Disappearing Act

Today is Easter Sunday, 2010, a day celebrated by Christians worldwide as the day when Christ rose from the dead. I appreciate the fact that he is able to do this conveniently on Sundays, each and every year, as most people have the day off.

This the ultimate disappearing act, an act where the mystery of God is revealed: Jesus dies, disappears, reappears, and ascends. This part gets really confusing. There seem to be many different accounts of how this actually happens, and we are missing plenty of details.

I have no idea why today is not called “Disappearance Day,” or DD for short. The stone was rolled away and the body of Jesus wasn’t there. Plus, even if he were raised from the dead on the 3rd day it wouldn’t be on Easter Sunday if he died on a Friday. Count the days: Friday to Saturday is one, Saturday to Sunday is two.

Resurrection and ascension are two different things. Being raised from the dead is resurrection. Ascension is where Jesus returns to heaven to live with God on a permanent basis. There is an apparent span of 40 days or so in between the two during which time Jesus “appears” to his followers. And then, poof, he’s gone.

I find it interesting that no Gospel gives a definitive accounting of the resurrection of Jesus; we are left to come up with our best guess. Nor are there precise accounts of reappearances after his death. Or why he chose to appear to some and not others. We still have this query today, over 2000 years later. What we do seem to know is that there was an empty tomb.

As was customary of the time, women would visit the tomb on the first day of the week. “Wait a second,” they said. “Who rolled this humongous stone away?” “Hey, look! He’s not here!” Apparently sometime shortly after that, Jesus appears to at least one of them (Mary Magdalene) and instructs her to inform his disciples that he is alive and well.

Jesus had a fondness for women, in very fact (if we are to believe in any of this at all), he appeared to them first. He loved Mary Magdalene, his mother, Mary, Aunt Elizabeth, Grandma Anna, and so on. Yet the Christian tradition has successfully oppressed women since his death. Well, actually before, during and after. This makes me like Jesus all the more. Blood drips out of my pores when I see so-called Christians treat women, or anyone for that matter, in a way that would have made Jesus weep. And it’s not just men who do this. Many “Christian women” look upon non-Christian women with disgust, disdain, and a truckload of judgment. And to top it off, the four gospels have it that the risen Christ commissioned women to teach men! Well, let’s just skip over that part. It’s not important. God picked a man to be his representative and that's final. Who would have believed a woman, then or now?

Like Jesus, we will all descend into the abyss before our ascension into another dimension of being, a dimension far more transcendent than any we can know in human form. Until that time, we remain on earth and watch as our loved ones disappear before our very eyes, sharing the same disbelief as the women at the tomb. And when our own bodies are whittled away by the ravages of disease, sucked dry by the vampires of bodily pain, we will no doubt find women at our sides. For women have an amazing capacity to witness, to enter into the darkness of others, and to offer a cup of love to the thirsty. It is no accident that Jesus picked them to carry the message of love.

You will not find me in church today. My resurrected Jesus will be found at the bedside of a dying friend, in the joy of a child discovering a hidden Easter egg, in the warm lick of a dog’s tongue across my cheek, and in the singing celebration of the birds.

My Easter is right here, all around me.

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.

Go on, Celebrate Life.

When you are young, the winds of Fate can carry you to places you would never dream of traveling.  The young have an innocence, a joie de vie, that often has been put to rest in later years.   Undaunted, the young step bravely into the Unknown.

C and I were inseparable until a young man stopped at the bottom of the hill, a door opened, and we squeezed our bodies into a fire engine red MGA.  It was the literal opening of a door, a pathway to a new life. 

This was the 60s, when life was meant to be explored and enjoyed. C and I honestly weren't that keen on men, the odd species. In no time at all,  he fell madly in love with her, while she was madly in love with me.  Eventually, an amicable dissolution was reached and nearly a decade had past. Time had moved us all along.  He had decided … in his own words… to become a monk. Had I known monk meant cult member I might have chosen differently, but monk sounded noble, selfless. The concept itself hit my soft spot; I could only think of one appropriate farewell gift. Sex. 

Upon discovery of the small, yet powerful, enigma growing inside me, it became time to let Destiny once again have her say.  He cowered and ran for protection. I stood my ground, or rather "she" stood hers.  This little life inside me insisted on being born, insisted on truth.  In that moment of certitude, I swear the heavens rejoiced.  The mortals were about to get a run for their money.  She would take human form and choose to live among us. 

Today, we celebrate that life and light. 

Happy Birthday, Anisse.

God

We ask a lot from God. As One who is Omnipotent, Omnipresent and Omniscient, our paltry requests – even those that include gut-wrenching and pathetic bargaining to spare a life or become cured of an incurable disease – are nothing for someone like God to grant. God can do anything God wants.

It is the same argument of old. If God is on our side, then the “favors” we ask are granted; God is pleased with us and acts accordingly. However, if we ask God to grant our request and God is not pleased with us, our requests are denied. We are shamed, shunned, and reminded that we are less than perfect. We are unimportant and dismissible. We are outside of the Light. Too much to bear, we turn it around to then believe that God is showing us a special kind of favoritism: God knows we need to suffer to grow in spirit. Father Knows Best. For this, we are supposed to be thankful. If we are thankful enough, we will end the circle of absurdity and maybe even rebirth. If we show signs of anger, resentment and heaven forbid, hostility toward God, we just may slip through the cracks to the bottomless abyss below.

When I was a young woman, I did something that would be considered a very significant sin in the eyes of the church (oops, I mean the Church). So grievous was my sin that, according to church doctrine, I would be forever be outside the love of God. God was not happy and crossed out my name from the Book of Life with a permanent marker. There were others. Here we were, a mismosh of evictees, victims of circumstance thrown into the ring with convicted felons, all to be fed to the lions of pomposity.

In that moment, on that day of sentencing, I was set free. Not by God, but by the absence of God. For if God would condemn me forever without reprieve, then I was free to live my life in any way I chose, good or bad, without fear of spiritual consequence.

What happens when we take God out of the equation? God has gone to the Bahamas without his cell phone. Drat. What happens when our intermediaries are gone as well? God-in-Christ-and-All-the-Saints-and-Buddhas have taken holiday en masse. The petitioner and the petitionees are incommunicado. Please leave a message after the tone.

Like my second daughter, I really want to believe in God. I want to believe in the God that others are convinced exists. I have looked for God as earnestly as anyone. I have boldly walked into the heart of all faith traditions and practices, attempting to leave no stone unturned. I did not find God. What I found was the freedom of not-finding, the wisdom that God can not be found. The best I can do is feel for the essence of life and witness the incomprehensible majesty and beauty of ordinary living. I can feel for what lives in you that lives in me, our common spirit that feels good and right and true.

My trinity is that of Wisdom, Compassion, and Beneficence. The three are inseparable and are in and of everything that exists. Now that I am free, I can take my them with me everywhere I go.

Fraudulent Authenticity

The purpose of this timely article is to educate and to stress the critical and urgent need to protect against a terrible virus known as FA. There is no known immunization or antidote once the infection has taken root. Once infected, the virus spreads rapidly to affect brain function, culminating in irreversible brain damage, save a few isolated cases.

This has been a major coup for those whose primary goal has been dumbing down the masses. Nearly everyone now carries the virus. Like other virulent pathogens that have reached epidemic proportion, efforts to arrest the spread of infection have been largely unsuccessful. Prevention efforts, such as this one, have been too small in number to effect any significant change, but I’m hoping with this blog post, things might change. Most people who carry the virus don’t even know they have it, as the auditory-brain connection is severed. Epidemiologically, it is the worst virus known to humankind to date.

Replicating at speeds beyond comprehension, FA is like a thief in the night, entering silently and unannounced, replacing healthy cells with a “cell-double.” Looking and acting like its predecessor cells, this cell double is virtually undetectable by modern medicine or microscopy. It takes up residence unnoticed, usurping and ultimately annihilating its former inhabitant: you.

It began over a decade ago as a fairly circumscribed virus, infecting only a small percentage of the population. The virus appears benign, subjecting its unsuspecting host to its toxin. Those who are newly infected exhibit the same symptoms with disturbing accuracy in a matter of months, thus spreading the disease to more immune-naïve individuals.

To perpetuate and grow the virus, however, took concerted and unified efforts on the part of businesses, corporations, governments, schools and other major players of society. Perhaps the most insidious and lethal disseminators of the virus have been, and continue to be, supermarkets and houses of worship. Ironically, the very places people feel safe are those where 100% infection is almost guaranteed. Their collective efforts have paid off: FA is has reached global proportions and to date there is no known treatment or cure.

“Have a nice day!” she said as I finished my transaction at the supermarket. No sooner did I pick up my bag when I heard, “Would you like some help out with your bags?” Earlier, someone said, “Are you finding everything you need?” At first, it sounded almost sincere. But now, I have heard those very same phrases over a hundred times, without alteration. It could be the cable or the phone company: “I’m sorry to hear you are having problems. Please know we are making every effort to resolve your issue.” You will be hard pressed to find any business or venue that is infection-free.

There are few places left that are safe. But I am well and sane enough to tell you this: there is still time to save yourself from this devastating disease that literally eats your brain alive! This is no joke!!!

Please, I caution you, take every safeguard to protect yourself. Signs and symptoms of those infected with the virus include unconsciously repeating rote phrases and responses the most common of which is “Have a nice day,” usually accompanied by a feigned smile. If you have been exposed, cover your ears immediately and leave the premises. There is no guarantee that airborne droplets have not entered your auditory canal and are enroute to the brain. Isolating yourself it is your best defense. Remaining aware that you are a separate and distinct entity can boost your immune system to ward off the disease.

If someone demands that you repeat certain phrases as part of your job, quit then and there and seek refuge. These people have reached the final stages of the illness. REMEMBER: there are no known treatments or interventions that have proven useful at this point.

Recognizing the symptoms of this devastating disease will save not only your life but also your rational mind. Ultimately, the future of our species is at stake. It’s up to you. Guard against FA. Spread the real word.