Five Things from Today (in no particular order)

1. I do not like being threatened. I especially do not like veiled threats.
2. Never assume the surprises are over. Likewise, don't assume you know the outcome of said surprises.
3. Watching an elephant paint it a pretty humbling and awe-inspiring thing. Not something I would have necessarily chosen to do left to my own devices... but a welcome moment of perspective nonetheless.
4. I must remember to practice gratitude.
5. The currently daily mantra: This too shall pass.

A parallel process in April:

The little peach tree in our front yard has burst into bloom. A flurry of soft pinky-white petals gently sprinkled across spindly toddler branches rising to reach at the sky.

If the tree were capable of singing, I imagine it would hum little jaunty tunes; spritely and quick like a playful and bouncing minuet.

If the tree could dance, it would stretch it's thin fingers to the heavens, twirling like a dizzy two-year old in the happy, springtime sun... making sloppy circles across the front yard as all the stately oaks and elms shook their limbs and tsk'ed their trunks.

Our tree does not care, does not see. Our tree is two.

And two is magicalroyalspinninghappy.

Past Post

Our internet was down last night, which meant my daily post for the blog was not going to happen. I briefly considered writing something in Word to transfer over later, but I must admit that laziness and the presence of LOTR: The Two Towers on TNT sufficiently dissuaded me from being appropriately productive.

It would have been one of those nights where I stared at the screen for an hour or two, waiting for inspiration to thump me in the gut. Or at least spit in my face. I think I would have ended up writing a haiku or something short.

Instead, I heard a glorious singer last night while finishing up my kitchen cleaning. I was listening to World Music Cafe and heard Melody Gardot, a jazz singer who sort of fell into the business after a tragic accident led to some music therapy and the uncovering of an untapped and insanely startling talent. Her story is worth reading (and her music amply worth hearing) if you have a moment.

I am forever amazed by the resiliency and strength so many people are capable of in the wake of unexpected and difficult events. It's humbling, inspiring, and restorative... helps me keep my own complaints in perspective and to have faith I can be similarly phoenix-like within the good and bad of my pursuit of truth, contentment, and connection.

Full Circle

The morning began with a story about the most recent suicide bombing in Iraq. Diyala province... a funeral in Al-Sadiyah, north of Baghdad... at least 20 killed and 23 wounded.

Then snippets of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Bobby Kennedy... heralds from the past speaking of equality and honor for all people. And I was thinking about how now we must expand our understanding of “all people” to include a much more global conception of the world.

All people… no “other,” no “they,” no “them.” No inferior race or backward culture or subgroup of people who is somehow defined as less. Or wrong. Or without worth.

What is it that allows us – we humans – to see other human beings as something separate from ourselves? Is it culture? Ideology? Religion? Color? Geography?

We are capable of such amazing cruelty, violence, and darkness when we are able to rationalize a mindset in which another person or group of people can be seen as less valuable then ourselves and those we love. Where is that line? What is the difference between an enemy and an “other?” Is it any different to fight someone you have decided to destroy because they do not see the world as you do, versus deciding to destroy someone because they are not human enough (normal enough, right enough) to deserve to live?

I’m not sure the distinction is even important when it comes down to permanent solutions to differences of opinion/belief/value.

I attended Mrs. Hogue’s funeral today and could not help but think of the bomber in Iraq who chose to disrupt a sacred ritual of death to accomplish more killing. I thought about Martin Luther King, Jr.’s dream… his vision of life beyond hating and purposeful division. I thought about the promise of Bobby Kennedy and the simple, truthful way he spoke about the evolution of a nation eating at its own heart.

My dream: One day we will recognize ourselves in every other. We’ll blur the lines between us and them to accomplish we. We'll employ a systemic concept of our world (our entire universe) rather than a mechanistic approach that leaves too much room for categorization and rationalized withdrawal.We’ll find a way to breathe together on a planet too tiny for our grand plans and will work toward a concept of equality that embraces difference, honors separateness, and allows distance. Free to live - and die - with safety and dignity.

Sight

In trying to think of something beautiful from today to offset how I am feeling internally, this is where I am at:

I am listening to U2 on the radio - Pride (In the Name of Love) - and thinking about high school. My favorite grey sweatshirt, torn jeans, and hair waiting to be released from its most recent perm. My white VW Rabbit, the windows down, a soft spring day in CT with the roads slightly wet from afternoon rain... driving to rehearsal where I get to spend over two hours with some of my closest friends doing something that make me feel insanely happy.

I remember how unhappy that "me" was most of the time. And I look back on her fondly... an older, wiser self who has multiple years of insight (and hindsight) but understands with fondness where all the drama, confusion, and mishegoss was coming from.

I wonder if, 10 years from now, I will look back on this period of time and feel similarly. If the days of frustration, burn out, stress, worry, or sadness will look so much smaller and so much less critical with even more distance and age.

We shall see.

Give us a squeeze!

I think we don't hug enough in today's society. Or rather, I feel like the culture within which I currently live (which is defined by many things) does not allow for enough hugging. Or maybe does not welcome it, or embrace it.

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I feel like I've seen more and more people in my daily moving through school, work, class, etc. who really look like they could use a hug. Faces of sadness, exhaustion, worry. Friends who look overwhelmed or worn down. Folks who look like they might explode or implode any second... leaving a sticky mass of emotional goo clinging to the stunned faces of those around them.

Hugs are intimate, which is why I think they are scary to some people. A good hug leaves no place to hide. It is vulnerable, honest, and direct. And not even because it is sexual or physically suggestive. No no. I mean vulnerable in the sense that two people are suddenly fully present - literally and metaphorically linked on multiple levels to stand - joined together - within a small space of time.

It's infinite and unyielding because, if you're doing it right, you are anchored there with another human being sharing in their emotional truth while speaking your own in a silent language understood on a deeper level... a nonexistent conversation both effortless and complete. Ideally, you leave feeling fuller, more grounded, better understood, and more deeply connected than before. Transformed by a small, simple act of kindness and comfort to set out, anew, on your inimitable journey.

Elegy

(for Mrs. Hogue, our neighbor)

It's difficult to know what to say or do
when someone leaves your life...
not quite stranger, not quite relative
but something in between.
In this case, a link to my own anchor,
a promise never spoken to someone
no longer present. An opportunity
to connect and give and love.

Here are my favorite things about you:
The answer you gave the nurse
when she asked how you were...
"Fat and sassy" with a coy smile.
The look of surprise and sheer joy
spreading across your face as Ari
wrapped her arms around your knees
and patted your side, unexpected and sweet.

How you said Arthur called you
"picky, picky" and insisted it was not so,
but made a face reminiscent of a child
when asked about brocolli for Easter dinner.
Your immediate recognition of the connection
between Ari and Andy... the way they adore
one another, and the way that seemed to
make you feel - nostalgic, tickled, knowing.

I will miss you and I'm so grateful
for the opportunity to share in your
journey - even if for a brief time in
a small way that will always feel
like it was never enough.
(Even the smallest kindnesses
create ripples. Thank you for sharing
time in the pond with us.)