Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Another month has sped by. Memorial Day the first holiday of the summer has come and gone. Time is taking me quickly to that indeterminate place called old. My good friends’ last child just graduated from high school. Oh how that makes me feel aged.
As I said the first holiday of the summer passed and I did very little. I watched a movie; I watched part of a TV marathon. I cleaned my desk about 2/3rds of the way toward functional. Oh there was that hiding in the basement for the tornado warning thing, I did that too.
In the silence of the afternoon all is present and all is inscrutable. –T. Merton
On one of the three afternoons of this long weekend I did spend a few moments reading out by the fountain in the backyard. I sat at a chair and listening to the bubbling of the water for a time. Shifting locales I lay in a hammock for an hour or two also.
Being there in the small space behind my home I can offer that there is no silence in either nature or in a suburban locale. However there is a sense of presence in the world. I can’t put my finger on why sitting in my backyard reading about losing anger feels right but it does. Maybe the distance from the world I sense in my act of focus on the article while hearing background birdsong is what Merton was talking.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
Bicycle Moment
When I was young I was fat and socially isolated. My situation was not helped by the fact that due to nystagmus I was nearly blind. What social skills I possessed were abysmal. No matter what I did the outcome never seemed right.
Only when I learned to ride my bicycle did I find a place of respite. Living in a farm town there were miles of empty roads to ride about on. Some were smooth, some were bumpy and some had big dogs that chased you. When you rode down those roads your butt bounced, you wheels slid and you lifted you feet up to the handle bars so the dogs in pursuit wouldn’t get a nip of your ankles. Most of those dogs would chase you no farther than the edge of the yard in front of the farm house that was their abode.
Every day unless it was pouring outside I rode my metal flake purple W.T. Grant sting ray bike about two miles. I really didn’t have a destination I just had a duration of time to be spent on the road. One route went down and across Oldman’s creek and back, another took me out to Lerro Lane and then to B.F. Goodrich and then the Baptist church and home. Or maybe I would ride to the church first and then down Straughn Mill Road over Freed Road and then up the Pederickton-Woodstown road home.
Whatever way I went I knew every divot in the macadam and every stone that would fly out from under my wheels. I knew when to pedal like a madman and where to coast. Time passed but I am always in that moment on my bike free of my daily worries. Time does not just fly away in the passage of hours and days.
If time’s flight were its only function then you would be separate and distinct from time. You are not. Understand the time being is not time just passing you by. All things in the world are linked with one another in moments. All moments are the time being. All of these linked moments are your time being.
Vigorously abide in each moment in the time being. Lift your feet up and fly past the dogs of existence.
Only when I learned to ride my bicycle did I find a place of respite. Living in a farm town there were miles of empty roads to ride about on. Some were smooth, some were bumpy and some had big dogs that chased you. When you rode down those roads your butt bounced, you wheels slid and you lifted you feet up to the handle bars so the dogs in pursuit wouldn’t get a nip of your ankles. Most of those dogs would chase you no farther than the edge of the yard in front of the farm house that was their abode.
Every day unless it was pouring outside I rode my metal flake purple W.T. Grant sting ray bike about two miles. I really didn’t have a destination I just had a duration of time to be spent on the road. One route went down and across Oldman’s creek and back, another took me out to Lerro Lane and then to B.F. Goodrich and then the Baptist church and home. Or maybe I would ride to the church first and then down Straughn Mill Road over Freed Road and then up the Pederickton-Woodstown road home.
Whatever way I went I knew every divot in the macadam and every stone that would fly out from under my wheels. I knew when to pedal like a madman and where to coast. Time passed but I am always in that moment on my bike free of my daily worries. Time does not just fly away in the passage of hours and days.
If time’s flight were its only function then you would be separate and distinct from time. You are not. Understand the time being is not time just passing you by. All things in the world are linked with one another in moments. All moments are the time being. All of these linked moments are your time being.
Vigorously abide in each moment in the time being. Lift your feet up and fly past the dogs of existence.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Where I Am
Equanimity, poise, and a state of calm composure I am trying to develop these. Each day I dip my toe into a little aspect of Zen. I read a passage here or there. Either I go out to the Tricycle online Buddhist community or I read a bit more from Master Dogen’s writings. Some of the things I find are as odd as you would find in any other organized religion, maybe even odder. But there are small bits about non attachment and awareness that just draw me into a sense of wonder. At my age a sense of wonder about anything is good. Take a lungful of air slowly and let it gently escape.
Next to where I work is a little exercise store. The other day I went and bought a mini workout mat. It is simply a little piece of foam. Each day at noon I lock my door here in my office. I turn off all but one of my lights. I turn on some ancient hymns and I sit legs folded on the mat. All I try and do is clear my mind. For 10 minutes I simply try to think of nothing. Thoughts fly by but I try not to grab them and I let them pass. It isn’t real Zen I don’t think but it sure does seem to help the day seem more manageable. $8 of foam rubber and 10 minutes of time can and do make a difference.
Next to where I work is a little exercise store. The other day I went and bought a mini workout mat. It is simply a little piece of foam. Each day at noon I lock my door here in my office. I turn off all but one of my lights. I turn on some ancient hymns and I sit legs folded on the mat. All I try and do is clear my mind. For 10 minutes I simply try to think of nothing. Thoughts fly by but I try not to grab them and I let them pass. It isn’t real Zen I don’t think but it sure does seem to help the day seem more manageable. $8 of foam rubber and 10 minutes of time can and do make a difference.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Magic
I picked up a card the other day at small store in the Old Town section of Lansing, Michigan. The card states it is a tree free greeting implying only recyclables have been used in its creation. Such a thing is a plus.
What really caught my attention was that the exterior envelop contained the following inscription:
THERE ARE STILL A FEW REMNANTS OF MAGIC LEFT IN THIS WORLD
What a great thing to say. What a hopeful thing to say.
Do I believe in wizards wielding wands, crones stirring despicable ingredients and hope against hope kids turning time back magic? No. Do I believe in a twinkle in the eye do a good random deed magic? Ubetcha. Do I believe in the magic of a word well spoken? Yes, yes I do.
The magic left is this world is a combination of the passion and good that is within our hearts; it is manifested in the good we act on. A kind word, a hopeful (hope-filled?) note or an act that is for the betterment of the world no matter how small and unseen; these are all magic.
Dig out that remnant of magic within yourself. Act with magic before the sun sets.
What really caught my attention was that the exterior envelop contained the following inscription:
THERE ARE STILL A FEW REMNANTS OF MAGIC LEFT IN THIS WORLD
What a great thing to say. What a hopeful thing to say.
Do I believe in wizards wielding wands, crones stirring despicable ingredients and hope against hope kids turning time back magic? No. Do I believe in a twinkle in the eye do a good random deed magic? Ubetcha. Do I believe in the magic of a word well spoken? Yes, yes I do.
The magic left is this world is a combination of the passion and good that is within our hearts; it is manifested in the good we act on. A kind word, a hopeful (hope-filled?) note or an act that is for the betterment of the world no matter how small and unseen; these are all magic.
Dig out that remnant of magic within yourself. Act with magic before the sun sets.
Friday, April 22, 2011
A New Tweak
Blogger has come up with a new tweak. If you want to follow by e-mail and just get updates when I post I gather you just type an e-mail address in and viola, when I post you get it. Given my sporadic posting this might be a better way to go to really see what I am saying. The gadget is to the right side of the blog.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Day 2 Max and Trauma
April 22, 2011
My grand vision for this blog currently is to finish my stories of the beach and reviewing the components of On Caring by year’s end. With my having taken on the role of school board member in a community with a large multi-million dollar budget deficit my time at the computer will be sparse. At least the time I spend at the computer for my own purposes will be rare. Thus while it is my vision, it may not come to be.
I will however note here things in passing that catch my attention. On Tuesday of this week the episode of Parenthood on NBC dealt with a teen being involved in a drunk/drugged driving accident. After the wreck she was taken to hospital. The family gathered together at hospital to await word. I have been at a number of these gatherings being part of a large extended family. (Someday I will talk about the pot luck at the funeral home during one of my family funerals, it is both one of the saddest and most wonderful memories of what family means for me.)
While the Braverman television family awaited word from the surgery on the prodigal teen Amber, Max the child with ASD lost it. He had a complete raging meltdown in the waiting room. Max to the untrained eye, that is someone who doesn't live with Asperger's on a day to day basis, became irrational. The story developed that he had been promised pancakes as a motivator for him to go and wait at the hospital. When the hospital stayed exceeded what he could tolerate he lashed out in a logical but clearly inappropriate manner. Max even implied that whether his cousin Amber died or not should not stop his trip for pancakes because he and his father were not doctors and their presence was therefore of no aid or relevance. Strictly and clinically speaking this was true. Obviously this was viewed as hurtful by all the non-ASD folks in the room.
The character of Adam who in the story is Max’s father struggled with this and with many other issues during the hour. There came a point however when he tried to explain to Max what the gathering in the waiting room had really meant and tried to explain empathy. My eyes filled with tears. The disconnect between what I define as empathy and what my oldest son Primus understands as caring for others was once as wide a gulf as depicted on that show. Eventually Max asks his Dad if he is mad at Max for having Aspergers. I misted up again. I have lived this argument in my own head many, many times.
Time has changed my son. He seems to have reached a point where he has created scripted responses to emotional situations to try and work his way through them. He has learned patience and he has learned to remove himself from situations where he might get caught up by miscues in reading others' emotions. The hope is that the television series will deal with Max’s approach to living in a world of neurotypicals who sail the world by the constellations of emotions.
I guess what I am trying to say is that in the moment when Max asked his Dad “Are you mad at me because I have Aspergers?” I felt the barb wire pull tight around my heart. You try and try to reframe constantly and knowingly work with the situation and with the aspects of who your child is. Still there is always the fear that you are reacting to the condition and not the person. More importantly there has always been the fear that my actions no matter how well intended somehow might be perceived by my son to mean I somehow think less of him because he has Aspergers. This is something that is as far from the truth as it could be. My life and feelings are painted broadly and his are much more nuanced and exacting. I hope we always find ways to bridge our two worlds. I think more than anything that is what Adam is seeking in Parenthood.
My grand vision for this blog currently is to finish my stories of the beach and reviewing the components of On Caring by year’s end. With my having taken on the role of school board member in a community with a large multi-million dollar budget deficit my time at the computer will be sparse. At least the time I spend at the computer for my own purposes will be rare. Thus while it is my vision, it may not come to be.
I will however note here things in passing that catch my attention. On Tuesday of this week the episode of Parenthood on NBC dealt with a teen being involved in a drunk/drugged driving accident. After the wreck she was taken to hospital. The family gathered together at hospital to await word. I have been at a number of these gatherings being part of a large extended family. (Someday I will talk about the pot luck at the funeral home during one of my family funerals, it is both one of the saddest and most wonderful memories of what family means for me.)
While the Braverman television family awaited word from the surgery on the prodigal teen Amber, Max the child with ASD lost it. He had a complete raging meltdown in the waiting room. Max to the untrained eye, that is someone who doesn't live with Asperger's on a day to day basis, became irrational. The story developed that he had been promised pancakes as a motivator for him to go and wait at the hospital. When the hospital stayed exceeded what he could tolerate he lashed out in a logical but clearly inappropriate manner. Max even implied that whether his cousin Amber died or not should not stop his trip for pancakes because he and his father were not doctors and their presence was therefore of no aid or relevance. Strictly and clinically speaking this was true. Obviously this was viewed as hurtful by all the non-ASD folks in the room.
The character of Adam who in the story is Max’s father struggled with this and with many other issues during the hour. There came a point however when he tried to explain to Max what the gathering in the waiting room had really meant and tried to explain empathy. My eyes filled with tears. The disconnect between what I define as empathy and what my oldest son Primus understands as caring for others was once as wide a gulf as depicted on that show. Eventually Max asks his Dad if he is mad at Max for having Aspergers. I misted up again. I have lived this argument in my own head many, many times.
Time has changed my son. He seems to have reached a point where he has created scripted responses to emotional situations to try and work his way through them. He has learned patience and he has learned to remove himself from situations where he might get caught up by miscues in reading others' emotions. The hope is that the television series will deal with Max’s approach to living in a world of neurotypicals who sail the world by the constellations of emotions.
I guess what I am trying to say is that in the moment when Max asked his Dad “Are you mad at me because I have Aspergers?” I felt the barb wire pull tight around my heart. You try and try to reframe constantly and knowingly work with the situation and with the aspects of who your child is. Still there is always the fear that you are reacting to the condition and not the person. More importantly there has always been the fear that my actions no matter how well intended somehow might be perceived by my son to mean I somehow think less of him because he has Aspergers. This is something that is as far from the truth as it could be. My life and feelings are painted broadly and his are much more nuanced and exacting. I hope we always find ways to bridge our two worlds. I think more than anything that is what Adam is seeking in Parenthood.
Day 1
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Yesterday I turned 55 years of age. I was born in a time when the apex of technology was a large rectangular TV screen that got three channels and a party line telephone. I now have a cellular phone that streams video and can search the internet. When I was a kid I wandered the fields behind my house and played army often recreating what I had seen on Combat or some other battle show that had been on television the night before. Now my kids play video games until their thumbs are ungodly strong and their bellies match the guys at Moe’s bar.
The surface of the world has changed but the world itself has not. It remains a rock in space with life forms tentatively clinging to its surface. I am a part of this rock and it is part of a larger series of rocks and together with more rocks and gases this existence spreads far beyond the imaginings of even the brightest of my fellows here. My being is while not for naught, it is damn close to naught in any real sense of the immensity of creation.
In aging I am challenged with the question of meaning in my life. What I can tell you is that I feel best when I have acted selflessly. Really. Such acts don’t happen often. My goal for this year is to make those acts just a little larger part of my life. This is day 1 of my year of being 55. My hope is to make this year matter.
Yesterday I turned 55 years of age. I was born in a time when the apex of technology was a large rectangular TV screen that got three channels and a party line telephone. I now have a cellular phone that streams video and can search the internet. When I was a kid I wandered the fields behind my house and played army often recreating what I had seen on Combat or some other battle show that had been on television the night before. Now my kids play video games until their thumbs are ungodly strong and their bellies match the guys at Moe’s bar.
The surface of the world has changed but the world itself has not. It remains a rock in space with life forms tentatively clinging to its surface. I am a part of this rock and it is part of a larger series of rocks and together with more rocks and gases this existence spreads far beyond the imaginings of even the brightest of my fellows here. My being is while not for naught, it is damn close to naught in any real sense of the immensity of creation.
In aging I am challenged with the question of meaning in my life. What I can tell you is that I feel best when I have acted selflessly. Really. Such acts don’t happen often. My goal for this year is to make those acts just a little larger part of my life. This is day 1 of my year of being 55. My hope is to make this year matter.
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