In The Life of Another

Extraordinary video by Nik Askew...might we not all have an impact on the life of another?

I got this from Luminous Inspirations, a wonderful blog by 2Da1. Visit and see all the inspirational, moving, uplifting pieces collected there!


'in the life of another' from Nic Askew on Vimeo.

Marriage, the Law, and Doing the Right Thing Twice

Did you happen to catch Keith Olberman's Special Commentary on the passage of Prop 8 in California? It's passionate, articulate, bordering on brilliant. I can't figure out how to share it directly in this blog so please click on the link to watch.

I cannot be silent on this issue. Like Mr. Olberman, I'm not gay nor is anyone in my immediate family. But this isn't just a gay issue. It's a human issue, universal and timeless. And unless we keep the momentum headed toward positive change, it will remain a universally unfair, unjust, and just plain wrong issue.

My stance on this issue is simple and straightforward:

Marriage should be defined by federal law, consistant in all states and territories, and should consist of a set of binding legal agreements to which applicants agree and are held accountable. The government should not get involved in defining the relationship or who can participate. As long as all parties meet the legal requirements (primarily age and the ability to contract), government has no responsibility and no right to place any further restrictions on the arrangement.

If faith-based organizations want to further define the relationship according to their beliefs, so be it. As precedent, the Catholic church has long refused to recognize marriages that don't meet the requirements of the faith, even when those marriages are perfectly legal from a civil perspective. The consequences of the Church's approval or disapproval are only relevant to the practitioner from a personal, spiritual standpoint. Any religious institution should be free to use whatever moral compass they possess to decide if they and their god(s) approve of the union, but they should have no say in the legal aspects.

Here's how I get there:

Legal marriage in the United States is first and foremost a property agreement. Under our current system of employer-sponsored health care benefits, it also provides a consistent framework for determining who can be considered a dependent for the purposes of insurance coverage. It establishes a next-of-kin relationship wherein spouses have first and final say in certain health care decisions, hospital visitation rights, and so forth. And there are tax provisions for married couples to lessen the tax impact on two income families.

Nothing about legal marriage as it is currently defined has anything to do with relationship, love, comittment, or morality. It has to do with legal rights and contracts. And nothing about those legal rights and contracts has anything to do with the gender or orientation of the participants. People of the same gender are just as capable of fulfilling all the obligations inherent in legal marriage as are one-man-one-woman couples.

Where we've gone astray is allowing the religious definition of marriage - specifically the mainstream Christian definition - to creep into the legal definition. We have abandoned the constitutional principal of separation of church and state and given that power over to religion. Shame on us!

Interestingly, that influence seems only to have gone so far as to restrict who is allowed to participate. It hasn't done anything at all to enforce the other ideals of Christian marriage. The government doesn't care one bit whether people who apply for a marriage license have been married before, as long as they've fulfilled the legal obligation to divorce. There is no government mandate that individuals share the same faith, that they love, honor, cherish, or respect one another. Marriages of convenience or for economic considerations are common. The only absolute requirements are that the couple be of legal age, not currently married to someone else, and that there be one man and one woman.

The age requirement makes sense from a legal standpoint; binding contracts require that parties be of legal age. Not being married to someone else is debatable, but the argument can be made that allowing multiple partners would require rewriting estate law among others, so I'll concede that one temporarily even though it, too, is a moral judgement. The one for which I can find no sustainable argument whatsoever is gender.

Why? Why does the government care who enters into the agreement? Why do we insist on denying the legal rights of marriage to anyone who is willing and capable of agreeing to the terms of the contract? We let anyone with decent credit and income buy a house, a contract that lasts longer than most marriages. When you strip away the moral fru-fru attached to marriage, what's left is no different than any other contract. If you can buy a house without a genital check, why can't you enter into a marriage contract without one? From a legal standpoint, the government has no business checking genitals for a contract that has to do with property and taxes.

As important as this issue is to gays and lesbians who wish to enter into legal marriage, it's even more important in the bigger picture. If we allow religious beliefs to shape government policy, we will eventually be a religious state. Notice I said we. America is a democracy and we are responsible for blurring the line between church and state. If, in fact, the majority of people support something so clearly unconstitutional, we have lost our own compass. We're giving up our rights as we wander blindly, thoughtlessly accepting what has seemingly always been. Every erosion of that all-important separation erodes the ability of each of us to choose our spiritual path and live it without fear.

I support the right of every adult in this country to marry whomever they choose. If I believed it morally wrong for same sex couples to marry, I would still support their right to do so. It harms no one and the disapproval of it is based solely on religious beliefs which, under the Constitution of the United States, are not to be imposed by governement. In protecting the rights of gays and lesbians to marry, we're protecting our own rights to worship and live as we choose.

It's doing the right thing twice, a double good too important to be quiet about.

I don't want to be a groan up anymore!

I'm tired of being a groan up! Yep...I'm done. From now on, all my groan up activities are banished from my life and I'm going to be a grin up.

I've been a groan up for a while, so this is going to take some work. I'm making a list of groan up traits I want to get rid of. It's a work in progress, but for starters:

Groan Up: "[groan]Another Monday...back to the grindstone!"
Grin Up: "Whoohooo! Monday's here! I survived the weekand and I still have a job!"

Groan Up: "Time to get up already? [groan] I just laid down!"
Grin Up: "Is it time to get up and play yet?"

Groan Up: "It's five o'clock and I've got to make dinner...again. [groan] Maybe we can order pizza."
Grin Up: "Hey,it's almost time for dinner. Maybe we can have pizza! I love pizza!"

Groan Up: "The car looks like crap. [groan] Didn't I just wash it last week?"
Grin Up: "I've got a car! And look at all the fun places I've been!"

Groan Up: "[groan]I hate my job!"
Grin Up: "I've got a job!"

Groan Up: "I look and [groan] feel so old!"
Grin Up: "Hey, look at that - I'm still above the dirt!"

Groan Up: "[groan] What now?"
Grin Up: "What's next?"

Want to be done with your groan up life? Join me! Comment with your groan up/grin up lists! Leave your Twitter ID and link in the comments and I'll Tweet your lists, too. The world has enough groan ups - let's start something!

Come on...grin up, already!

Stop the perfecution!

Oh, the power of a typo now and then!

I read an email post by my friend Raventalker today about perfection and our obsession with it. The subject line read was "Perfectuion." With the addition of the mistyped letter U, my mind read, "Perfecution," and I thought, "What a GREAT word!"

There are areas of my life wherein I'm anything but a perfectionist. There are other areas where my desire...some would say obsession...with getting it "right" all but paralyzes me. I become my own worst enemy, persecuting myself for failures large and small, real and imagined...anything short of perfection. "Perfecution" is the "perfect" word for the act of persecuting oneself for lack of perfection. I'm adopting it immediately!

Along with my new word, I'm adopting a renewed committment to not "perfecuting" myself so much. Perfection is wonderful as a goal; it pretty much stinks as a standard. Gratitude is being able to accept and enjoy what is, as is, without reservation. That includes me. I am enough.

Thanks, Raventalker, for both the wisdom of your words and the unintended gift of one little typo - a small imperfection that led to the perfect word and a perfect reminder to see the world - including myself - through grateful eyes. Grateful eyes see beauty everywhere.

Ups and downs...

...on the road of life.

Yeah, I know...couldn't be cheesier if it was melted over a pizza...but sometimes truth is cheesy. There's a reason phrases become cliches. Words that capture truth resonate with us; they encapsulate something complex into a compact package we can wrap our minds around. In the best of times, my life resembles the ups and downs of a mountain road; at other times, it's been more like a roller coaster. In any case, the photo made me smile and the cheesy cliche holds true yet again.

My husband and I spent the weekend with friends at a cabin on Lookout Mountain. We hot tubbed, ate too much, and took time to enjoy the most beautiful fall I can recall since childhood. My friend Peggy and I took a scenic drive and hiked up and down hills, over rocks, and across No Trespassing signs to get better views, leaving me with sore thighs, good pictures, and great memories.

As good as the weekend was, I found myself a bit overwhelmed on Saturday night. Even the best of sounds - good music, honest conversation, and the laughter of friends - can be too much if delivered in an unbroken stream, and by Sunday morning, I needed to recharge my batteries.

I rose before everyone and took a walk, enjoying the cold and the gentle morning light. Finding my way into the woods, I was invited by a centuries-old rock to have a seat, and for a half hour or more he and I enjoyed wordless companionship. Have you ever felt a rock's pulse? It's slow...deep...like a throbbing, basso profundo wave that begins imperceptably and rises gradually so that you're not aware of when it starts or stops but you feel it. And if you sit long enough and listen with all your senses your own energy rises and falls with the wave and your thoughts slow down... slower... deeper...until finally you're heart and breath and mind are humming with the rock and all else fades to the background. When the press of time once again quickens your senses and you rise, you realize that the rock, while aware of you and maybe even grateful for your company, is not diminished or troubled by your arrival or your departure and will be right there when you come back.

And if, like me, you find yourself without anything to offer in thanks for that most precious gift except the grateful tears on your face and the wordless song rising in your throat, you tilt back your head and sing to the rock and the morning and the light and leave your song behind as an offering, knowing without a doubt that it was heard and welcomed and remains for the next person who comes to draw strength from the rock, to be heard not with the ears but with the heart.

I hope they'll sing along.

Good morning, America!

Good morning, world!

I am 52 glorious years old today and celebrating a brand new morning in America. How cool is that?

"This victory alone is not the change we seek. It is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were." - Barack Obama

Last night, I watched as the votes, includine mine, were tallied and Barack Obama became the next president of the United States. I listened to John McCain, a man I admire and respect even though I don't want him running the country, give a gracious, energizing, and unifying concession speech. And I watched Barack Obama speak to the country - and the world - from his heart, with fire and passion and conviction. I cried and clapped and chanted with all the happy people in Grant Park:

Yes, we can!

We did.

And now we must.

The election was the easy part. Barack Obama is an inspired and inspiring man, but he cannot transform this country alone. It's not his to transform. America is all of us. We have to be the ones who put an end to the poisonous name-calling, the fear-mongoring, the talk-radio inferno that whips up anger and resentment and fear-based reactionary rhetoric that small-minded listeners play in an endless loop until they're enraged over imaginary evils.

Stop listening to that junk! Stop! Turn it off! They are not nice kids and you can't play with them anymore. They're greedy show-biz folks who are willing to rot the country at the root to make a living. Blech! Ack! Phooey! Spit! Yuck!

To fill the silence when the radios are turned off (not that all silence needs to be filled), let's make happy talk. Let's talk about getting along, getting together, and getting things done. Let's talk about how we can all prosper. Let our conversations be about what we can do that really matters. And let's talk to - no, with each other. Bring back real conversation and listening skills. Hear what your neighbor is saying, feeling, doing. Pay attention. Engage.

Finally, I leave you with this from Rabindranath Tagore, the most beautiful prayer I can think of for a post-election morning in America:

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action --
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

So mote it be!

My eyes look to the west...

...to the crossing of Madelyn Dunham...and the sad, human drama of Barack Obama's loss. I have a candle burning for all who loved Madelyn Dunham, and particularly for Barack and Michelle Obama. The weight of such a loss and the fatigue of a long campaign must seem a burden too big to carry. They will carry it, of course, and I will hold them in my heart as they do. May they find comfort often. I cannot help but believe that Madelyn Dunham will choose to stay around at least until the election results are in. Would you want to miss that? When she's ready, I hope Mrs. Dunham crosses gently and peacefully to whatever awaits her.

Our eyes look to the west today...sail smoothly and rest well, dear lady. Well done.

If you haven't voted yet...

...go now! Go! GO!

I will turn 52 years old tomorrow, and this presidential election means more to me personally than any of the other eight since I've been old enough to vote. Maybe that's not a good thing...maybe I should have been more involved all along. I've paid attention, cast my vote, but I've never felt such a visceral connection before.

What's different about this one? Well there's the obvious...a black American running an impossibly close race for President of the United States. The smart, strong woman who gave him one hell of a run for his money in the primary. Eight years of recent history screaming for change. A female vice presidential candidate who some say was selected because she was female. The polarizing issues of faith-tinged politics that leave me feeling queasy and fearful. Environmental concerns...an economy in turmoil.

Yes, I'm engaged in this election...for all the reasons above...and maybe because of the shifts happening in me, too. I've felt myself riding the line between Mother and Crone for a while now, and I am definitely moving to the Crone side. There's a certainty in my life that I've never known...a more convicted stance on issues. I struggled with politics all my life because issues have so many gray areas. I still see the gray, yet I find myself taking stands and speaking up in ways my younger self wouldn't have.

Why is that? Do we just get crankier and more likely to take positions as we grow older? Have we finally learned enough to feel more confident in our opinions? Or do we carry some crazy I've lived this long so you have to listen to me because I've earned it nonesense?

While I like to believe I've picked up some wisdom along the way, I think the real reason for the change in me is a lot simpler. I'm running out of time. At 52, I have most likely lived well more than half my life. My remaining years will see a (hopefully slow) decline in physical, maybe mental, ability. If I'm going to affect positive change in the world during this lifetime, I've got to get on it...now. No more waffling on issues, no more fence-sitting. There are still gray areas, lots of them, but it's time to quit waiting for clear black or white answers and throw in with the closest gray on hand. Let's get the job done and worry about perfecting it later.

So, yeah, I'm fired up about this election. I've already voted, my first early voting ever. I'll be watching the results tonight and I'm fairly confident I'll be celebrating tomorrow. But I promise, whether I'm celebrating or shaking my head and asking, "Why, America?"...I won't stay in either state for long. There's too much work to be done.

To everything a season...

Mists on the lake, originally uploaded by Heartsong Images.

(Photographed on my way to work early last week)

It was so cold this morning...and for a moment I thought, "I miss summer." But as I drove to work, this sight greated me when I crossed the lake. Every season has its beauty. I don't have summer's warmth in October; but I don't see this in August. I'll take them all, please...everything Nature has to offer...and pray that I can stay in the moment enough to enjoy them.

The color returns...

My mom and I took an afternoon drive today to check out the fall colors. What an amazing sight! We drove up Lookout Mountain to Cloudland Canyon, part of Georgia's excellent state park system. It was a beautiful day with the setting sun playing golden light games all over the canyon.

All the way up the mountain, Mom was squealing...yes, literally squealing...with delight. Mom hasn't had a lot of delight in her life since my dad died almost six years ago. When my oldest brother crossed the veil early this year, the small recovery she had made was yanked out from under her and she fell hard into the dark again. She also suffers from memory loss and has a lot of difficulty with word recall. There are times when loneliness and frustration over her mental confusion combine forces to all but paralyze her.

But today she was happy. She loved the trip up the mountain and enjoyed walking along the canyon rim. For all of her mental struggles, she's strong and moves well for eighty-one. She clambored up and down steps like a pro! She also had company - friends from her church - earlier this weekend, and we dropped in on old friends today before we drove to the park. I don't know if it was the company or the drive or both, but Mom had a good day today. She even wanted to sing together on the way home..."Red River Valley," "Birmingham Jail,", "Summertime,"...she even added a nice harmony to "You Are My Sunshine."

The colors of the seasons are beautiful gifts. Fall leaves always make me smile, but seeing a little color return to my mom's life may just be the best gift yet.

Sign, Sign, everywhere a sign...

...I love this one!

Is there any doubt how this small town feels about firewater? (Thanks to Amy Davenport for the photo.)

Simple pleasures...and four little treasures

What is it about kids and pumpkins? Is there some mystical kinship there, some secret language that alleged grownups don't know that passes easily from the big orange balls to the ears and hearts of children?

I stopped for fresh produce Saturday and was about to leave with my purchase when I saw four tiny tots and two beaming women playing in the pumpkins. It was an instant smile-maker! Little arms wrapped around pumpkins bigger than their whole bodies; tiny feet toddling off in all directions. I spoke to one of the women who told me the babies were quadruplets, her grandchildren and the offspring of the younger woman, who at that moment was retrieving a particularly adventurous tot. Both women graciously agreed to let me photograph the babies for the blog, and I'm grateful. You're looking at two of the four, half of what was a very fun sight indeed.

Just wanted to share the photos and the fun, along with a shot of the colorful corn and gourds that made my eyes so happy. Here's wishing you and yours all the glorious colors of autumn and the wonder of a baby (or four) in a pumpkin patch.

The road to yes

I often have days when my mind flits from one topic to another all day. Today was one of them, and my mental transitions made a funky pattern of twists and turns that left me filled to the brim with gratitude and brought me back here to talk about it. Follow me for a bit and you'll see what I mean...

This morning, I left the house a little late but in enough time to get to work by 8:00 AM. For some reason, traffic was insane today and I ended up getting to work closer to 8:15. It made me think about how easy my morning commute usually is and how what I called "insane" this morning was nothing more than a slight slow-down. People in Atlanta, a mere hour and a half from here, would throw back their heads in maniacal laughter to hear me complain about traffic in Chattanooga on any day. Thoughts of Atlanta traffic removed any desire I had to complain about a little congestion on my way to work this morning.

As I was thinking these thoughts, I watched a driver playing dodge-and-dash, trying to get ahead of the car in front of him, to scoonch up just a little bit more, to get where he was going faster. He passed me on the right, one hand in a death grip on the wheel, the other clutching coffee and cell phone. We ended up stopped at the same red lights and I was right beside him as he made his exit...which is odd because I wasn't doing any of that dodging and dashing, just going with the flow, and I arrived at the same time. I was glad I didn't have to work that hard.

Thinking about working hard reminded me that I had a pretty full day ahead of me. When I got to work, the guy in the next cube greeted me with, "Hey, welcome back!" Not that I'd been away - I was in the office yesterday. He just always seems to have a cheerful good morning phrase at the ready and uses them freely. I appreciate the nice start he gives my day.

Nice...that reminded me of how nice it was to stop by the Election Comission yesterday to do my early voting and not have to wait in line. There were only four people ahead of me. Those four people were elderly; although they moved a little slower, needed a little more time and a bit of help, they were there, making their voices heard in the election process. I felt really happy to be there, taking part with them in an election of so much historical significance. I still remember quite clearly the "Whites Only" signs on the little cafes in town where my dad stopped for coffee. I remember the first time I had black classmates in my elementary school. I have friends my age who, as children, had their houses fire-bombed because their parents were active in the civil rights movement. If I remember that much, what did those beautiful old people remember? How different is our world from when they were young? Regardless of who you vote for, seeing Barack Obama's name on that ballot and knowing that it is entirely possible that he may be the next President of the United States...knowing that he had to fight a hard battle with a female candidate to get that far...has to make you think about how far we've come. We still have much work to do in combating racism, sexism, and all forms of discrimination, but I couldn't help pausing for a moment to just soak it in before I slipped my ballot in to be counted.

Counted...that reminds me of one of my favorite quotes:

Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted. (Albert Einstein)

I can't help but think when I read those words of just how full and rich my life is with things that really count. I have all I need, much of what I want, and the means to get what I don't have if I'm willing to work for it. I have love, friendship, meaningful work, blue skies, rain, stars, sunshine, babies laughing...everything this beautiful world has to offer. I can slow down and go with the flow. I have a voice in my government and the means and will to exercise it. I have an active, agile mind and I can share my thoughts with you through the miracle of language and electricity and your own intelligent, inquiring mind reaching out, exploring. We may never meet, but you are inside my head and we are engaged and connected.

I think about how grateful I am for all of this and more...and I remember two more quotes by men who must have felt the same welling of gratitude and wonder, and who left their words behind as a gift, a reminder:

You pray in your distress and in your need; would that you might also pray in the fullness of your joy and in your days of abundance. - Kahlil Gibran (1883 - 1931)

For all that has been, thanks. For all that will be, yes. - Dag Hammarskjold (1905 - 1961)

Yes!

The death of the Perfect Parent Plan

Watching my friend help her daughter with her homework takes me back to my own days as a young parent. What an eye-opener that was! I found that my knowledge of parenting was far greater before I had a child. Something about childbirth shook the Etch-a-Sketch on which I had drawn my Perfect Parent Plan.

Yes, I had a Perfect Parent Plan. Doesn’t everyone? I didn’t take it lightly, either. I spent much of my young life observing – no, experiencing – my own parents and making copious mental notes about what I would and wouldn’t do to my children. I conferred with my friends and swapped horror stories of parenting gone awry, adding to my list of pitfalls to avoid. We all agreed that if we could just manage to not do the stupid, mean, insensitive, clueless things our parents did to us, we should be in great shape, raising perfect, happy kids, and sailing into the sunset of parental bliss.

Of course, what we didn’t know at that point is that while we may avoid the major mistakes of our parents (and they really did make some lulus), we would counter with our own original blunders. We could not predict in our teens that in our 20’s or 30’s we would be blindsided by moments of incomprehensible thickheadedness which we would stubbornly insist were the result of our progeny’s shortcomings. We would confer with the same friends we consulted a decade before and reach the same conclusions – it’s not our fault.

My daughter, now 27, is constantly editing and revising her own Perfect Parent Plan. She’s been working on it for at least as long as she could speak. I know this because she’s been telling me about it all along. Unlike some children, my beautiful girlchild was never one to suffer in silence. She made sure I knew what I was doing wrong at every turn. One of her favorite pretend games was the one about having been mysteriously separated from her real parents, the good ones, from upstate New York, and adopted by these misfits from Tennessee. On particularly bad days, she would dramatically rock back and forth, her arms folded protectively (almost psychotically) around her, chanting, “My real parents will come…my real parents will come.” Her friends’ parents fell under her scrutiny, too, and it affords me some small comfort that I was, in general, considered by herself to be somewhat less clueless than most....but not enough to brag about.

Nowadays, she’s in a serious relationship and the noises she makes about having children of her own have taken slightly more serious tones. And as I anticipate becoming a grandparent, I am resisting the urge to create a Perfect Grandparent Plan. It’s liberating to realize that there’s no such thing as a perfect parent or grandparent.. My daughter hasn’t come to that conclusion yet, and the entertainment value of the days ahead is promising. It still stings a bit when she tells me, “If it’s not one thing, it’s your mother!” but not so much that I can’t smile and bide my time, sure in the knowledge that her children will eventually sting her with their own clever catch phrases. When they do, I’ll have the tea ready, speak a comforting word or two, and try hard not to gloat.

Time to pay the piper...

...and it's a bill I'm more than happy to pay!

Thanks to everyone who took me up on my money-for-comments challenge. I've gotten about 15 new comments (some of which were my own replies but I'm counting them anyway!) and will be making a donation to the food pantry of at least $15. Thank you for participating with me!

If you liked anything you read, please come back often. If you didn't like something, come back and tell me about it. The best conversations have a nice balance of, "Yes!" and, "Yes, but...", with a dash of, "You've got to be kidding!" and a sprinkle of, "What? Are you nuts?" Bring it on!

Finally, I leave you today with something beautiful. From Maine to Tennessee, Autumn's showing her colors beautifully. Thanks to my friend Cathy Wardwell for the photo from Maine; the Tennessee shot is from my back yard yesterday morning.

Blessings to all!

Autumn Reflections in Maine


Autumn Morning in Tennessee

Money, Meet Mouth

In honor of Blog Action Day and in the spirit of putting my money where my mouth is, I've got a proposition for you. I'll donate $1 to a local food bank (one where I know personally the people running it and the important work they do) for every person who comments on this blog today. Bring it...I've got my checkbook ready. Make me smile!

I am so rich - are you?

Good morning! I don't have a lot of time to write this morning. It's 6:47 am and I'm running behind, trying to get ready for work. You know the drill...get up in the morning, bathe, dress, find all your stuff, grab some breakfast, commute for 45 minutes to an hour, work at least eight hours, maybe through lunch, commute back, look at all the stuff you didn't do before you left that morning, push it aside, start dinner... Yeah, you know the drill.

Wow! I am SO rich!

There are so many people who don't have a reason to set a clock in the morning, no job to go to...or maybe they have a job that's mind-numbingly dull or back-breaking hard...or one where no one appreciates them...or that doesn't pay them enough. There are parents who work sick and who can't afford to buy medicine...children who go to school hungry...people without health insurance who just don't go to the doctor because there's no way they can afford to pay for it. And there are people for whom all of this is a foreign language because they can't even imagine a world where everyone's work isn't back breaking and where the best you can hope for is enough to eat today...maybe.

Yes, I am rich...so rich I can't count it all. And I feel like a schmuck when I think of all the times I complain about something I don't have. Because let's face it...I don't need anything I don't already have. I'm clothed, sheltered, fed, employed, medicated as needed, and loved. Wealthy beyond my wildest dreams, I tell you, and grateful beyond words.

I registered my blog with Blog Action Day and the topic is poverty. I know poverty intimately; I've been there...not so much financial poverty (although I've seen my share of days with less-than-abundant resources), but poverty of the spirit, the kind that keeps you poor, destitute, and broken no matter how much money you have. And I know that, as odd as it may seem, one of the best ways to break the cycle of spiritual poverty is to act rich...to give away what you think you don't have. Tired? No energy? Do something for someone. No money? Give some away...even a nickle in someone's expired parking meter. Running low on food? Invite a friend to share your sandwich at lunch. For those of us who have so much - and that's just about everyone reading this blog - we have opportunities every day to enrich the lives of others while feeding our own sense of wealth, of gratitude, of enough.

I'm going to hustle my butt up from here and go to work now. We're having a food drive at work and I'm going to take some canned goods to work with me. As I pack each can into the box, I'll add a little blessing. "May you be blessed with riches beyond your wildest dreams."

Just like me.

All is right with the world

As I type the title of this post, I'm aware that all is so not right with the world. There's so much suffering, so much uncertainty, so much pain. How could I possibly say all is right with this world?

And yet...

When I step onto my deck...walk down the steps...feel the dew-wet grass under my bare feet...step into the yard bathed in the glow of an all but full moon shining like a silver coin...when I close my eyes and lift my head and can almost feel the cool, silvery light on my face...when I kiss my hand three times to the Lady and she smiles at me...when I breathe in the night sounds and the darkness and know...know without doubt or hesitation...that I am part of it all...an integral part no less important or perfect than the moon or the stars or the dew under my feet...doing my part as best I can...feeling gratitude bubbling up from my heart to form a lump in my throat...so happy to be alive and awake and aware and at peace...every cell of my body crying, "Yes!"

In this moment...for now...all is truly right with the world.

Filling my days to overflowing...

...and no one to blame (or thank) but me!

Once again, weekend plans are already shaping up to encompass the entire weekend. Dear friends are getting married on Saturday so there's wedding gift wrapping, dressing up, the ceremony to attend, and the reception to enjoy. Sunday, we're hosting another dear friend - maybe two if we're lucky - for early afternoon socializing and dinner. That means spiffying up the house, shopping, cooking...all the good stuff.

And I'm not complaining...really. I guess I'm just ruing the lack of additional hours each week to leave unplanned. Ah, but who am I kidding? There's no shortage of plans waiting for good hours to call their own. More time would just mean more to do.

I suppose the only answer is to consider unplanned time a "thing" in its own right and start planning for it. Sounds a bit convoluted, but I think it just might work. Scheduling some unstructured time every now and then goes on my list of things to do.

I'll have to look into that next weekend. This one's full.

Sufi saying - transforming pain

Sufi saying

Overcome any bitterness that may have come because you were not up to the magnitude of the pain that was entrusted to you.

Like the mother of the world who carries the pain of the world in her heart, each of us is part of her heart and is, therefore, endowed with a certain measure of cosmic pain.

You are sharing in the totality of that pain. You are called upon to meet it in joy instead of self-pity. The secret: offer your heart as a vehicle to transform cosmic suffering into joy.

I saw this on Luminous Inspirations, a great blog I stumbled on today. I love the last line, "...offer your heart as a vehicle to transform cosmic suffering into joy.

What a great concept - offering your heart to transformation. If you believe, as I do, that we are all connected...not just connected, really part of the same whole...then the work I do toward transforming pain into joy affects more than just me. As part of the whole, I affect everyone and everything with my actions. And to offer my heart is an act of will and intent, a conscious choice, and an invitation to the Universe to use me, to take my heart and make it more than what it has been, for the good of All.

I like that.

Waiting for the Happiness Bus

A cross posted bloggerie from Happy By Nature:

Are you waiting for the bus?

Seems there are a lot of folks waiting for the happiness bus to pull up and let them on, for the driver to slow to a stop, open the door, lower the step, waive the fare, and show them to a prime seat. That stop is always crowded with people just waiting for the happiness bus.

Attention, Bus Stop People: Happiness is not a bus. It's a walking trail and it goes uphill, and the only way to get to the top is one step at a time, one after another. Oh, but once you get there the view is unbe-freakin-lieveable! Even better, make the climb all the way to the top and you'll realize that the only thing you left behind is unhappiness...that all you really need is still with you...only it's lighter, easier to carry, great tasting, less filling, 52% more free, and all natural with no unpleasant aftertaste. Drink it up!

I'm happy. I wasn't always, and I remember that misery all too well. I also remember how I got here and I want to share the map with you. If there's a Churh of Holy Happiness, I'm a loud, proud, evangelical member and I can't wait to share this joy I've found!

Am I frightening you? It's ok. Apparently that's normal. I've noticed that among the folks waiting at the bus stop, there's this strange notion that making the decision to be happy means giving up their intelligence, their air of cynical sophistication, their awareness of the crap floating in the world bowl. Some people seem to believe that happiness is just a sweet little euphemism for clueless, that happy people are annoyingly out of touch with reality and anyone who walks comfortably and at peace with this world is obviously unstable.

If you decide to walk this path with me, some of your friends back at the bus stop will talk about you...and they may stop talking to you.

It takes courage to be happy.

You have to find that courage on your own, but I can tell you this: I've never met a truly happy person who was out of touch. They're not always the most educated, but they are the most aware people I've even known. They know themselves, they're aware of what's happening around them, and they're aware that they always have choices - choices in action, in attitude, in belief. They are more in control of themselves and their own walk through the world because they accept responsibility and take control, not of other people or events outside their reach, but of the things and events that are theirs to determine.

I was having this same conversation with one of my brothers last night when he reminded me of "The Serenity Prayer" (actually a shortened version of the original). Remember that little gem?

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

In spite of showing up on countless bad greeting cards, that little triad remains one of the most valuable tools in life's utility belt. I'm going to be talking in more detail about the tools that help us make the climb to happiness, and this one is the big-daddy-if-you-don't-have-anything-else-reach-for-this-one super tool, the one that does it all.

Throw away the bus pass. Get up off the bench. Take the first steps toward a happy life. Walk with me and let's talk along the way. You're going to love the view!

Mr. Bill as Spiritual Guru

A series of commercials airing on TV here in the States has brought one of my favorite characters from the old Saturday Night Live series back into the spotlight. Mr. Bill, a hapless pile of clay with a talent for getting himself tossed about, is once again flying out of windows and onto windshields, his trademark, "Oh, noooooooo!" ringing across the airwaves.

The thing about Mr. Bill that kept us all laughing (besides the sheer slapstick genius of throwing a humanoid blog of playdough off a 30 story building, into a blender, under a bus...) is that, no matter how dire his situation, he always had a positive spin on it. No one is more cheerful, hopeful, and pragmatic than Mr. Bill! In the recent TV ads, Mr. Bill flies out a window and is splatted against a bus windshield. Does he cry? scream? rant? Nope! His "Oh, nooooooooooo!" is followed quickly by, "Hey, the bus is right on time!"

And that, my friends, is why I'm making Mr. Bill one of my personal spiritual gurus. You see, Mr. Bill has figured out that one of the keys to happiness is assessing your situation and making the most of it...and sometimes that means just being happy that the bus is on time.

S*it happens to all of us, and if personal crappy events aren't enough, there's plenty of global crap to go around. Happiness doesn't mean you aren't aware of the puddle of yuck we're all wading through. Mr. Bill is well aware he's flying out a window and more than aware he's just hit the windshield of a moving bus. But he keeps finding ways to be happy.

Bill knows that the key is not just knowing what's happening, but knowing what you can do about it and what you can't. More importantly, he knows that he has choices - not necessarily about what's happening around or to him, but always about how he chooses to react. So you're face down on the windshield? That sucks. What can you do about it? Not much...except decide how you will react. Cry, moan, declare it unfair... or check the time and be glad the bus is on schedule.

Yes, I know life is not an SNL skit (though, gads, sometimes the skits are truer than life)...and I know that the windshields we hit as we fly through this life are bigger, badder, and bloodier than Mr. Bill's moving bus...and I still stand by the principle. Whatever is happening to me, my course of action is clear:
1. Assess the situation - face what's happening full-on, no denial allowed;
2. Assess my options - what can I do about what's happening? No shirking and no fantasy...just the facts.
3. ACT! If there is something I can do to make my situation better, get the lead out (or the fear, the stubborness, or anything else that's holding me back) and do it.
4. Choose my reaction - Decide if I want to wallow in self-pity, writhe in agony, burn with resentment, poison myself with anger...or choose to focus on what is actually good for me, not because I don't know bad s*it has happened, but because I don't want to wallow, writhe, burn, or die a slow death from toxic rage.

It's that simple. Like Mr. Bill, I choose to be happy. There's more to happiness, of course...but Mr. Bill is an excellent guide to one of the key components of a happy life. Am I going to waste a lesson like that? Oh, noooooooooooo!

Yes, Mark Morford...Yes!

My favorite sarcastic, funny, run-on-sentence-of-death journalist, Mark Morford, has done it again and this time, he's done it beautifully!

On the heels of the viral proliferation on YouTube of Sarah Palin being annointed as a witch hunter by Kenyan priest Thomas Muthee, Mark's latest includes a fond recollection of being scared poo-less as a child by stories of witches. More importantly, his article reveals how his life now is enriched by the real witches he knows and loves. And even though he's no fan of Sarah Palin (or John McCain, but let's not digress), he manages to feel true empathy - maybe even sympathy - that she has now been protected from and annointed to fight this beautiful path and thus will probably never know the true joys thereof.

I'm always amazed at the number of people who, on learning what witches really are and what they most certainly are not, prefer to cling to their childhood fantasies of evil old hags and wicked, baby-roasting, orgy-wallowing, depraved madness. Why, when faced with, A) a true depiction of normal people pursuing timeless knowledge on a spiritual path of personal accountability and responsibility, or B) a false but miserable, scary something that gives you the creeps just to think about, would anyone want to believe option B? That's kind of creepy in itself, don't you think?

So...check out Mark's article. If you're a witch, read it with glee and do a happy dance. If you're not a witch but you know and love one (or more), send them the article and a, "Go, you!" note. If witches scare you or piss you off, read it and learn something.

I'm going back to my happy dancing now.

On holy ground...

All my life's a circle;
Sunrise and sundown;
Moon rolls thru the nighttime;
Till the daybreak comes around.

All my life's a circle;
But I can't tell you why;
Season's spinning round again;
The years keep rollin' by.

I heard this Harry Chapin song tonight. It's always been one of my favorites of his, but tonight it struck me differently than it has before. I started thinking about faith and magic and ritual and circles...about how I cast a circle as an act of faith, in celebration or in need or in remembrance...and how I sometimes forget that all my life is a circle.

The world is a holy place, a sacred space, and every thought, every word, and every deed is a magical act. What I do every day...at work, in the grocery store, in my kitchen...is no less an act of will and intent than the most elaborate ritual, no less cabable of changing the world for good or ill.

I am change.
I am power.
I am always creating magic.

I must pay attention.

Another song came to mind, from Gaia Consort...

I will call the four directions,
I will cast a circle here;
I will put my feet upon this holy ground.

Let me start and end each day...
...consciously cultivating the strengths of the elements in my life;
...deliberately working everyday, ordinary magic in the circle of the Mother's spinning, blue-green body;
... gratefully recognizing that my feet are always on holy ground.

Swimmingly good service...

...and another opportunity to rave!

I bought a new bathing suit recently from Cyberswim, an online retailer specializing in...you guessed it...swimwear. They carry a brand called The Miracle Suit that promised all kinds of happiness for those of us whose curves run toward the abundant side. Having lost weight recently, I needed a new suit before I headed to southwest Florida for some R&R. I found just what I wanted, forked over the (for me) ginormous sum for the suit and an extra twenty bucks for expedited shipping...and waited.

Nothing happened. I thought the suit was coming via the postal service so I checked diligently, even though getting to the post office isn't the easiest task (another post on that topic sometime). Alas...departure day came and I had no suit.

Here's where the really good stuff starts. I called Cyberswim. They checked and found that the suit had, indeed, been delivered and was left at the "side door of my house" without a signature (by my request). I calmly explained that I had no side door and that I had already checked every neighbor's side doors, porches, and patios and there really was no suit.

The representative handling my call contacted UPS, tracked down the problem and determined that it was a UPS issue (package sent to a non-existant address in a city two hours west of me). I explained my vacation plans and asked if they could reship to my brother's address in Florida. Not only did they honor the request, they overnighted the package so it was there by 9:30 the next morning. Happy girl.

The icing on the cake? The suit just ROCKS! It fits well, shapes beautifully, supports the girls in all their glory, and looks really good. Seriously...check out the Miracle Suit line on Cyberswim. They're great!

Bottom line? Mistakes happen; how a company responds when they happen is the make-or-break factor. Cyberswim's response was perfect - another happy service experience in a world where they're few and far between. I'm happy to give a shout out when I get the chance.

Happy Wednesday!

Seventy-five is a beautiful number...

...and Weight Watchers is my friend!

I finally hit the 75-pound loss mark today...75.4 to be exact...and I'm ecstatic! I'm not at my ultimate goal weight by a long shot, but ding-dang-and-double-doggone-it, 75 pounds is worth celebrating! Yesiree, cel-e-freakin'-bra-tion! Yeah!

Weight Watchers has been such a positive experience for me. Yes, there have been rough spots, and I've had a meltdown or two along the way (for the survival of which my long suffering husband should be given a medal). And no, it's not a miracle-diet-never-go-hungry-eat-all-the-food-you-want-and-lose-weight kind of program. It's a healthy approach to eating and an opportunity to share the journey with people who are on the same path, who help each other, succeed together, fall off the wagon together and, by golly, get back on...together.

I am blessed with a meeting leader who gets it. Of course, all WW meeting leaders have been successful on the program, but our leader lost a lot of weight and knows the long road personally. And while I'm not in any way minimizing the struggle of the person who wants to lose 10 or 15 pounds, that's different than aiming to lose 100 - 150 pounds. And my buddies in the group - a couple of guys who, like me, have big weight loss goals - are astounding! They're funny, smart, and totally comitted to losing weight and to helping others in the group do the same. I love 'em!

So today I'm doing a happy dance...a 75-pounds lighter happy dance...and looking forward to hitting that century mark. And to mark the occasion, pictures of progress to date:



Seventy-five pounds ago...



...and now (that's my Mom on the left).

Stay tuned...more to come!

The tale of the nail...

...and the lessons we learn about ourselves.

Back in April, I fulfilled a dream of sorts. I had my fingernails professionally done. Not just done...artificially enhanced with acrylics, longer-than-life, stronger-than-strong, fashionably shaped and colored and shined. I did this to A) celebrate having lost 60 pounds; and B) because my boss and fellow managers all do it.

Actually, reason B is the real reason...and begs the question: WHAT WAS I THINKING?

For as long as I've been associated with my current employer, I've envied the beautiful nails of my fashionable peers. They looked so polished, so perfect, while my own stubby nubs looked remarkably stubby and nubby. Nevermind that my hands do all kinds of things that don't lend themselves to long nails. Nevermind that I earn my living at a keyboard and never really learned to type with long nails and that I've never been a change-the-polish-shape-and-file kind of girl, preferring my trusty buck-ninety-eight clippers to fancier things like buffing boards and cuticle pushers. Nope...I would not be satisfied until I, too, had long, shiny, fake fingernails to drum on the conference table during meetings.

Well, I got 'em...and I HATED 'em! Holy cow! How does anyone ever get anything done with those things? I couldn't pick anything up, and everything I touched left a little bit of itself under a nail somewhere. Yuck!

Worse yet, they began to look really awful as my natural nails started growing out. Removing them required soaking in pure acetone for a very long time, and then the thumbnails wouldn't come off anyway. It was another two weeks...two weeks...before I got those babies off my thumbs!

My natural nails paid a heavy toll for my little experiment. They were brittle, thin, and kept a layer of acrylic na-na-na-na-boo-boo to remind me of how I let my vanity overrule my common sense. It's mid-August and the remains of my temporary insanity are only now all but completely gone.


That was then...

This is now.

So now my nails are stubby and nubby again. I can pick up what I drop and I don't have to scrape goo out from under them all day long. I sit in meetings and look around at all the long, perfect acrylic nails and then at my own nubbins and realize they don't look as pretty, but they can do what hands are made for and they don't require my constant attention.

That's beautiful.

Those Visa commercials...

...the ones that show busy retail and service establishments humming along nicely until someone starts to pay with cash, causing everything to grind to a halt...shocking customers and employees into stunned, then irritated silence as the poor, out-of-touch cash-user sheepishly forks over the coin of the realm...yeah, those commercials.

Well, they're true. Totally accurate. I'm traveling with my 81-year-old mother. She likes to pay her own way and she insists on using cash. She never learned to use a debit card, refuses to use her credit card, and doesn't believe for one moment that anyone outside her immediate home area would ever accept her check (she may be right about that one)...AND she always...ALWAYS wants to use correct change. I work hard to not display irritation or impatience, and most service personnel are genuinely polite and patient with her, but it's a marked interruption in the usual flow. Customers behind us are usually polite, but I have occasionally heard loud, long-suffering sighs and an occasional young person with no home training says something out loud. Fortunately, Mom is usually too engrossed in counting out the 47 cents for her purchase to notice, though her hearing is sharp enough.

The Visa commercials probably don't help the situation much. They paint the cash user as out of touch and the root of all evil in the race to get-and-go. Maybe a commercial that shows an old person frustrated by technology they don't understand just trying to buy some milk and bread, one that zooms in on trembling fingers and a mind that doesn't always click like it used to, would be better.

Patience, people...patience.

The most intimate story I've ever read...

...can be found here. "Days With My Father" is published by a brilliant photographer named Phillip Toledano. Mr. Toledano's father is 98 (at the time of writing...not sure how current that is) and while he doesn't have Alzheimer's, he has no short term memory. The picture he paints with his word and his lens is sweet, sad, loving, heartwarming, heartbreaking, and achingly intimate.

The elder Mr. Toledano wants to die. He's tired and frustrated and achingly alone, imprisoned in a mind that no longer works correctly and a body too strong to die. My mother feels the same way. Her short term memory isn't as far gone as Mr. Toledano's, but it's going. She isn't as old; at 81 she's physically strong and nowhere near death. People she loves have died. She's lonely. She's frustrated. She's immeasurably sad.

I was moved to tears when I read "Days With My Father". Some were from sadness for an old man's pain and a son's grief. Some were from joy at being allowed such an intimate peek into so much love. Most were from knowing that a woman I have always struggled to know and understand and to have understand and love me, and still loved with all my heart is living in her own hell and I can't fix it.

Please...let me be patient...kind...loving...compassionate...for whatever days are left...days with my mother.

Can I just tell you...

...how cool it is that I just found something I wrote being used as an email signature?

Yeah...I know...intellectual property and all that...and yes, the person is using my words without attribution or permission...but...

How cool is that? I'm sitting at my desk typing but I'm doing a happy dance on the inside and grinning like a possum! (That's an old expression from here in the southeastern United States, though I've never actually seen a possum grinning.)

The specific words are those of a little chant/song I wrote a couple of years ago. I've sung it at a few campfires and shared it with just a few others (by request after having sung it around one of those campfires) via an email group, but it's otherwise quite unknown. I suspect that the person who is using it on email saw them through a Yahoo Group that I belong to.

How she found it is really unimportant. That she wanted to put it on her email is the important thing. My words...mine...meant enough to someone that she attaches them to her messages, right under her name, for all the world to see.

That makes me all kinds of inexplicably large amounts of happy!

Deep breath...

Ok...back to work for me...blog time over...but I'm still smiling.

Dancing the Jitterbug...

...and happy to report that I have a GREAT customer service experience to share.

A little preface: I am SICK TO DEATH of lousy customer service, disappointing buying experiences, and apathetic encounters with retailers, service personnel, and business partners. Over it. Completely. So much so that I've almost stopped even ranting about it when it happens.

Once in a while, I'll have an experience that restores a bit of my faith, and I love to rave about those rare events. Buying my Mom's cell phone last week gave me a great opportunity to rave like a drunken sailor.

Have you heard of Jitterbug? They're a cell phone company that specializes in simple, easy to use phones that are great for old people, technophobes, and kids. Their plans start at just $10 a month for pay as you go (at .35 per minute), and their phones are beautifully simple - no cameras, no organizers, no text messaging. Big, easy-to-see buttons and a screen you can actually read make it easy for failing eyesight and shaky hands. Quick-dial numbers are entered via a secure website, allowing Jitterbug operators to have access to all the stored numbers on the phone - very helpful when the phone owner can't dial for his/herself. Just press zero and tell the operator to call a named person on the list and, bam! You're connected.

I called Jitterbug to order my Mom a phone and a very nice man walked me through the process. He answered every question, resolved every quirky request I made, and managed the entire process to a beautiful, blip-free conclusion. And he was pleasant, spoke real English that I could understand, and completed the whole transaction without ever once sounding anything but happy to be talking to me. The phone arrived in three days, exactly as ordered. After an overnight charge, we turned it on and found that it was already programmed with the first four quick dial numbers, given to the rep during the initial call.

It's not a great commentary on the state of service in our culture that I'm writing a blog about a routine transaction. It's a shame that calls this smooth are the exception rather than the rule. All that aside, I'm happy to sing the praises of Jitterbug. They've got a good product, clearly advertised, with excellent service to back it up.

That's worthy of a happy dance.

I said I wanted to write...

...and along came a friend who wanted to start a writers' group. She brought a friend who wanted us to come up with three monthly goals for ourselves to further/better/support our writing.

Be careful what you ask for.

I'm excited and happy and scared to death. The scared part is rooted completely in the fear of failure, of not being good enough, not doing enough, letting someone down (myself or others), looking foolish, being foolish, sucking wind...you get the idea. And the weird part is that I know I can write...that I have something to say and can say it well...that there are people who will enjoy and benefit from reading what I have to say. And still I find myself wondering what authority I have to say anything of import...who am I to think I have anything anyone else needs...the same questions I've always asked.

Self-doubt sucks.

Arrogance sucks, too.

Where's the happy medium?

I'm looking for it...honest...and I think I've hooked up with the right group of writing friends to help me find it.

Yay, friends. Yay, me.

So here goes...my three monthly goals, subject to revision in future months...

• Write at least fifteen minutes every day.
• Start compiling writing samples from my current collection of work.
• Start a list of article, essay, and workshop topics; add to it as new thoughts come to mind.

Three goals...done.

Now comes the hard part.

Making Volkswagens in Chattanooga...

...and making dreams come true.

Humbling, awe-inspiring moments of pure gratitude come at the oddest times and from the least likely sources.

I was shopping in a local Goodwill store today when the news broke that Chattanooga had been chosen as the site for a new Volkswagen plant. The facility is expected to provide about 2,000 new jobs between now and when the first sedans roll out sometime in 2011. All the employees of the store cheered - loud, happy, "Praise Jesus!" cheers - at the news. One woman was literally running toward the back to tell other employees, her face lit up like Christmas. You could feel the energy in the room change almost immediately. The whole place was suddenly full of potential, of possibilities, of hope.

I have a good job, one that pays me well and offers me all kinds of opportunities for personal and professional fulfillment. I forget just how wonderful that is sometimes. Seeing the excitement on those folks' faces and feeling the fresh hope wash over them humbled me, inspired me, and filled me with gratitude for my work and the opportunities I've had.

Chattanooga offers lots of jobs in information-based industries, call centers, insurance companies, hospitals, and the like. If you have those skills you can usually work and, while the salary may not be the greatest, you'll likely have access to decent benefits. But if you lack the education and skills for those opportunities, your choices are pretty limited. Hotels, restaurants, tourist attractions, and retail offer limited hours at incredibly low wages, usually with few, if any, benefits. When benefits are offered, they often end up being out of reach for some of the people who need them most. Could you support yourself and your family on seven dollars an hour? What if you had to pay a health insurance premium out of that? The prospect of 2,000 good paying jobs with decent benefits is a shining beacon of hope for those whose skills aren't likely to land them jobs at Unum or Cigna.

I'm glad Chattanooga got the Volkswagen contract. I'm glad that a couple thousand Chattanoogans will have a chance at a better life. I'm happy that some of those who remain in low-paying jobs in the service, retail, and hospitality sectors will benefit from the overall economic boost all those new jobs will bring. Most of all, I'm grateful for the reminder of just how good I have it.

Thanks. A lot. Again.

Diversity, tolerance, and heads in the sand...

Originally published on Chattanooga-Pagans Yahoo! Group, December 7, 2007:

In my opinion, our culture is missing a big opportunity. We've gotten heavily focused on handling diverstity by trying to pretend it doesn't exist. I've heard people at work, mostly atheists, agnostics, and pagans (rarely Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, etc.), say that religion should be a private matter and people have no business bringing it into the workplace. While there are always those who take things to inappropriate extremes, in general I can't see how this can be true. If our spiritual paths, our religions, are central to our lives, part of our daily walk, how can we leave them at home? How can we effectively bring our whole selves to the task at hand when we have to leave part of ourselves on a shelf somewhere? Perhaps a better focus would be to focus on the inappropriate behavior of some individuals. If a co-worker shares his or her faith with me in an appropriate way - meaning they don't interfere with my work or my personal time or refuse to stop when I tell them to - I'm not harmed in any way. If I believe the person is crossing the line, I have the responsibility to say so, directly to them, respectfully but clearly. If they don't respect my wishes at that point, I've got a gripe. But the gripe is with that behavior, not with the fact that the person displays their religion at work. The same with prayer; if a group of people share a prayer in my presence, so what? Prayer is a highly personal thing. Maybe I can use that time to say a prayer of my own, or even join in theirs.

I have heard the phrase, "Freedom of religion is absolute." I don't know exactly what the originator of the phrase was thinking, but I know what that means to me. I am the person absolutely and finally responsible for my own spiritual walk and my relationship to Diety. No one can take that responsibility from me. No one can take away my right to exercise that responsibility as I believe appropriate. They can make it difficult by attempting to control my outward behavior, even to the point of killing me if I don't comply. But I always have the right to continue if doing so is more important to me than the consequences of my actions. Martyrs of every walk ever walked have proven this over and over. No matter what everyone around me is doing, I have all the power of choice at my command. It's a lot harder for me to become offended by the actions of those around me when I think of it this way. It also forces me to look at my feelings about my choices. If I feel uncomfortable about the choice I make (to leave a room when a devotional is disturbing to me, for instance), whose fault is it? It was my choice; I guess I'll have to shoulder the blame for how I feel about it.

It's time we all revisited the idea of cultural and religious diversity. We make a big fuss about "tolerance," but we're not tolerating something if we have to pretend it doesn't exist.

The community that keeps you...

Ok...so I'm repurposing a lot of content here, and I make no apology! Thoughts come unbidden most of the time, and often when I'm least prepared to blog. The only fair thing to do is to help them eventually migrate to this blog and into your waiting mind.

Mostly, I want to know what you think? What is "the community that keeps you?" How do you build and strengthen your community? Here's what I was thinking at the time...originally posted on Chattanooga-Pagans (local Yahoo! Group):

April 22, 2008 - I'm in Santa Rosa, California right now, attending a communications and social media conference. One of the speakers, Joe Jaffe, made a statement tonight that struck me as profound and particularly appropriate to the recent thread about community. Without going into the entire context, he said, "You are the community that keeps you."

Within the discussion context, the community that keeps me is at once one and many communities. It starts with my family. It includes the extended family of spiritual brothers and sisters I celebrate and work with. It's a group of women who come together for occasional "goddess weekends" and stay in touch as we can. I count people I love but see infrequently in the list, too. It's the temporary community created at CPCG and other gatherings. It's the recurrent community that attends PNO. It's individual friends that join me and make a community of two or more for the myriad of reasons friends come together. It's the ever-changing community made up of whoever happens to be in Spiralady's when I drop by. And it certainly includes this list and, within it, even more subsets.

Each of those individual communities and more make up the larger community. Actually, I like Mel's word - web - better. If I could graph my community as I described it above, it would indeed look like a big web. When I am pulled hard in any one direction, it's the web that keeps me from going too far. When I'm strong and full and whole, my strength reinforces the web and keeps someone else from falling. With or without a defined structure, with all the flaws inherent in an ungoverned, borderless community, that web sustains, nourishes, and supports me and gives me an avenue through which to sustain, nourish, and support others.

When I think, then, about "community," I think about micro and macro. Every interaction I have is either community building or community demolition. I can't separate my personal relationships from my relationship with the larger community. Those personal relationships ARE the larger community. The stronger each point on the web becomes, the stronger the web becomes.

I build community one person, one group, and one interraction at a time, and I know others who are doing the same. None of us can claim perfection; we've had to repair the web more than once and there's almost always another hole that needs mending. Fortunately, a good mend is often stronger than the original knot, especially when accompanied by a heartfelt, "Well, that sucked. What can we do better next time?"

If you're reading this, you're part of my web, part of the community that keeps me. Thank you. Keep strengthening your own connections and I'll keep working on mine. Together, we're amazing.

Describe your life painting...

Raventalker (www.raventalker.com) came up with a brilliant question on an email group I belong to: If you were to create a painting of your life .. your whole life … what would it be?

My answer is below...but I'm more interested in yours. What would your life painting be?

I don't know exactly what form it would take, but often I've visualized my life as a movie...a bright, glowing sphere...dancing around, moving from thought to fantasy to song to dance to love...then gradually being enclosed in a darker sphere, one that never extinguished the light, but that captured it and forced it into a more even "flow"...straight, often downward...sometimes staying close the the ground for long periods of time. The dark sphere gets thicker and more opaque so that the light inside becomes almost invisible, but not quite. Then comes the day when the light begins to grow brighter, becoming a physical force pushing at the walls of the sphere...there's a lot of turmoil and commotion and the dark sphere flies low and slow, but all the while the light is struggling and pushing and growing...until, finally, the light begins to break through the sphere in cracks and holes...streaming free for the first time in years. You can hear the dark sphere screaming as it breaks up...clinging to its own life...but the light won't stop, can't stop...and finally the last shards of the sphere break apart and fall away. The light is free! At first, the light floods the world, spread everywhere, only gradually beginning to once again coalesce into its own natural form, the beautiful, glowing sphere...shinning, bouncing, dancing, singing, loving...

If my movie had any subtitles, it would be Kahlil Gibran, "Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. "

What is forgiveness?

Something brought this to mind recently and I decided to look it up and republish it. This was written in response to someone who was hurting and asked, "What is forgiveness?" I still think it's as true as anything I've ever written and worth repeating from time to time.

Have you ever heard someone talking about "forgiving a debt?" A lender who forgives a debt does not require repayment. If they're still lending to that borrower, they stop. They don't deny that the money was borrowed. They simply do not enforce their right to repayment.

I think that defines forgiveness pretty well. When we've been hurt, abused, molested, neglected, accused unjustly...all the painful, damaging things that hurt so bad, it's like the abusers are taking bits of us. In many cases we actually participate in the process in one way or another, though rarely do we recognize it at the time. We become lenders and borrowers and, in essence, a huge debt is created. Even after we're removed from the situation and no longer being abused, molested, etc., we're left with this aching place, a painful, raw emotional wound, because the debt that was created isn't paid. Sometimes all it would really take is a heartfelt apology. Sometimes the debt is bigger than an apology can cover. But until we get something that feels like repayment, we're left with the debt and the misery that goes with it.

That's where forgiveness comes in. We can choose to forgive the debt. We're not saying "it's okay" because you're right - it will never be ok. We're not denying that it happened, that it was wrong, that it was horrible and it sucked and it carved out part of our life when it was happening. Instead, we can recognize that, as horrible as the abuse was, it's no more horrible than the pain and misery of carrying the anger and the resentment and the feeling of unresolved debt around with us, eating away at what should be growing healthy again. If we're still in the situation - the relationship, the circumstances - we have to get out, just like that lender has to stop lending money to the borrower who won't or can't repay. And then we make a deal with ourselves - NOT with our abusers. The deal is this: I will move forward today, right now, with this person out of my life forever. I forgive the debt I am owed by them, knowing that the Universe will hold them accountable without my help. For me, I sever those ties, cut my losses, and walk away from that life for good.

That, in my opinion, is forgiveness. And with time and intent, if we're truly blessed, we may be able to move from forgiveness to compassion, wherein we realize that even people who hurt us are people who've taken some seriously wrong turns and are lost, probably without realizing it. That's when you know you're truly free. And forgiveness is the first step.

Forgive the debt...the repayment can never, ever equal what was actually taken from you. The best thing you can possibly do for yourself is to set yourself free of it.

Fertility Engineer? Maybe...

...or maybe it's just Nature's way of getting things done.

This guy was in the garden this morning, busily moving from flower to flower. By the time I spotted him, he was so laden with pollen it's a wonder he could still fly!

Thanks, little buddy, for getting the work done. Hope you enjoyed your feast. We sure do appreciate the results.

After the rain...

...the sun comes shining through.

We watched a summer storm from the front porch a few days ago. What a beautiful thing! It was one of those delicious summer rains - big, fat rain drops falling straight down, thunder rumbling in the distance, trees dancing freestyle in the wind. As the rain began winding down, the sun broke through and streamed down through the rain.


After the rain ended, the whole yard lit up with twinkling lights - the sun glinting off the droplets of rain on every tree.
Isn't that the way of it? It rains sometimes...but even in troubled times, the light is still there if you look for it. When the rain stops, everything is washed clean...new...and just enough rain clings to the surfaces to catch the sun and reflect it back.

Attitude is everything.

Wanna see some nekkid pichers?

Heh heh...gotcha with that header, didn't I?

One subject that always piques interest is pornography. Love it or hate it...collect it or turn away from it in disgust...seems like everyone has a strong opinion.

Personally, I have a mixed-bag relationship with pornography. I believe that healthy, responsible, grounded, sexually aware and educated adults can enjoy pornography with no ill effects. On the other hand, the way sexuality is depicted in most pornography is far from reality, separated from the rest of human interaction and relationships and often far from healthy. I can see how someone who is less grounded or experienced could end up with a warped view of sex. If porn is your sex-ed, you're going to have a hard time living up to the illustrations!

Still, I just don't understand how our culture got so out of whack about sex in general and pornography in particular. I read an interesting essay today. The writer makes the point that pornography isn't fundamentally any different to other forms of entertainment that depict and arouse human emotions and reactions. You watch other people have sex and you become aroused. Is that any different to watching a movie wherein someone grieves and it makes you cry? What about scary movies - do you feel a little fear when you watch? Is that wrong? Morally reprehensible? Fear and sadness are human reactions to specific stimuli; so is sexual arousal and it's no less a natural part of the human experience than any other physical/emotional/psychological response. I don't know that I agree with everything the author says, but it's food for thought.

Ahh, I do love to bitch and moan about our culture's twisted views on sex. Thanks for another opportunity to spew about one of my pet peeves. Now...go enjoy the weekend...have some healthy, happy, responsible sex and enjoy it, free of guilt and angst. Call it activism - saving the human race from sexual oppression one great encounter at a time.

That helpless feeling...

I hate knowing something is wrong, knowing someone is in trouble and needs help and not being able to make it happen! Arrrrrrhhhh! It's infuriating and frustrating and makes me feel helpless and ineffective and ... awful. I'm watching that happen right now with a woman in a horribly abusive situation, mentally and physically, and it's driving me nuts.

I'm doing what I can, which isn't much, but the ball is really in her court. There are people trying to help her, making a way for her to get out of the situation she's in, but until she is willing to take the proferred hand and make the first step out the door, all the efforts are in vain. That's the part that frustrates me most.

I believe with all my heart that we learn lessons in life through experience. Most of the time we're where we are, experiencing whatever we're experiencing, because we've got something to learn. Sometimes it's a direct, immediate cause-and-effect relationship; sometimes I have to think it's more karmic. In all cases, we usually keep experiencing until we get the lesson. The learning shifts our behavior which changes our experience and we start with new lessons. I don't want to interfere with anyone's learning experience but DAMN! Get this one already and get the hell out of there!

Sorry...had to say that somewhere. End of rant...back to work...

Through my Mother's eyes...

We had a big Solstice party at our place this weekend. About 40 people brought chairs, food, drums, guitars, and kids. It was great! It was also the first time my mother has been around that many pagans at one time.

I was a little worried that she might be upset by bits of conversation she overheard or see something that unnerved her. I don't hide my path from her; I don't put it in her face, either. She's a Jehovah's Witness and 81 years old, neither of which makes her a prime candidate for an open-minded acceptance of paganism.

As it turns out, she had a great time! A friend from work, not a pagan exactly but definitely a new-age sort, spent a lot of time talking with her and that helped. I checked on her as frequently as I could between hosting duties, but she was largely on her own. I touched base with her the morning after the party:

Me: "Mom, did you have a good time?"

Mom: "Yes, I did. I had a great time! Those were really nice people."

Me: "They are nice people; we're really blessed with good friends."

Mom: "You sure are. I couldn't find anything wrong!"

And there you have it - insight into the way my mother views the world. "I couldn't find anything wrong!" was a telling statement. She enters every situation looking for the wrongness in it. It's as if she lives her life in a minefield of wrong and the least little pause in her vigilence could land her right in the middle of some heinous activity that she would then be on the moral hook for.

I'm glad she couldn't find anything wrong. I'd be gladder still if she didn't always feel like she had to be on the lookout for it.

Goodbye, George Carlin...

...you will be missed.

George Carlin crossed the veil on Sunday, June 22...and there's a big, George-shaped hole in the universe.

I remember playing several of his albums (yes, they were albums - shiny vinyl with paper covers) when I was in my early 20's and loving them. He made me laugh - hysterically at times - and made me think. I can still recite the seven words by heart, and I never get on a plane without thinking, "We can snatch that pussy, put it in a box, and take it on the airplane!"

The genius of Carlin was his ability to recognize the absurdity in our world and mirror it back to us so we could see it, too, in a humbling, thought-provoking, and infinitely entertaining way.

Rest well, George...well done...and we'll look for you in your next go 'round.

Do you answer your cell phone in the bathroom?

...and other random thoughts.

I'm working from home today, taking a lunch break and enjoying the warm, gentle afternoon. I love my work-at-home days (usually two a week)... and the view is much better here than from my office. Because I cherish the privilege of working at home so much, I'm really careful to not do anything that might make folks at work think I'm slacking, so I carry my phone with me anytime I step away from my computer. This morning, I took it into the bathroom wtih me and then wondered what I would do if it rang? Would I answer it? Would you?

Before I started work this morning, I tripped out to the herb bed for some fresh basil (for my cottage-cheese-and-tomato breakfast). Mama had left some beautiful beadwork for us! Who knew squash plants could look so pretty!

Of course, my mind is running amok - as usual - with ideas and thoughts...things like, "Does anyone read this blog?" I tried to put a web statistics applet on here yesterday but haven't quite figured it out yet. If you're reading, leave a comment and let me know you're here! If you know how to install Google Analytics, better yet! And I'm still thinking about my writing career, the one that doesn't exist yet unless you count what I do at work, which is, in fact, mostly writing but not the kind I truly yearn to do.

Time is just so darned hard to come by! And it takes time to write. Ahhh...but therein lies the rub, does it not? We all have the same amount of time. Successful writers choose to devote a large portion of theirs to writing. I seem more inclined to devote mine to earning a living the less interesting but more immediately profitable way and helping take care of our home and land. Maybe what I need is a priority shift...or less sleep (though I can't really see that one...I don't sleep a lot as it is!)...or learn to not care so much about the other stuff.

A lot to worry about on a short lunch hour. My nose has been missed and must return to the grindstone immediately! Y'all stay tuned...more to come...and keep those cards and letters coming!