The beat goes on...

“Be aware when things are out of balance…”

Lao Tzu – Tao Te Ching

“Stop philosophizing about what

a good man is and be one.”

Marcus Aurelius - Meditations

The moment I stepped out of the room in tee shirt and light jacket, I knew I was in trouble.  It wasn’t actually ‘the stepping out’ of the room, but the millisecond it took to realize the key lay on the desk inside.  You know the feeling – the mind gets it, but the hands not quick enough to beat the clicking sound of a securely shut door!

I was in the Ozark Mountains in Southern Missouri on my way to teach a course on the clinical management of chronic back pain.  It was March and a great time to be in the ‘Show Me’ State.  This is the time year, when world begins waking from the winter, and the smell of impending spring fills the air like the expectant hope of the first flight of a young bird…a special anticipation to the air – ah, the cycle of life renewing itself once again! 

The trip in had been uneventful and the motel, while modest, had one of those beds that afforded a great night’s sleep.  A common, but not excessive ‘road warrior,’ I have spent many a night in strange cities and in strange beds.  No matter where the room, its cost, or what it looks like…only one thing really matters once the lights are out…how does that bed sleep!  This one was excellent!

It was a modest, family-owned motel where the car parked just outside the room, so slipping out lightly clad seemed reasonable.  Reason quickly faded as chilling reality took front seat.  In addition to being outside the now locked door, the temperature had dropped twenty degrees over night bringing with it an unexpected snow and ice storm.  It was very cold!

Clearly there was motivation to change my circumstance quickly.  There is another motivating factor in the early morning hours – hot coffee! So rather than going to the office to get another key – a rational strategy – I fired up the car, turned on the defroster and waited, shivering until the car heated up – being an early riser doesn’t imply common sense.

Coffee being the predominant thought, the hunt was on for an early morning vendor of that black elixir that renews the cycle of my life on a daily basis.  This was, however, rural Missouri and it was going to take a little time to find a place.

You see what you look for - find what you know...

By the time I found the roadside restaurant, it was 5:30AM and the singular thought occupying my mind was that hot liquid of morning rebirth.  The place was big and stark.  The man behind the counter, in a tone of distracted non-interest said, “Do you want to smoke or not?” I said no and was pointed to a side room down a short hall. 

The non-smoking room was a bit smaller with all but one table empty.  Overhead, 1960s music was playing; the first couple that caught my attention were:  “Help, I need somebody, help, not just anybody, help, you know I need someone. Help me,” and “I can’t get no satisfaction.” – by the Beatles and Rolling Stones respectively.  Songs that excited passion and debate in their day, but now seemed familiar, yet tired lyrics, reflecting a sense of paradise lost, with little help and a touch of thoughtful dissatisfaction.  “Those were the days, my friend.  We thought they’d never end…”  Yet, like the slowly sinking sun into the Western sky, those days…those days slipped into the greyish unfocused shapes of yesteryears.

I was not alone…

I took an empty table and glanced at the others in the room. Both women already looked exhausted.  They were mothers with three children between them – one baby and two little ones, each competing for attention – no men to be seen.  The older of the two asked for a little more water apologizing for the mess the children were making.  The waiter, no doubt having seen this movie more than once, said, “Sure” in a moderately inattentive and knowing monotone. 

You could sense the mothers’ anxiousness – these children needed to eat the food, because for them it was expensive and who knew what would be coming the rest of the day.  How often growing up, did we hear variations of this expression, “Eat your food <your name here>. You should be grateful – just think of all the children starving in <fill in the blank for the country>.” 

The urgency and frustration in this disheveled, blue jean clad mother’s voice, had little to do with starving children anywhere, but rather a compelling urgency that filling these children up was a necessity of life.  Her words carried a tired sternness, “You need to eat the rest of your breakfast.  Don’t let me hear you say you are hungry later…” as if the child had anyway to understand the importance of fueling up for what might be the biggest – maybe only meaningful meal of the day. 

The starkness of the scene, the sense of ‘paradise lost’ in the words of the tired 60s music, and the reality of millions of people living on the edge was overwhelming – almost tangible in this early morning hour.  The emergent problems of these women were not my problems…or were they?  The child caring, fatherless setting, all too common, even in this land where there is so much. 

It is an old story…

What is the mother to do?  How does she survive?  Where does she find the resources to care for this unwanted, but clearly present responsibility?  Who knows what she was thinking, or ‘wanted to hear’ when she was promised the “…whatever…” that caused her to ‘give it up,’ and led to this circumstance.  She, of course, would do what mothers have done through all of time, when left to care from the conception and birth, of a poorly conceived moment in time.  She would do whatever it took!

I got the coffee, had a little breakfast, paid my bill and added a tip.  Yeah, I got a little more interested service, because it was clear, in this setting, only one table was going to tip anything, and it wasn’t the women with the children. 

One of us was inconvenienced by a minor unexpected circumstance, the consequence of which…get a new key and go on with the day – a small thing really.  The others were inconvenienced by a grinding and unrelenting life circumstance - a much greater consequence.  They wouldn’t find a solution to their situation quite so easily.

What do we do? How do we ‘…pay it forward?’  How do we invest the privilege we’ve been given to try and make a difference?  Clearly, most of the world around us is out of our control, there is little we can influence other than our own thoughts, AND we can try to be good farmers…planting ideas and thoughts in the minds of those with whom we come in contact.  We can also act on the thoughts that have been planted in our minds.

I should have quietly paid for their breakfast on my way out – I didn’t.  Next time I won’t make the same mistake…lessons learned – hindsight, you know?

As I left the restaurant, I could hear the closing refrain of the Sonny and Cher hit echoing in my brain, “…the beat goes on, on, on, on, on….”

My hope? Today and next time - be a better man…

- ted

It's all in the voice...

“…with so much that has been given,

what is our obligation?”

- Anonymous

“Samuel, Samuel, ” the voice called…

The ritual was the same most nights.  There would be a hug and a kiss good night, preceded by a short prayer thanking God for the day and maybe for those who might be less fortunate than us. 

Then there would be those special nights – there were many as a child, when Mum would tell me a story.  Her favorites, and by extension mine, were those of the Old Testament in the Bible.  One I loved to hear, and would request from time to time, was Samuel.  

A fellow named Elkanah (El-cain-ah) had two wives: Hannah and Peninah.  Peninah (Pe-nee-nah) produced several children, but Hannah was barren…and pretty depressed about it.  One year, quietly and bitterly praying to God, she negotiated:

“…If, thou wilt look on the affliction of thine handmaid, and remember me, and not forget thine handmaid, but wilt give unto thine handmaid a man child, then I will give him unto the Lord all the days of his life…” (1 Samuel 1:11 – Bible)

The deal?  Give me a boy and I’ll give him back to you.  She returned home, and the scripture says, “…Elkanah knew Hannah his wife; and the Lord remembered her.”  Thus begins the unlikely journey of Samuel, one of the pivotal characters of the Old Testament.

When the child was two, Hannah took him to the Priest Eli and gave the child to the old man.  This was her deal…give me the child and I’ll give him back - she honored the arrangement.  Somewhere around the age of five, Samuel was sleeping and God called him.  The scripture says, “…the Lord called Samuel…,” but my mother recounted that God said, “Samuel, Samuel…”  There is no way for me to express the quiet and urgent gentleness of my mother’s voice as she spoke those words, but in the imagination of a young child, I was transported to the very room where God spoke to this little boy. 

Samuel thought it was the old priest calling him and went to see what he wanted.  The priest, of course had not done so.  This was repeated twice before the Eli realized God was trying to communicate with the boy.  He instructed Samuel to say, “…Speak Lord; for thy servant heareth…” – which Samuel did, ultimately leading to Samuel's role in the birth the Hebrew monarchy.

This was just one of many stories Mum would tell.  They were intimate and animated and full of quiet enthusiasm.  You see, I was Samuel to my mother.  It is not that she was barren, for I was given two great sisters.  It is that she had fervently prayed that God would give her children that she and my father could care for and raise with purpose.

Mum would tell me - maybe it was when I first heard the story of Samuel - I didn’t belong to she and my dad.  I was a gift from God and it was their obligation and duty to raise me for Him.  It is difficult to express the comfort of these words from her.  There was the sense that this was a team effort…inclusive – not exclusive. 

She and dad had conceived me, but in fact, I was to be a free moral agent being prepared to hear ‘the voice’ myself.  That was their job as she saw it.  Teach me the language, tell me the stories, inform me of my place in this world and then turn me loose - her work complete.

She would say, it might not come as clearly as “Samuel, Samuel…,” but it would come.  The task might not be of Samuel’s magnitude, but...it would be.  I should be aware, she would continue, that like Samuel, it might take time to recognize God’s leading, but if I kept my mind open, I would eventually recognize ‘the voice.’

And so my childhood would go.  Mum was clever when telling many of these stories, taking poetic license here and there.  Some of the Biblical stories are fairly explicit, if not in language, certainly in intent.  The story of Esther provides an example.  A King named Ahasurerus (A-hash-U-E-rus), had divorced his wife and was looking for a new queen.  His counselors rounded up the young virgins of the kingdom, prepared them and presented to the king - one a night.  Esther was one of these girls.  He took a great affection to her and made her his queen.  Mum explained the reason the king liked Esther so much was that she was a “…very good story teller, and the king really enjoyed them.”

As the years have gone by, some of the warmest memories I have are the times I had with my mother in the twilight of the day – telling me stories.  As she admonished, I have tried to listen for ‘the voice’ as my journey has unfolded.  As anyone that seeks knows, discerning God’s leading is not always evident.  Yet, seekers know 'the sound' when they hear it.  It may not be clear to others what the voice of God sounds like, but I can assure you, when He quietly speaks to my heart, it is the distinct and quiet voice of my mother calling “Ted, Ted…”

Happy Mother’s Day Mum.

 

- ted

A longer view...

“…weeping may endure for a night,

but joy comes in the morning…”

- Psalm 30:5 - Bible

The photo fell from a small notebook I had moved when cleaning the office.  There were two in the picture – a 90 something woman, with the empty stare of someone encouraged to smile for some unknown reason – a vacant sense of emptiness in her eyes that gave away nothing of the rich life experience that had been her legacy.

The other a confident, a bright eyed woman with charisma that jumped off the paper.  Every thing about her said, “I am joyfully alive and am facing the moment – carpe diem!”

That was then and this is now…

Mother had been suffering from Alzheimer’s for several years before this picture was taken; the bright-eyed woman with charisma to burn, my sister – now in the throes of the same devastating disease…not in her 90s, but early 60s.  The irony in this photo…all but overwhelming.

Nancy Jeanne, my ‘little sister’ …a woman whose strength, determination and persistence was, at least in our family circle…legend.  One is reminded of the story of the 'talents' in the scripture.  The master gives three servants some money (talents) and goes away on a journey.  Upon his return, he asks for an accounting of how the servants used the talents.  Two of them doubled their money, to which the master says, “…well done thou good and faithful servant, you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many…” (Matthew 25:21 – Bible).  The third servant did not use the talent given him, burying it in the ground.  The master chastised him and cast him away.  This Parable, as all parables, is meant to be a metaphor…in this case the gifts we have been given in our lives and how we use them.

In Nancy’s world there were no mountains too high, no obstacles too problematic, no hurdles from which she withdrew.  She had only two speeds: rest and 100%! Somehow, there was a solution to whatever problem emerged and encouragement to anyone who might not quite have the tools necessary to handle the unrelenting gravity of life.  She had been a successful businesswoman, who spent a decade in New York City as a trailblazing female executive, before coming to Missouri.  In Jefferson City, she spent nearly 25 years bringing her thoughtful; innovative skills to a local bank while, as a single parent, raising her daughter.

A special life

Nancy had been spared twice: once as a baby she was struck by an unknown acute respiratory attack.  Her color turned and she struggled to breathe.  It happened in the isolation of our cottage, in Canada, when she was under the age of two.  My father drove the gravel back roads with the terrifying skill of a grand pre professional, while a cousin held the gasping infant in his arms.  They made it to the emergency room, thirty miles away, in time and she survived.

While in high school, she was coming home with her boyfriend on rainy and road-slick night.  The accident that night caused her to go face first through the windshield on the passenger side, and among other things, opened a large gash to her right cheek.  As fate would have it, a plastic surgeon happened to be at the hospital when they brought her in.  She survived the crash, and the skill of the plastics man eventually left her with almost no discernable scar – on her face.  She was marked with a dime-sized area of hair, just at the widow’s peak, that grew from that moment to this day…a distinguished pure white.  In many ways, it was a symbol of the way she lived her life – with distinction.

Later came the war – but first there was lunch

In the summer of 1969 I was in the U.S. military and had received orders for Vietnam.  This would be the last summer, before heading overseas, at the cottage where I had come every year of my life.  Our maternal grandfather had purchased a parcel of land in 1910 in South Central Ontario where, in subsequent years, family members built cottages along the sides of a bay.  This summer was particularly meaningful, because it had the potential for being my last.

Nancy and I decided to return to the States together…me to leave for a foreign land and she to university.  On our way home, we stopped at Niagara Falls for lunch at one of those rotating restaurants on the top of a tower overlooking the Canadian side.

You know how some things in life get burned into your memory in ways that remain crystal clear every time they come to mind?  I was sitting on the inside of the table looking, over her right shoulder, out the window on this clear sunny day; we both had shrimp salads.  As the restaurant slowly swept by the falls on its ‘one hour per rotation,’ I looked across the table and it was though I had never really seen Nancy before.  I was overcome by feelings of love for this young girl/woman.  The moment might have been framed by the anxiety of my impending overseas tour, or perhaps a heightened appreciation for a possible last glimpse of things familiar.  Whatever the impetus for that moment, is now lost.  Not lost in that brief and brilliantly clear moment, however, is the rich and deeply moving realization of how much my sister meant to me.  I didn't know what lay ahead, but knew beyond doubt, if I returned home, this woman would become my best friend.

Life has a way of acting out its own screenplay

I survived the war.  As I have grown older and the optimism of youth has become mixed with the realities of life, I have still kept a sense of wonder and gratitude as to what might come next…just around the corner.  I have also learned that life can be cold…very cold, and the way we react to the temperature has everything to do with whether we survive the ride.

And so in her early sixth decade the chill of winter has been too much for my sister as she slips across the ice into the darkness of dementia.  In the seemingly most unjust, unfair and reactive of ways, I find myself asking, “Is there meaning or purpose?”

No, seriously, “…is there any purpose to life?”

In the shallow end of the pool, the easy answer is NO!  In the shallow end of the pool, the anger and pain that wells up at this seeming injustice, yells, “HELL NO!”  In the shallow end of the pool, it is easy to say, “What then is the point?  I’m just asking, is there a point?”  These expressions create a caricature that professes a fearful and self-centeredness that is really saying, “What about me!” 

An opportunity for a deep breath and a little introspection.

There is a longer view…there is deeper water.  Whether one lives for 20 years or 80 years, matters not.  For one only really lives in the ‘…moment of present consciousness…’  The ‘…moment past…’ cannot be altered; the ‘…moment yet to come…’ cannot be predicted. 

How long into the future in ‘…moments of present consciousness…’ my sister will have and at what level, is unknown – our family is long lived and how quickly she will lose us is uncertain. However,  the unalterable moments of ‘…present consciousness…’ she had in her life cannot be altered.  They were productive and they were meaningful.  Pieces of her charismatic zest for living were left with everyone who had more than passing interaction with her.  There was no one too big or too small,  touched by her, that did not know there was something special about this woman.  Her defiant honesty, her richly felt compassion, her intellect and broad view of the playing field always left things better than the way she found them. 

Her ultimate gift?  A daughter, instilled with the same sense of honor and compassion; planted with a sense of justice – of right and wrong.  Nancy paid the game of life forward with every breath she took, as she recognized life was truly a gift – no guarantees for the next step. 

Life that ends this way is tragic and sometimes seems to be unfair.  People who love and care express themselves with words of condolence and sorrow.  In these circumstances, we often don’t know what else to say. 

The compassionate care of friends and family ARE meaningful and ARE of real comfort.  Yet there is no condolence – no sorrow necessary here.  There is, of course, the work needed for her care as long as she has breath, BUT there is a celebration, to have her still with us, a remembrance of the example she left by making the things she touched so much better.  Nancy spent her life, gifts and skills, building up the people and things around her.  While her life has been diminished, she continues to fight and shine and share, and love within her capacity as she always has. Truly it could be said of her “…well done thou good and faithful servant…”

- ted

The lights are on, but...

 “But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dream to shame.”

Fantine – Les Miserables

The Musical

There is a quietness when nobody is home.  The rooms once filled with activity, laughter and love – now curiously still.  We are gifted, or maybe cursed, with a sense of sameness, a feeling of constancy in an ever-changing world.  It helps us cope, providing a kind of internal security.  In fact nothing is the ever same…everything changes.  It is easy to be fooled until you enter the house when nobody is home.

Riley met me at the door as always, with the wild enthusiasm of a puppy.  Her ten years seemed to have done nothing to dampen her excitement.  She looked quickly past me as if to say, “Where’s Nance?  Did you bring her? Is she still in the car?  Is she getting the luggage?” 

Nancy has not been home now for the better part of a month; she won’t be coming home again.  I had an overwhelming desire for Riley to understand her closest companion would not return.  You often hear stories of animals so loving of their masters, they pine the rest of their live at the loss.  Riley gave me her best effort, but we both knew I was a poor substitute for that gentle soul with whom she had lived her entire life.

While Riley had always had a special place in my sister’s heart, the last few years as she began her unrelenting slip into darkness, Riley was her best friend. Before any of us knew the thunderclouds were gathering, Riley was there for comfort with all her small heart could give.  Before we understood the disease was robbing my sister of her life by inches…Riley knew.  They ate together, watched television together, slept together, spending every day in each other’s company.  When we struggled for patience in Nancy’s circular, repetitive world, Riley did not!  In the most patient of ways, she would sit, with the rapt attention of a long lost friend, enthralled by my sister’s disconnected monologues.

In the last few years, with minor exception, the two of them were always together.  Getting Nancy to leave the house for dinner or a movie, without taking Riley, required all the diplomatic skill one could muster.  Riley – the only constant in my sister’s withering world...and now she is gone.

How does one know what is right and wrong in these situations?  For a second time this devastating disease has taken a loved one.  Irony hangs in the air like a dense fog, as I recall how the girls and I labored over these decisions with mother.  While all of us struggled, it was Nancy who carried the brunt, in the day to day management of Mum – before an assisted living ‘solution’ loomed large in her future.  It is said, “…if you want to know what’s up ahead, ask someone on their way back…”  The problem, of course, the ‘…what’s up ahead…’ is different for each person, each time.  In some ways, there is no ‘...on their way back...’  My sister is NOT my mother and this dance, while forecasting a similar endgame, is very different this time.  Agonizing decisions…when they should be made, and with what right – the only similarity.  Under the angst of the day-to-day decision making process, these are the broad-brush strokes that haunt the soul.  From the moral perspective, when one sees the decline of thought and function – the intimate knowing and loving perspective, and before God…when is it right to take the reins? 

The flight from the West was without incident as it has been every six weeks or so over the past couple of years.  The tornado warnings so frequent in this part of the world, lifted just long enough to make a safe landing into St. Louis.  The drive to Jefferson City was without incident, and I arrived as so often before.

My dear sister, of course, was not there.  She is now under the care of an assisted living facility and I will see her today for the first time since being with her in her home, a scant few weeks ago. 

There is a quietness when nobody is home…nothing is the ever same…everything changes.  It is easy to be fooled until you enter the house when nobody is home.

 

- ted

If it can, it will...

“But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men
Gang aft agley [oft times go awry]

An’lea’e us not but grief an’ pain…”

- Burns R

To a Mouse, On Turning

Up In Her Nest With the Plough

There were 60 people at the lecture in the Baja Room that Thursday afternoon. 

It is a challenge coming to a group with a talk prepared, only to find it is not what you expected – so it was on that unusually chilly February afternoon in San Diego.  I had understood this would be an audience of mental health care providers, looking for insight into motivating their mentally challenged clients to a more physically active lifestyle.

It turned out that this was NOT an audience of mental health professionals, but an audience consisting mostly of their clients – not the greatest news for a fellow who compulsively prepares; whose slide presentation had some entertaining, but moderately formal things to say.

Now that’s funny…

Putting this conference in context, the speaker before me presented something called laughing yoga…a curious activity consisting of ‘range of motion’ exercises performed to hand clapping, hand raising and a lot of laughing.

For example, the leader clapped his hands saying, “ho, ho, ho” followed by a “ha, ha, ha.”  The audience mimicked – responding in kind.  Arms were then raised overhead to boisterous “…ha, ha, has…ho, ho, hos…hee, hee, hees.”  The obedient group enjoyed every minute, AND at the same time performed some meaningful stretches – the point of it all! 

After a few minutes, the manufactured laughter became so infectious, I found myself joining in.

This was simultaneously a stress reliever and stress inducer:

·      Reliever, because I was prepared for a completely different audience and the laughter burned some of the anxiousness away.

·      Inducer, because I was prepared for a completely different audience and was the next speaker with nothing particularly entertaining to say.

In addition, I was in my work costume – you know, the shirt, the tie, the sport jacket.  It was uncomfortably clear, however, this was not a shirt and tie audience – rather a collection of folk whose needs were not strategies, nor tactics, nor fulfillment of an intentional plan – they were people who, in varying degrees, were simply trying to get through the day…maybe just the next speaker.

Showtime

Laughing yoga done, introductions made…I hooked up laptop to projector, took a deep breath, smiled and brought up the first slide, wondering for the life of me how I was going to make anything work for this expectant group of people.

At that juncture, a most curious thing happened…the projector bulb blew – there would be no slides.  Murphy’s law (if it can go wrong, it will) came quickly to mind.  This was going to be interesting!

Let’s take a breath and a moment to review:

·      Wrong audience

·      Wrong material

·      Wrong clothing

·      Slide projector breakdown

There was a message in here somewhere…

I have spoken in hundreds of places over the years – some as cannon fodder for my resumé, and others for local and regional groups.  Most of this, in the last three decades,  focused on evidence based management of chronic back and neck pain.  The presentation for this day was a little away from that, and had been put together as a favor for a friend who worked in mental health.

In the Baja Room, in front of this crowd, on that afternoon, none of it meant a thing…I was totally naked…no electronic media behind which to hide…no credential that anyone cared about…nothing prepared, just 60 expectant faces and an unknown, nameless face from whom they expected to be engaged and entertained – at least as much as the laughing yoga guy!

In the first instance: Off with the jacket & tie – maybe his head!

With all the confidence of a deer in headlights, I blurted out  “How many of you folk enjoy exercising?”  To say the response was lukewarm would be overly generous. 

Buying time - the next question was, “Why not?”  A disheveled woman in her ‘mid-to-later years’  responded quite loudly, “It isn’t any fun!”  This coming after she and the others had been exercising and laughing for nearly an hour.  This was going to be a tough afternoon.

For some unaccountable reason, I walked over to her; took her hand; gently pulled her from her seat; slipped my arm around her waist and danced a few steps.  We stopped and the question came, “Was that fun?” She gave an enthusiastic, possibly overly warm, and fairly vocal “YES!”  From that moment, out of some unconscious 40-year reservoir came 50 minutes of something, in some ways, quite magical.  

It takes two…

If you have done much public speaking, you know it's about the audience.  If they engage, the experience is timeless, if not, minutes can be an eternity.

This event required an intimate human connection; a listening to the collective beating hearts of the audience; a trust that the years of experience would bring something to fit the need.  This event required the souls sitting in this group to reach out, in some communal way, to reassure my heart for next step.  As it turned out, in this protected cocoon of time, “we” found a connection and rather than a 'monologue,' we had a 'conversation.'

Something inside had taken over in one of the more interesting, enjoyable and unique experiences that have happened in my professional career. The rest of our time together was filled with a flow of aerobic, strengthening and stretching exercises that made our time together fly by!  We played, we exercised, we laughed, and yes, we loved one other.  It was an intimate exchange that engulfed us, in what might best be described as "A Happening!" Isn’t this the way respect and love is supposed to work?  That unguarded moment that brings the unexpected!

This experience was a reminder how fortunate we are…those of us who have the strength and support in live our lives for some normalcy.  I wondered, as so often before – what separates us from those who find themselves unable to withstand the pressures of a life that is so often chaotic and unpredictable.  It seems the ONLY thing separating many of us, from those souls who find themselves in life care situations, is the strength we have to keep from acting on every thought and impulse that goes through our minds…almost as if our ‘gatekeeper thoughts’ protect and permit us to function in consistent and socially acceptable ways.

   

Over the years I have been blessed with many satisfying professional experiences.  Few, however, have matched this event, in the Baja Room, in San Diego on that chilly February afternoon.

I was reminded once again - giving is better than getting because in the giving one also gets – and that, in turn, provides a double reward!

- ted

It's All About the Rhythm...(2)

The beat goes on, the beat goes on
Drums keep pounding a rhythm to the brain

- Sonny and Cher

Last week, we discussed a rhythm for life that is consistently seen at practically every level, from the cellular level on up.  All of it geared toward individual work contributing to a larger and more complex operation. 

The Apostle Paul used this as a metaphor for the growth of the spiritual body of the church.  As previously discussed, the contribution of cells and organs to the successful function of our physical bodies is the foundation of the building process:  “…the body is not one member but many…” Paul understood it would take a group of differently gifted people working together in common cause for successful growth of the body of the church. 

Socrates said a similar thing regarding the development of his imagined State:

“…Our first and greatest need is clearly the provision of food to keep us alive…Our second is shelter, and our third clothing of various kinds…how will our state supply these needs?  It will need a farmer, a builder and a weaver, and also, I think, a shoemaker and one or two others…So that the minimum state would consist of four or five men…” – Plato, The Republic

Different functions…different skill sets…different people, each coming together for a larger work  necessitating, and transcending the individual contribution.  Add to this, the natural curiosity for things yet unknown, and there emerges insight in our drive for the infinite.  The spiritual growth of the church and Republic respectively, required movement forward in a never-ending series of steps advancing to the next part of the mystery.  All of this points to a continual expansion of awareness without end - an idea we frankly cannot grasp as human creatures.  We are, however, provided powerful inferences to the process, at every turn of life...suggesting a ‘no end’ purpose for life – a resolute dynamic with ever-growing possibilities.

It is good to think about the lessons we see in nature, suggesting a guiding intelligence or power that has created definable systems and natural laws necessary for life…while at the same time providing lessons for mental or spiritual growth.  It is part of the curiosity of our nature.  Not everyone, however, shares this perspective.

A different point of view

There is a considerable body of thought suggesting life has no meaning.  That it is little more than “…a lightning flash in the darkness of cosmic eternity…” This view is echoed, for example, from the words of Solomon – “…all is vanity…” – to contemporary philosophers who describe life as an empty vacuum.  When the illusion of activity is removed we are left with the stark reality of a complete void…vacant with no purpose – the apparent order and rhythm of the universe, being nothing more than the greatest deception of all.

These thinkers say life is simply an exercise in futility.  It begins with birth, ends with death and what happens in between is basically a form of self-flagellation and disappointment.  Mankind’s unrelenting curiosity and interest to ‘…learn something new…’ nothing more than the carrot in front of the donkey – a cosmic joke of theatre, occupying our time...simply a closed existence in which only the actors change…the script remaining undaunted through eternity. 

After all, the fool and the brilliant end their lives in the same way…returning to the dust from which they came.  The vast majority of people living their lives in “…quiet desperation…” with regret for the life that might have, or rather should have been.  Not realizing no matter what the journey it would be filled with regret! 

On face value, it seems hard to argue against this when confronted with the reality of abuse, death and destruction we serve on one another.  It is hard to argue for life, growth, enlightenment and transcendence, when a singularly small portion of the world’s population selfishly controls the vast majority of its wealth and half of our fellow man lives on less than two dollars a day.  It is hard to argue when armed conflict, for less than meaningful reason, wantonly kills millions of innocents.  It is hard to argue when the defenseless – women and children – suffer unjustifiable and unspeakable violence and death on a daily basis all over the world – AND, it is hard to argue, knowing these realities, and sitting in a comfortable chair writing about a purpose for life. 

Sorting a little

Selfishness and selflessness are keys to understanding life’s rhythm.  One must be absolutely selfish in order to survive…selfishly guarding time and space to acquire knowledge or skill.  Scholarship is only truly shaped in private and able skill only accomplished by practice, practice and more practice.  Selfishness begins the process in survival and thought.  Awareness of using a selfishly acquired skill for a greater purpose, however, creates the critical transition to selflessness.  If transcendence occurs in life at all, it begins at the tipping point from 'the selfish' to 'the selfless.'

Viewing the world through the lens of vacancy misses the point, or at best acts only as an observer rather than a participant.  The point?  There is a difference between ‘what is’ and ‘what should or could be.’  If we were wired for the ‘what is’ rather than the ‘what should or could be,’ these writers and events of the world would be correct – there would be no hope.  BUT IN FACT, WE ARE NOT WIRED THIS WAY!

Not surprisingly we have an inborn sense of what ‘should be.’  We do not, for example, need to be taught the destructive nature of theft, dishonesty or betrayal…we need only sense the anger and frustration when it happens to us.  We may not have a social conscience or teaching regarding the treatment of others, but even the thief dislikes being stolen from…awareness leads to the tipping point!

Additionally, we unconsciously recognize we are stronger as a collective body than as individuals – our success experiences reinforce this principle every day.  To be sure, there are exceptions, but this is the rule.

The natural order whether cells, organs, bodies, or species survival - gathering together for strength of life, commerce or spiritual growth - teach the same lesson..."...two sticks are stronger than one, and two bodies create more heat than one..."

In the end, one can take the view, life has no meaning because of all the death and destruction. In doing so, one misses great teachings of the natural law.

Ask yourself, what gives your life more quality – a sense of hopelessness, or a sense of hope?...the experience of isolation, or the experience of collective interaction?

We all have questions about purpose and meaning…it is my sense purpose is not a destination, but rather a never-ending process.  I choose, based on the patterns I see, to accept the premise  life is a refining process in the next step toward what is yet unknown. 

From the lenses of my glasses, in spite of the all uncertainties, it doesn’t get much better than that.

Next time we’ll lighten up a little…

 

- ted

It’s all about the rhythm…

He who controls others may be powerful,

but he who has mastered himself is mightier still.

-        Lao Tsu, Tao te Ching

-         

It starts with a need, maybe a reason…in the very least there is a compulsion based on a fundamental drive to survive – the first breath of birth…hunger for food…shelter from the storm…clothing for warmth. At this stage things are pretty simple.  First things first – the initial round of survival going to the strong!

Once the basics are secure (and this may take a while), our attention shifts to a more qualitative view:

·      Is the air we breathe clean?

·      Does the food we eat fit our taste?

·      Is our dwelling as comfortable as we like?

·      Does our clothing reflect our character?

Yes, once the basics are secure, our attention shifts to a more qualitative view…whew! Got those needs accounted for – so what’s the purpose?  Now, that’s a pretty big question.

Life has a rhythm to it - a series of births and deaths, beginning with our abrupt entrance into the world.  We are born, bringing the immediate death of our experience in the womb.  Each inspiration of breath brings birth to a new moment – expiration announcing its death…transitioning to the rhythm of the next.  In the movement forward in time, we unconsciously reach for the next moment of life that awaits us.  It is an unrelenting pattern that repeats itself millions of time in the course of our lives.  Indeed, the rhythm of the universe, at the micro and macro levels, drives us unrelentingly toward life.

Do we have any control?

We think we are free moral agents, and from the standpoint of mental will we are.

In a physical sense, however, most of what we experience, happens because the machinery carrying us around (our bodies), runs on automatic pilot.  This unconscious function frees us to focus on other things. Our thoughts shape our lives and provide us with some control in the journey for which we have been called.  It is really important to know this – many people do not.  Recognizing choice, with its benefit/consequence ratio, is key to overcoming the gravity of monotonous sameness, and breaking free from the bonds of repeating, yet once again, the sins of the past – the dead as it were.

[Semi-colon here – Personal gripe – ‘…sins of the past…’ – in common language, and indeed the language of the church, ‘sin’ is a small but powerful word…much more so than it should be.  In biblical terms it meant to “…miss the mark…” – implication…action taken unsuccessfully.  In spite of the social stigma, and subsequent usage that has led to strongly negative connotation and definitions, this word was not intended to be a stain of self-loathing, nor permanent blemish predicting future failure.  In the target practice of life we all miss.  The task at hand? Recalibrate and shoot again…again…yet once again. NOBODY HITS THE MARK THE FIRST FEW TIMES!]

The body – what a metaphor!

The physiology of the body is a great teacher. Its whole operation is wonderfully rhythmic – the ‘whole’ only works, however, when each ‘part’ does what it is supposed to do; does it well and repeats its function over and over again.

Each cell for example, is a kind of miniature body.  It has organs (organelles); it breathes, digests, eliminates waste, fights for its survival (with a little help from its friends), reproduces and has a specific purpose. 

Take the heart with its millions and millions of cells.  Each has the job of contracting (shortening).  One cell by itself has little influence, but take all of them working in concert, receiving direction from a single point in the small chamber of the right atrium, and it creates a life giving rhythmic symphony that puts the best works of the greatest composers to shame – the heart beats!

Like the individual cell the heart has a specific purpose.  Its chambers receive incoming blood, sending it on its way with each subsequent beat.  Beating on its own the heart has little use unless connected to the circulatory system.  Even that doesn’t mean much lacking coordination with other organs, through central commands from the amazingly complex, and still not well understood, brain – the body works! 

Is there a lesson here?

Many observers of life find strong connections between the physical world and the spiritual, meaning here the mental world in which we live.  Lessons from world in which we live, teach us much about the natural law of the universe.  While we have never seen gravity, we clearly understand its existence, and have found ways to both quantify and measure its effect. We’re not so good in measuring things on the spiritual side, but there is little doubt they exist and powerfully.  Love is a great example.  It is a powerful and undeniable emotion.  The fact we have not found a metric for it is more a commentary on our shortcomings, than its existence.

The physical body, also, is not very useful unless it finds a way to work in concert with other bodies.  This is where thought enters the equation.  In order for a body to have a meaningful interaction with the universe, for which it has been created, it must have a mind that is aware and able to communicate with other minds.

Many writers have discussed life as a metaphor.  One of my favorites is the Apostle Paul:

“…the body is not one member, but many. If the foot shall say, Because I am not the hand, I am not of the body; is it therefore not of the body? And if the ear shall say, Because I am not the eye, I am not of the body; is it therefore not of the body? If the whole body were an eye, where were the hearing? If the whole were hearing, where were the smelling? ...And if they were all one member, where were the body? But now are they many members, yet but one body. (I Corinthians 12 14-21 – the Bible).

This leads to the discussion of how we, as mankind, find ourselves intertwined as individuals and as part of the human collective.  It is clear this discussion will take a little more time...more to come…

- ted