Maybe I don't mean re-write, maybe I mean write your history. Shine a bright light on your past. Get past your past. Get rid of old bad karma.
I was given a ticket to see Desmond Tutu in a Temple in Swampscott, MA. He was on a book tour with No Future Without Forgiveness. He made it clear that he didn't mean a lousy future without forgiveness, he meant NO future. He expressly talked about USA losing its chance in the world unless we came to a real place of forgiveness regarding our treatment of the First Peoples and Slavery. This followed his stunning part in the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa.
He always has such an extremely positive love of life and of his life that when he told a piece of his history which could have crippled an ordinary man, he made us feel happy for him.
When he was Bishop of Johannesburg, South Africa during apartheid, there was a great beautiful mansion for the Bishop to live in. He, of course, was forbidden to live there because he was a black man. So, after working all day, he had to go back to the black township (think ghetto, slum) and live like any black man in South Africa. You can only imagine his radiant smile when he spoke of how lucky he was to get to spend the nights with his friends and relatives, living as they did. How lonesome and isolated he would have been if he had had to live in a big mansion like all the other Bishops.
Many people could have told that piece of their past with great resentment, anger, hurt, victimhood, but that was not Tutu's choice. So, choosing to be grateful for that experience released him from it. He no longer caries it around on his back. He no longer suffers from it. He has freed himself from the bad karma and by doing so has set an example which helped transform a country.
Thinking about his story always blows my mind.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Nature vs Nurture
Dumb discussion if you think about Karma. If you follow the logic of karma, everything has to fit. Lama Marut says that Karma is like pregnancy. You can't be a little pregnant. Karma can't work sometimes and not other times. He suggests that if you think about it, cigarette smoking doesn't cause cancer. If it did, then everyone who smoked would get cancer. However, the Karma that attracts you to smoke might also include getting cancer.
If there is karma, then you chose the parents you are born to. Think about whether your parents have brought you your first great challenges or your first great comfort. I have a bit of a wild streak and a rebellious nature and often thought my parents were boring. Why didn't I have parents who took their kids to Tibet (who did?) and for rides in Mongolia on yaks or whatever? Later I came to be grateful for the deeply solid foundation my parents gave me. I always knew dinner would be at six and church was Sunday morning.
If you have dreadful parents and turn out great then did you have the perfect parents? Eleanor Roosevelt's parents locked her in the closet when they had company because she was so disagreeable. Was that when she figured out who she was instead of sitting around watching adults drink cocktails and making polite conversation? Was she attracted to them because their 'meaness' gave her the space she needed to become her own fabulous self? I don't know.
And the idea of perfect parents is so deeply molded by the time and place where you live, that even the 'perfect' parents need to be examined. A hundred years ago, people would have dropped dead at the thought of teaching a three year old to read and kids having lessons after school and homework and pressure. Now we take two year olds to speech therapists. And high school kids are having huge anxiety problems and we drive kids to school a mile away and worry that they are fat. Is this crazy? Yes, and no.
Most parents, no matter how depraved or overbearing have really good intentions. And it seems to me that most kids are very flexible. And if we have chose the parents who birth us, then we are commencing the business of this incarnation.
When my son, Charlie was ten, he sat me down and explained to me that he thought he knew why P. and I were his parents. "I think I might have a tendency to be a little rigid, so I guess it is a good thing I was born in this family. Kind of to balance me." He actually talked like that. I told him I was glad to have him on board and l left scratching my head. "Was I that disorganized?"
If there is karma, then you chose the parents you are born to. Think about whether your parents have brought you your first great challenges or your first great comfort. I have a bit of a wild streak and a rebellious nature and often thought my parents were boring. Why didn't I have parents who took their kids to Tibet (who did?) and for rides in Mongolia on yaks or whatever? Later I came to be grateful for the deeply solid foundation my parents gave me. I always knew dinner would be at six and church was Sunday morning.
If you have dreadful parents and turn out great then did you have the perfect parents? Eleanor Roosevelt's parents locked her in the closet when they had company because she was so disagreeable. Was that when she figured out who she was instead of sitting around watching adults drink cocktails and making polite conversation? Was she attracted to them because their 'meaness' gave her the space she needed to become her own fabulous self? I don't know.
And the idea of perfect parents is so deeply molded by the time and place where you live, that even the 'perfect' parents need to be examined. A hundred years ago, people would have dropped dead at the thought of teaching a three year old to read and kids having lessons after school and homework and pressure. Now we take two year olds to speech therapists. And high school kids are having huge anxiety problems and we drive kids to school a mile away and worry that they are fat. Is this crazy? Yes, and no.
Most parents, no matter how depraved or overbearing have really good intentions. And it seems to me that most kids are very flexible. And if we have chose the parents who birth us, then we are commencing the business of this incarnation.
When my son, Charlie was ten, he sat me down and explained to me that he thought he knew why P. and I were his parents. "I think I might have a tendency to be a little rigid, so I guess it is a good thing I was born in this family. Kind of to balance me." He actually talked like that. I told him I was glad to have him on board and l left scratching my head. "Was I that disorganized?"
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Go to Europe And Find Yourself
When I was young, sigh, and a kid didn't want to go to college, or was flunking out of college, or messing up their last year of high school, almost any self respecting middle or upper class parent would bring out the solution: "Go to Europe and find yourself".
I do understand that it was practically free because of the strength of the dollar at that time. But this relates to yesterday's post about the concept that if something doesn't work more of the same will.
So, the parents sent the lost or floundering kid off to Europe to experience the consequences of his/her own decision making. If you spent all your money at once, well then you didn't have money. If you missed your train, you had to figure it out. Nobody called home unless there was a death or something equally grave. And we made mistakes and we had a blast and we learned whom to trust and what we liked and we did end up going to museums and churches and going to countries we hadn't planned on. And we got into hairy situations. My parents sent me on a tour and it was so freewheeling that I didn't even have to scheme to ditch it.
What I see today is the opposite approach by many parents, and I am trying to figure out what it means. If a kid gets in trouble or has run out of steam or is unhappy, many parents tighten the reins. They load up curfews and monitor homework, and make tighter rules and make more sanctions. This approach seems pretty much guaranteed to make everyone more miserable and angry.
"The world is more dangerous", I hear. But is it less dangerous for kids from other countries, many other countries who go on the road for their 'gap' year? Who might discover their passion in life by getting away from their parent's expectations?
A young friend of mine was so done with the regulations of high school, and had skipped a lot of classes and thereby acquired a lot of detentions and then skipped a few of them, thereby quadrupling them. So, basically she needed to be in Saturday detention doing nothing for the rest of her life on earth. So, she went to junior college to finish high school, where she was on her own like any college student. No one was telling her to do her homework or to get to class or to come in at a certain time. She did great. If something isn't working, try something different.
That's my advice for today.
I do understand that it was practically free because of the strength of the dollar at that time. But this relates to yesterday's post about the concept that if something doesn't work more of the same will.
So, the parents sent the lost or floundering kid off to Europe to experience the consequences of his/her own decision making. If you spent all your money at once, well then you didn't have money. If you missed your train, you had to figure it out. Nobody called home unless there was a death or something equally grave. And we made mistakes and we had a blast and we learned whom to trust and what we liked and we did end up going to museums and churches and going to countries we hadn't planned on. And we got into hairy situations. My parents sent me on a tour and it was so freewheeling that I didn't even have to scheme to ditch it.
What I see today is the opposite approach by many parents, and I am trying to figure out what it means. If a kid gets in trouble or has run out of steam or is unhappy, many parents tighten the reins. They load up curfews and monitor homework, and make tighter rules and make more sanctions. This approach seems pretty much guaranteed to make everyone more miserable and angry.
"The world is more dangerous", I hear. But is it less dangerous for kids from other countries, many other countries who go on the road for their 'gap' year? Who might discover their passion in life by getting away from their parent's expectations?
A young friend of mine was so done with the regulations of high school, and had skipped a lot of classes and thereby acquired a lot of detentions and then skipped a few of them, thereby quadrupling them. So, basically she needed to be in Saturday detention doing nothing for the rest of her life on earth. So, she went to junior college to finish high school, where she was on her own like any college student. No one was telling her to do her homework or to get to class or to come in at a certain time. She did great. If something isn't working, try something different.
That's my advice for today.
Friday, February 24, 2012
more
I love listening and watching the news, especially on Democracy Now. Some days it is almost too much to wrap my head around. I got to thinking about the fantastic US bottom line policy of "If something doesn't work, then more of that same something is bound to work.": I recall frantic discussions about the need for longer school days because in some districts the kids were in eleventh grade and still hadn't learned to read. So, the obvious solution was that they needed more time each day to be doing exactly the same thing that had failed them for ten years. Oye!
So about sanctions: They never worked in the past to get our desired result, they certainly haven't gotten rid of Fidel in Cuba, for instance, so the best solution has to be more sanctions. Are we nuts? I saw Hillary in a news clip passionately begging the UN for deeper sanctions against Iran. She was also saying that the US will not stand for civilians getting killed in Syria ?Egypt? Libya? Yemen? What are our drones doing in ten countries at least right now? Does she remember who is the only nation ever to have used atomic power and oops! on civilians. Do you sometimes wonder what the fuck is going on here.
I remember so well that freezing (in New York at least) day when around the world some sixteen million people marched against the impending invasion of Iraq and George the Second declared that it didn't matter one bit to him what people thought. He was the leader. A few months later he changed his tune from his lies about nukes in Iraq and declared that we were there to make the country free for democracy. And a democracy Bush style really meant that it doesn't matter what the people thought. The sanctions didn't work so well there either. In retrospect, I suppose that we should have done more. Maybe that is the real American lesson. We never go far enough.
Think about potato chips and ice cream. I bought a yummy ice cream cone in Nicaragua the other day and it was about the size of two tablespoons and all the Nicaraguans were thrilled and then some North American buffaloes came in and had to ask for like a quintuple serving and still talked about how small it was. Remember when chips came in one flavor and were in those tiny bags and were a real and rare treat? Now you need an SUV to get the huge bags home from Cosco and WalMart. So maybe we are learning our lesson. If a little doesn't work, try more and more.
So about sanctions: They never worked in the past to get our desired result, they certainly haven't gotten rid of Fidel in Cuba, for instance, so the best solution has to be more sanctions. Are we nuts? I saw Hillary in a news clip passionately begging the UN for deeper sanctions against Iran. She was also saying that the US will not stand for civilians getting killed in Syria ?Egypt? Libya? Yemen? What are our drones doing in ten countries at least right now? Does she remember who is the only nation ever to have used atomic power and oops! on civilians. Do you sometimes wonder what the fuck is going on here.
I remember so well that freezing (in New York at least) day when around the world some sixteen million people marched against the impending invasion of Iraq and George the Second declared that it didn't matter one bit to him what people thought. He was the leader. A few months later he changed his tune from his lies about nukes in Iraq and declared that we were there to make the country free for democracy. And a democracy Bush style really meant that it doesn't matter what the people thought. The sanctions didn't work so well there either. In retrospect, I suppose that we should have done more. Maybe that is the real American lesson. We never go far enough.
Think about potato chips and ice cream. I bought a yummy ice cream cone in Nicaragua the other day and it was about the size of two tablespoons and all the Nicaraguans were thrilled and then some North American buffaloes came in and had to ask for like a quintuple serving and still talked about how small it was. Remember when chips came in one flavor and were in those tiny bags and were a real and rare treat? Now you need an SUV to get the huge bags home from Cosco and WalMart. So maybe we are learning our lesson. If a little doesn't work, try more and more.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Being enchanted is quite an experience. As parents, Patrick and I created some kick-ass enchantments for our kids. Picture this. One year we lived in a little log cabin deep in the woods in Temple, New Hampshire. You had to cross over a pond on a little stone bridge to get to the cabin. It had been built in the hillside around two living trees which grew through the Great Room ceiling. Hereshoff, the master boat builder had designed this as a summer retreat for Fritz Day, the New York play writer.
On Christmas Eve afternoon, Patrick and the kids wandered through the woods until they found a perfect Christmas tree. It had long wispy needles and rippled gently in the wind. They carried it home where we had a gigantic fire in the huge stone fireplace. The kids had dinner and went into the bath. While they were playing in the bath, we put real candles on the tree, lit them and hung stockings by the fire. When they came from the tub and walked into the room, it was absolutely magical.
Then friends came by on a sledge pulled by horses and we bundled up and went Christmas caroling.
But, that didn't hold a candle (pun) to the time in another cabin in the woods of New Hampshire when St. Nicholas Day came around. The tradition is that on December 6, kids leave their shoes outside the door. St. Nicloas and his friend Rupurt (a chimney sweep all covered in black dust), come and if the kids have been good, they find a golden nut in their shoe. If they have misbehaved, they find a piece of charcoal.
This particular St. Nicolas Day, Alice's friend Noah was visiting. There were about six feet of new snow outside the cabin. The otters were showing off their sledding ability in the stream that ran by the deck. The kids heard a mighty pounding on the door and ran to see if they could catch sight of Saint Nicolas. They threw open the door and there were the shoes filled with golden nuts. (walnuts with gold paint for the unbelieving) and there were no tracks in the new snow.
The kids were so excited, but they couldn't stop saying "He must be magic! He didn't leave any footprints!" They put on their winter outerwear and went all over the property hunting for footprints which they never found. Ariel was almost twelve and she came back a true believer.
All the time the scouting party was afoot, Patrick and Wyn, Noah's dad were lying in the snow on the roof enjoying the morning sun. They has come through the trees and onto the roof to drop the golden nuts on the doorstep and then hidden. I think my 40 year old kids might still believe in St. Nicolas.
Last night in Granada Nicaragua, I was enchanted. Thousands of people of all ages were gathered in the streets in front of the Cathedral to hear poets from all over the world read their poems of love and love of their countries and of more love and the human spirit. Then Carlos Mejia Godoy played fabulous music under the stars with everyone swaying to the music with dreamy expressions. I was enchanted.
On Christmas Eve afternoon, Patrick and the kids wandered through the woods until they found a perfect Christmas tree. It had long wispy needles and rippled gently in the wind. They carried it home where we had a gigantic fire in the huge stone fireplace. The kids had dinner and went into the bath. While they were playing in the bath, we put real candles on the tree, lit them and hung stockings by the fire. When they came from the tub and walked into the room, it was absolutely magical.
Then friends came by on a sledge pulled by horses and we bundled up and went Christmas caroling.
But, that didn't hold a candle (pun) to the time in another cabin in the woods of New Hampshire when St. Nicholas Day came around. The tradition is that on December 6, kids leave their shoes outside the door. St. Nicloas and his friend Rupurt (a chimney sweep all covered in black dust), come and if the kids have been good, they find a golden nut in their shoe. If they have misbehaved, they find a piece of charcoal.
This particular St. Nicolas Day, Alice's friend Noah was visiting. There were about six feet of new snow outside the cabin. The otters were showing off their sledding ability in the stream that ran by the deck. The kids heard a mighty pounding on the door and ran to see if they could catch sight of Saint Nicolas. They threw open the door and there were the shoes filled with golden nuts. (walnuts with gold paint for the unbelieving) and there were no tracks in the new snow.
The kids were so excited, but they couldn't stop saying "He must be magic! He didn't leave any footprints!" They put on their winter outerwear and went all over the property hunting for footprints which they never found. Ariel was almost twelve and she came back a true believer.
All the time the scouting party was afoot, Patrick and Wyn, Noah's dad were lying in the snow on the roof enjoying the morning sun. They has come through the trees and onto the roof to drop the golden nuts on the doorstep and then hidden. I think my 40 year old kids might still believe in St. Nicolas.
Last night in Granada Nicaragua, I was enchanted. Thousands of people of all ages were gathered in the streets in front of the Cathedral to hear poets from all over the world read their poems of love and love of their countries and of more love and the human spirit. Then Carlos Mejia Godoy played fabulous music under the stars with everyone swaying to the music with dreamy expressions. I was enchanted.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Is there a question about re-incarnation?
For me, the answer is 'no'. There is no reasonable question there.
You often hear "I don't believe in re-incarnation." Less often we hear "I don't believe in gravity." Who cares whether or not you believe in gravity? Who cares whether you believe in re-incarnation? You experience the results of it all the time. You create the causes of the future all the time. It just is. Your beliefs can't alter the fact that you are paying for past actions every second of your life. That can be an extremely positive payment or an extremely difficult one.
Does it all come down to the same thing? Everything has a cause and everything has an effect. Karma. Some karma is very old and comes from past lives. Some is much more instantaneous and comes from what? From present actions or from distant action in the past.
So many people get hung up on the words 're-incarnation, karma'. All the great teachers, masters, prophets have taught, are teaching, how to make good karma. Yet, we constantly choose to improvise and alter the teachings. How can anyone who listens to the Hebrew Testament or the New Testament possibly twist "Thou Shall Not Kill" or "Love thy neighbor as thyself" into a reason for the death penalty or making nuclear weapons, or using them, President Truman. What are we thinking? We are thinking that we can escape the results of our actions. We are thinking that our petty and self-interested minds can justify our actions and at the same time, that we are better and more religious than others. Wow.
It is worth the effort to ponder our personal experiences. We might learn something about ourselves and how things work.
I know someone who's seven year old and nine year old sons were in the bathtub for what seemed like a long time. And it was really quiet in the bathroom. After a while Rose took a peek into the bathroom, unseen by the kids. The older boy had an ear syringe and was pumping water into his penis. She made him stop immediately. He got an infection and had to take antibiotics and was very uncomfortable with pain for a day or so. While he was home sick, missing his friends at school and suffering, she could hear him calling out from his bedroom upstairs, "Why me? I don't deserve this! Why me?"
How often are we calling out "Why me?" and not taking the trouble to discover the real causes?
Friday, February 10, 2012
I got robbed the first week I was in Nicaragua
I am telling this story of my robbery because it has a happy ending and was a fine introduction to the kind people of Nicaragua.
The day after I moved into my house, my new friend Melissa took me to the big fancy supermarket on the edge of town. It was a beautiful Sunday and we walked. The local market is brilliant for a lot of things, but you can't find olive oil and other necessities of life there. Because we were walking and carrying our purchases, I didn't buy very much. (at least not by US standards) Also, it was a new store to me and it took a long time to find each item.
I had a new mesh bag with a zipper. We walked in the middle of a nice street in the middle of the day and were gabbing away when two teenage boys came up behind us and one yanked the bag from my hand and shot off down an alley. I was so pissed off that I hauled off after him screaming "give me back my shit".
We ran past about five people sitting on their stoops. I was making good time and almost catching them when they ducked into an alley where I didn't want to follow. (too dark, how do you get out?) I gave up and went back to the street. My friend was there waiting along with much of the neighborhood.
A family made us sit down and drink water and someone called the cops. I was still very pissed off. Then an old lady and a young girl came around from the alley triumphantly carrying my bag. The girl had seen me screaming and tripped the thief and her grandma had yelled at him and he dropped the bag.
By then about fifty people had gathered and everyone was telling the story of my running and yelling. I guess 68 year old grey haired women aren't often seen here chasing teenagers and screaming "give me back my shit!" The cops came and everyone told them the story. We now had a huge circle of people each eagerly telling and retelling and adding where they were and how they happened to see me.
Also, the neighbors and the witnesses and the cops and especially the grandma insisted that I get out my receipt and go over and over each item to be sure nothing was missing. It was hot and I was tired, but there was no avoiding this process. "Two carrots" and we all found them, "One yoghurt" and so on.
Someone knew the names of the boys. They were 'bad'. The cops wanted me to come to the station and file a report! After they had how many witnesses? I couldn't face the tedium and I had my bag and was fine. So I used the excuse that I had butter in my bag and had to get it to the fridge fast or it would melt. The cops insisted on driving me home.
We all hugged and kissed and repeated ourselves once again. When we pulled up to my house in the cop truck, my second day in the new house, the landlord and his family and my new neighbors all came out to see what was up and the scene was more or less repeated without the going through the receipts part.
I got my Native American name that day "She Who Runs After Robbers"
The day after I moved into my house, my new friend Melissa took me to the big fancy supermarket on the edge of town. It was a beautiful Sunday and we walked. The local market is brilliant for a lot of things, but you can't find olive oil and other necessities of life there. Because we were walking and carrying our purchases, I didn't buy very much. (at least not by US standards) Also, it was a new store to me and it took a long time to find each item.
I had a new mesh bag with a zipper. We walked in the middle of a nice street in the middle of the day and were gabbing away when two teenage boys came up behind us and one yanked the bag from my hand and shot off down an alley. I was so pissed off that I hauled off after him screaming "give me back my shit".
We ran past about five people sitting on their stoops. I was making good time and almost catching them when they ducked into an alley where I didn't want to follow. (too dark, how do you get out?) I gave up and went back to the street. My friend was there waiting along with much of the neighborhood.
A family made us sit down and drink water and someone called the cops. I was still very pissed off. Then an old lady and a young girl came around from the alley triumphantly carrying my bag. The girl had seen me screaming and tripped the thief and her grandma had yelled at him and he dropped the bag.
By then about fifty people had gathered and everyone was telling the story of my running and yelling. I guess 68 year old grey haired women aren't often seen here chasing teenagers and screaming "give me back my shit!" The cops came and everyone told them the story. We now had a huge circle of people each eagerly telling and retelling and adding where they were and how they happened to see me.
Also, the neighbors and the witnesses and the cops and especially the grandma insisted that I get out my receipt and go over and over each item to be sure nothing was missing. It was hot and I was tired, but there was no avoiding this process. "Two carrots" and we all found them, "One yoghurt" and so on.
Someone knew the names of the boys. They were 'bad'. The cops wanted me to come to the station and file a report! After they had how many witnesses? I couldn't face the tedium and I had my bag and was fine. So I used the excuse that I had butter in my bag and had to get it to the fridge fast or it would melt. The cops insisted on driving me home.
We all hugged and kissed and repeated ourselves once again. When we pulled up to my house in the cop truck, my second day in the new house, the landlord and his family and my new neighbors all came out to see what was up and the scene was more or less repeated without the going through the receipts part.
I got my Native American name that day "She Who Runs After Robbers"
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Profile questions
I just filled out a few items on the profile and was almost stumped at each one. Yes, I live now in Nicaragua, but only for a few more months. Favorite movies? I have been giving the same answers for years. I really should rethink this question. I very much like some of the Masterpiece Theater series like The Jewel in the Crown and Brideshead Revisited. Interests? I am so interested in so many things. I am mostly interested in people and their lives and this connects me to politics and spiritual beliefs, and lifestyle and ecology and then health and how to love and how not to love and what to wear tonight and economics and why was I born into a country that is spending so much of its wealth killing other people all over the world and how lucky I am to be born into a life wherein I have time to think about such things.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
clairvoyants
When I lived in Marblehead, MA, a little coastal town on the north shore of Boston, I was desperate to own a house. I owned a New Age book store and often various seers would stop by. One day I had a reading with Elizabeth. She described the house that she saw in my future. It would be grey, tall, right near the harbor, have a walled garden in the back and be an antique. It would also be big.
When I bought the house she described, half a block from the gorgeous harbor, it was perfect. It was also, to my way of thinking, really small. It had three bedrooms and all that but it was from the 18th century. Cozy, you might say. What about Elizabeth? Months later I was at her house for lunch. It was microscopic. No matter how good a seer she was, she had her own perspective.
When Charlie was a senior at boarding school, we took a trip into Boston and went to the Tremont Street Tea Room. For those of you who haven't lived in Boston for the past few hundred years, this tea room has a menu that offers; palm readings, tea leaf readings, Tarot card readings and so on.
During Charlie's reading, the woman became a little agitated and told him to avoid big gatherings with friends, that there was a serious danger ahead. He had already decided not to go to his prom, but who could avoid graduation and graduation parties? We had a kind of heavy talk on the way home about parties and driving and so on. We both knew everything I was saying.
He and his friends sailed through graduation. A week or so later, a friend of his came by driving from somewhere in the south on his way up to Maine. He had a bunch of friends along. They invited Charlie to come. They left late at night. As they were driving very fast up the Maine Turnpike with the music blasting, Charlie 'heard' the tea reading lady and at the same time he heard a strange noise under the car. He immediately pulled over just as the engine froze and died. Or did it catch on fire? In any case, that was the moment and all were saved by his guardian angel or maybe by a memory of a wise lady. The car certainly would have flipped at that speed.
That makes me wonder about people who fear knowing something ahead of time.
When I bought the house she described, half a block from the gorgeous harbor, it was perfect. It was also, to my way of thinking, really small. It had three bedrooms and all that but it was from the 18th century. Cozy, you might say. What about Elizabeth? Months later I was at her house for lunch. It was microscopic. No matter how good a seer she was, she had her own perspective.
When Charlie was a senior at boarding school, we took a trip into Boston and went to the Tremont Street Tea Room. For those of you who haven't lived in Boston for the past few hundred years, this tea room has a menu that offers; palm readings, tea leaf readings, Tarot card readings and so on.
During Charlie's reading, the woman became a little agitated and told him to avoid big gatherings with friends, that there was a serious danger ahead. He had already decided not to go to his prom, but who could avoid graduation and graduation parties? We had a kind of heavy talk on the way home about parties and driving and so on. We both knew everything I was saying.
He and his friends sailed through graduation. A week or so later, a friend of his came by driving from somewhere in the south on his way up to Maine. He had a bunch of friends along. They invited Charlie to come. They left late at night. As they were driving very fast up the Maine Turnpike with the music blasting, Charlie 'heard' the tea reading lady and at the same time he heard a strange noise under the car. He immediately pulled over just as the engine froze and died. Or did it catch on fire? In any case, that was the moment and all were saved by his guardian angel or maybe by a memory of a wise lady. The car certainly would have flipped at that speed.
That makes me wonder about people who fear knowing something ahead of time.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Telling a good story requires a little "freedom"
My dear friend, Carol Gardner used to say of her brother, Ernest Hemingway, that he was a terrible liar. I used to answer back that he was a great story teller. Deadlock. Both true. I definitely have some loose ends or flexible boundaries in my stories. I mean, doesn't 'millions' sound a lot more impressive than " a thousand'? I sometimes call my writing 'autobiographical fiction' or 'faction'.
I wrote a true story years ago that Readers Digest was going to publish. I had stuck pretty close to my memory. There was no need to embellish. But imagine my sweat when a whole team of investigators showed up in Temple, NH, pop. 650 to check each and every word I said about each and every event in the story. I passed muster, but it had me worried.
When I wrote my little book, How to Know Now , my mother was wondering by what authority I could speak of such things. I had no advanced degree in my subject. I kind of hinted that as I was the author of my own thoughts and the author of the little book, why then, I was THE authority.
I am just going on a bit on this topic because I am going to be telling stories. Some are from the distant past. My point of view may have evolved. Telling and re-telling also changes things a bit.
Just a little caveat here.
I wrote a true story years ago that Readers Digest was going to publish. I had stuck pretty close to my memory. There was no need to embellish. But imagine my sweat when a whole team of investigators showed up in Temple, NH, pop. 650 to check each and every word I said about each and every event in the story. I passed muster, but it had me worried.
When I wrote my little book, How to Know Now , my mother was wondering by what authority I could speak of such things. I had no advanced degree in my subject. I kind of hinted that as I was the author of my own thoughts and the author of the little book, why then, I was THE authority.
I am just going on a bit on this topic because I am going to be telling stories. Some are from the distant past. My point of view may have evolved. Telling and re-telling also changes things a bit.
Just a little caveat here.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Prophesy
Thinking about clairvoyants, the I Ching, reading tea leaves, all sorts of prophesy, I suspect that we all have our inner prophet. It is sort of astonishing that we can talk about Old Testament prophets as if they were real and conventional. We can talk the same way about financial prophesies as if they were solid science. We can listen to medical people tell us the outcome of an operation and believe.People revere and even worship Mohammad, John Smith, and so on but, many people are very skeptical of your ordinary run-of-the-mill seer and the lady at the fair with the crystal ball. How do we discriminate? How do we know what is real?
Often we give even less attention to our own intuition. (inner teaching). Many years ago, I awoke crying from a dream. In the dream I had a baby that I totally neglected. I saw myself going into the baby's cold room with nothing in it but a crib and the baby. The baby was wet, dirty, hungry, cold. I looked in the room and walked away. I was so upset when I awoke. That was not me. All my babies were fed and warm and loved.
I told my friend John Gardner about my dream. He suggested that as I was going to sleep that night, I hold the question, "Who is this baby?"
I did so. That night I started the same dream and opened the door to the baby's room and the baby was standing up in the crib. He had on a new white tee shirt. In big black letters on the tee shirt were the words YOUR BOOK. I had written a little book a few months before with a determination that drove me to write nonstop. When I finished, I felt done and shoved the book into a drawer and forgot about it.
OK, I did get the message. I retrieved the book and with the help of my friend Ron, we self-published it. I know that some people got some help from it. How to Know Now . I am going to attach it to this blog one fine day.
More more and more on this topic of prophesy stories. Do you have one your would like to share with the blog readers???
Often we give even less attention to our own intuition. (inner teaching). Many years ago, I awoke crying from a dream. In the dream I had a baby that I totally neglected. I saw myself going into the baby's cold room with nothing in it but a crib and the baby. The baby was wet, dirty, hungry, cold. I looked in the room and walked away. I was so upset when I awoke. That was not me. All my babies were fed and warm and loved.
I told my friend John Gardner about my dream. He suggested that as I was going to sleep that night, I hold the question, "Who is this baby?"
I did so. That night I started the same dream and opened the door to the baby's room and the baby was standing up in the crib. He had on a new white tee shirt. In big black letters on the tee shirt were the words YOUR BOOK. I had written a little book a few months before with a determination that drove me to write nonstop. When I finished, I felt done and shoved the book into a drawer and forgot about it.
OK, I did get the message. I retrieved the book and with the help of my friend Ron, we self-published it. I know that some people got some help from it. How to Know Now . I am going to attach it to this blog one fine day.
More more and more on this topic of prophesy stories. Do you have one your would like to share with the blog readers???
Friday, February 3, 2012
What is real?
"Get real!" That was an expression that I remember using at some point in my life. "No, I'm serious" was often the reply. I think it was about the listener wanting to disagree, but putting the burden of proof onto the speaker.
OK, that's pretty abstract
I suspect that part of the confusion in conversation comes from our mixing up "thinking" and 'feeling" and giving equal weight to both processes. Feelings are extremely fickle. Haven't you ever been feeling at the bottom of the barrel and then some little 'good' thing happens or someone calls or a hummingbird comes to your favorite flower and you suddenly feel great! You can't trust feelings. They will almost always betray you and waste your time. I felt bad, awful, about missing my walk on the Camino when I broke my hip. In retrospect, it was so not the right time and wouldn't have been good and now I feel more than fine about it.
The Dalai Lama talks about using feelings for the good. If I get really pissed off about homelessness in my country and go out and do something to help the problem, then that anger was good motivation. If I get really pissed off about homelessness in my country and then follow that with feeling hopeless and then sorry for myself and then eat too much chocolate, well then.
When we ask a question or hear a question, it is important to psych out whether the other person want us to "get real" or not. In Guatemala many years ago we discovered that we had to give the hint as to what we wanted or we were misled constantly. The Guatemalan camposinos wanted to give you the answer that would make you happy. So, in the middle of nowhere, on a road with almost no traffic, if we were waiting for a bus and someone came along we would ask, "Is the bus coming?" "Yes, yes, very soon." They would see our smiles and relief and add "in a few minutes, it always comes." and walk away. After four or five hours of dust on the roadside, when the next person came by we asked, "When does the bus come?" and kept a smile on our faces. "You missed it, it came at six in the morning." If we looked sad, they threw in a hopeful "But maybe there will be one soon." If we looked happy, they would stand by their answer. This was never malicious, they knew they could influence how we felt and wanted a good outcome. How much do we do his all the time?
We can't discuss asking the right question without a second on the topic of 'the trap'. "Does my bum look big in the dress?" Second over. No answer will work.
I have friends who can't make a move without contacting their astrologer or the I Ching. I have other friends who would never do either because they "don't want to know". The I Ching puts a lot of emphasis on the question. Other forms of divination don't.
Where do you stand on prophesy?
OK, that's pretty abstract
I suspect that part of the confusion in conversation comes from our mixing up "thinking" and 'feeling" and giving equal weight to both processes. Feelings are extremely fickle. Haven't you ever been feeling at the bottom of the barrel and then some little 'good' thing happens or someone calls or a hummingbird comes to your favorite flower and you suddenly feel great! You can't trust feelings. They will almost always betray you and waste your time. I felt bad, awful, about missing my walk on the Camino when I broke my hip. In retrospect, it was so not the right time and wouldn't have been good and now I feel more than fine about it.
The Dalai Lama talks about using feelings for the good. If I get really pissed off about homelessness in my country and go out and do something to help the problem, then that anger was good motivation. If I get really pissed off about homelessness in my country and then follow that with feeling hopeless and then sorry for myself and then eat too much chocolate, well then.
When we ask a question or hear a question, it is important to psych out whether the other person want us to "get real" or not. In Guatemala many years ago we discovered that we had to give the hint as to what we wanted or we were misled constantly. The Guatemalan camposinos wanted to give you the answer that would make you happy. So, in the middle of nowhere, on a road with almost no traffic, if we were waiting for a bus and someone came along we would ask, "Is the bus coming?" "Yes, yes, very soon." They would see our smiles and relief and add "in a few minutes, it always comes." and walk away. After four or five hours of dust on the roadside, when the next person came by we asked, "When does the bus come?" and kept a smile on our faces. "You missed it, it came at six in the morning." If we looked sad, they threw in a hopeful "But maybe there will be one soon." If we looked happy, they would stand by their answer. This was never malicious, they knew they could influence how we felt and wanted a good outcome. How much do we do his all the time?
We can't discuss asking the right question without a second on the topic of 'the trap'. "Does my bum look big in the dress?" Second over. No answer will work.
I have friends who can't make a move without contacting their astrologer or the I Ching. I have other friends who would never do either because they "don't want to know". The I Ching puts a lot of emphasis on the question. Other forms of divination don't.
Where do you stand on prophesy?
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Questions that baffle, questions that get too much response
My parents lived to a ripe old age. (What is 'ripe' in a person?) Maybe we'll not think about that too much. When anyone died they got a little excited about the question "What did they die of?" I often exhibited an uncharacteristic impatience, and responded somewhat sarcastically, "A person dies when their heart stops beating." However simplistic that is, I both hoped to avoid long discussions about other people's colons, and kidneys (Remember when we had to look at diagrams of Ronald Reagan's colon, or was it his prostate on all the news channels? God.) and I was trying to trigger the message what did it matter?
In El Salvador during the 'troubles' people were amused by the US news broadcasts which always reported who made the rifle that killed someone or whether it was a bomb or a machete. Their experience was that whatever was used, their loved one was dead. "Do Americans have a scale of better and worse ways to be murdered?"
I kind of felt like that when my parents were detailing someone's illness. I have wondered if behind the question, aside from compassion and loss there was a little bit of checking their own odds in the game. If the person was fat or smoked or drank too much or was always stressed out, well, then.
I guess it is a matter of perspective. I might ask, "What did they live for?" A bit like that question all Americans ask each other, "What do you do?", meaning-work. And Europeans ask, "How is your life?" On the whole Camino walk, no one asked me what I did for a living. Think about it..
On a whole different question question, I was at a wedding with Louis at the beach in Las Pinitas, Nicaragua a few months ago. Louis was giving away the bride because her dad was dead. The young Nicaraguan woman was marrying a French Basque. His relatives all came dressed in white with red bandanas around their necks. Oh, those Basques! They spoke a kind of French, Most of the brides family only spoke Spanish.
In spite of copious amounts of booze and a great band, and a moonlit night on the beach, the party was slow getting rolling. I asked a quiet, squat , plain little Nica woman to show me how to Salsa dance. I kind of know how, but I wanted to mix it up a bit. Oh God, one simple question and I had a very serious dance partner for the next five hours. She took it as if it were her life work. When I danced with someone else..those Basque uncles got a wild as Scottsmen when they got a little ripped. (Not hard to do when the food didn't appear for four more hours) when I danced with someone else, she just never left my side instructing me the whole time.
I kind of screamed when she appeared at my bedside after I had gone to sleep to thank me for being such a good student. It was her first time teaching. Next time, I'll not ask such an open ended question to short old ladies here in Nica.
In El Salvador during the 'troubles' people were amused by the US news broadcasts which always reported who made the rifle that killed someone or whether it was a bomb or a machete. Their experience was that whatever was used, their loved one was dead. "Do Americans have a scale of better and worse ways to be murdered?"
I kind of felt like that when my parents were detailing someone's illness. I have wondered if behind the question, aside from compassion and loss there was a little bit of checking their own odds in the game. If the person was fat or smoked or drank too much or was always stressed out, well, then.
I guess it is a matter of perspective. I might ask, "What did they live for?" A bit like that question all Americans ask each other, "What do you do?", meaning-work. And Europeans ask, "How is your life?" On the whole Camino walk, no one asked me what I did for a living. Think about it..
On a whole different question question, I was at a wedding with Louis at the beach in Las Pinitas, Nicaragua a few months ago. Louis was giving away the bride because her dad was dead. The young Nicaraguan woman was marrying a French Basque. His relatives all came dressed in white with red bandanas around their necks. Oh, those Basques! They spoke a kind of French, Most of the brides family only spoke Spanish.
In spite of copious amounts of booze and a great band, and a moonlit night on the beach, the party was slow getting rolling. I asked a quiet, squat , plain little Nica woman to show me how to Salsa dance. I kind of know how, but I wanted to mix it up a bit. Oh God, one simple question and I had a very serious dance partner for the next five hours. She took it as if it were her life work. When I danced with someone else..those Basque uncles got a wild as Scottsmen when they got a little ripped. (Not hard to do when the food didn't appear for four more hours) when I danced with someone else, she just never left my side instructing me the whole time.
I kind of screamed when she appeared at my bedside after I had gone to sleep to thank me for being such a good student. It was her first time teaching. Next time, I'll not ask such an open ended question to short old ladies here in Nica.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
I am remembering hundreds of examples in my life of waiting for the inner signal that I should make a move. I want to tell you about one time when my kids were ready to kill me for my inaction and it turns out that the good Gods were protecting me. So, the usual old lady story. "When I Broke My Hip".
I had taken a walk around the Richmond, CA waterfront with Randie and her daughter. We went to the parking lot and debated going onto the sailboat where I was living. She decided that Iris was too tired and they had to go home. We were loading up her Volvo station wagon when I balanced on something unstable and crashed to the tarmac and knew at once that I had broken my hip.
I got a nice guy and his girlfriend who were passing by to be my human crutches and refused any ambulance and demanded that I be taken back to the boat. They helped me get into my boat bed and left. I made a few phone calls including my friend Karen who came to help.
The phone calls from those who cared about me came frantically. "Get to the hospital, you are crazy, you need help." I was in shock and didn't know where to go and all I wanted to do was drink some tea and curl up as best I could and think in the morning. Nothing anyone said could make me budge. I couldn't see a clear action.
In the night, going to the bathroom, holding the railings, I put a tiny bit of pressure, a tiny bit on the bad hip and then I had a lot of information. I had such a pain, I almost puked. Yes, the hip was broken. The next day, we got the advice to go to the nearest hospital. What did it matter? I had no insurance and was a month away from the start of medicare. The dock neighbors put together a wagon filled with pillows, lots of ice and took me to the hospital.
Here comes the good luck in the bad luck..the reason I say the Gods were helping me by making me hesitate. Many hours later...many...as they were scheduling me for transport to a hospital where they would do the surgery, the night shift came on. A new radiologist and new bone surgery guy and a new emergency room doc conferred by SKYPE and offered me a change of plans. The break was clean and nothing had shifted and if I chose I could keep immobile and let it heal itself. I chose that option. So, I was out of the hospital with a broken hip that night.
There is a wonderful story for another time about how many many friends came together and nursed me, entertained me, fed me, and helped me deal with the fact that I had to miss my plane to Spain. (Air France never would refund my $ because I didn't have an operation) The hip healed perfectly. It is stronger than ever, and 100,000 and more people who had hardware put in their hips at that time have had to have several more operations to fix and remove it...The big class action lawsuit against Johnson and Johnson for faulty materials. OK. I don't know if this proves anything about there being a method in my madness. I do know that I count myself so lucky that medical action was delayed until that new team came on and saw another option.
I had taken a walk around the Richmond, CA waterfront with Randie and her daughter. We went to the parking lot and debated going onto the sailboat where I was living. She decided that Iris was too tired and they had to go home. We were loading up her Volvo station wagon when I balanced on something unstable and crashed to the tarmac and knew at once that I had broken my hip.
I got a nice guy and his girlfriend who were passing by to be my human crutches and refused any ambulance and demanded that I be taken back to the boat. They helped me get into my boat bed and left. I made a few phone calls including my friend Karen who came to help.
The phone calls from those who cared about me came frantically. "Get to the hospital, you are crazy, you need help." I was in shock and didn't know where to go and all I wanted to do was drink some tea and curl up as best I could and think in the morning. Nothing anyone said could make me budge. I couldn't see a clear action.
In the night, going to the bathroom, holding the railings, I put a tiny bit of pressure, a tiny bit on the bad hip and then I had a lot of information. I had such a pain, I almost puked. Yes, the hip was broken. The next day, we got the advice to go to the nearest hospital. What did it matter? I had no insurance and was a month away from the start of medicare. The dock neighbors put together a wagon filled with pillows, lots of ice and took me to the hospital.
Here comes the good luck in the bad luck..the reason I say the Gods were helping me by making me hesitate. Many hours later...many...as they were scheduling me for transport to a hospital where they would do the surgery, the night shift came on. A new radiologist and new bone surgery guy and a new emergency room doc conferred by SKYPE and offered me a change of plans. The break was clean and nothing had shifted and if I chose I could keep immobile and let it heal itself. I chose that option. So, I was out of the hospital with a broken hip that night.
There is a wonderful story for another time about how many many friends came together and nursed me, entertained me, fed me, and helped me deal with the fact that I had to miss my plane to Spain. (Air France never would refund my $ because I didn't have an operation) The hip healed perfectly. It is stronger than ever, and 100,000 and more people who had hardware put in their hips at that time have had to have several more operations to fix and remove it...The big class action lawsuit against Johnson and Johnson for faulty materials. OK. I don't know if this proves anything about there being a method in my madness. I do know that I count myself so lucky that medical action was delayed until that new team came on and saw another option.
My son, Ahab, sort of
freaked me out with a comment about me. He mentioned that I didn't
function, didn't make decisions, didn't operate from the same set of
rules that guide most people. What! Moi?
As
I thought more about his remark, I realized it wasn't at all meant to
be a put down or even a slight criticism. It was a fact that he thought
was interesting. This has led me to start looking at myself and at
others. Checking it out, yes, I think he has a point.
I
am a Taurus. How far did you think I could go without getting to the
good stuff? I can be stubborn and bull headed. I also can be a very hard
worker. But what I can't really do is do something until I have a
strong inner feeling that it is right. I start with the gut feeling. The
one thing I have learned to count on in life is my intuition. Inner
teaching. Inner asking. Inner guidance. I know when I am not listening.
Life has a way of knocking me on the head when I go off base. (and
believe me I do)
My
friend John Gardner once told me the old saw that if God wants to tell
you something, first she'll whisper, then she'll shout, then she'll
knock you over the head with a baseball bat. Something like that. So it
makes sense to try and hear the whisper and it also makes sense that
"I'm only human". Big misses sometimes.
This
morning I was in the French bakery in Granada, Nicaragua and I was
talking with a couple from Thailand who live in Austin, TX and I said
that Ahab and Susie had just left the beach in Thailand days before the
Sunami hit. She said that all her family had been on vacation in
Cambodia and were annoyed at her parents for delaying WITHOUT REASON
their return to the beach in Thailand. "I guess it wasn't our time." she
said. "I'll travel with your parents any day." I said.
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