Helping Hands

For the few remaining readers who haven’t thrown themselves in front of an eighteen-wheeler after reading my last two blogs, read this: I vow to be more positive, at least for today.

Sure, I get angry when I see injustice and abuse, enraged at people and systems that try to squash the life out of others due to their own need to survive. You all get that about me.

Just yesterday I heard, “Why can’t she say anything nice?” Though not directed at me, I took it to heart. So here I am, the first early bird of what’s not yet morning, breathing in the crisp, winter air, grateful to be alive.

What’s good about we humans is our willingness to care about others. As a former nurse specializing in end-of-life care, I have witnessed countless people broken by illness -- financially, emotionally and physically. When I have been injured or sick and unable to care for myself, it has been my friends who have brought me back to life and contributed to my healing.

The response to the catastrophic earthquake that hit Haiti on January 12 has been overwhelmingly positive; the outpouring of financial aid, given the economy, astoundingly generous. According to Stacy Palmer, editor of The Chronicle of Philanthropy, as of January 21, 2010—less than 10 days after the quake --- over 305 million dollars had been donated, and that’s only to American charities. Over 25 million of these dollars was donated to the Red Cross via text messaging alone! The immediacy of response in disasters is critical; it doesn’t help much to offer a hand weeks or months later. The world pulled together to help perfect strangers as if they were kin.

I like the term communitariansim. Communitarians argue that there is a need to balance individual rights and interests with the interests of the community as a whole. We are shaped by the values and the cultures of our communities, which is why I haven’t broken into your house and eaten your chocolate or taken the air out of your tires at the dog park because you refused to share it (see Evil). My parents, teachers and peers taught me that stealing was wrong (although they never mentioned anything about tires). A healthy society must balance liberal rights with community responsibility, in other words, too much individualism can be a bad thing.

In Green Valley, Arizona, we tend to help one another out. Green Valley has been called a) God’s waiting room; b) a great place to live; c) an active adult retirement community; d) a really bizarre place. Given the fact that there is no real infrastructure to age-in-place, if your health declines you will either move back to Minnesota to live with your son or if you have any, deplete your assets and move into a pricey assisted living facility.

Aging people have more health issues and therefore more need for community. My friend Lee, who died a month shy of her 100th birthday, abhorred the idea of community. Community implied people, in numbers, and the very thought of it made her recoil in disgust. Ultimately, she was unable to survive without the help of it, a chain unbroken that helped her step through death's door.

Most of my closet friends are women living alone. Correction -- women living alone with dogs. We take turns getting sick and having problems. One such friend now needs help. Together we join hands in support, forming a community of Light to reach out in known and unknown ways. An email to a world renown expert asking for help, a few slices of quiche, a call, an encouraging word, or just being present. We need one another; if it is not our turn today, it will be one day.

There was never an expectation of a response to the email asking for direction and advice, just a stab-in-the-dark hope. After all, these doctors are too busy to reply to a outsider asking for help. Surprisingly, in less than 12 hours, a response arrived: My mother died yesterday, heading to Prague, if you still need help, call me next week, see phone below. JP

In the grip of grief, a stranger reached out to help someone in need. We are some amazing beings, we humans. Together we join hands in support, forming a community of Light to reach out in known and unknown ways.

I am encouraged.

Left with Memory, Not Life

She sleeps and has no memories to speak of. But I am cloaked in memory. These are the garments from childhood and beyond, strewn about my home as reminders of who I am and where I have come from. The Girl Scout uniform in all its glory, the floral furniture, the Queen Elizabeth lamp I coveted as a child, and even the 5,000 ton mechanical bed that bore sole witness to my mother’s final breath. The massive fire of 1962 erased all evidence of life before.

Each and every piece of physical evidence we carefully collect and display evokes a mind-trace to what went before; they are our bread crumbs stored up for a rainy day, our love letters sealed and preserved just in case we forget that we were once deeply loved.

Some of us feel mandated to preserve our own memories and the memory of others at the cost of living life. Some say remarrying after the death of a spouse is the ultimate betrayal. Getting rid of Granny’s homemade quilt running a close second. Take my house, for example. In it, lives the memory of two mothers, former deceased occupants I never met, discarded pottery from 2nd graders I never knew, oil paintings of strangers once in love. Forages through thrift shop rubble, flea markets and street fairs reveal treasures calling out for homes and the reverence due them. And so it is that we find ourselves surrounded by objects d’art that bind us to memory lest we forget we are a part of the collective.

Alcoholics clutch their drink, drug addicts their heroin, shoppers their acquisitions, spiritual seekers their illusions, each grasping for something that they believe will make all-things-right within. It is never enough. In our effort to bring newness into life and breath to the stagnation of our past, we reach out into the yet-to-be in search of unborn memories that give us temporary reprieve.

I once had a lover who gave me Puakenikeni, an intensely fragrant, but fragile Hawaiian flower. I saved every blossom. Dried and wilted, brown and aged, I kept them for years, a sacrilege to toss them away.

The flowers are finally gone, but I’m having a heck of a time getting rid of those love letters. Maybe in the Spring.

Evil

“Evil is the exercise of power to intentionally harm (psychologically), hurt (physically), or destroy (mortally or spiritually) others.”

Phillip Zimbardo, The Lucifer Effect

I believe that people are not inherently evil. Evil, as Zimbardo defines it, is the deliberate misuse of power to the detriment of others. Like a cancer, it grows until it ultimately affects one’s ability to function healthily, thrive spiritually, and be a positive influence in the world. Evil, like sin, is “missing the mark,” or as other traditions might put it, focusing on and identifying with the wrong things. Someone under “The Lucifer Effect” might start out with good intentions, but ultimately succumb to the dictates of his ego.

There are few weightier crimes than feigning a life of spirituality yet persisting in acts that are meant to harm or destroy others. Many of these self-proclaimed spiritual people rise to power and have caused entire civilizations to fall, for the seed of selfishness is one persistent son-of-a-bitch and hard to eradicate.

As the story goes, Lucifer was beloved of God and handsome to boot, but power hungry, greedy and selfish, not unlike we humans. “God is good and dwells within us,” says the charlatan priest after committing an unspeakable act. The Devil apparently does too. When we do good things, we may say that God deserves the credit, but when we commit acts of harm, it is the devil within us that has caused us to fall. While there is still an ego-self ready and waiting for personal gain and glory, or even the rejection thereof, there will be problems. There will be suffering. There will be division.

Every harsh word spoken is a boomerang back to our own hearts. When our hearts are made of steel, we cannot feel their impact. As our hearts soften, the barbs of our speech fly back and cut into us. We bleed. In short, we harm ourselves the most when we intend to cause harm to others.

When newly in love, we overlook the signs that herald abuse, immaturity, and self-centeredness. We want to see the best in others and so we believe what they say and what they promise, often discounting what they do. Within them we see a golden vessel of love, albeit obscured in excrement caused by the pain of living, by repeated disappointments, by fear, greed, and selfishness. If we were simply to observe, we would see clearly. But years go by and nothing changes, except perhaps a few pieces of excrement get washed away by time, by chance.

Forgiveness is a difficult concept. How do we forgive someone who intentionally causes us harm? It does not mean forgetting, nor does it mean providing infinite chances to those who say they intend no harm but continue to act to the contrary. Forgiveness means understanding the pain that drives us to do harmful things. To see it clearly for what it is. It means releasing that pain in ourselves, the pain that might cause us to harm others. If we truly honor ourselves, we can not allow others to to harm us. Certainly, some are held captive without possibility of physical escape, yet even they can find sanctuary within where no harm can enter.

In clearly seeing suffering we see the root of what we call evil. And these roots are deeper than we can possibly imagine. Buddhism teaches that it is not the mind alone that must be trained; the heart must also be opened. An open heart without wisdom is doomed. A sharpened intellect without true compassion, worthless.

Be wary of those who call themselves spiritual but have their own interest at heart. While there may be a glimmer of truth in what they say, watch and wait and see what they do. Wish for them the fire, that they too may be robbed of everything but empty equanimity and infinite kindness. For if man cannot see and feel the ripple of his actions and intent upon the world, he is blind.

To see, to feel, and to ultimately understand the nature of suffering, guides us in ways no teacher or teaching can. It is simple and always with us. There is no price to be paid for what is already ours. Yet we often give people in power our trust, our hearts, and sometimes our lives. Entrusted to preserve the myth they market as Truth, they feed upon those thirsty for solution, saying they have special training or powers. Yet, they too are human, many suffering far more than those who kneel before them to receive a blessing.

Why, o spiritual seeker, do you continue to drink from a golden vessel covered in excrement? You alone must realize your own truth. Remove neediness and grasping. Do not look outside yourself. You are sufficient as yourself. Deep within you is the pulse of your divine wisdom, ever beating. Realize it and be free.