On March 28th, my world changed forever. Four weeks after a car accident that left her in a coma, my Grandmother took her last breath (with the help of a ventilator) and went into the most peaceful sleep anyone could imagine. Or that’s how I think of it, anyway.
The events that led up to that moment are unchangeable. A woman drove through a stop sign going 40 mph and slammed into the side of a car that was driven by my Aunt. Her sister was in the passenger seat, while their mother and youngest sister sat in the back seat. They were driving my Grandmother to a doctor’s appointment. After the initial hit, the car driven by my Aunt flipped several times before landing on the roof. The police were called, ambulances came, the jaws of life were used and everyone was brought to the hospital alive. Continue reading →
Jesus answered: Watch out that no one deceives you. For many will come in my name, claiming, I am the Messiah, and will deceive many. You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places. All these are the beginning of birth pains. Matthew 24:4-8
A few months ago, I had a brief lack of oxygen to the brain and began attending a Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) group. MOPS is a place for moms with really young children to gather and support one another. The children go to a care group while the moms socialize and meet. I started going because I need more mom friends (my childless friends can only tolerate me to a certain point). I was initially reluctant to attend one of these groups because they are held in churches and sometimes churches make me break out in a rash.
Initially, things went pretty well. There is a brunch at every meeting and some darned good coffee. The meeting is about 3 hours so that’s 3 hours of exclusively adult time every other week. I thought this might help me feel less like a hermit.
There are small understandings — bringing home the wrong thing for dinner because you misheard your significant other’s request — and there are absolutely huge misunderstandings. This post is about a major misunderstanding which occurred when I was a child that took years to properly sort out in my psyche.
When I was about seven, I attended the wake for a very elderly distant relative who had passed away. It was a big, Italian-American affair in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, filled with emotion, elaborate floral displays, copious food and flowing conversation. It was unsurprising that at certain points, I was left unattended, free to mingle and (hopefully for me) find someone else close to my own age to connect with. Unfortunately for me, that never happened.
I had already followed the adults in their Catholic ritual of passing the coffin, kneeling and crossing myself. The whole experience was creepy, but at least the old man in the coffin did seem to be at peace. I returned to my seat, turned to one side and held my breath in complete shock — the dead guy was sitting right next to me! He was still alive!
What no one in my large extended family had remembered to tell me was that the man who died had an identical twin brother, who was in fact very much alive. Had I known that, I wouldn’t have felt the need to run from the room in absolute panic. I remember hiding in the women’s bathroom on the floor below the viewing area, trying to figure out what had just happened. Eventually, someone took pity on me and compassionately explained things to me, but I was still quite shaken by the experience.
My point here is that obviously, there is a difference between misunderstandings which are accidental and innocuous and those which are mean-spirited and malicious. Yet sometimes (as in the very odd circumstance I described above) even an innocuous misunderstanding can have far-reaching and lasting consequences.
I’d like to invite in the comments for you to share misunderstandings — small or large — that have stayed with you over the years (or maybe just ones that are fresh in your memory). If there is an ultimate lesson you learned, please share that also.
The word dharma has origins in both Hinduism and Buddhism. It is translated as “essential quality or character, as of the cosmos or one’s own nature.”
The well-known Buddhist saying, “This too shall pass” is usually utilized to encourage someone through a difficult time or loss. But the essential meaning is far broader than just advising that the unpleasantness of life shall pass: all things shall pass, the joys as well as the sorrows. Peace may come in embracing the wholeness of this truth.
While most of us would concur that we’d rather not have to deal with difficulty, it is undeniable that it is a part of life; the dharma of difficulty is that it is omnipresent. But accepting challenges and obstacles (instead of running from them or avoiding them) can make for a richer life experience than striving merely for a comfortable stasis.
Many spiritual teachings promote the idea that all our external circumstances are merely outward reflections of our inner state of being. Unfortunately, this concept is far too easy to abuse, as in asking volatile questions such as, “Do victims of natural disasters or other horrific misfortunes somehow bring the malice upon themselves? (The answer, in my opinion, is a resounding no.) If we significantly narrow our focus to the realm of that which is within our personal responsibility, I believe the insight of the aforementioned precept can prove itself to be true.
When I consider a person or circumstance to be difficult, I am often projecting some aspect of myself onto either or both of these. I prefer to think of myself as kind and unselfish, but if it’s significantly annoying me that someone is behaving in a petulant, self-serving manner, then maybe what’s really bothering me is that I’m seeing an aspect of my own nature unflinchingly reflected in his or her actions. If a challenge or obstacle in my path seems daunting, it is easy for me to forget that I am the one that invited the challenge to begin with, in response to a realization that the status quo was stagnant or otherwise unsatisfying.
As much as we would like to, we don’t get to pick and choose the precise way the situations of our lives unfold. As John Lennon presciently wrote, “Life is what happens to us when we’re busy making other plans.” But if we start from a place of self-responsibility — again, for only those things that exist in that realm — ultimately, it can be far more productive than merely seeing ourselves as the victims of the choices we’ve made.
1977 was a difficult year to be a 9-year-old existentialist. This was the year that proffered the theatrical release of Star Wars – which introduced me to contemplations of a vastly cosmic nature: life, the universe and everything – and also the ubiquitous radio play of Kansas’ hauntingly gorgeous paean to mortality, Dust In The Wind. My already-insatiably questioning mind wanted answers, and I wanted them urgently.
Between my fervent pondering of the song and the film, I had my first “mid-life” crisis – yes, at age 9. I ate very little, slept constantly and was so depressed that my mother had to take me out of school for three months. Doctors had little to offer – this being long before the over-medication of children became commonplace – since there seemed to be absolutely nothing wrong with me. There were no problems at home that could be relatable to such a sudden and profound shift in my personality. I was blessed by a loving extended family, none of whom had any idea how to offer me any solace.
But clearly, there was something wrong with me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t grasp the huge universal intricacies that I so desperately wanted to be able to wrap my growing mind around. Early on in my malaise, when I finally worked up the courage – I can feel my little hands balling up into fists remembering this – to ask my mother what the meaning of life was, she held me tightly and lovingly confessed that she didn’t know. She added that as far as she could tell, it involved being the best and most loving person you could be, and cherishing your family. It was a very sweet, earnest answer, but it fell far short of the explanation I’d been hoping to hear. Because she was not only my whole world, but had also been a science major in college, she was the only person whom I really thought could give me an answer.
So ensued my philosophical funk. I recall staring into the mirror, trying to figure out what was behind and beyond my eyes, my brain, my body. My family was profoundly supportive, although I’m sure my then-5 and 1-year-old brothers were merely bummed that I wasn’t around to play with. I’m not sure exactly what specifically pulled me out of my extended angst, although it probably had something to do with my mother and my maternal grandmother, similarly sensitive and tremendously giving, caring souls.
When I returned to school after a three-month absence, it was like being on an alien planet. I still sought my spiritual solace and grand-scale understandings, but my peers were content to do 9-year-old things as though they were all that mattered. Having spent so much time inwardly analyzing, I had come to the conclusion that if I came from nothingness, that’s where I would return when I ceased to physically exist. If I came from “somethingness”, then that’s also where I would return. It seemed pretty fundamental, but it brought me great peace after such single-minded turmoil.
I wrote this unflinchingly intimate piece to further the discourse we’ve been sharing in the comments of these spiritually-related posts. I am sure that many of you have had similar experiences pondering the meanings of life, death and all things in between, albeit perhaps not from such an early age. As always, you are most welcome to share anything that resonates with you to do so.
Whether or not you’ve ever heard Dust In The Wind, do not miss listening to this absolutely masterful live version of this stunning and eternally relevant song.
I wish you peace, and the answers to all of your eternal questions.
This is in honor of my Mom, who passed away this year. I will always, always remember Lent.
My mother, Mildred, was a master at rooting out and punishing misdeeds. She was legendary among her children. She died when I was 38 and even at that age, I would not have considered talking back to my mother. I was terrified of her. But I also thank her because I know I will be able to scare the dickens out of my children. I look at my children and think, “Don’t cross me because I was trained by a master. If you get into trouble, I will punish you in a horrifying way.”
Lent was rough at our house every year. My mom was a hardcore Catholic and she took the Pope’s directives seriously. We didn’t have meat on Wednesdays or Fridays (ugh, so many fish sticks) and we had to fast between meals on those days. We went to all the required holy days during the Lenten season (there are a lot) and we had to give up something good for lent like chocolate, comic books or happiness. On Good Friday, the television and radio were off. We were supposed to reflect on the cross and we spent most of the day at church. Gah, I spent so much time at church when I was a teenager. This was probably a good call on my mom’s part but it seemed like an endless cycle of boredom to me. I can tell you that about 95% of the time, I was not thinking about whatever the priest was talking about.
One of her all time greatest punishments was what I liked to call “The Fish Stick Season of My Dismay.” One Lenten season, she decided to take it to the next level for me. I don’t know what specific thing I did to set her off. I hated everyone and everything when I was 13, so spending time with me was as pleasant as ripping off toenails. I assume my general attitude was Mom’s primary issue with me. Her remedy? Church – everyday, for the entire duration of lent. That’s six weeks of daily church attendance. I attended 42 individual masses that lent, each of which lasted at least 45 minutes which means I spent a bare minimum of 1,890 minutes in church that Lenten season and believe you me I remember every second of it.
I had 1,890 minutes to think about how much I resented my mother and how I would tell her – in detail – about how unbelievably unfair and stupid she was for inflicting this punishment on me. Not that I told her any such thing, I was way too afraid of her. I had 1,890 minutes to check out the rest of the daily mass attendees. There were a couple of unbelievably old people, a few mourners, and someone training to be a nun. Occasionally someone who looked really, really guilty floated in but not often enough. I was the only constant representative in my family. I also had time to read the missal from cover to cover and ruin any surprises in the upcoming mass for myself.
What did I learn? I learned that you can ask the Virgin Mary for favors. Some Catholics say special prayers to the Virgin Mary on Tuesdays, called novenas and they believe she will intercede for them. I read a little booklet about them. One woman wrote in to say that her son had married a divorced woman and she prayed that the Virgin Mary would convince her son to divorce this shameless hussy. And he did! Doesn’t that make him divorced now too?
I learned that 45 minutes can seem like an unbelievably long amount of time. I learned that once my mom decides on a course of action, there is no talking her out of it. I was seeing my sentence out, like it or not. I learned that if I ever had children that my greatest weapon would be my ability to create a punishment so annoying that my children would in fear of my ability to inspire my creativity.
With the religious threads lately and I think there should be a counterbalance. I don’t want to step on any toes, so I’m not suggesting the religious posts stop, but I think there needs to be posts here for those of us with no faith at all, and that’s what this is. Let me say that I am an atheist, not an anti-theist. If you believe that there is a god and you are bound for heaven (or whatever), good for you and I sincerely hope that makes you happy. I simply don’t agree.
This column is intended as a positive space for atheists, agnostics and freethinkers.
So now, without further ado, I present the first semi-regular (as in I will do it when I feel like it, but others are welcome to step up to the plate) atheist affirmation.
I’m going to start with each of these affirmations with a quote from Positive Atheism’s big list of quotations and I can think of no better person to start with than the late, great Douglas Adams:
A man didn’t understand how televisions work, and was convinced that there must be lots of little men inside the box, manipulating images at high speed. An engineer explained to him about high frequency modulations of the electromagnetic spectrum, about transmitters and receivers, about amplifiers and cathode ray tubes, about scan lines moving across and down a phosphorescent screen. The man listened to the engineer with careful attention, nodding his head at every step of the argument. At the end he pronounced himself satisfied. He really did now understand how televisions work. “But I expect there are just a few little men in there, aren’t there?”
And then I will feature a famous atheist or agnostic. We’ll start off with the (sometimes) world’s wealthiest man, Bill Gates.
From a 1996 issue of Time Magazine:
“Isn’t there something special, perhaps even divine, about the human soul?” interviewer Walter Isaacson asks Gates “His face suddenly becomes expressionless,” writes Isaacson, “his squeaky voice turns toneless, and he folds his arms across his belly and vigorously rocks back and forth in a mannerism that has become so mimicked at MICROSOFT that a meeting there can resemble a round table of ecstatic rabbis.”
“I don’t have any evidence on that,” answers Gates. “I don’t have any evidence of that.”
He later states, “Just in terms of allocation of time resources, religion is not very efficient. There’s a lot more I could be doing on a Sunday morning.”
And finally, something to think about and discuss- A lot of people say they want to believe because they don’t think a universe so complex could have come about by chance. To me, that the universe in all of its vastness and complexity does indeed work without anyone at the wheel is what makes it so amazing.
As a good Catholic girl, this is the time of year I think about how I can be a better person. I think New Year’s resolutions are foolish, but for some reason I have no problem with Lenten resolutions. I was pondering why there was such a difference between the two periods of personal improvement and reflection for me.
I am religious, but I’m more of a cafeteria Catholic. I find the Sacrament of Reconciliation rather silly as I don’t think I need an intermediary between God and me to obtain his forgiveness. Don’t get me started on the Church’s views on gays. Despite my picking and choosing of the tenets of my religion, Lent resonates for me.
Lent starts on Ash Wednesday. I am going to go to church and have the sign of the cross put on my forehead with ashes from the burnt palms from the previous year’s Palm Sunday. The history of the ashes goes back to a time when during the Lenten season only the faithful were allowed into church. Those who committed serious sins would be forced to wear a hairshirt for forty days. That hairshirt was blessed with palm ashes. I imagine that the wearing of a hairshirt was not unlike wearing a scarlet letter. It marked you as a grave sinner. Today, it reflects the fact that we all sin but are seeking redemption.
The act of giving something up for Lent is well known. Catholics are asked to give up something; be it an appetite, a distraction or something we love, not to just suffer, but to create a “vacuum” of sorts. It is hoped that this vacuum is filled by the Holy Spirit. Perhaps that is why I like it so much. Notice that it isn’t necessarily about improving oneself, it is more about creating a “space” in your everyday life for God to enter. Additionally, we are only asked to do this for 40 days, not permanently. After that period of time it is hoped that you would permanently create this space for God even as you go back to enjoying what you sacrificed for Lent.
What many are not aware of is that the Catholic church does not merely want us to give up during Lent. The Church wants us also to “give out” and “give in” . By ‘giving out’ one can express their love of God and Man by making your talents and treasures available. Acts of kindness, volunteerism, donations of goods and services to those in need are very much a part of the Lenten tradition. Some Catholics focus on this aspect of Lent more than the giving up part. In fact at the conclusion of each Mass the priest asks the congregation to “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” We are supposed to take what we learn each week in Mass and apply it to the outside world. I love that fact — that the Church really isn’t about Mass. It really is about applying Mass to your real life. Way too many Catholics forget that. Priests included.
The ‘giving in’ part is especially interesting to me as it is quite Zen. In this age of self-fulfillment we are called to go the opposite way. In order to find your life, your way or your path, you must lose it. You must let go of it. We are supposed to give our life and our trust to God. I also look at it this way: when you cling too heavily to your wants, desires or results, that you often miss an more interesting or fulfilling path that was thrown in your way. This giving in part really feeds into the reasons why we give up during Lent.
I’ve tried to give up many things during Lent over the years. Some worked out fine and others not so much. Giving up wine/booze has never worked well in the past as it makes me a rather irritable person. I find I’m much better at doing something than giving up something in order to create that vacuum or space for God to enter. I do this with acts of volunteering that put me in direct contact with those in need.
This year, in addition to volunteering, I am adding daily exercise to the list. Not to get my fat arse moving, that is an added benefit; but to clear my head of all the cobwebs and crap that interfere with me creating space or that vacuum for God to enter.
I know there are a few Catholics/Christians out there. Are any of you giving up something for Lent?
“It is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be a reason the more for us to do it.” – Rainer Maria Rilke
I’ve lived with my boyfriend for the last seven years, but before that, I lived alone for several years. While I’ve grown to love the closeness of living with someone, I often find myself feeling relieved when I have some extended time for myself. There’s a breathing out that happens, and for a few days I just let my hair down (so to speak), let the dishes pile up in the sink and unwind whatever way I feel like doing. After that initial phase of embracing my inner escapist, I get back in gear with renewed enthusiasm.
The world isn’t set up to nurture people who enjoy solitude. This is a highly ironic truth given the fact that more people than ever before are living alone. Whether by choice or by circumstance, all they can do is make the best of their situation. I would like to suggest that embracing solitude is a tremendous spiritual tool. After all, we come in to this world alone, and we leave the same way; in between, we may as well grow accustomed to our intrinsically solitary natures.
There’s a delicate dance, though, between embracing solitude and becoming a lonely, isolated hermit. The key is to remain engaged with others (in person is preferable, but via telephone or internet is better than not at all) while enjoying the stillness and serenity of being alone. Of course, it’s much easier for a person who is in a relationship and lives with her partner to tout the joys of aloneness. I recognize that it’s harder to be isolated when it’s not your first choice. All I’m suggesting is to make the most of it, rather than being at the effect of its potential to induce moroseness.
If you’re alone and in a funk, try a little reverse psychology: think of the times you were amongst people and it made you absolutely miserable. Then think of the benefits of being by yourself. Make lists if you need to; the point is to engage in active appreciation of your solitude. Then, when you’re amongst a group of people, you can easily call upon the insights culled from being by yourself. This is always useful because, as Ram Dass famously said, “Wherever you go, there you are.”
On March 28th, my world changed forever. Four weeks after a car accident that left her in a coma, my Grandmother took her last breath (with the help of a ventilator) and went into the most peaceful sleep anyone could imagine. Or that’s how I think of it, anyway.
