Tending Toward Serenity

Ever in the forefront of my mind is an appreciation of the natural wonders our Pacific Northwest offers. Trees and naturally flowing waters are my talismans.

The following piece was written during a three day retreat with two other writer-friends at the Oregon coast. 

                                                        Three Days

One day, gunmetal gray skies, rain blowing sideways,

pelting the huge windows,

sliding down in liquid, sensuous sheets.

White capped waves churned and roiled.

Murres and gulls squawked,

swooped along the crests—seeking.

One morning, skies strewn with cumulous clouds.

Harbinger of an afternoon sky turning absolute blue.

Three friends, writing, parsing.

At times, silence. A camaraderie needing no words.

We reveled in the sound of quiet.

Soft susurration of waves and birdsong—

a soothing background.

That abiding sense of solace usually, easily, found in nature had been eroded somewhat by my keen awareness of the ongoing national unrest; the dissonance of the many voices and the seeming inability to compromise; the spate of human-caused destruction born out of our hubris and sense of entitlement.

These three days were a balm—a much-needed respite from the cacophony which I had begun allowing into my psyche.


                                    The sole art that suits me is that which, 

rising from unrest, tends toward serenity. 
~ Andre Gide

               

Discretionary Listening

The older I grow the more I listen 

to people who don’t talk much

~ Germain G. Glien

The author of an op-ed piece in our local paper posits beginning a “Slow News” movement, a lá Michael Pollen’s “Slow Food” concept. This columnist feels most news is of little importance and asks us to “… question the value of the perpetual fast-food-like empty-calories news that is processed to keep us addicted to it.”

The recent horrendous acts of gun violence at the Sandy Hook school in Newtown, Connecticut were 24/7 fodder for the media—each outlet striving to be the first with the latest tidbit of information. Most of us wanted to know what had happened and our hearts broke for the pain the loved ones had to endure. This was not empty-calorie news.

However, as with other instances of international, national or regional importance, “breaking news” alerts bombarded us—either crawling along the bottom of our TV screens or blasting through our radios. Each media entity strove to be the one to grab our attention and tease us so that we would hang on through the looming and long commercial break.

It is in the best interests of my own emotional health that I be vigilant about the amount of processed news I allow into my psyche. Therefore, a few days after this tragedy, I stopped paying attention to the latest “breaking news." Instead I chose to concentrate on the broader conversation regarding access to assault weapons. 

I continue to be interested in sensible, non-confrontational discussions about gun control. Two days ago I spoke at length with a friend who is a former policeman, who knows what it’s like to use a gun in the line of duty and who owns several automatic weapons. He is adamant that assault weapons have no place in the hands of private citizens. 

Friends who have used weapons to legally hunt, who have had access to rifles since they were children and some who have concealed weapon permits, each and every one of them hold nothing but derision for those young men who felt the need to strut through our town with assault rifles slung over their shoulders. Yes, a “statement” was made, but I truly doubt it was the one those boys hoped for.

Timendi causa est nescire

Ignorance is the cause of fear

~Lucius Annaeus Seneca

It often seems as though the world is a seething cauldron of hatred and violence. When we take time to delve into the root causes, we frequently discover ignorance drives the vitriol and fear perpetuates it. Sadly, there are those who profit immensely from creating a feeding frenzy of fear.

    

Memorable Notes

Music is a strange thing. I would almost say it is a miracle.

For it stands halfway between thought and phenomenon,

between spirit and matter.

~ Heinrich Heine

My life is filled with an amazing array of delights. There are times when the emotions these “delights” engender just about overwhelm my senses. Sometimes it’s simply the random juxtaposition of life’s occurrences—one simple, pure and totally enjoyable event followed by another, far different, yet in so many ways bringing the same spark to my world. In the past week I’ve experienced three of these memorable happenings. Each one involved music.

The opening chord came to me as a gift from a dear friend: an evening of Beethoven’s compositions.

Even though I played violin and cello as a young teen, I am no musical aficionado. Through the years I’ve attended several professional symphony performances and I rate some as riveting and lively and a few as boring dirges. This presentation held my rapt attention for the full 90 minutes.

After each piece the professional musicians merited and received round after round of applause and at the finale, standing ovations with “Bravo!” echoed throughout the concert hall.

Two hours before this performance my friend and I shared a relaxing, convivial dinner. Even though I had no expectations, I’m certain this helped set the stage for my enjoyment of the evening’s music.

Three days later, I joined my son and family at a spring musical performance by 1st and 2nd graders. My 6-year old grandson, bashful smiles coming in waves, stood in the second row with his “Army Ant” hat on, intently watching the entertaining and highly animated music teacher lead the group of fifty or more children in their songs.

I sat forward in my seat, smiling as I watched the young, intent, serious faces. As I listened to their sweet, clear voices, tears came to my eyes. So much hope in those voices, so much possibility in their small bodies and so very many mountains for them to climb. I pray we haven’t left them a world too broken to repair.

The next day another friend and I attended a senior theater group’s springtime musical, comedy and dance presentation. And, by “senior” I mean several decades old! The youngest performer of the 32 member cast is 65 and the oldest, a perfect imitator of Minnie Pearl, is 96.

I sat forward in my seat, smiling as I watched the seniors, so intent and focused as they tap-danced, sang and cracked jokes. Their verve and liveliness belied their calendar ages. As I listened and watched, tears came to my eyes. So much life has been lived by these amazingly agile and talented people, so many experiences, so many stories to tell, so many mountains climbed. I said a prayer of thankfulness because their enthusiasm gave me hope…for the children.

It's not that age brings childhood back again,

Age merely shows what children we remain.

~ Goethe

Pausing On My Autumn Road

For decades, I have voiced my dislike of the fall season. It seemed autumn and her riotous colors were taunting me; my rational mind knew those gaudy hues would rapidly fade, shrivel and die. I loved spring the best—the greening of hope and then the birth of new growth and the herald of new beginnings—something to look forward to.           

In the last 10 years I have begun to appreciate the colors and the vibrancy of autumn. I have noticed the sun’s oblique rays give me subtle new perspectives, and autumn’s shadows, soft and cool, often place a gauzy haze over imperfections. 

Reluctance

as summer's light wanes
she slips reluctantly
into autumn

gunmetal gray skies, harbinger
of dark afternoons, 
bring sadness, anxiety

it’s the letting go
of leaves and of birdsong—
all that beauty

yet each year she chooses
to adapt and becomes
even more seasoned

In truth, spring and summer are so blatant in broadcasting their talents it is sometimes overwhelming—difficult to absorb the fecundity and tiring to be in continual awe. Now, far into the autumn of my life…

…I glance at the curve to come
turn away from the final bend
choose to revel in
slanted sunlight’s glint

I pause on this autumn road 
to touch, sense and savor
sweet honest subtle changes

I bask in the warmth of orange

delight in the soft fall
of loved one’s words

Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth

find reserves of strength that will endure

as long as life lasts.

~Rachel Carson

                                                 

"Thank you for being my friend"

A few weeks ago my brother sent me a link to a San Francisco Chronicle essay written by Jon Carroll. "A little something about friendship" is well worth reading in its entirety. 

A particular statement caught my eye, as it rang so true: "... one of the advantages of getting old: people stand the test of time, and you're pretty sure by this point that they genuinely have your best interests at heart." 

I heartily agree with this comment. In fact, many decades passed before insecurity (masked by aloofness) dropped away, allowing me to understand the priceless value of being a friend, of having a friend. I have become more open and honest with others and in doing so, something magnificent has happened. My circle of dear and true friends has enlarged; my life seems more blessed than ever.

At the end of the e-mail linking Carroll's article, my brother wrote, "Thank you for being my friend." I am quite certain this note went on to many other dear and loyal friends of his; even so, tears came when I read those heartfelt words. 

By action, word and deed I know my brother cares deeply about me and I’m certain he is aware of the respect, pride and love I have for him. To know one is also considered "friend" is an added gift. 

A friend is one who know you as you are,

understands where you have been,

accepts what you have become, 

and still, gently allows you to grow. 

~anon 

                     

                             

Regret & Loneliness

I regret, I regret

Thinking about one particular person I’ve known most of my life. This is someone with whom I’ve shared a full range of feelings and an exquisite number of amazing adventures; a brilliant person who has, at every opportunity, taken life by its literal and figurative horns.

He has an enthusiasm for life and the ability to mold events so that the outcomes appear almost mythic and the telling of those stories endures from one generation to the next.

As dear and close as this friend is to me, over the many decades we’ve known each other he seldom voiced an iota of insecurity, a hint of hesitance or a shadow of personal regret. Until two years ago.

Thinking about the two times he has commented, briefly, almost off-the-cuff, yet with deep sincerity, that he wished he had been more understanding of and kind to his father, who died 10 years ago at age 84. He begins with “I regret…” and in one or two sentences this son chastises himself, stopping his words before tears form.

Although fairly reticent in areas of the heart, I know the father took great pride in his son and his accomplishments.

Thinking about the many times when I was in the presence of this man and his father as they verbally sparred—the younger one driving home contentious points more often than the older. No name-calling, no physicality or fisticuffs—never that. It was ideas and concepts which were debated.

As an observer, it appeared to me the father enjoyed this type of repartee. He’d usually call a halt to the banter by sitting back, folding his arms, shaking his head and letting a small smile cross his face. He’d “connected” with his son in a way that felt comfortable for him.

My friend feels he could have been more loving toward his father, more understanding of the older man’s quirks and more forgiving of his social blunders. That may be true, although I have no doubt the old man knew his son loved him. And yes, maybe there could have been more times when each said to the other “I love you.”

Looking back, I have this to regret, that too often

when I loved, I did not say so.

                                               ~David Grayson

I, too, regret so many, many things I have done—or not done, said—or not said. 

Thinking about regret and why we humans have the ability to experience this painful emotion, I’ve come to the conclusion it’s an evolutionary necessity. By that I mean, most everyone does things they later regret, and for most of us, we learn—over and over again, we learn—and I like to think we are better people for the lessons brought about by the regret.

There’s no turning back life’s clock, there’s only moving forward and remembering the lessons we’ve learned and if we’re very lucky, we have the opportunity to apologize. If we can’t do that due to death or some other fracturing occurrence, we’re left with making good use of the lessons learned in our School of Life.  

Accept life, and you must accept regret. 

~Henri F. Amiel

Lonely and Ignored          

These two words, “lonely” and “ignored” kept circling through my mind last evening and were at the forefront of what kept me awake and restless all night long. Thinking, thinking, thinking.

Thinking about “lonely” and a time more than two decades past.

“I feel so lonely…” were the words a beloved young friend voiced in one of our infrequent phone conversations. Four words uttered to someone he trusted to understand the angst coursing through his body.

I wanted so much to say just the right thing, just the right words to bring him out of the dark doldrums he seemed to be in. My recollection is that we talked for less than 10 minutes and at the close of our conversation he thanked me for listening…and caring.  

In the end, I had no sage, life-altering words because I had not experienced “lonely”—I simply offered an open, non-judgmental heart.

Lonesome is very different. I’ve been lonesome; wishing for conversation and companionship of friends or family. These times are self-induced as I have the option of making contact, or not.

Thinking about where I am in my life; how I’ve never before used the word “lonely” to describe my own feelings.

Lonely is a feeling we can have in the most crowded room or at the most intimate dinner party.  Lonely crawls into bed with us even when we are fortunate enough to be sharing that bed with our lover; even when friends and family are ready and willing to listen and interact.

Thinking about the choices I’ve made and am free to make and how fortunate I am and … and… when did I open the door to “Lonely”?

“Lonely” has been doing her best to garner a spot on shoulders already sagging from decades of carrying around Ms. Guilt’s fat ass. Some shoulder-shrugging may be in order!

Thinking about kicking Ms. Lonely to the curb (I still have much to deal with regarding Ms. Guilt. In time, in time…).

To transform the emptiness of loneliness, to the fullness 

of aloneness. Ah, that is the secret of life.

~Sunita Khosla

Thinking about feeling ignored.

It’s happened before, of course—the being ignored part.  At times, that’s been in my favor. For example, when I’ve overstepped some previously unrecognized “boundary” and by ignoring my faux pas  the Universe has protected me from my own oafishness.

What’s new this time is the feeling of being ignored, the sense of being ignored, put aside; superfluous even when I attempt to be an involved part of the conversation and wish to be thought of as a welcome addition to a gathering; when my opinions aren’t given any acknowledgment,  much less credence. Also, this past week I’ve been feeling ignored as I waited on tenterhooks for a response from a loved one.

Thinking about whether I truly am being ignored… or am I simply focusing too much on self? Am I focusing on the day to day fluctuations in the lives of family and friends in a way that translates into something personal and visceral; something that essentially exposes my own frustrations, vulnerabilities and insecurities?

It's possible the reality of feeling lonely and often ignored or set aside is simply the next uncharted, unexpected path for me. 

No matter how we might wish otherwise, this aging business isn't necessarily graceful...but it certain is eye-opening!

The more sand that has escaped 

from the hourglass of our life,

the clearer we should see through it.

~Niccolo Machiavelli (1469-1527)

Constructing Meaning From Experience

In a 2005 commencement speech at Kenyon College, the late David Foster Wallace stated, “… learning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience. ...The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort ... .”

My earlier nascent resolve to limit the amount of brain power and emotional energy I expended thinking about the strife, hate, turmoil, pain and suffering in the world came about due to an overwhelming feeling of impotence. What could I do? What was I supposed to do with the information? It felt safer, easier, to simply ignore all of it. That decision didn’t last long—less than two months.

When the Egyptian uprising began, I turned to the Discovery or History channel. I wanted to be entertained not pummeled with a continual barrage of news and video concerning the revolt in Egypt, a country whose people and politics I knew almost nothing about. That decision didn’t last long—less than two days.

After reading many articles and watching the events as they unfolded, I felt much more informed. I chose to pay attention.

Using Wallace’s terminology, the meaning I constructed from this single experience is that it’s possible to be informed on an intellectual level while eschewing hateful diatribes and abominable, aggravating political posturing.