And so we begin anew…

I haven’t posted since January 8, despite a vow to myself to post at least twice per week.

That’s because on January 9, my very beloved Dad very abruptly died.  I remind myself that he was spared the vicissitudes of old age, infirmity and a slow decline.  He was 89, but was planning to play golf the next day.  While at dinner with my dear stepmom and friends he had an allergic reaction and a few hours later he was dead.

He used to say to me “Diane, that’s why I get up every morning – because you never know what is going to happen.”  How true, how true!

Tomorrow is Easter and Christians celebrate Resurrection.   In fact, many religious traditions have holidays related to rebirth and renewal tied in with this vernal time of year.

Whatever ones beliefs it is comforting, when faced with the seeming starkness of death, to ponder rebirth, renewal.  Resurrection.

A few years ago, driving down my favorite road with both spring in  Chicago and a new love in my life suddenly appearing after a period of bleakness, a poem came to me.  Having then had a battened down heart, newly awakening, I now take comfort, that having had a death in the family, perhaps, like Lazarus in the poem, I’ll feel like kissing the face of the stars – ready, once more to leap into life.

My father was my north star, and, at the same time, the firmament on which I stood.  I must say I have felt inexorably lost in these three months since he so abruptly was spirited away by that trickster, Death.

So I don’t feel the same sense of awakening as I did in 2009, seeing the daffodils starting to wildly bloom on Country Club Road.

Looking out my window, I see my tattered prayer flags, gaunt and thin and dragging after the winter snows and ice and winds.  I’ve cleared the deluge of cones from around the Colorado blue spruce in my front yard and raked some leaves from the flower beds.

In this liminal time, winter indeed is visibly waning – old, tired, nearly gone.  The days grow longer now, and some days are even warm.

But despite what the Wheel of the Year tells us – that Spring Equinox has indeed arrived – I don’t think spring has really settled in.  At least not in Chicago.  At least not in my heart.

I’m truly not seeking sympathy.  Perhaps forbearance for my long absence here.  Death, like birth, is a part of life.  And all deaths leave gaps, holes, empty spaces (though I must say, I’d not quite known how much empty there can be).

I think the thing to remember, as the Christians remind us this time of year, is that the life force lives on.  That renewal and resurrection can be ours, not in the literal sense of the Gospel story, but in beginning anew.  In affirming life.  In saying yes.  In putting out NEW prayer flags, bright, colorful, ready to be imbued with prayers, hopes, wishes, summer sunshine and love.

And as for my Daddy ~ well, I’ll quote my generation’s poet laureate, Bob Dylan:

“I’ll see you in the sky above
in the tall grass
in the ones I love
You’re gonna make me lonesome when you go.”

He decided to ditch lunch and take us all to Dairy Queen instead – the last time I saw my Dad

 

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Genealogy of emotions: the scared kitten hiding beneath Durga’s fiery sword

Through a series of synchronicities I ended up having an “Angel reading” on Monday night.  Now as “out there” as I may seem to some, I am actually as left-brained as my current employment (IT consultant) would lead you to believe.  Okay, so I thought I was going to a numerology reading which may strike people as equally ‘out there’ – but to me there’s a STRUCTURE behind that.  Angel readings? Not so much.  But since I intuitively trusted the woman in front of whom I sat (Terrie Crowley), I forged ahead.

I’m glad I did. Because wherever the guidance she was giving me came from, it was very helpful.

It got me to thinking about the ‘genealogy’ of emotions.  Getting to the heart of the matter.

THE SURFACE
I’ve noticed a propensity of late on my part to tout the virtue of toughness – in myself, with my big honking Harley, and in others.

THE ROOT – GENEALOGY

The parent of toughness is vulnerability

The twin sister of vulnerability is fear

The parent of vulnerability and fear is lack of trust

RESULT

So, knowing that genealogy, rather than wave my sword about like Durga or Kali, I can first protect what feels threatened within me (protecting the vulnerable – which is what my namesake, Diana, is all about).

Seeing the vulnerability and fear I can then ask “why do I not trust God/the Universe/All That Is to have my highest good in mind?”

To that end, Terrie assigned me a task – assigned as though a one-time task, but, which I can see could continue to be helpful in times of trouble:

Write an “evidence journal.”

She said to step away from “my story” and just look at events in my life for all the proofs of how protected and loved I am.  Trauma by trauma, story by story, miracle by miracle – just record the facts that support the philosophy on a favored bumper sticker I once had:  “Expect a miracle.”

The first thing that sprang to mind truly does seem miraculous.  When I was not quite six years old my mother had a heart attack.  My sister was just 4 and our brother 3.  No other adults were home.  My mom sat on the floor, her lips turning blue, and told me to go get help.  We had just moved to Indianapolis a few weeks before and didn’t really know people.  And hey – I was not-quite-6-years-old!  But I walked out, found a lady bringing in her clothes from the clothesline as there was an uncharacteristic snowstorm in October – she had come home from work solely to do this task.

And – she was a cardiac nurse.

Yes, there are forces out there watching over us.  As it turns out, I have always believed in angels, and in saints and in forces beyond my left-brained knowing.  I love the quote from the Talmud:  “Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, ‘Grow! Grow!’”

So I’ll work on that Evidence Journal.  When I find myself wanting to chastise someone to ‘toughen up’ I’ll instead check out what feels scary to me.  (However, I’m fond of my toughness and won’t totally abandon it either!). 

How about you?  Have you done ‘genealogical research’ on your emotions or reactions to life?  What did you find?  And what about that trust thing?  How do you weigh in on Einstein’s famous quote:  “The most important question a person can ask is ‘Is the Universe a friendly place?’” – Well, is it? 

As always, I really want to know!

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Wistfulness

It’s Memorial Day – and as I noted in this post, it’s not meant to be about barbecues (which is not to say we don’t have them), but rather remembering those who have died in service to our country (or state, city, neighborhood).  I make it my own little “Day of the Dead” remembering also those who have passed before me.

Yesterday I was (yep) at a barbecue/music jam party. I was so excited to be there ‘on my own steam.’  My dear recently departed friend Becky was a musician – as is her surviving partner – and through their great kindness I have been invited to a lot of music parties.  You see, I’m NOT a musician, but if I could come back again and had one wish that would likely be it – to come back as a great musician (preferably a fiddle player with long curly hair – that would work for me).

The people at the party are all incredible musicians.  They’re in my general age group – so we sing a lot of old folk/country/light rock songs from ‘back in the day’ and some songs from WAY back in the day, like “Hard Times Come Around No More” which I found out was written by Steven Foster (1860s).

I noticed as the evening went on how our merry little Motown songs and other silly stuff,  was getting more and more replaced by more reflective music.  Wistful music. About aging, loss and sorrow. Not mournful – just that sweet wisftulness – oh, if only…

After we did this great Kate Wolf song (here performed by Nanci Griffiths) “Across the Great Divide” one of our gang mentioned that was a signature song for our friend Kim who unexpectedly died a year ago December.  So we decided to do a song to commemorate our friend Becky, whom cancer robbed of us a year ago in February.  To my continual amusement, Becky loved the Bee Gees.  So of course, the first lyric that came up was from “New York Mining Disaster” – “in the event of something happening to me….” but then settled into “Massachusetts” instead.

Rich sang a song about aging which I didn’t recognize as a song, but sure as all get out recognize as a phenomenon.

Kent and Debbie’s elderly dog with dysplasia limped into the room.  He and Kent looked at one another so soulfully.

Rich’s song talked about the hands of the clock flying around.  About how you look in the mirror and wonder ‘whose is that face?’

My friend Jeanne’s son-in-law was no doubt as surprised as his wife and infant daughter when he abruptly died in a Marine helicopter training exercise last year.  My friend Myra was stunned when her husband Barry (with his co-pilot) was the first casualty of the first Iraq war.

As I do with the abrupt deaths of Becky and Kim, those who have lost dear ones in war or in service to their country must have moments of “what would life be like now if {loved one} were still alive.”

And sudden or not – we’re all on that train.  Mostly, we distract ourselves from that sure knowledge.  But there are times when it seeps into our souls.  The ephemeral nature of life and love. The importance of being fully present RIGHT NOW.  How precious human incarnation is.  The importance, above all else, of love.

When I was a kid, my mother would point out that on Good Friday from 12-3 (the hours at which Jesus was purportedly on the cross) it would always be gloomy weather outside.  I’ve long noticed a propensity for Memorial Day weekend to be cold and/or rainy (this weekend in Chicago definitely DOES not fit that trend).  Our songs last night took a turn towards Wistful.

Our walking around selves may try to trick us.  But the soul – and the deep heart’s core – remembers.

Be love today.  Honor all the fallen by doing something kind, good and true in their honor.  Make a difference.

 

 

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Old friends

Just the other night I was chatting with a friend about happiness.  I told her that I had a vivid memory of a party – one of, oh, I’d say, a thousand parties (seemed like one per night) in my youth.  I was probably about 24 at the time.  I was standing in a kitchen – whose house? who knows? – with my foot up on the seat of a kitchen chair.  I was drinking Guinness out of a bottle, talking to Denny Lindsey, just laughing my ass off.  The house was filled with laughter, loud GOOD music and people I loved.  It was winter and I had on blue jeans, a flannel shirt and some hiking boots.  I was filled to overflowing with joy – pure joy.  And I thought “I’m gonna always remember how happy I am tonight.”

You know, close to four decades later, I still DO remember that.

And so what an interesting little bit of synchronicity that less than a week after recounting this story, I was on my goddaughter’s Facebook page and saw a post from her uncle – Denny Lindsey.  So I sent off a “friend request” and tonight we connected on Facebook.

Looking at the pictures of his family – I was close friends with his sister, my goddaughter’s mom, and with Denny and their brother Geoff – brought back a flood of memories.

And it got me thinking of the great, incomparable gift that old friends are in our lives.  Especially friendships that aren’t just longstanding – but the ones that began in our formative years.  People who knew us when we were significantly forging who we have eventually become.  Who, in fact, helped shape that becoming-ness.

So welcome back into my life, Denny Lindsey.  And thanks to all of the companions of my youth.

Though there can be a danger that friends from our past can’t see who we are now, blinded as they are by who we once were, the ones who DO see the changes, but also remember the changeling – those are rare and precious jewels and should be cherished appropriately.

How about you?  Are you blessed by people who knew you “back in the day”?  Is it fun to reminisce?  Do they see you as you are now?  Do you see THEM as they are now?

I’d really like to know!

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What can we do in the face of personal tragedy?

What do we do in the face of personal tragedy?  What do we say to the grieving?  How then, shall we act when we hear of a loss that takes our breath away?

I’m getting back-to-back-to-back opportunities in that regard.  Yesterday was the first anniversary of the death of my dear friend Becky, who tragically succumbed to cancer last year at the young age of 46.  Today is the anniversary of the suicide of someone in my inner circle.  And yesterday I found out about a car accident on Monday in which my friend Ann’s husband Tom was instantly killed, Ann seriously injured.  This last is made much worse because 14 years ago Ann had a serious stroke and Tom has been her caretaker.  We’re not sure (from reports) if the leg that got crushed in the accident is her working leg or the one the stroke left dangling.

What do you say?  What can any of us possibly do?  I have a close connection to the mother of the man who committed suicide.  He was her oldest child.  Her first husband died when she was 40, leaving her with 7 children to raise.  She got them all successfully raised and through college.  That must’ve seemed like the hard part – and then….

I don’t know if you’re like me.  But what I want to do when these hard, scary, heartbreaking things happen to my friends – well, my first impulse, at least – is to hide. It seems so hard. I don’t know what to say.  I am very aware that words are trivial in the face of such loss and anguish.  And I have no ‘wisdom’ to impart.

But what I am finding is that just acknowledging the loss and saying you care (and of course MEANING it) and standing by people helps a lot.

Yesterday I had to give myself a pep talk to call Becky’s mom.  I felt very guilty that at Becky’s funeral I had sworn to her mom that I’d keep in touch.  And I meant it when I said it. Except then I didn’t do it.  So I felt ashamed.  My inner dialogue had Becky’s mom thinking “oh yeah, call me NOW, a year later – where have you been this whole hard year?”

What I got instead was her delight that I called yesterday.  She told me that my many messages on the Facebook page we set up in memory of her daughter had been a year long comfort.  She said “I don’t write on Facebook – that’s just not me – but I read every word that has been written – often many times – and it has comforted me and Rachel.”

We had a good talk.  We laughed about Becky.  We both teared up.  It felt cathartic.

When my friend Deb called to tell me about Ann and Tom I said “wow, I’m a spiritual person but I’m having a very hard time conjuring up any way this could turn out well – it feels totally overwhelming.”

Deb said, “Well, today is the one year anniversary of Becky’s death.  Let me ask you something. Has anything at all good come out of this past year?”

Such a helpful reminder.  My mom used to always say “God works in mysterious ways” and I think that’s true.  I don’t know how things will turn out.  I have no magic words or deeds that will Poof! make everything better.  But I can be with people.  I can acknowledge their loss and suffering.  I can ensure that they are not alone (if that’s desired).  And I can pray.

In the end, I think, only love is real.  So I can be love.  And I am SO reminded on this day, of life’s fragility and preciousness.  Really truly, friends – be loving.  Tell the ones you love how much they mean to you.  Daily.  You never know which moment will have been your last.

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The exponential factor of surprise

Last year, between Halloween and February 7, I lost 5 beings whom I loved (4 people and my beloved cat companion).  With the exception of my beloved Aunt Mickey, who had been ill for a long time (and was in her 70s) the deaths were total surprises.  The other four beings were “too young to die” (obviously that wasn’t true, but so it seemed).

The surprise element just made it all worse.

It had never occurred to me that just as surprise seems to exponentially accelerate grief, it can be an exponential healer, too.

Last night I went out to hear music.  I’ve had a flu all week and being sick never makes me (or anyone) cheerier.  I have been very aware that the one year anniversary of my friend Becky’s death is coming on February 7.  The music event I went to is one that I was introduced to by Becky and her partner Annie.  And while Annie was there last night, Becky, of course, was not.

Then some of my musician friends played a song my mom used to sing all the time (“After You’ve Gone”).  Debbie’s evocative singing just brought back my mom, singing that while doing dishes or in the car.

I left the music place feeling very sad indeed.

There’s a road I love that leads to Woodstock, IL (where I had gone to hear music) – Country Club Road.  I’ve written about it here before as it is one of my sources of comfort, delight and inspiration.  Usually when I’m just grumpy, a ride down Country Club Road will cheer me right up.

And since my 20s I have had a secret love affair with the winter night sky.  She’s been my secret delight for decades, a source of awe, wonder and delight.

Well, last night both Country Club Road and the winter night sky just made things WORSE.  Reminding me of the companions not on the journey, pointing out my very stark aloneness.

I listened to Jackson Browne in the car and that seemed to just add some underlining to SAD.

But then 3 surprising things happened that were as bold in their “cheering-up-ness” as the “out of the blue” deaths last year were in their “causing grief-ness”.

• As I was pulling in to my garage, still listening to “Call it a Loan”, I remembered that the CD was a VERY unexpected gift last year from my eldest nephew.  One day, out of the blue, I got a package from Amazon.com with this Jackson Browne CD, followed a day or two later with another package from Amazon with Annie Dillard’s “Holy the Firm”.  Jonah had a simple gift note saying he hoped these gifts would cheer me.  I’m not a mom, so I don’t know how it is with kids of your own, but to have my adult nephew truly ‘get’ my pain and then unlike anyone else, DO something about it was exponentially helpful. And the gifts he chose both showed that he ‘got’ me – they were PERFECT.  It helped more than I can ever describe and it helped me again last night.  I felt seen, understood and not so alone.  Out of the blue.
• When I walked in, about an hour after the time my 11 month old kittens are accustomed to getting their last meal of the day, their sweet expectant faces and wagging tails just filled me with love.  Yes, I know they were looking expectant as in “where’s my food, mama?” but their trust and sweetness just melted my heart and again, assuaged my sadness.
• I read each night in the tub and before bed.  Right now I’m reading two books, but just one of them is part of the night-time ritual: David Byrne’s “Bicycle Diaries”.  I had heard about it on NPR and my friend Bill lent it to me.  It’s surprisingly engaging and delightful and I found that it cheered me in the way that I had thought Country Club Road would (and usually does) – by providing a connection outside myself, a new view, a widening circle.  Last night I traversed the neighborhoods of London with the guy I had heretofore thought of as only the front-man for the Talking Heads.  In the process I got some new insights into  “is the past real” and “what’s music for”.  An unexpected delight.

So when I get the wind taken out of my sails abruptly – as we all do - I will remind myself that just as unexpectedly a tail wind can come out of the blue and help me safely back to shore, to home, to shelter from the storm.

So thanks to Jonah Patrick Keegan, Liam and Maggie, Bill Wallenbecker and David Byrne for turning this ship around last night.

Have you experienced GOOD surprise in which the surprise element made all the difference?  Tell us about it!

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Anticipation

My best friend is flying in from Florida today to stay for two weeks.  We’ll celebrate Solstice, Christmas, New Year’s together AND I’m having some minor foot surgery on Thursday and she’ll be wondrously helpful as I gimp around a bit.  I can’t wait to see her and for all that great time with her!

I’m also eagerly awaiting the results of the foot surgery – my friend Mary had the same type of surgery and yesterday she wrote me that she NEVER has hip or knee pain (who knew a toe could have so many residual effects) and almost never has foot pain (twice in four years).  After decades of discomfort, I’m gleefully awaiting a new life of being pain-free and not so gimpy.

And then there’s all the winter holidays – Winter Solstice tomorrow, Christmas on Sunday, New Year’s the following Sunday.  I’ll miss being with my sister’s wonderful family in Pennsylvania and with my dear Dad and his wife this Christmas, but I still have Christmas spirit.  Mostly, I’m anticipating the fun of Sue and Bill – my best woman and guy friends, who are truly family to me – opening their stockings and gifts.  I had fun yesterday filling the stockings.

Anticipation of good things is such a delicious feeling (anticipation of bad things has its own name – dread).  Little children’s anticipation of Santa and the goodies they will get is perhaps the most evocative instance of this tingly, “I can’t wait!” feeling.

What are YOU anticipating today?  What has you saying “oh, goodie! I can’t wait til….”

Revel in the anticipation – it has its own joys, besides the wished-for event or thing.  And get your inner kid on as you say “Oh goodie!”

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Grace under pressure

Ernest Hemingway defined courage as “grace under pressure.”  That came to mind today, as I read Big Life Lessons in my friend Susan Spritz-Myers blog.  Susan’s husband was diagnosed with melanoma on the same day her mother died.  And, just this past week her dad died too. Big Life Lessons, indeed.

What I’ve been so wowed by, watching these dear friends maneuver some of life’s most challenging lessons, is their wisdom, depth and kindness (to one another, themselves and the rest of us as well).

Susan and I were talking today about our shared belief that we are here (embodied, on earth) to learn specific soul-lessons.  So often when the lessons involve suffering and hardship and loss we want to push them away.  “Why me?” or “woe is me” or “This sucks!” – we flail and fight.  I think that’s pretty natural.

But hopefully, if we’re lucky and we’ve “done our work”, we then turn to “how do I best manuever this?” and “what is the lesson here for me?” and “how can I be more loving – to myself and to those I love.”

Susan reported that her father was ready to go. That his passing was a blessing for him and for his children.  She told me how glad she was to have spent all the time with him over these past few years.

She talked about how much she and Alan have both grown with his diagnosis – about the blessings that have come about due to his melanoma (which, thankfully is in remission – we believe it is gone).

I think that part about practicing loving-kindness to one’s self, to other’s and even giving a bow to life itself – makes difficult situations better.  We don’t get to pick how our lessons will be presented.  But we DO get to pick if we will be graceful under pressure and do all we can to find meaning and hidden blessings – even amidst devastation.

I am awed by my friends’ courage.  Today I choose to use their example to look for ways to be more fully present.  And to be kind.

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Courage – Keeping On

Sundays are Spirituality Day here at Taking it to the Streets

Last night my friend and I went to see Mary Chapin Carpenter.  We’re big fans – so we see her whenever she tours Chicago.  As always, it was a great concert.  The music was perfect.  She looked beautiful.  Her presence befit someone who has been ‘playing out’ for a few decades. 

The last encore song she was on stage alone with her acoustic guitar.  As she strummed she talked of Steve Jobs recent death.  How she loved the part in his Stanford commencement speech about how you should wake up every morning happy about the day about to unfold – that if you’re not happy about it for a few days running you need to make some changes.  She said how happy she was – she gets to wake up and play her guitar every day, and on really happy days she gets to play for audiences like us. 

She then said she wanted to thank her Dad for her career.  Because it was her dad who pushed her out of the safety of her room and told her to go play out at an open mic.  It was due to his encouragement that she was a performer.

Then she simply said “and yesterday my Dad died”.  The audience gasped.   She said he wanted her to be out – to keep on going.  We all rose to our feet, me (and I suspect many others), crying all the while, and we clapped and clapped and clapped.

Then I put together how throughout the night amidst her very ‘in charge’ stage presence she had left a trail of bread-crumbs of vulnerability.  She had mentioned that the last few years were hard ones – and that she was single.  I knew of health issues.  So I assumed the undercurrent of sadness or wistfulness was about that.

The song she played to honor her dad was about her love of solitude.  About how it’s a bit scary for her actually, in a room full of people.  I didn’t put it together until this morning that the lyrics of her song and touring in a big bus don’t necessarily go together, but as Bob Dylan says she “keeps on keepin’ on.”

I thought too, of a close friend whose young partner died this past winter.  They had been together for over a decade, they were in their 40s, they were happy.  They were busy.  Making plans.  Having parties.  Working.  Playing music.  Then suddenly one of them had cancer and 111 days later she was dead.  I’ve watched my surviving friend have the courage to keep on.  To get up, go to work, live in the house they shared, care for their many animals, do the things they used to do together – now, abruptly on her own. 

Or my Dad, who did all a human can do to keep another human alive and then my Mom died anyway (14 years ago yesterday, as it turns out).  My parents married when my Mom was 21, my dad just 20.  His parents had to sign for him to get married.  If he had dated much before Mom, I would be surprised.  They were married 54 years when she died.  When he gave a thank you talk at Mom’s funeral lunch – stood up and gave a tribute to Mom and thanked everyone for coming – with power and authority I thought “wow, my childhood belief was right – my Dad IS Superman.”  Courage.  The willingness to keep on.

The two phrases that come to mind for me for this courage come from writers:  Samuel Beckett wrote a play called “I Can’t Go On, I’ll Go On”; in “Tangled Up in Blue” Bob Dylan wrote “The only thing he knew how to do was to keep on keepin’ on.”

And just as surely as spring follows winter, joy can follow sorrow if we are bold enough to not only ‘keep on keepin’ on’ but also to ‘listen to your heart and what your heart might say’.

Dad remarried a wonderful woman – they’ve been together for nearly 13 years now.  And while you can’t replace a parent (I know), I believe Mary Chapin Carpenter will continue to reap the effects of her father’s love for her, and hers for him.  I think having the kind of incredible courage and dignity she showed last night creates a luge-track for grace to rush in.

I’m going to send her a card – sympathy yes, but gratitude too.  If you’re a fan (of her music, of beauty, of grace under pressure) maybe you will want to, too.  The only address I could come up with comes from her website – for her booking agent, but that will have to do:

Mary Chapin Carpenter
% Monterey Peninsula Artists
509 Hartnell Street
Monterey, CA 93940

And today I give thanks for three incredible examples of courage:  my Dad, my friend Annemarie, and Mary Chapin Carpenter.  May your courage, dignity and grace be rewarded with an abundance of comfort, joy and love.

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St. Francis Prayer

Sundays are Spirituality Day here at Taking it to the Streets

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

The “St. Francis prayer”, above, is one of my favorite prayers.  The first part, asking God’s help in being a better person by attaining specific virtues which help turn difficult situations around seems noble.  It also feels a bit to me like maybe God is doing more of the heavy lifting here and this part seems a bit easy.  Or easier.

Than the second part – in which St. Francis suggests that we (with God’s help, again, of course) put ourselves aside and focus more on the well-being of others.  This too seems noble.  And harder!

I think in big disasters – maybe like Hurricane Irene now barreling up the East Coast – people do pull out their Inner St. Francis and behave well.  Tales of heroism are frequent side-stories to natural disasters and that is very life-affirming. 

I have found that if the going gets really tough, I too spring into action.

But it’s in the day-to-day where I think following the precepts outlined in this wonderful prayer would be most helpful.  And that’s where it’s hardest for me. 

For instance:  the annoying co-worker.  If I stand back from my extreme levels of frustration and anger with her ‘bad behavior’ I can see a frightened, threatened woman, who, in some ways feels backed into a corner and is acting like my kittens do when they are backed into a corner – hissing, clawing, biting and generally making a ruckus.  When my kitties do that, I smile indulgently and try to distract them from whatever is going on.  When my co-worker does that I jump into reactive mode and it’s not my Inner St. Francis who seems to spring out, that’s for sure!

And for me, the hardest line in this prayer is “It is in pardoning that we are pardoned “.  Honestly?  I think the dying part sounds easier than that.  How I can love my grudges!  How much harm they do me!

Last night I dreamed about a friend with whom I’ve had a falling-out.  I have felt enormously self-righteous about it all – how badly she behaved, how she’s wrong and I’m in the right.  In the dream she was a caricature of a “bad guy” – she really looked like a low-life loser and was behaving very badly.  She asked me to do her a favor. I said I would but then lit into her with a resounding lecture and added, for good measure “and you look like a low-life loser – what the hell is that outfit you have on, your hair is all straggly what is WRONG with you?”

It was then, in the dream, that I realized she was behaving so badly and dressing so outlandishly to call for help.  That something really WAS wrong – it wasn’t just bad behavior.

When I woke up this morning I thought “I wonder if that’s true?”

I know my thoughts about my co-worker are true – that she IS threatened, scared.

In all 3 cases – my co-worker, my friend in real life, same friend in the dream – their outer behavior is “bad” and certainly quite  disruptive.  So here’s my prayer:

Dear God.  I am not St. Francis – not even close.  I try to be a good human.  I have a bumpersticker on my car that says “Compassion is the Radicalism of our time – the Dalai Lama” and I believe.  But when R (co-worker) or D (former friend) behave badly, I become a crazed killer-instinct out-of-control toddler – at least inside.  And a cold bitch on the outside.  Help me to remember lofty thoughts and sound spiritual precepts, and, just how to be a decent human in my day-to-day life.  Your friend, Diane

 

 

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