It's Raining, It's Pouring

"A Buddhist monk asked his master how to avoid extremes of hot and cold. The master advised: 'When it is cold, be completely cold; when it is hot, be completely hot.' If circumstances are beyond your control, don't invest energy or emotion into them. Ride the reality of the moment. Be empowered by your acceptance."~from 1,001 Ways to Live in the Moment by Barbara Ann Kipfer.

Weather is a good place to start. We have absolutely no control over it, but we complain about it. It is not as if our complaining will change anything, but we still complain. Accepting the weather is a good place to start because it is one of the most obvious parts of life that is out of our control. It is only a beginning, though. Much of what happens in life is out of our control.

In fact, trying to control everything is about as insane it gets. No wonder it makes us crazy. Some people just can't let go and allow life to be what it is. I know that I couldn't, and that was where my suffering began and ended. I had erected a psychic shield that I used to resist any kind of situation that I did not want to accept, even rainy days. Imagine that. I am reminded of the 70's song Feeling Groovy, "You can't stop the rain by complaining," but that is exactly what I did, complain.

And the rain still fell. Until one day someone shared the song Listen to the Falling Rain by Jose Feliciano.

Listen to the falling rain
Listen to it fall
And with every drop of rain
You know I  love you more

Let it rain all night long
Let my love for you grow
strong
Listen to the falling rain
Listen to it fall

Now rain could mean romance and love. It could mean anything I wanted it to mean. It could, also, just be rain. The trouble with making rain mean anything is life is about change. The lover who sang the song is no more, so the rain becomes dreary, cold and lonely. Rain just is. The meaning we give it is just fiction, and that fiction can hurt us.

Acceptance of what is begins with seeing things as they are, not as we are. I used to be a hopeless romantic, and I thought if I gave up my romantic views of life then everything would just be dull, lifeless. Nothing could have been further from the truth. The melancholy that romance often brings, doesn't exist when I see the world as it is, not as I want it to be. All of the emotions that I used to feel, the roller coaster ride from down in the dumps to elation, are more subtle now. I thought I would miss them, but I don't.

Now when it rains, I let it rain. Nothing more, nothing less. Rain is a miracle that captivates me. My tiny garden soaks up the rain and grows. The droplets travel down the window pane, and I watch, mesmerized, no meaning attached. I simply observe.

Rain. Illness. Other people act and circumstances happen. Death. All the same. Life happens, and we can't control most of it. When we refuse to accept it, we suffer. In accepting, we no longer give meaning where no meaning exists. Pure acceptance, "When it is cold be completely cold. When it is hot be completely hot."

...and when it rains, it rains. Period.

Laugther is the Best Medicine......"Giggle..."

"What soap is to the body, laughter is to the soul." ~Yiddish Proverb

As a child, my brother, sister and I  used to go with my mother to visit my grandmother in the country during the summer. In the evening, the children would run around the yard chasing lightning bugs while my mother, grandmother and Aunt Bessie, my grandmother's sister, would sit under the car port snapping peas and telling stories.

Sometimes, I would take a rest from all of my running around and sit down with them and listen. The stories were not familiar to me because they came from their shared experience many years before living out on that same countryside, though in much leaner times. Yet from those times shared together, as hard as they were, they were able to remember times of great fun.

Even now, as I remember them, my heart smiles and I can see them sitting there, bowls of field peas in their laps with their heads slung back in hearty laughter and tears running down their cheeks. My mother would get a stitch in her side and lean forward, still laughing, to catch her breath. Aunt Bessie, in her homemade cotton dress, gave up her usually pursed lips for laughter and a smile, and as she tried to restrain herself, made her ample figure jiggle in the process.

When I grew into my teen years, the same scene would embarrass me, and I could not understand how the same stories could send normally sane women into fits of laughter. Fortunately, those years were short, and I once again enjoyed those evenings spent together reminiscing, now including stories of which I was a part.  I don't remember any of the stories now, but I will never forget the laughter and the smiles.

Looking back now, the stories they shared were second to the laughter. The years they spoke of were from the Great Depression and World War II, when the whole country was hit hard and even harder for those already living in austerity. Finding the good was a way of easing the pain, even eradicating it.

I learned to laugh from my mother, her mother and Aunt Bessie. I am not too delicate in my expression. My mouth opens too wide and the sound is often raucous and uncontrolled. There was once a time, not too long ago, when I thought I had lost my ability to laugh, even smile. Laughter is something that comes from deep within, as does a genuine smile, and deep down all I could feel was sadness. Thank goodness the loss was not permanent.

My laugh is back now, along with my smile. The secret is to have people around us who think laughing is good medicine, daily medicine. Lucky for me, I have just such people in my life...

......and the laughter never ends.

Choosing what to Consume

It started sometime in high school. I just had to start speaking my mind. It is a curse, I know, but since then it is just a part of being Deby. Most of all, it meant that sometimes I'm not going to be swimming with the stream. I always have a choice. I can keep my mouth shut, but that would mean being someone else.

Thus is the case now. Before I read any book, I read the summary to find out if it is a book I might be interested in reading. I chose to read books that uplift me, inform or inspire me. I, also, try to be mindful of what I put into my mind. I take the saying, "You are what you eat," to another level, "You are what you consume."

We consume through our mouths, our ears and our eyes.

The Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh has this to say about mindful consumption,

When I was a child, I used to argue with my parents when I wanted to do or have something, that everyone else was doing it or having it. This was not a valid argument to them then, and it is no more valid to me now. However, don't we all like to feel connected, even if that means eating a certain way or reading a book that almost literally, "everyone else is reading?" After all, swimming against the stream can be awfully lonely sometimes. This is something I have dealt with for the past 35 years. When I chose to home school my three sons, I received many raised eyebrows and even some angry comments about cheating my children from the experience of true learning. When I asked a doctor for alternative remedies for my son's asthma, she accused me of not wanting to give my son his medicine and being a neglectful mother. I later found out that cow's milk aggravates asthma. I cut it out of my son's diet and he never needed asthma medication again.

So now when it seems that almost everyone is eating meat or reading a certain book, I consciously make the choice whether or not to eat or read. Sometimes I choose wisely and sometimes I don't. What I do know is that, without a doubt, my choices have an impact on me and oftentimes on many others. Therefore, I try to learn from my poor choices, and I pay attention when I make decisions that elevate my spirit. All of this leads to creating a more conscious life. A happier life, in my experience.

紫流. "Fat Cat." Flickr. Yahoo!, 05 Apr. 2006. Web. 22 Jan. 2015.

Being Sure

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh!" he whispered.

"Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw.

"I just wanted to be sure of you." ~A.A. Milne

When do we first learn to trust? Is it when we look into our mother's eyes and know that she is our world and she will be there to feed, clothe, and hold us? And when do we lose trust? Could we look into those same eyes with the expectations and needs of a newborn, only to find that the woman we are looking at cannot meet them?

Or is it later, when we learn to love someone outside of our immediate family, those people we can trust to love us no matter what and who can push every button we have? Is it after we fall head over heals in love with someone who uses words like always and forever, and "I'll be there for you no matter what." and we find out that these were just empty promises? Our heart broken and wounded, we retreat to the corner to lick our wounds, to once again emerge ready to love, or so we think.

But the wounds have never really healed. A scar would be just fine, but this wound is open and tender. The next person we meet can't see the wound through our smiles and laughter, all disguises to cover our pain. That is not until the wound is touched..... Those words, once so precious and loving, forever and always, are mentioned again, and we go off the handle over some insignificantly small matter. Back to the corner we go, licking the wounds, leaving our new love standing in amazement not exactly sure what happened. A couple of these episodes and the relationship is history before it even sprouted wings. There are two casualties here, us and the new guy or gal.

And then one day someone comes along that we don't want to lose. The same drama is played out, but this time it is like we are looking in a mirror. What we see is painful, but true. We cannot deny its truth. We see ourselves for the very first time. Sometimes what is there is so amazingly beautiful, we are in paradise.....and then sometimes it is so haggard and ugly that we wince at the view. Then slowly, but surely, we are able to look at ourselves without looking away, without self-rejection. We are healing.

Soon, we are able to really see the person we are with, not the reflection of ourselves, our pains, but truly seeing. This person has been there through it all. We can trust again. We, like Piglet, are sure of someone.

photo credit: K, Paul. "Do You See Piglet. Look At Their Tracks!" Flickr. Yahoo!, 28 Nov. 2008. Web. 07 Feb. 2015.

Just When I Thought I'd Peeled the Onion

One day on my yoga mat, I sat in a short meditation and asked the Universe (God, Spirit, etc..) to use me. Not long after that, I got a call for an interview for a job teaching middle school. Middle school students, in general, are a tough lot, but many of these students come from challenging home situations and deal with poverty and violence on a daily basis.
I thought I had love. I thought I was ready to save these children. What I had forgotten is that they were here to teach me more than I could ever teach them.

When a young person loses trust in adults, it is not easily won back, and every adult in that child's life will suffer the consequences caused by perhaps the one person who has failed him. The longer the betrayal, the harder it is to gain trust back. When children feel that they are not important to the people in their lives who should love them unconditionally and care for them, they lose a solid sense of who they are and start feeling less about themselves. When this happens, a vicious cycle begins, with the child acting on these feelings of worthlessness and low self-esteem, and  in turn the people in their lives judge them for those behaviors, making them feel even more worthless and unloved, leading to more deviant behaviors.

So, here I am, all perky and positive, ready to jump in with my ray of sunshine, thinking I am going to turn the Titanic on a dime. A few days of my pep talks and positive attitude should do it, I assumed, though much of this was pretty unconscious. I was not ready for the backlash of criticism and negative attitudes directed towards me. After all, I had come to save the day. Only the day was a conglomeration of days in each child's life leading to this one day, and in those days there had been many experiences of failure and heartache. How arrogant of me to think a few days could wipe that slate clean. It is a humbling revelation.

But then I got it. I have known since my second year as a teacher that this path, including whichever one  each of us chooses to travel, would lead me to the ultimate truth, Love. These children, as many who came before, have been designated as my teachers. It might take a day to destroy a beautiful palace, but it will take much longer to rebuild it. However, if we stay with the work, laying each brick with love and care, we will, in the end, have our palace.

So now, when they push me away, I push back, in love. They give me backtalk, I model respect. If I keep coming back in love, again and again, love will be the victor because love is the greatest force in the universe. When I am weak and tired, I falter, but then I am not too proud to say I failed, even to them. This is more than a job; it is Life with a capital L. I asked to be used, and I got the lesson I needed, which always comes down to LOVE with all caps.

Peace,

Deby

photo credit:

M, Fatma. "Weekend Love." Flickr. Yahoo!, 20 Sept. 2008. Web. 07 Feb. 2015.

That's Karma Baby

Whatever happens to us in the present moment is what is karmically most needed for growth and eventual freedom. Everything that comes up in life is specifically what we most need to come into harmony with in the present moment. This cannot be repeated often enough. It is absolutely essential that we come to understand this. Otherwise we fail to see and appreciate the game of life for what it is. - D.R. Butler

"Karma is a bitch!" That is what we hear when someone seems to get what is coming to them, but karma, as I understand it from my own experience, isn't like that at all. Karma is not punishment. Karma is a gift. Karma helps us to see the parts of ourselves that need healing, and though the realizations are often painful, if we open our hearts to loving ourselves unconditionally, we grow exponentially from the experience.

My first understanding of karma came when I was a young mother of three boys. My oldest son started playing soccer at the age of six and was on a team with a boy who exhibited extremes in behavior, angry outbursts, crying fits and sulking. He dominated the volunteer coach's attention, and many of the mothers, including me, talked about how we wished he would just quit the team. The coach would patiently try to reason with the child, moving him from position to position trying to appease him. Sometimes this worked, and I was in awe of the man's patience.

One Saturday at a game, I saw this young boy's father. He was a physically imposing figure, very large in stature and quite intimidating in his mannerisms. He walked furiously up and down the field yelling at his son, telling him how stupid and lazy he was. At the time, I remember saying to myself, "Now I understand this boy," but that thought would be lost the next time our paths crossed.

A few years later I had just finished earning my master's degree in education and was hired to teach third grade at a local elementary school. One day in the teachers' lounge, a group of teachers was discussing the behavior of a particularly unruly boy. I recognized his name, and I quickly jumped in and added to the story by telling the other teachers about his behavior on my son's soccer team. Being the new kid on the block, I had a sense of being part of the group as I added in my two cents. In my time at the school, the teachers had an increasingly difficult time with the child, and I remember feeling resentful of him because of his deviant behavior.

Fast forward two years, my youngest son had joined a soccer team.  During one of his games, he was taunted and teased by the boys on the opposing team. When the game was over and both teams were to pass each other and give friendly high fives, he systematically punched each of the opposing team members in the stomach.  Within minutes we were surrounded by angry parents. Luckily, his coach was able to calm them down, and we left the field.  Soon parents were talking to other parents, and my son got the reputation of being a bully. That news spread back to our neighborhood, and the alternate bullying, as I call it now, began.  My son was shunned by parents and prevented from playing with their children. Confused and angry, he lashed out by fighting with kids who taunted him. Once when a little girl of three fell off her bike, the other kids told her parents that my son had pushed her down. Even the children knew that the parents would believe them because of my son's reputation.
I knew that my son was not being treated fairly, and that his reputation as a bully was created more by gossip and rumor than by his actions. However, as the hostility in the neighborhood towards him grew, he grew more angry and frustrated, thereby leading him to become more hostile. One Saturday afternoon, when he was riding his bike around the block, he stopped to play with two little boys, brothers. They were a few years younger than he was, but the parents let him play. Then, according to the father, my son, without provocation, hit one of the boys on the back with a toy gun.

While the phone with my friend, I heard the front door slam. I went to investigate, but before I could reach the door, there was a massive pounding as if someone was going to break it down. Once there, I found my son breathing hard, standing behind the door as if holding it closed. The pounding increased, so I moved him out of the way to find out who was on the other side. As I opened the door, I saw a 250 pound man who looked like a body builder, whose face was beet red, sweating and full of fury. I only half-opened the door because he scared even me. Through the half-opened door he proceeded to tell me what had happened.

I talked to my son and found out that after he hit the boy, the man had picked him up by the shirt and carried him across the neighborhood to the house until he managed to wiggle free. Terrified, he ran into the house and slammed the door. It was a living nightmare. After putting my children to bed that night, I went out into the yard and looked up at the stars. With my arms outstretched and tears flowing down my cheeks, I asked God, "Why me?"

Well, when you ask a question, especially to the divine maker, you  are going to get an answer. Into my head popped the image of the boy I had spoken of to the other teachers that day a few years earlier in the teacher's lounge. Though some people might believe that I got a dose of my own medicine and was being punished for my past actions, that is not how I experienced it. I had now been given the privilege of seeing life from another person's point of view. I knew my son was not a bad child. His reputation had grown so viral that people had changed the way they approached him. It then grew into a larger problem because he felt excluded from other children.  He had acted out, but there was no understanding, only judgement, just like I had judged the boy on my oldest son's soccer team.

What I learned from experiencing my karma was even greater than to not gossip about people. Since I am a teacher, my students come to me from other teachers. There is a file kept on every student with comments from their teachers since elementary school.  I refuse to let myself judge a child based on other people's perception of him or her. This has served me well, and students who seemed to be heading down a dark path have found success in my classroom, simply because I did not label them as their other teacher's had labeled them.

Most of all, karma helps me grow in love. Instead of standing out under the stars asking God, "Why me?" I now know the answer to that question. When I stop judging, the judging stops. Everything in my life is being reflected back to me, as if I am looking into a mirror. Karma is teaching me unconditional love, and that starts with me. When I am judging others, I am judging myself.

I see karma is a beautiful gift, and I welcome it. What am I going to learn next that will help me experience more love? That is how I understand karma, and I am grateful for what it teaches me.

photo credit:

Kaloudis, Jasmine. "Yoga-for-beginners-synergy-by-jasmine." Flickr. Yahoo!, 07 June 2012. Web. 07 Feb. 2015.

Forever Young

Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been. ~Mark Twain, Following the Equator

 

So much focus today is on making sure we, especially women, keep our youthful appearance. More and more we look into the mirror and mourn the dew-kissed cheeks and fresh young smile of yesteryear. We fear growing old. My mother told me in her last days, “Don’t ever let your hair go gray. People will treat you like you are old.” That says a lot about how we view age in our culture.

Just the other day, I came upon a Keeping Up With the Kardashian’s show, where the matriarch, Kris Jenner, said the older she gets the more matronly she feels. I watched as she visited a famous plastic surgeon, who critiqued her face and body, and then promised to make her look younger. What will eventually happen is that even with the changes, age eventually wins the race.

I remember seeing my grandmother’s face the year before she died at the age of 85. It was porcelain and soft, with gentle wrinkles. They were wrinkles of age, but she was beautiful. She had always cared for her skin, and I asked for her secret. She smiled and laughed, flattered, and said, “I’ve always used Oil of Olay.” Behind that smile and laugh, I knew it was more.  My grandmother radiated goodness. She was a deeply religious woman who believed in walking her talk.  In fact, she talked little about it, and lived it out loud. She helped others, taking them meals and offering companionship. She believed in being a good neighbor, giving away vegetables from her garden and spending time catching up on everyone’s news. She didn’t have any fancy degrees and had never lived a life of luxury. She wouldn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her, though. She had everything she needed and more. People were the center of her life.

When I stand in line at the grocery store today, I see the “How they really look!” headlines, where photographers have caught the once beautiful with their hair down, so to speak. What I notice is not the soft aged skin like my grandmother’s, but skin that looks like its owner has been a burn victim. It has been peeled and scraped in the attempt to unearth yesterday’s beauty.  Without makeup its owner looks unnatural and even frightening. So in the attempt to hang on to youth and beauty, the ticking clock becomes the enemy, and the newest way to “stay young” becomes the Holy Grail.  

The question becomes, why was my grandmother so beautiful when she never had a chemical peel or Botox? The answer lies within. As Coco Chanel is famous for saying, “Nature gives you the face you have at twenty. Life shapes the face you have at thirty. But at fifty you get the face you deserve.” The beauty that women, and some men, are reaching for these days is never lasting. The body cannot stand up to time.  The soul, on the other hand, never ages. As the body begins to fade, the spirit within begins to come through.  Fear is ugly, and the fear of aging is no exception.  Love is beautiful, and no matter how wrinkled and crooked the exterior, love shines through. My grandmother’s faith never included fearing aging or death.  Sure, she put on face cream, wore makeup to church, and bought a new dress from time to time.  Her beauty, however, was a light that came from her soul.

My new beauty regimen now begins with inner work.  Every time I see an ad for a new cosmetic procedure that promises the fountain of youth, I will remember that not only is my essence eternal, it never ages.  I’ll still put cream on my face before I go to bed, and wear makeup, and even buy something pretty to wear, but compassion, kindness and love will by my daily three step beauty routine.

photo credit:

Bester, Francois. "Woman." Flickr. Yahoo!, 14 Aug. 2007. Web. 07 Feb. 2015.