Hoarders

28 04 2016

Today, I was thinking about things I am hoarding and the thing I am hoarding is money. If you come to my house, you won’t think of me as a hoarder. You’re unlikely to find a reality TV camera crew worming their way between precarious pillars of second-hand books or throwing open a door to have a thousand pairs of smelly sneakers spew out. Mostly, our home is light, roomy and orderly, though I do hoard a little dust and stuff the dog brings in; it’s got to live somewhere.

Still, if you could dig deeper into my mental closets, you would find that I hoard dollars like there were too many tomorrows. It’s not that I have so much money, I have more than some and less than others. I also realize that it’s a risk (and breaking a taboo) to even open up about the family funds. The thing is, like all good hoarders, I don’t have a healthy relationship with this thing I hoard; it’s way too “dams and reservoirs” and nowhere near enough “streams of living water.”

Thanks to childhood experiences, to messages inherited from my parents’ and grandparents’ Depression, war time and “austerity Britain” days, to realistic observation of our society, and to powerful marketing from the retirement industry, I have become a bit of a Scrooge. A big part of me is utterly convinced that nobody knows you when you’re down and out and I can, indeed, hang on to a dollar till the eagle grins! But a relationship based on fear and a belief in scarcity is a doomed relationship. So, if you come to my home, you might notice the general lack of clutter, but you would also probably notice the years of deferred maintenance. That’s no way to treat my most valuable investment, no matter how I justify it as living simply. My hoarding is, of course, not even logical.

Sometimes, the dam cracks or even bursts. A trickle leaks out or a flood of cash gushes forth for new outfits, a project or a “good cause.” There follows a period of frenetic repair work until a magic protective number is secured again in those quiet columns; a static sufficiency restored.

I’ve changed a few relationships in this last year, getting much happier with cooking and movement, for example, and living outside a little more each day. Perhaps, it’s time to ask a few new questions about my cache of cash. There are so many queries that could apply. What am I still saving for? Whom do I fear losing if the columns reach zero? What happens to stagnant pools? There are many more. Mostly, though, I need to sit with one. How does Love guide me to unbuild the dam?

On the wall in our corner room is a painting my daughter created when she was a child. To her teacher, she dictated, “Water and Love flow through the world.” And that’s not all.

IMG_3083





Experiment with Love

18 04 2016

Today, I read that George Fox focused on “an experimental relationship with God,” not as “an end in itself,” but so our lives could “exemplify God’s nature: which is love.” (Introduction, pages 8 – 9, The Quaker Reader) So here are just a few hypotheses to test.

If I see Love coming on the other side of the street, I will:

  1. greet Love warmly and cross over to be closer and embrace,
  2. keep moving forward and hope Love doesn’t notice me,
  3. turn and hurry about some important business because I don’t have time for Love, or
  4. all of the above on different occasions because of my “unstable nature.”

If Love knocks on my door to tell me an inconvenient truth such as that I left my headlights on, I will:

  1. not answer the door to a stranger,
  2. open the door a crack with a begrudging “Okay” and much annoyance at this intrusive messenger,
  3. open the door wide, step out to thank my neighbor for this helpful information and go right away to remedy the situation, or
  4. depends on my mood and what I’m watching on screen.

The experiments continue in the lab of life.





“Fracking”

9 02 2016

Today, although a bit late for “class,” I attended a webinar provided by the Center for Earth Jurisprudence and hosted by Sr. Pat Siemen, O.P., J.D., the Director of the Center. It was #2 in a series called “Protecting Our Common Home.” Sr. Pat Siemen’s spoke on the concept of the rights of nature and the history of the movement, including codification of Rights of Nature in the Ecuadorian Constitution in 2008. Then, Shannon Biggs, from Movement Rights, brought us a stronger understanding of how to assert the rights of communities and nature. Up early in Hawaii to participate in an event that took place at noon Florida-time, in less than thirty minutes and in gentle tones, Shannon laid a strong foundation for any movement toward community rights based on respect for all community members. Much of her presentation used the hot topic of fracking to illustrate how grass roots action can become substantially more effective through a set of mindshifts from blaming and attacking the “bad guys” to linking arms for desired outcomes.

Fracking is more than an example for a deep process change in how decisions are made and governance is accomplished. The language used to define this activity also gives us a metaphor for how “we” crack up, break apart, divide and are conquered. Compare the Oxford Dictionaries “American-English” definition of “fracking” with the Merriam-Webster definition. Thus, “The process of injecting liquid at high pressure into subterranean rocks, boreholes, etc., so as to force open existing fissures and extract oil and gas.” (Oxford Dictionaries) versus, “The injection of fluid into shale beds at high pressure in order to free up petroleum resources (such as oil or natural gas.)” (Merriam-Webster) In the first definition, something brutal is taking place. In the second, poor, trapped oil and gas are being liberated!

Lesson #1: Pay attention because language matters.

“The people united will never be defeated.” This is a powerful chant as we march our way down the street of history. The truth is “we, the people” are easily defeated by the application of high pressure to “force open existing fissures.” We are easily defeated because the fissures already exist, laid down over many years, subterranean and subconscious, buried, grown over, but ready to fracture when pressure is applied unless deep healing and wholeness come about through everyone’s efforts and daily decisions.

Lesson #2: Focus on healing, not to be “nice,” but to be strong when the big decisions come.

Then, there is the question of what the oil and gas need and want to do, what all the people living above and around the oil and gas need and want to do, what the critters large and microscopic around the oil and gas need and want to do, both in the short-term and in the long-term. Do the oil and gas want to be extracted, freed up or left in peace to continue a millenial process, maybe to become something even richer than oil and gas, something our present selves cannot even imagine?

Lesson #3: The question here is not, “Is fracking (or abortion, or gun-based policing, or whatever divisive issue) good or bad?” The question here is, “In a true democracy, who has the right to choose?”

Time to go outside. Take the children outside, too.

 





Meditation for a Child

4 02 2016

Today, it came to me to find a few minutes this evening to meditate for a child and to invite others to meditate for the children in their lives. For me, both my husband and our guest will be out this evening, so I hope the moments will present themselves.

Can you find a few minutes this evening to meditate for your child?

Who is your child?

They may be the child of your body. They may be the child of your street space, your work space or your earth space. They may bring you frequent joy, some trouble or great grief. They may come to mind again and again or they may be the child you realize you have overlooked. You may tuck them in at night or they may haunt your dreams and wake you at 2:00 a.m. They may be unborn, newborn, four-and-a-half, seventeen or sixty-three. They are your child.

Hold your child in a Loving Light. Let go of worrying about them, of finding fault with them, of allowing or restricting them, of nurturing and challenging them.

Just breathe with them.

Breathe and breathe and breathe.

Tomorrow is a new day.

Porchtime





Living Provisionally

11 01 2016

Today, I began by breaking our measuring cup. I broke it because I don’t remember things so well any more. I can still tell you the telephone number for the child care center I directed in the 1990s, but I forget that I am in the middle of drying the measuring cup when I turn to stir oatmeal bubbling on the stove. Thus, when I pick up the bundled dish towel moments later, it’s an empty cloth, – until the weight of well-used glass reveals itself in a slow motion, irreversible tumble to crash on the kitchen floor. Now, you see it, now, you don’t; a trick of an indifferent conjuror.

I sweep up the pieces of an old friend to be sure no shards remain to wound our dog’s paws. This measuring cup was sturdy and vintage enough to be permanently scoured and scarred inside. It was a “one cup” measure. It saw me through many USDA food guides, pyramids and plates, as well as the past few months of Medi-vegi-changey lifestyle revamp predicated on a post-retirement health reality check. Now, it rests in a newspaper so old it has an article about Volkswagen family values.

We are rich. We had two measuring cups. Life continues with our newer, less scathed “two cup” measure carrying the full load. We have plenty to measure, too. Even on incomes that have dipped floorward with retirement, we are supplied beyond measure thanks to our time and circumstances and thanks to the endeavors of many beyond our own efforts. Other people, near and far, live much more hand to mouth, scratch for grains in sand, for food in food deserts, measure water in sips and drops, not cups, not kilogallons.

Inexorably, tomorrow, the magician will whisk away more stuff, more friends. Today, is my opportunity to discern how to give freely as needed for someone now living provisionally, getting by on scraps and specks alone.

 





Time with Topaz

4 01 2016

Today, on page 9 of “Listening Spirituality”, I read the following: “to give over one’s own agenda and be open to the promptings of that mysterious being whose ways are not our ways and whose time is utterly different.”

Sacrilege alert: Patricia Loring is, of course, writing of God, but my thoughts went immediately to our cat, Topaz. She is, indeed, a mysterious being whose ways are not my ways and whose time is utterly different from mine. So, she is a good practice partner for giving oneself over to another’s agenda.

Topaz lives on and about our porches. She has her own list of things to be done and is often active when I sleep. Equally, she’s frequently apparently indifferent when I’m going about my daily business, content to let me get on with it. Still, when I go out to weed the front borders of our garden, she nearly always comes to greet me, to smell the pungent marigolds and receive her rightful ear-rub, marking me as her own.

I don’t go out just to sit with her often enough. Very occasionally, it’s too chilly, more likely, it’s too hot or too buggy. Mostly, it’s my inner condition of busyness that stops me from intentionally spending time with her.

When I do go out to be with her, she may be nowhere in sight. If I sit quietly for a while, I’ll hear a maowl, she’ll appear and leap her weight effortlessly onto my lap. It is always a deep pleasure to sit with her warmth, her fur, her purr; for both of us. When we part, I always know what’s next.





Rabbit Trails

24 09 2015

The wonderful thing about being retired is that you can follow all sorts of rabbit trails. It might be something as simple as e-mailing your sister a “Thought for the Day” that fits with the holiday adventure she just described in an e-mail to you. It might be two-plus weeks of burrowing in the shelves, boxes and closets of the First Day School rooms at your Meeting House to prepare for the Peace Day Garage Sale. It might be getting to bake the Vanishing Oatmeal Cookie recipe from inside the lid of the Quaker Oats tub and discovering that the name is true.

The thing is – there’s time. Like Holly, the dog, on one of her rambles, every now and then a voice will recall you to the main track and you’ll carry on with the pack to your daily destination, but, meanwhile, something smells very interesting over there…Holly rabbit trails








Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 125 other followers