THINKING OF YOU

I listen to the water’s song.

Feel its wetness, coldness,

rushing, gushing,

smoothing, cleansing

down streaming,

creating joy bubbles

of fizzing white lather.

Its sound – like static,

transmits repetitive

hhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuuuushshshshshshsh.

I drown

inside cavernous waves of nothing

and touch it.

***

I’m sitting on the balcony of a charming ski lodge.  There is a stream that runs right in front of my suite.  The view and the sound are mesmerizing.

I’ve run away from home for a few days to the ski valley in Taos, New Mexico.  I love it here.  The warm breeze is cooler than the hot breeze of the south, the mountains are green and luscious like something fresh you’d want in a salad.  And there’s nothing to do but enjoy the music.

DELIGHTFUL MINI-STORM

There's been a tiny dust storm in my path.  It was beautiful and fun, but like any storm, it shook my foundation a little, in a good way.

I thought I was prepared for the stormy onslaught of company that descended on my home recently.  I cleaned, spruced things up, shopped and made bedrooms out of office rooms to accommodate family.

I cooked some things ahead of time.  This is no easy task considering some family members are vegetarians, others not, some eat hot chile, others don't, some are on low carb diets, then decide to break their rules, and others just eat anything in sight.

One family member insisted on reviving an old Puerto Rican tradition - slightly modified for modern times.

I think Home Depot calls this a meat roaster.  We know it as a caja china.  This translates literally to Chinese Box.  I have no clue why.  But among some Caribbean  meat enthusiasts, this is the latest, most efficient way to have an old fashioned pig roast.

A pig roast is not something I had in mind as I envisioned our little family reunion, but it turned out to be the highlight.

Of course, I had to deal with my own inner storm of vegetarian resistance, until I caved in to resignation.  At least I know the pig was sacrificed in a humane manner, was raised in a free and non- toxic way and if we had not roasted it, someone else would have.  I thanked the pig profusely, hoping it had a forgiving spirit that can understand the conflicts and variations of human perceptions.

I wish I could have recorded the laughter that surrounded this roast.  Though I did not partake of the meat, I did benefit from the joy it provided.

The little storm was like most little storms.  It was replete with excitement, drama, anticipation and finally the realization that it's over, leaving behind traces of its turbulence and lessons for next time.

One thing I learned is that I am unrealistic.  I fully expected to be able to blog and read blogs during this time.  I overlooked the realities of time, relationships, group activities, trips, and fatigue.

I feel rested now, and ready to resume the calm in which I thrive best.  I hope you haven't forgotten me, but I'll remind you of my existence by visiting your wonderful blogs.

MULTIDIMENSIONAL SELF

My daughter gifted me with a book for Mother's Day.  "Like Book for Women" created by Meredith Looney is a sort of  gratitude journal where one can write about the things liked.  I like so many things and yet when I sat down to write about them, I found it a little challenging.  Perhaps it's time I took inventory of my gratitude.  Here are a few things I can think of  that I like and that reveal a rather multidimensional me. 







Gazing at the sprinkles of twinkles in the darkness above that make me wonder if the universe is orderly or if I'm watching chaos exploding in an instant of time.

Walking with my dogs beside me taking the time to notice individual plants.  I realize the desert is fertile and full of unexpected, often hidden beauty, much of it thorny, protected so it cannot be touched or found.  There are parts of me that are like that.






Being an outlaw while driving as fast as I dare along an empty highway (no cops or other cars) with the radio blasting songs I sing out loud.  My inner criminal coaxes me with combination of speed and sound so exciting, like I'm flying, happily, dangerously risking and breaking rules.





Engineering construction of a multicolored building with windows from nowhere, an elephant on the roof, a chimney flower, a little man named Jack who stands inside the tiny car upon which the building is suspended.  Then his laughter, when upon a whim, the entire thing is toppled. And we merge in waves of joy, my grandson, the little boy who works so hard at play, and me the little girl who's remembering.





Dancing by myself when I throw a wild fiesta in my house alone.  Salsa music played loud the way it sounds in a club.  I gyrate hips and swirl in primal moves provoked by drums and Latin rhythms that incite wild spirits cheering me on to live "la vida" as "loca" as I want.










Perhaps you can comment about some of the things you like.


 

LIFE

My mother died on Friday, March 30th as I held her hands and told her I loved her.

By Tuesday, when her funeral services were held, I had grieved deeply. I know that process will continue.

The services though, were not intended for sad grieving, but rather for a celebration of her life and for life in general, which encompasses the beauty, joy and losses we all experience.

I talked about the transformation my mother had accomplished. "If she could do it, so can we," I told family and friends. In her youth she was ill and depressed - unreachable, unapproachable, incapable of demonstrating love. In her later years, she grew to be a happy, accepting person who refrained from judging others, instead she gave of what she had - compassion, generosity and kindness.

There are those who express admiration of me, for having cared for my mother in her last years. I don't deserve this. I feared and resisted bringing her to live with me. I considered it the end of my carefree life and I resented having to care for someone who had never cared for me. But family insisted, "You're her only daughter. She has no one else to take care of her."

Today, I am grateful. I got to know my mother's heart unmasked, shinning with purity.

My mother had a sweet tooth. My husband and I would often buy her packets of M&Ms, her favorite candy. Each time, my mother would make little bags (made of tissue paper) containing a few pieces of the candy. Smiling, she would present them to my husband and me to share her precious gift.

At the funeral, all took home a few packets of M&Ms. She would have liked everyone to have some.

A friend commented that he felt special in her presence, that he felt she was enlightened. Perhaps sometimes we seek to learn about the great masters, and we ignore the one right in front of us, quietly modeling how to live fully.

My mother certainly shed light on those of us who got to know her. How fortunate I am.

Thank you all for your kind thoughts and concern.

AWARDS FROM WITHIN

I watched Meryl win her Oscar and found myself wondering about the uneven, unjust distribution of talent in this world.

My acting career ended when I was totally unable to erase a giddy smile from my face as I entered the stage. Sister Mary Alice could not understand that I was merely suffering from stage fright, which caused the strange, nervous smiling reflex to remain permanently fixed. After at least ten tries, she was desperately afraid our sixth grade lenten play would not go on. In spite of the fact that everyone mysteriously thought I actually resembled the character I played, Sister Mary Alice replaced me. The new girl looked nothing like Judas Iscariot, but she was able to pull off the betrayer's role without showing her teeth.

I wound up playing the indistinguishable role of a member of the angry crowd. I yelled "Crucify him!" My only line was drowned out by all the rest of the angry crowd actors, who said the same thing.

I've never acted again, and I'm sure the Academy thanks me and so should you.

The question of why Meryl Streep has so much talent and I have been left with a void in that department will remain unanswered. Life is just not fair.

But what about those who in spite of their lack of natural artistic endowments still pursue a loved art? They act, dance, play an instrument or perform some other dubious talent without regard to their level of achievement or perfection.

I love these people. They do what they do, just for fun because they love it. I imagine they waste no time comparing themselves to others or measuring how much success (in finances or in fame) they accomplish. They just do what brings them joy and in so doing they actually bring much joy to the rest of us.

I'm glad there's no award for the "less than amateur" category. These folks get their rewards just by obeying their inner calling regardless of how others value it.

Though there's a tiny part of me that wishes I were like Meryl, the larger part wishes I were more like the people who transform what they enjoy into their own everlasting Oscar.

A Local Fair

This guy did a lot more than

just hoola hoop with the tire. He performed little miracles with it and mesmerized the crowd.

Terry has danced at almost every local fair and festival for many, many years.

At this one, she announced it was her birthday. She is 72.

"Peace, love and unity, in the community."

Karuna prays this prior to all his performances. He insists that all the drummers play in coordination to complement the others, not to overshadow them.

Karuna has no formal employment. He has raised his family by teaching and performing his drumming and occasionally selling some health products. He is one of the happiest people I know.

PERSEVERANCE

I met my husband at the freshman dance during the first week of college. He had a date with one of my friends.

She was a luscious ripened fruit - sweet and succulent. Guys swarmed around her yearning for a taste.

I was more like a blossom - small and undeveloped. Not many guys were attracted to the scent of potential bloom.

My friend's date was somewhat of a nuisance. He asked me to dance a little too often. He talked to me a little too eagerly. He seemed undeterred by my quiet shyness.

During the next few weeks he sought me out. He pursued me relentlessly until I agreed to go out with him. I was perplexed by his perseverance and mistrusted his intentions. Was he just trying to make my friend jealous? But he never asked her out again. They only dated that one time.

He never stopped seeking me out. I grew to love his unyielding hunt for my affections.

And after so many years, you'd think he'd stop. But he still insists on finding me - in a different way. Now he searches and celebrates when he finds and helps uncover facets of me that I would have left hidden, pieces of me still unfolding in this creative process called life.

I am so grateful that when he first saw me, scrawny and shy at that dance, he thought to himself, That's the girl I'm going to marry, and he did. I thank whatever stars aligned, winked and arranged the cosmos, so that our hearts could recognize the ever-burning spark in each other, so worthy of pursuit.

***

OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF...BABES?

A few days ago mother-in-law fell and hurt her head and her knees. She slipped on mother's urine. Mother hadn't made it to the bathroom in time.

Mother-in-law had been complaining. She no longer wanted to share a room with mother. Due to her own dementia she could not understand that mother is now blind and could not get around by herself.

Perhaps as a coping mechanism, mother-in-law convinced herself that mother is a bad person; that mother talked some old ladies into beating up mother-in-law; that mother told the whole nursing home that mother-in-law has a lover. This can be funny. But it's not. It's the end of a very long and loving friendship.

Mother was moved to another unit in the nursing home - a locked unit for persons in the last stages of Alzheimer's.

***

I sat in the multi-purpose room watching old people pacing, talking to themselves, crying, laughing. Some bickered and quarreled over old magazines and puzzle pieces, like little children. They say one returns to childhood in old age. Apparently, there's truth to that.

"I need to go back to the kitchen," mother said. "I can't see anything here. Why do they keep the lights off?"

"Mami, it's not the lights, it's your eyes. You're having trouble seeing."

"No I'm not. I could see perfectly before, in the kitchen. Take me there! It's so dark, I can't see a thing."

I calmed her down easily by changing the topic of conversation. That's the hidden blessing in the fact that she forgets everything a few seconds after it's been said.

According to quantum physics, the observer affects that which is being observed. I wondered how I changed the dynamics of this motley group. I wondered if staff behaved differently when family members are not present. I worried, that staff lacks the sensitivity, skill, caring necessary to respond to mother's needs.

A lady who had been sitting at our table, rambling on about her family and imaginary problems, suddenly turned to me and said,

"Don't worry. I'll help her. As long as I have life, I promise you, I'll help her."

Her senseless words, inserted so delicately into my reality, somehow gave me comfort.

But, my worries did not cease and gradually my mind was swirling towards feelings of despair, guilt and regret. I know the futility of these emotions, but the heart does not always harmonize with the mind.

There was a lady walking around, talking about a myriad of things. She sat in the empty chair beside me. As my emotions swelled and I was about to give in to tears, the lady looked at me.

"The people here are really nice. They take good care of us. They're very good people."

She said this with such lucidity and affirmation, that I was stunned.

I decided to accept the messages from these childlike beings. Life can speak to us so clearly sometimes. I guess we just have to listen.

WAR AND PEACE ---reflections

The lost N.Y. tourist asked, "How do you get to Carnegie Hall?"

The wise ass New Yorker replied, "Practice, practice."

**

BOOM. RATATATAT. BOOM. BOOM.

The explosions rattled my brain, as well as my windows. The dogs started barking and running in fright. I hoped it would end soon.

How do you get to war? Practice, practice.

The military base, on the other side of my mountains, was holding a dress rehearsal. I wondered what real war feels like. I thought of how much I hate it.

Then I remembered that my nephew recently returned from war. Another wonderful relative is a Navy Seal. My own husband was in the military many years ago, and I used to provide counseling to soldiers at the nearby missile range.

A few nights ago, I attended a party honoring my friend's daughter who was promoted to Lieutenant Commander in the Navy. He glowed with pride that his "little girl" was not only in the same branch of the military, but she surpassed his rank.

__________________________________________________________________

She displayed this poster. Said she just had to have it when she ran across it. Memorabilia from before her time.

So proudly, her father pins on her stripes.

__________________________________________________________________

A young man who attended the party referred to his military experience. "I'm so grateful that I joined. I grew up because of it. It changed my life." He hadn't been successful in school and admitted he was at risk of making bad choices. He seemed like a real good guy now, apparently responsible, and definitely appropriately sociable.

**

BOOM. BOOM.

Clearly my hatred of war is incongruous with my love of warriors. Or is it?

My head started pounding.

How do you get to peace? Practice, practice.

The explosions stopped, the dogs calmed down. I sat quietly for a few minutes and I wondered if I love peace as much as I hate war. I have more questions than answers about so many things.

I breathed deeply. My headache subsided.

Just then, my husband came home. I kissed him lovingly, put on some soft music. We shared a meal and talked about the mundane - agreeing and disagreeing about many things.

For those moments at least,

I hope,

We practiced.

Peace.

THE LITTLE FOX

One day, the little fox got tired of roaming his familiar desert and decided to explore the unknown. He ran towards a place that grew huge rocks of different colors and shapes and from which he heard strange sounds. From afar he could also see some large animals with legs that turned round and round and made them run faster than he could have ever imagined.

Though he was a little scared, he dashed towards a clearing. After running in solitude for a while, he stopped to observe two strange animals, an unlikely pair, walking beside each other in silence. One was an awkward creature who walked on two legs. It's eyes were unfocused and it did not hear or smell the little animals in the ground or in the air all around it. It seemed to be walking asleep.

The other was a beautiful golden beast who was confident in his stride and whose nose made him aware of all that was going on. For a moment, the little fox thought he recognized something in him. He felt a connection and could not suppress the sudden, happy urge to play.

So he ran to the beast. It jumped for joy, and wanted to play too. But, the beast was tethered to the two legged creature, who was not playful at all. The creature made mean noises and forced the golden beast to yield obediently.

The little fox ran away frightened and hid behind some chaparral bushes. Sadly, he watched them walk away.

But then he decided to find some other animals. Maybe he could play with some, but hopefully he'd get to eat some too.

****

Based on a true story.

***

(See what happens when I have writer's block.)

QUALITY LIVING

I've been catching up on some of your blogs. Please forgive me if I haven't visited in a while. For whatever reason, time has taken on a peculiar, undesirable dimension in my life and I seem unable to do those things I truly enjoy, like reading your blogs and writing my own.

But life has a way of giving us messages, if we listen. Several blogs I read mentioned a recent article about regrets during end of life. No I'm not dying. But I remembered some people I knew when I worked with terminally ill patients.

"My deepest regret is that I won't get to see my brother. Now we're both bed ridden, just waiting for death," he told me, as he struggled with his breath. "My brother has lived in Florida all his adult life. I stayed here in New York. We always meant to visit each other, but somehow we didn't make the time. Now it's too late."

This man's wife was terminally ill also. She lay motionless in another room. They were childless, and had accumulated a good amount of money.

I remembered another woman I knew. She died of cancer after marrying a sick, much older man. The plan was that she'd take care of him. In return he'd leave her all his money. But he survived her. I never witnessed a more bitter, reluctant death.

I don't mean to sound morbid. What I'm really intending to do is confess that I've been wasting time and making poor choices. Though I have no regrets for my life until now, lately I feel like I'm a grain of sand in the top side of an egg timer. Time is rushing fast, and I have lost control.

It occurred to me that if I were to invent a time machine, I would not make one that goes back in time, but rather I would make one that created or expanded time. It would be for people like me, for whom time shrinks, and becomes not enough.

Luckily, I know I can regain a positive perspective. I can reevaluate what I want to accomplish, even if it's only some quiet moments of reflection, writing, doing something I enjoy.

***

"A day is a span of time no one is wealthy enough to waste."

Author Unknown

MY UNCONSCIOUS REVEALED

People kept coming into the elevator long after I was pushed into a corner. It was already hard to exhale but they kept squeezing in, stuffing space. I thought of canned sardines.

A lady pressed "1", initiating the descent. Slowly, slowly, down, down. I was somehow able to look at a little window, through which I saw large strong metal ropes.

Suddenly, the lights went out and I heard the loud sound of rope snapping. Some gasped, some screamed. I was quiet.

The fall seemed fast, but I still had ample time to think. I wondered if the final crash would hurt. Then I dismissed the worry, knowing it would be quick. Instead, I focused on thoughts of family. I saw each member individually. My thoughts were surprisingly devoid of sentimentality, though for an instant I was sad.

But then, I breathed deeply. My last thought was filled with certainty. I was sure they would all be fine... and so would I.

***

Details of some dreams can be so vivid. With all due respect to Dr. Freud, I rarely try to analyze mine.

But this dream was full of symbolism for me. Among other things:

the elevator shaft - returning to the womb (through death),

though accompanied by many people - I die alone,

my family members - they are all strong and capable.

I suppose the best part of the dream was waking up alive. Once I thought about it, I realized that in spite of the inevitable final crash, I experienced it as a happy dream, full of serenity, healthy detachment and true freedom.

What do you think? You merely have to nod or say "Hmm", in true Freudian fashion.

Hope your dreams enrich your reality.

***

"Our truest life is when we are in dreams awake."

Henry David Thoreau

CULTURAL INTERPRETATION

We had fried plantains, sprinkled with lots of salt, rice and gandules ( green pigeon peas. That's what they're called on the can, though my grandmother always cooked them fresh herself.), roast pork and pasteles (a meat pie made with batter from green bananas - this is a kind of love it or hate it type of food). Of course we also had the turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes...and lots of other things.

My grandparents and so many of our other relatives who didn't speak English pronounced it Sangivin. I'm not sure if they understood the full meaning of the holiday, but they sure got the food part right.

By the time I was a teenager, a new dish was added to our typical Puerto Rican Thanksgiving. I could never understand why we also always had lasagna.(?)

***

Whatever your meal, whatever nourishes you, may you have it always,

and may gratitude season your days.

SENTIMENTAL ME

(Excerpt from "La Vida Es Un Carnaval", by Celia Cruz)

Todo aquel que piense que la vida siempre es cruel,
tiene que saber que no es así,
que tan solo hay momentos malos, y todo pasa.
Todo aquel que piense que esto nunca va a cambiar,
tiene que saber que no es así,
que al mal tiempo buena cara, y todo pasa.

-Ay, no hay que llorar, que la vida es un carnaval,
-Y es mas bello vivir cantando.
-Oh, oh, oh, Ay, no hay que llorar,
-que la vida es un carnaval

-y las penas se van cantando.

(rough translation by me with the help of metrolyrics.com)

Everyone out there who thinks that life's always cruel,

Needs to know that's not the case,

That there are just bad moments, and all will pass.

Everyone out there, who thinks that this will never change,

Needs to know that's not the case,

Confront bad times, and everything will pass.

-Ay, there's no need to cry,

-because life is a carnival,

-It's more beautiful to live by singing.

-Oh, oh, oh, Ay, no need to cry,

-For life is a carnival

-And pain will leave singing.

***

Such a happy song. Yet my tears flowed inexplicably as something much like joy mixed with tenderness and a sparkle of melancholy flooded my emotions.

It was Karaoke time at the nursing home. Many, like my mother, just listened without response, some sang along to familiar tunes, others clapped, two chose to dance. I was the only one who cried. None of the audience took the microphone.

Entertainment was up to a staff member and a nursing student. They each took turns singing and dancing. Their "work" came so easily to them. I thought of some of the wise ones who have advised us to love what we do. These women seemed to embody that counsel.

Effortlessly they stirred energy and lifted spirits with their own genuinely happy vibrations... and love. They don't get paid for that.

I cried because I cry much too easily at so many things. I cried because the moment struck me as so full of life that my gratitude almost hurt. I cried because I saw people choosing to create a carnival for some who still want to play.

VACATION

Goodbye my mountains, cactus plants, coyotes, tarantulas and rats - for a little while. I've decided I need to experience a different environment, so a few weeks ago I purchased plane tickets and arranged a play date with the ocean.

Changing scenery, relating to a different aspect of nature while focused on its beauty will refresh and soothe my spirit. It's gourmet food for my soul.

Goodbye to you, my friends - just for a little while. I probably won't be visiting your blogs. I'll be wallowing in nature's playgrounds in California, with little on my mind, but maybe a glass of wine in my hand. I'll hopefully return with renewed energy and stimulated creativity.

Know that I think of you. I wonder what you're doing, writing, photographing. Though I'm leaving to find special nourishment, I'll be back soon to you who are my daily bread.

DOING IT

She never even owned a t-shirt that reflected her favorite slogan, but "Just Do It" was a phrase that clung to her soul. Not that she lived by it, quite the contrary. She believed it but she didn't do it.

Not her fault. What with so much work and family duties. She even took a sabbatical once to do it. Instead life surprised her with serendipity. It seems a relative had to have a heart attack. He needed care and she was available. She postponed doing it until eventually it just made more sense to resume her career which was quite time consuming. Consistently life conspired to design itself like a movie full of action and drama keeping her occupied, distracted and not doing it.

When life turned golden and major milestones had been lived, little things still blocked her goal. Days replete with friends, company, house chores, shopping, family needs, etc. forced her to forgo doing it. At night she always promised herself, "Tomorrow I'll do it."

One day she recorded a TV special - "Excuses Begone" with Dr. Wayne Dyer, which she intended to watch someday. The title got fused with her slogan in the deep recesses of her subconscious. She was haunted by suppositions of their combined messages. Words like perseverance, motivation, self-discipline kept popping up in her mind.

She wondered about so many things. Is passion still passion if one can deter it 'til later? Is there a twelve-step program for procrastinators? (If not she may start a chapter some day.) Most of all she wondered how a slogan and a title were catalysts to combustion. Something in her was ignited.

The TV show remains on the play list and she still does not own a slogan t-shirt. But for today, she's doing it. She's writing.

UPDATE

Over a month ago I received many encouraging and supportive comments and emails from many of you - my blogging buddies. I thought I'd fill you in on progress.

Mother and mother-in-law, the ladies as I fondly call them, are doing well. Due to the intensity of my prayers as well as the increased strength of antidepressants, mother-in-law is no longer cursing me with her every breath. She has joined my mother in complacency and is actually enjoying many things about being in a nursing home. I am discovering that, contrary to popular opinion, a nursing home need not be a nightmare of neglect and poor services. In general I think they are both quite happy.

My daughter asks, "Do you miss them?" and I honestly respond, "No." This is raw truth whose wisdom I am discovering. I am now certain that I made the right decision and though I love them, I know we are better off apart.
Gradually, the time I used to devote to them is getting filled. Not with exciting adventures but with the simple rhythm of daily choices. A little while ago a friend invited me out for coffee and I accepted. That's the level of activity that gives me pleasure.
My spirit is peaceful and devoid of regrets. And though I have more possibilities to engage in social activities, I actually enjoy more the tranquility of my home which affords me the luxury of relative solitude and the freedom to just be.

~~~~~~~~~
My husband is a gardener. I love being in this wonder of birth and growth.

The best place to seek God is in a garden. You can dig for him there."

George Bernard Shaw

THE LITTLE WISE VOICE

That little voice inside my head is getting louder, clearer and it's making more sense. It seems that everywhere I turn, there is something that confirms its wisdom. Yet, I've tried to ignore it.

~

The Kids (daughter, husband and grandson) are gone. To recount the visit would be useless, since it was filled primarily with what most people's happy visits contain - food, friends, games, laughter and sheer enjoyment. Their departure is always sad for me as I return to my daily routines, which are so often repetitive, boring and unwanted. The quiet that remains in the house mimics the vacuum that is left in my heart.



My body too is showing signs - that perhaps I worked too hard, that maybe emotionally I invested too much. Now, I am left feeling empty, and harboring a cold. I feel lousy and that darned voice keeps nudging me.

~

"No, you don't have diabetes after all." My doctor's announcement, several weeks ago, pronounced me almost healthy, but I still have thyroid, hormones and arthritis issues to address. The doctor also made some statements much like the ones my little voice has been making. I nodded and agreed... but I lied and quickly buried his professional advice somewhere in my subconscious.

The Universe is conspiring and no matter what I read, I find messages similar to my inner voice's, as if written expressly for me, that call me to my deepest truth. This morning I read something that promised to transport me to blissful realms. It's advice made me mad because I'm tired of being nagged, but I could not deny that the bliss they speak of is at my reach. Many of the blogs I read are apparently in cahoots with that Universal Conscience and they too are talking about aging, yoga, and foods that enhance our well being. Well! Not what I want to hear!

~

But gradually, in spite of my resistance, I've processed these messages from life and I can ignore my little voice no longer. The solution or at least the best way to combat the moods, feelings, physical maladies I've been experiencing is through exercise. The little voice is right and it is merely trying to support me, in spite of my childish denials and resistance to what I know deeply is true.

"It is exercise alone that supports the spirits, and keeps the mind in vigor."

Marcus Tullius Cicero

My body houses my spirit. It is the vessel that carries me on my chosen path. My little voice insists that I take care of it, that I actively participate in its maintenance.

Today, I make that commitment. I will exercise at least 3X's per week. Walking is my preferred method but I've also had yoga in mind for a long time, so who knows where this will lead - hopefully to a healthier me. It's hard to do this here, but I recently wrote a post about feeling the fear and doing it anyway. So, I'm doing it. My promise in cyberspace is to contribute towards my own good health. My body will benefit and undoubtedly, so will my spirit.

Care to join me?

"Lack of activity destroys the good condition of every human being, while movement and methodical physical exercise save it and preserve it."

Plato

THE BABY FROM HEAVEN

The puff of lint was almost invisible. Yet, he saw it, picked it up with his highest level of coordination and inspected it as if he was examining a precious gem. It held his attention for a few moments until it was time to taste it, but Mommy took it before it reached his mouth. Oh well, time to discover something new. Oh yes, the floor pattern was pretty interesting for a second, but now he sees an object with a beautiful design. It is colorful and has large ears and other things to pull and feel. His arms and legs somehow align in motion to propel him towards the object on the floor. He picks it up and discovers that it feels so soft, so gentle. He squeezes it almost as if wanting to mesh with it. Maybe it reminds him of something somewhere he loved but the memory is fuzzy now.

His intense explorations are interrupted by the arms that pick him up and transfer him to the high chair, where he is to eat his breakfast.

I observed in wonder as I reflected upon the reasons why I travel for hours to be in the presence of this baby. As a grandmother, I fight the inclination to say that he's extraordinary. He is to me, but I know he's just a baby doing the things babies do and in that sense he is ordinary, normal, just a human fulfilling the blueprint for human development.

So, why do I find him mesmerizing? I think it's because of his innocence, which is actually a form of wisdom I have long forgotten and now struggle to relearn.

"It is the nature of babies to be in bliss."
Deepak Chopra

Baby is my guru. He is the perfect model for me to learn how to live a spiritual life. He is aware of his surroundings and appreciates all he sees. He knows true freedom and laughs and cries as the emotions strike with no attempt to disguise them or bury them.

Baby teaches me to play, to have fun and enjoy the little things.

He knows when enough is enough and its time to rest.

He lives in wonder and is a wonder himself. I treasure the moments in which I can immerse myself in his innocence. It reminds me that Heaven is what we make it - a touch, a place, a thought, a prayer, a being, a baby.

"A baby is God's opinion that life should go on."

Carl Sandburg

Marriage - Perpetual?

"The minute I heard my first love story

I started looking for you,

Not knowing how blind that was.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere,

They're in each other all along."

Rumi

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"I do", I triumphantly stated before the priest could even finish asking the question. I was eager. This day was the culmination of four years of loving romance and wistful dreaming about the future - our love, union, happiness, success. My wedding day was magical. The biggest testimony to that is the fact that many of the photos were taken outside in a park on the coldest day in January, in New York City, but I was utterly comfortable. There was a fire in my heart that day and its warmth sufficed.

Forty one years later if I showed you a graph depicting the ups and downs of that fire, you'd get dizzy. But what I want to emphasize now is the forty one years. The divorce of a famous couple was recently announced. This, though sad, is no big news. However, they'd been married forty two years! I now realize it's never too late to reconsider your vows and that longevity is never guaranteed. Marital or relationship health is a worthy goal, but even that doesn't ensure that you'll be together 'til death. We've all known "happy" couples who suddenly announce their union's end. It's a little like hearing that a healthy, athletic, strong and vibrant young person has suddenly died of natural causes - inexplicable. So, what makes me think my marriage is exceptional and life long?

~

"To get divorced because love has died, is like selling your car because it's run out of gas."

Diane Sollee

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One of my grandmother's favorite sayings was, (roughly translated from Spanish) "No one knows for sure what's in the pot, but the one who stirs it." I stir the pot in my marriage, so I'll propose some prophetic theories as to why it lives on.

I wish I could say that hubby and I are gifted with superior communication skills. If you knew us, you'd know to laugh here. I wish I could confidently say that our love is so powerful and harmonious that it withstands all challenges. Laugh again.

~

"Marriages are made in heaven. But, again, so are thunder, lightning, tornados and hail."

Anonymous

___________________________

Husband and I criticize each other, argue about being "right", often over something so trite a five year old would not bother. We've been known to yell, put each other down, and in various

ways offend each other. This sounds like a lifetime already, yet sometimes it all takes place within the span of one day. Also, at times we've become too complacent and wound up enthralled in the proverbial rut. I hope you're not getting the impression that we're highly dysfunctional (we're not - just enough to make us normal).

These apparently negative behaviors are soon forgiven and forgotten in lieu of the predominant occurrences of wonderful moments in which we give and receive affection, praise one another, offer care and support, and practice all the great things that would lead to a description of a happy couple.

My marriage is a mix - a rich mixture of our innate human nature and the spiritual growth that living with another human affords us. It's not an easy endeavor, and perhaps that's why many marriages die, even if people go on living together. One can, after all, live together in misery. Lest I digress - back to my marriage, the mix of my life.

If I tell you that my marriage will last because we're unique, I hope you don't believe me. Every marriage or relationship is unique, like every individual. My marriage will last for many reasons, most of them mysterious and having more to do with what many call fate, than with anything I do or hubby does. But, I think one major factor is that it's just never been an option. Perhaps due to cultural, familial, ingrained religious ideas or maybe just the level and depth of our commitment - we've always chosen to resolve rather than retreat. And of course, there's that old standby, which I cannot fail to mention - like a vaporous blanket, love has always enveloped us. Though it may fold and hide temporarily, it never recedes. In our twilight years, may we still love each other, may we still enjoy the mix that life brings.

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As you can imagine, I've got a lot more to say about marriage, it's challenges and blessings. I'll do so in future posts. Let me know your thoughts too.

Attachments

"Whatever the question, love is the answer."
Wayne Dyer




When I was a child, my grandmother too often called me "sangana", which is probably not a legitimate Spanish word, but in Puerto Rico, my native land, it means fool, dope, nitwit - at least that's my interpretation of it. Her esteem demolishing pet names usually were instigated by my extreme sensitivities. In contrast to grandmother's strong, confident personality, I was soft, thin skinned, and above all I was (am) very emotional. Separations were especially difficult. (I will refrain from self-analysis here, but needless to say, my childhood was marred by episodes of abandonment.) I have yet to outgrow my impulse to cry at the slightest provocation, but when a "good-bye" is called for there is no stopping the teary flood gates. Freud would consider my resistance to separations an ultimate fear of death. I concur. I suppose each farewell carries with it a sliver, a reminder of our finite state.



So, before I die and undergo the ultimate test, I must confront my fear of separation, which is founded upon my ego's insistence on maintaining attachments. For a long time, I deceived myself into thinking that I had already conquered the malady and things meant nothing to me. But I suspect that if my house burned down, and my bank account (puny as it is) dried up, and my car got stolen - I would indeed suffer the pain of separation. I would discover the depth of my attachment to things. (I hope God's not reading this. I don't want to implant the idea for one of those unbearable learning opportunities in life God is so fond of imposing on me.)

Though I recognise my need to work more to overcome my attachment to things, it is my attachment to people that I feel is more significantly blocking my spiritual progress.

~

My musings on this topic arose from reading a short magazine article as I waited in a doctor's office. The author, a brand new grandmother, wrote about her interactions with her son and daughter-in-law after the birth of their daughter. The grandmother attached to the baby immediately like cling wrap. She yearned to hold her, care for her, nurture and cuddle her. Being a new grandmother myself, the story enticed me and I related profoundly to the writer. She went on to expound her fears - that the parent couple were unhappy, that they resented her well intended interference, that maybe they needed to move away. As I read on my heart sank. Indeed, the little family moved away, leaving grandmother in grief. (Of course, I almost cried.) The woman found solace in friends and in her faith but I remained with the question - "Where/how will I find comfort if such a thing happens to me?"

Memories rushed into my mind - of parting from my young husband as he left for military duty, of leaving my daughter in a strange city alone so she could pursue her studies, of separating from friends when life pushed me to relocate across the country. I remembered how my heart ached, how sadness filled my moments. Yet, I know I will survive separations. I always have. From now on though, I hope I detach with grace, with peace, with wisdom.



My strength and comfort will come from the awareness that it is love that must overcome attachment. It is love that will transcend my own need for the company of my loved ones, in favor of their own well being. You know that sappy saying, "If you love something, let it go,"? Well, it's true, not easy but true and like it or not, we will all have to let go eventually - of our kids, our spouses, our friends and our things. (Not to sound morbid, but yes, we're all bound to die.) All in this world is temporary - except love.



I need to stop. I know better. If I wanted to, I could hop in the car now and see my little grandson, my daughter, her husband. I can pick up the phone and speak to them. How lucky I am. And since all in this world is temporary - so is this moment. I mustn't waste it on ruminations about future loses. Now all is well. Thank God for Now. May we all enjoy it.