From My Journal: Questions

Our May days have caught the warm summer fever while the nights are still bowing down to winter's late chill. My body becomes infused with the sun and wants to play hooky rather than teach. Between students I pick a few garden weeds, water or stand on the front deck and meditate upon the surrounding trees. Life seems straight forward when I first greet the morning and as I mosey around my garden admiring my baby vegetable starts and newly blooming flowers. But in the evenings as darkness falls and I close the curtains, I often turn inside to greet the underside of warmth.

Why is it that now in my sixties I think constantly of death? Certainly in my twenties I had occasional philosophical lapses into what my life was all about and its eventual end. But time seemed stretched towards an open eternal future. Reaching sixty was like someone knocked on my door and announced the seemingly long years have been taken away and you have only minutes left. No doubt this realization comes at the appropriate life stage, but it sucks!

What sucks is my obsession with the end rather than a more dedicated concentration upon my living. Is this what I am trying to do, make the switch from knowing death is near to appreciating each day's gifts? I've always been a meditator, a constant, churning thinker. In this regard I believe those who don't read or don't put too much weight upon thought have the edge here. Animals live in the moment as do special needs beings and children. Knowing less about the workings of the world can be an advantage. Is it because I know more than I did in my youth that I feel the presence of darkness more? Has my philosophical pondering increased or has this characteristic always been with me?

At one point several months ago I let my fears surrounding death literally eat me alive with anxious, sleepless nights. Recently I have found a calmer center where I return when the fears begin. I hush my over-dramatic inclinations with soothing phrases such as “your youthful spirit is on the rise; you have decades left to witness nature's miracles; it's only the abundant present that matters and presently you are abundantly alive. In truth I know death is on the near horizon and from the moment of birth this is so; but from where I stand, the horizon remains in the future. When I try to gobble the future, I find I am often spitting out the contents in distaste. When I focus my energy, my thoughts on the presented present, the eating is more delicious and enjoyable.

Why do simple lessons take the longest to digest? I fling open the Star Room curtains and there right in front of me is an answer. There are newly formed yellow, rose blossoms on my climbing rose. I gasp as I see these blooms for I hadn't noticed them before. To notice, to see, to exclaim, to feel awe. Life doesn't ask much of us, but it is eternally there for the asking. Why do I forget to open my eyes? Why can't I stop my mind from ruining the surprises? Or rather why can't I remember how easy it can be to stop the mind? All I have to do is to become engrossed in love, in passion, in people, in nature, in opening windows.

© 2012

From My Journal: No Ordinary Hike

On the weekend of the super full Beltane moon, Dan and I went for a forest hike. This turned out to be no ordinary nature walk, but rather the taking of communion by a wide community. Our beloved naturalist, William Sullivan, had written an article earlier in the week for our local paper about three picturesque waterfalls near Cottage Grove. All three waterfalls were close by one another, and thus made for a day of being immersed in lush cedar and fir greenery edging quietly lapping creeks and ending each time with the grand, powerful, fountain cascade of water.

Our abundant rains made the first trail a mud bath, but as our shoes found the drier curves, the slower pace gave us time to drink in the beauty of the blooming trillium and the creative patterns of the ferns. We were heading first to Spirit Falls and the spirit of the day began to slowly unfold with the other hikers we met. As my husband mentioned, everyone will be seeking these trails after Sullivan's words of encouragement. He was right, of course, for each of the hikes brought more and more of the city populace to these woods.

Nearing the first waterfall, people would tell us of its beauty and how worth the slog through the oozing dirt. One older couple dressed in white told us this was their first hike in a decade. She had stopped to take a gulp of her inhaler and I noticed that the seat of her pants was blotched with brown, but their smiles of contentment were infectious. Quietly we stood near Spirit Falls and felt the mist kiss our faces. The creek roared louder here and pools of water gathered around the rock beds beneath. Everyone who came gave out sighs of gratitude for the wondrous day.

On the route back, it was our turn to mention the awaiting reward. And it was our turn to have a friend fall face forward in the mud. He got up, pants dirt covered, with grace and humor. He had a visible story to share with the other on-coming hikers who mentioned the use of walking sticks found at the trail's start. At our car, we laughed with the elder, mud bitten couple, giving them a cheer as they made it to the end of this first walk and talked with a Cottage Grove pair who had never heard of William Sullivan.

Back in the car, we drove to the beginning of the next hike to Moon Falls. Here the trail parking was near overflowing. As we started up the less muddy path, our local couple came beaming towards us. “You made it!” they laughed. “This falls is even more spectacular.” A ways up the trail came another younger couple who we had seen on our first hike. I gave them a sign of recognition. Most of the time Dan and I love to have nature all to ourselves, but this day felt special. Everyone we were meeting were friendly and open. We each knew how the others felt about the rare beauty they were all enjoying. We were becoming a community of earth dwellers who treasured and respected her gifts. We were also becoming a community who showed compassion if someone fell or gave encouragement for striding above aging or lovingly offered ideas for maneuvering the obstacles along the path.

“Why can't we carry these outdoor lessons of care back to the city,” I wondered. Why can't people support and love each other no matter our age, rank or serial number? From high above us, Moon Falls gushed with the power of the dozens of glaciers from whence it originated. Hikers came and respectfully gave each other private space for gazing, for snacking, for quiet conversations and meditating. To give each other space, to give each other connection, to give each other respect. This is the meaning of humanity.

© 2012

A True Mother's Day

I'm sitting with one of my students who is working on a journal writing assignment when I hear the ding of my cell phone. It's a rare text from daughter Aspen. She tells me J.C. Penney has included a same sex couple in their Mother's Day promo catalog. I'd received this catalog earlier in the week, but had merely skimmed it. The diversity of families: Indian American, African American, White American had impressed me, but I hadn't read the accompanying bios. I wrote a quick text reply about how great JCP is and then after teaching rushed home to review the catalog.

Since the JCP catalog was for Mother's Day, all I had first seen was a catalog filled with pictures of mothers, grandmothers, daughters and granddaughters. I hadn't noticed anything unusual. And not noticing is really an appropriate statement. For aren't all families, isn't all love the same whether gay or straight? The caption I now read begins: “You'll often find Wendi, her partner, Maggie, and daughters elbow-deep in paint, clay or mosaics. 'Even as babies, the girls toddled around in diapers, covered in paint,' said Wendi. They come from a long line of artists, which includes grandma Carolyn....” What this fashion photo, and all the other family photo bios, told me is: “Here is just another busy, happy family.” I couldn't wait to share this news with my husband, and I couldn't wait to e-mail my daughter.

The JCP ad campaign gives me such a heart-felt glow of hope. And I would hope this diversity appreciating campaign makes my gay daughter feel respected in her work place. JCP is daring to reach out to the “real melting pot America” and when I say “dare” I know there will certainly be people (and are people) who will refuse to shop at an inclusive JCP store.

As the mother of a lesbian, I am always baffled by the hurtful misconceptions surrounding what it means to be LGBTQ. I have often envisioned sitting down with fundamentally conservative mothers and simply asking: “Do you love your daughters? So do I...Do you want your daughters to be safe and happy? So do I...Do you want your daughters to find the right life partner and if they so choose to create and have a loving family? So do I.” Our human living is extremely short and doesn't it make more sense to fill it up with joy and love and laughter rather than sorrow and hate and tears?

I've written often about how it is only love and belonging everyone graves. Black, brown, red, white, gay, straight, bisexual, male, female, transgender, unisex, we are all human, all similar, all wanting this one fulfilling life. I really have never understood why we continually want to destroy rather than create or criticize others rather than enjoy the precious earthly time we have been given.

Most mothers know that the connections they have with their children are deeper, more searingly intimate than any other relationships they have ever had before or will ever have. So it is my belief that mothers will and must change society's acceptance of diversity. If you love your child, why would you want hatred or hurt towards him or her by another, and thus, why would you want to teach them to hate or hurt others? Mothers must bring us back to the basics of common sense and common decency. Wouldn't these beliefs allow us to celebrate a true Mothers' Day? © 2012