my heart, I find the edges are softer…less clear…not so focused nor intense.  BUT this I do know, the brown liquid windows to her soul spoke to mine…touched me…expressing in those wordless moments the ancient expression…”Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid…”

I long to touch that soul once again…I have little doubt I will….

- ted

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Thankful at "O dark thirty"…


“…those nations [that] are blessed whose God is the Lord….It has seemed to me fit
and proper that God should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully
acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice,
by the whole American people.”
- Abraham Lincoln



They were a hardy bunch, those early in the game.  The Americas looked to be a real prize.  While it wasn’t the Far East as some had supposed, or had been hoping for, rumors abounded of precious metals there for the taking.  It would only take some adventurous and hearty souls to establish a foothold and the rest would be a grand success. 

Ah yes, a great opportunity…a business opportunity, because those early in the game were British venture capitalists.  While it is certainly true there were hearty and adventurous souls who were willing to sail to this new land (as it turns out under not the most honorable recruitment), it was the investors who stood to gain the most, if the venture proved successful. 

Reality bites…
In the early going it was not fruitful…not for the investors and not for those arriving settlers who found much more difficult circumstances than had been promised them.

The first attempt in the region by the Spanish at Ajacan (1526) had failed and Jamestown (founded in 1607) had so many fits and starts, it is a wonder it ever survived.  While at first, the native Indians seemed friendly, the British settlers did not understand their culture and soon found themselves in serious conflict, and with little remaining resources.  In fact, things became so desperate; in 1610, the entire colony boarded a ship back to England only to be met a supply vessel from at the mouth of the James River.  They turned back, determined to try again, and eventually finding footing…timing is everything!

Thanksgiving…
While the story of Pocahontas, the Indian princess and John Smith the British adventurer with a storied background – surviving battles with the Spanish and Ottoman Turks – has created numerous films and even animated movies, it was a dangerous and brutal time…not quite the pleasantly entertaining children’s view of the first British Colony on American soil.

And yet, all of this has brought us to this week and the American Holiday of Thanksgiving, officially proclaimed by Abraham Lincoln in the year of 1863.  It was intended be a time of celebration of the first official Jamestown harvest in 1621.  A time to gather together and remember just how blessed we have been and are, for the land of freedom in which we find ourselves.

Thanks for the deals…
In recent years, Thanksgiving has become something else.  It has become not the time of giving thanks for yet another year together, but the beginning of the Christmas shopping season.  Like most things in our capitalist system, some stores advertised some bargains.  After all, it was a holiday, families were gathered together…what better way to take a break the day after Thanksgiving day than to do a little Christmas pre-shopping.

It has grown from a day after, to very early the morning of the day after to Midnight of the day of Thanksgiving.  Some shoppers are so enthusiastic, they show up in lines ahead of time and it has not been unknown for some to break out into fights trying to get the best deal on the most popular items of the season.  Yes indeed, Thanksgiving has surely evolved in this country.  The hearts of those early British venture capitalists, no doubt would be warmed…were it only that their lives had not been cut short by their, uh, let me see…oh yes by the 60 or 80 years, “…if by strength…” they had survived.

Enough of this…
So, here we are preparing for the coming Thanksgiving holiday here in the United States.  I am looking forward to seeing my mother-in-law and two brothers-in-law.  We will have a delightful family gathering where we will take the time to love each other.  This by the way doesn’t always just happen…one often has to make the deliberate decision to be loving at these events.  Fortunately, with our family it comes fairly naturally. 

Friday morning, in dutiful fashion, my wife and her brothers will head out at "...O dark thirty..." to go shopping together – they refuse to do the midnight thing, at least this year.  They actually don’t do much buying on their early day after either.  What they actually do is ‘hang out together’ and just spend time talking and catching up.  It is their way to be ‘in’ but not necessarily ‘of’ the world…

I, on the other hand, will be sleeping in and enjoying a few stolen moments in the words of William Drummond:  “Farr from the madding worldings hoarse discords.” 

I will slowly approach the new day with an appreciation and thankfulness for yet another year with those I love and for whom I care.

- ted

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Somebody touched me...


“Touch has a memory.” 
– John Keats

He was a small man sitting alone in circular waiting room.  He had been glancing at the book in his hand, then gazing to some distant place…returning to the book again.

The Big Easy…
I had been in New Orleans for a three-day training program at one of the local downtown hospitals.  Rather than staying in city, the hotel was in Metairie twenty minutes or so away.  While things are coming back, other than the downtown tourist areas, most everywhere is still undergoing substantial rehabilitation. 

Folks often think traveling to these kinds of places is exciting and in some cases sort of exotic.  For the less traveled, it goes like this: Up and at it for breakfast around 6:30AM.  Work through the day…finish up after dark…eat dinner somewhere in the late 7PM to early 8PM hours, finishing an hour or so later.  That leaves a little time to read and tuck in to start the cycle once again.  It is incredibly exotic!!

The event…
We were waiting for security to open a small conference room, where the morning was spent team teaching a course on the management of chronic back and neck pain.  In the 10 minutes or so during ‘the wait,’ I watched this fellow repeat the cycle of eye to book…eye to some distant place…eye back to the book.  He would read a few words and then think a little about what he had read.

The guard came and as we started toward the room, I walked by the seated man and noted he was in the Scriptures – he was ‘redeeming his time…’ while waiting for a doctor’s appointment.

As I passed he looked up and our eyes briefly met.  “What book are you reading?” I asked.  He looked a bit startled, refocusing his eyes, “Luke Chapter 8.”  He replied.  “What’s it saying?” I followed. 

In a halting rhythmic Haitian thick English accent – the French oozing compellingly from his tongue – he began to read the story of the woman who had had an issue of blood for 12 years, and could find no relief.  She believed if she touched Christ’s garment she would be healed…so she did and the scripture says she was healed.

Just then, the man was called for his appointment and he stood.  I said to him, “Do you know what the next few scriptures say?”  He shook his head no. “Not yet.”

I replied, “Christ says, 'Somebody touched me.'” To which his disciples replied, that he was in a crowd with many people touching him.  Christ responded, “Somebody touched ME,” for he had felt virtue come out of him.  It was not a handshake touch…it was not a pat on the back…it was an intimate connection to his spiritual body…a transfer of spirit understood by every parent who calms their child through the touch of their hand, a look of safety as their eyes connect, or the warmth of the bond when holding one another.

All I know is in that instant and interchange, the universe stopped for the two of us.  We looked into each other’s eyes for the briefest of moments…excellent moments…a common and transcendent bridge of communication.  In that ever so fleeting connection...there was no time.

We shook hands smiled, nodded in acknowledgement and off we went to our respective days.

It was good…
My life seems to be filled with little moments like this.  I suppose, in some ways, I look for them.  I sometimes think maybe it is because God knows how frail I am and that I need them…need them to be reinforced that there 'is' meaning…to appreciate the interconnectedness of the human spirit…to be reminded in spite of being bombarded with negativity, separation and self-interest, we are all part of the same tapestry of humanity.

There is so much I don’t know…so much I do not understand…so much that escapes my sense of life.
Stepping away, in an attempt to gather significance from the big picture often overwhelms me.  

But then…then I see a small man sitting on the edge of a circular waiting room, glancing at the book in his hand, gazing to some distant place.  We exchange a few words from a text we have in common, and we find a ‘place.’

It doesn’t matter we will never see one another again…it doesn’t matter we know nothing about each other’s lives…nothing matters really except this…

He touched Me!


- ted