Does it ever end...redux

"Whether the universe is atoms or Nature, let this first

be established, that I am part of the whole

which is governed by nature..."

- Marcus Aurelius: Meditations

“Will you go with me to Muskoka?”

That’s how the end began.  This 'end' was closure to what had been a pretty rugged past few years.  This is not a sad or thoughtful piece, just a note of closure…

My younger sister Nancy, for completely unknown reasons, contracted (inherited?) Alzheimer’s disease and lost the war in February of this past year.  Her journey ended on a Sunday afternoon, and a week later we celebrated her life with a few stories and dancing to the music she loved.

A lot happens in those times of unexpected – or even expected – loss.  You don’t plan the memorial service before someone passes away…you simply start the game full blast at a time when you need to gather yourself in.  That, of course, comes later…after the dust settles…

‘…the dust settles’ – an interesting phrase, because that is precisely why and where we found ourselves on an incredibly sunny day on the shores of Lake Joseph…in the Province of Ontario…in the land of my birth – Canada.  The property, in the family for nearly 100 years, is now in the hand of someone else.  The cottages that contained so many memories for so many decades all gone with only small patches of cleared land remaining on forest floor…and yet…and yet, nothing built or taken away had affected the shoreline one bit.  No sir, the rocks…the trees…all of it…all of it was as familiar as the back of my hand.

Home at last...

Here, as a gentle westerly wind came down the bay, in the shade of a very old cedar tree, we remembered once again and committed part of my sister’s…her mother’s ashes…to the lake Nancy had so dearly loved.  It ‘was’ a tender moment.

There was a little more to be done, for on this 212 acre (85.7 hectare) piece of land sits a 10-acre (4 hectare) lake we all called 'Lily Lake,' for surely it had hundreds of them on pads in the shallow waters along her shores.   On the maps, it’s call Arnott Lake – my mother’s family name – but to us…it was always 'Lily.'

This lake is connected to Lake Joe by a small stream, growing to its size through the work of beaver families that building and maintaining a dam through ‘their generations’ long before my birth.  There are cranberry bogs…lots of frogs and other little living things that can be found in the small lakes of Central Ontario.  And the air…the air…there is something…some subtle cosmic pheromone that reaches so deeply inside…its familiarity so gently intimate, one not experienced in its ways, might miss its seductive draw.

Here, on this dazzlingly sunny day, we committed the rest of Nancy’s ashes to the waters of Lily’s shores.  She had been waiting for us…her water’s still and clear…the ashes drifting away beneath her surface…away from the shore like the mists across the glen, propelled by an invisible wind…the task complete.

Mariah said when my time came, she would honor me in the same place, in the same way…we quietly wept...

I should be so blessed

- ted

Sometimes you just have to walk away...

“It’s almost never the decision itself,

but the difficult path getting there.”

- Anonymous

It’s hard to know how the day is going to start. Yet as long as we have breath, each morning begins as it does for every living creature on the planet. Sometimes those days are predictable, but mostly they are not. This day things went badly…and went badly quickly.

The lioness escaped the sudden events that swiftly unfolded…her cub did not. In the aftermath, she looked around, and following a whimpering sound located her young offspring. The cub was not dead, but had been trampled by a herd of antelope or water buffalo or some other migrating pack that had been frightened by something unknown.

She came nuzzling and nudging the cub to move, but its lower back was broken – it could not. She picked it up in her mouth and carried it for a while. Whether it was the weight or fatigue or a combination…she put the cub down and slowly walked on. For a short period, it dragged itself along by its two front legs trying to keep up with its mother. She walked slowly allowing it to keep a distance of about ten feet between them. Then she stopped and sat…the cub paused, staring intently at her from behind.

The photographer had captured this rare and astonishing moment - the camera filming from the side as the drama played itself out. A second camera found itself positioned in full frontal view of the mother lion, sitting erect and regal – the cub plainly visible several feet behind her.

The war between the mothering instinct and struggle for survival appeared to be in play. The lioness seemed to be thinking… calculating… considering her options…running through some nameless decision making algorithm known only in her own mind. They say animals don’t make subtle facial expressions, but watching her as she sat for those moments was riveting – the battle between the instinct of motherhood and for survival…almost in prayer.

Then something appeared to click in her mind. Something ancient…something primal…something tragic…a realization, a decision that telegraphed itself through the unseen camera directly into my heart. Like the arrow released from Paris’ bow heading for Achilles’ heel, there was no turning back…the endgame clear.

She glanced over her shoulder and looked directly at her cub…the fruit of her womb…the flesh of her flesh…and then turned to look straight ahead. She blinked her eyes, took a deep breath – a sigh really – and walked away.

It was one of the more profoundly moving and unexpectedly touching things I have seen in my life. It was not what I had expected. It was not the pleasant “…isn’t that nice…” resolution to a potentially lethal situation. I did not smile at a satisfyingly haunting lyric like ‘The Gambler’ written by Don Schlitz; sung by the American artist Kenny Rogers:

“You got to know when to hold ‘em

Know when to fold ‘em

Know when to walk away

Know when to run…”

It was stark…real…life…death…decision…choice. All of that played out in a few astonishingly brief moments. In the most paradoxical of ways, the act was compassionately courageous. The mother had assessed the situation, tested the possibilities for survival, and made the most merciful decision for both she and her cub. The very rhythm of nature that brought the cub to life would now take it away…neither act either particularly willing or unwilling…simply a part of nature’s ‘what is.’

As human creatures in our culture, leaving our young would be unconscionable. As thinking social beings, we understand the future is not simply about our personal survival. We understand it is the transmission of conscious thought that builds the foundation, for our personal future, and that of our species. We understand we are, in fact, spiritual creatures housed in physical bodies…bodies, which in some cases not completely whole, hold the most wonderfully creative minds.

There are so many situations in life where we find ourselves unable to make decisions to move on from circumstances of hopelessness…the death of a loved one…the loss of a relationship…an abusive situation…the failure to succeed where time and energy has been spent.

The metaphor of choosing life, over the potential tragedy of two deaths, touched me deeply. Making conscious decisions, in spite of the difficulty in doing so, for a better life…a better future…all of that has played itself out in the theater of my mind since seeing that poignant video. Those few moments, calculated on the basis of the instinct for survival and choice for life, were profoundly touching.

“She blinked her eyes, took a deep breath – a sigh really – and walked away.”

ted

Subways in Berlin redux...

“The robbed that smiles, steals

something from the thief."

Shakespeare - Othello

Sometimes you get a win when you didn’t even know you were in the game.

She was about five years old holding her mother’s hand when they got on board.

The setup…

The subway car had been full when I climbed on ten stops earlier…full of commuters heading home for the day. I was in Europe for a conference and had a little time to see the city. It was Berlin and I had just finished 10 hours of visiting museums and getting around the city to find them…I was really tired – the kind where you have reached the edge of your brain’s capacity to absorb another piece of information and your 64 year old body is asking, “What were you thinking!?” You know what I mean.

I hopped on the subway at Mehringdamm station - well, not exactly ‘hopped’ – for the 18-station trip to my hotel near the Rohrdamn station. I had taken a seat facing backward across from a young man listening to his iPod, completely oblivious to me or anyone else – his head moved to a beat only he could hear. You have no doubt heard the saying attributed to Friedrich Nietzsche: “…those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” This would describe him exactly…it was nice to see this young man in doing his own thing and in his own world.

As the people thinned out, a bench facing forward opened up across the Isle; I slipped over and settled in with a little more legroom. All four seats (two forward and two backward) were open except for the place I had taken by the window.

The event…

The little girl got on at Wilmersdorfer with her mother who was pushing her to sit facing backward, directly across from me. It was a seat by the door and would be an easy ‘on’ and ‘off.’ I’m a pretty big fellow, and the girl looked a little unsure about sitting across from me, but was obedient in the rush and sat down. She was tiny, as most five year olds are, cute with a knee length jumper and full length, brightly colored stockings.

I looked over and noticed she was staring at me. I caught her eye, and she did what most children do when caught glancing at a stranger, she looked quickly down. We rode together for 3 stops to Mierendorflpl with four stops left for me, when I noticed she was carrying a small plastic bag in her right hand. Through the plastic, I saw a 5”x7” (15x18cm) portrait ‘head shot’ of the little girl. As she nervously turned the plastic back and forth, I could see another picture of several children posing for the camera – a class picture from her school.

The train was just pulling into the station when I pointed to the picture and then to her, raising my eyebrows and smiling. This is, by the way, my international sign language for short messages with children. It was all I had…I don’t speak German! She nodded, grinned brightly...a warmth that could have lit the afternoon sun with a full ‘tooth showing’ smile – we connected!

The payoff…

As she and her mother got off the train, I wondered with a little anticipation…had the magic between us worked? She trotted off toward the exit holding her mother’s hand, and then it happened…she turned to see if I was watching – we connected again – her smile widened and she waved the little hand that was holding

the pictures of she and her classmates – A WIN!!

In that moment, all the tiredness of the day slipped away. The unspoken and knowing connection between two human beings had occurred in one of the great languages of the soul…the open smile. It did not require a hard earned vocabulary, hours of repetitive practice, nor finding a place for subtle expression in written or spoken thought – No! The only elements necessary for this to happen were proximity (being near one another) and a willing heart. The scriptures says, “…if first there be a willing mind…” All things are possible and in

that moment the universe was working well.

On that day, in that city, sitting exhausted on that subway car, I was once again reminded of how much we all are alike…young-old, tall-short, black-white-yellow-red…we are connected by the fabric of humanity, and when that connection happens, WE KNOW this is the way God intended for life to be for all of us, if we just take the
time to listen and be refreshed.

The smile from that little girl, was more rewarding in the moment, than all the reading, listening and watching I have done in my life, to try and understand what any of this life means. That little girl, in that moment, reminded me that we can share with each other the most profound of things, in the lightening briefness when two souls touch through the magic of a shared smile.