Soul Food

I am in need of some soul food how about you?

There are days one craves something spiritually nourishing. I often look towards songs, poetry, and books to keep the Noonday Demon (depression) at bay.

When I was first diagnosed with my MS, there was a song on the radio which was absolutely hypnotic. I found myself singing and simultaneously crying to the words of Anna Nalick's Breathe. The refrain is one of the truest things I could hear:

"Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, girl.
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe"

You can't go back in time. You just have to keep moving forward into a sometimes very frightening future. But in the meantime...take a breath...and breathe. It is all anyone can do.

A good song does this, it speaks to the individual and it speaks to us all. We find our particular message in the global one.

This song helped me to keep going even if it was from breath to breath.

Poetry is made for reviving the soul.

Emily Dickinson does it for me. I love her understated simplicity. She has no airs about her. She is pure and as simple as a smooth stone found in a meandering creek. The water rushes by her and she feels everything. And in return she gave us her gentle words.

I am most fond of her poem, I'm Nobody. It appears, on the surface, to be self depreciating. But in reality, she captures the essence of a true soul, wishing to be small and intimate. There is a special dichotomy for every writer who puts themselves out there. We are public, yet anonymous. There is a private side to the writer which shall forever remain a mystery. Only a select few could ever delve into that core.

"I'm Nobody! Who are you?

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us--don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

Joy Williams in her essay on why writers write entitled, Uncanny the Singing That Comes from Certain Husks also picks up on this theme: "The writer is an exhibitionist, and yet he is private. He wants you to admire his fasting, his art. He wants your attention, he doesn't want you to know he exists."

Thank god someone understands this. These are but parcels of myself which I have grappled with for many years.

And finally I offer you some wisdom from a little saint. I am not religious. I am not even Catholic. But I have come to truly enjoy reading about saints lately. I like them because they are...surprisingly...very unsaintly at times. Most of the saints were very extremely human, dealing with all the things we deal with in our day to day lives. They lived and breathed and cried and made mistakes and struggled to find their way.

Little Saint Therese of Lisieux is probably my favorite saint of all. In her Autobiography of a Soul, she illuminates the most amazing strength from being small. She strove to embrace the ordinary, the small, and the intimate over some appearance of being holier than thou. I love her because she was/is real.

There is a small book written about her called, "The Love That Keeps Us Sane" and this was written by Marc Foley, O.C.D. This book is less than one hundred pages but it is packed with sustenance for the soul. I have read it ten times over, I have outlined it, it have secured pages for reading by bending down the corners of the pages. If I am having a troublesome evening, I read it before going to bed to soothe me. I can't say enough good things about it.

Here is but one passage which has helped me immensely and I hope it helps you too.

"What we often choose to fight is so tiny, and we become small in the process. The more we choose to become absorbed in the trivial battles of daily life, the more petty we become and the more our emotional life becomes fixated on things that don't matter.

When I find myself spending a hundred dollars of emotional energy over a ten-cent issue, I try to remember the wisdom of St. Therese and ask myself the question, "Is it really worth it?" Many times I have won an argument but walked away the loser because my peace of soul was lost in the process. In the wake of so many arguments, our ego may experience the momentary satisfaction of having won, but what have we really gained?

When Celine made her profession, Therese made her a coat of arms with this motto on it: "The loser always wins." This motto is applicable to many situations in life. We often win by saying nothing because silence preserves our piece of soul. What good does it do to defend or explain ourselves. Let the matter drop and say nothing...O blessed silence that gives so much peace to souls."

Therese learned that to defend or explain herself in certain situations was useless.

When Mother Genevieve died, Therese's relatives and people who worked for the convent send wreathes. Therese arranged them around the coffin. Sister X said to Therese "Ah! You're well able to put the wreathes sent by your relatives in a prominent place aren't you? And you put those of the poorer families in the background." To this hurtful remark Therese said, "Thank you, Sister, you're right. Give me that cross of moss the workers sent, and I'll put it out in front

."

Therese could have defended herself, but she chose not to. She knew that it wasn't worth it. When someone resents us, as Sister X resented Therese, she is not going to listen. To fire back in such circumstances would be futile. Therese also noticed that she felt despondent and ill at ease with herself after she didn't control her tongue in such situations.

She labeled these feelings as the temporal punishment due to her sin, a sort of psychic residue that lingers in the soul. In short, she lost her peace of soul. Conversely, she noticed that whenever she held her tongue, or recast her words in charity, she experienced peace."

And on that note...I do hope that all of you experience some peace this weekend, whether it be by relaxing the body, mind or spirit. Have a wonderful Labor Day weekend.

See you soon....

A Sense of Community

I have been thinking about blogging lately and why people do this and what it all means. For some it is a fun new toy to play with. It is amusing to tinker with lay outs and templates and fixing up your blog "home." For others a blog is their showcase for their artistic talents and writing. For yet others a blog is way to share information about a particular hobby or interest. There are others who use a blog as a daily diary, to transcribe the events of their days to share with family and friends. Then there are more "professional" bloggers who are all about marketing themselves to garnish the biggest audience for whatever they are wanting to promote. There are as many reasons for blogging as there are colors in the rainbow.

But for me...I would say that the biggest reason I love to blog here is for that sense of community. This is very important to me. And it is strange really as I am such an introvert. Yet part of me has always been committed to bringing people together as a way both to help myself and others.

I am a firm believer that you can't do this all alone. You need other people to get through life's struggles and challenges. Self sufficiency and independence are great qualities no doubt but for me...I value INTER-dependence more...which to me means....people helping people.

Don't worry...I won't break into song..."people....who need people...are the luckiest peeeeeoppple in the world!" sorry....couldn't help myself. :>)

Seriously though...as I have been immersed in the blogging world now for many years, one thing really strikes me as profound. And that is...that for so many....the blogging world IS their world. We are so very lucky to have this technology to bring people from around the world together. I can talk to someone half way across the world from a different continent....about everyday life matters...who I otherwise would have never met. And likewise I have met folk who maybe lived a hop, skip, and a jump from me in real life...but still otherwise would have never befriended them had it not been but for this marvelous technology. Blogging can be a wonderful way to connect easily with other people. Think about how difficult it would be otherwise. "Hey over there in England...you wanna come over for some tea?" Uhhh yeah...not gonna happen. So we have our tea and conversation right here where it is do-able.

But back to my original point...which I am losing in my runaway trains of thought here....one of my big revelations about blogging has been this: There are people out there who count on the blogging connection as their primary social support.

And this is not a bad thing...it just is. For some this is the reality. It would be nice if all of us had a wonderful supportive family. It would be ideal if all of us had tons of real life friends who came over all the time. It would be great if the real life community were always adequate to meet every one's needs. It would be peachy if we all had the time to meet up with a real life support group. But the reality is that illness, family needs, just life in general prevents us from reaching out in the ways that we would like to. One way to get social support needs met is through this on-line medium.

Everyone is on a continuum of how much social support they need or are able to give. Some folk literally have nobody and some folk may seem to have a lot of family, friends, and real time community but for whatever reason feel uncomfortable to ask for help. Then there are people who are more trapped by their physical or mental illness...who are more unable to get out and about. There are individuals who are struggling with a particular life circumstance which makes them feel that they are all alone. For whatever the reason, there are so many people who rely greatly upon the on-line experience of blogging to help them get through their day.

I know about this because...hey...I am one. I can't tell you what it has meant to me for you all to visit and just say you care. I have been helped by your friendship and I am so very grateful.

I would say that most everyone of you is already doing this in some way....some of you in huge ways...but maybe take the time to visit folk from the blogging community who might need a little cheer and a spiritual boost. Leave ego at the door and the unspoken blog rules of a comment for a comment....and go reach out to someone who may need you. Every one of us is going through some sort of challenge. Nobody is immune to pain and suffering. But it doesn't mean we all don't have something to give. When you can, when you are able, reach out to others and give of your gifts whatever they may be.

It all has a domino effect. You make someone smile. They in turn are more happy and able to give more to their kids or even a stranger. I really want to believe that the good stuff travels.

I am reading a book about MS...it is called "My Story: A Photographic Essay on life with multiple sclerosis." It is a collection of small essays by people who have MS. I was most inspired by one young lady named Liane who had gotten the diagnosis of MS in her very early twenties and her reflections upon how this disease has impacted her life. And believe me...I am not into polly anna cliches. I like real. I honestly did feel a genuine connection to this young woman's words. I shall leave you with a small passage from her remarkable essay:

"However, as I learned more about MS I had to decide that I would not live in fear. It is frightening indeed to learn that there are so many unknowns in the realm of MS and that there is still no cure. I began to feel all my dreams slip out of the reach of my numb hands. Would I ever be on Broadway or in a movie? Would I get married and have a family? Would I still change the world? The questions were interrupted by a visit from my pastor who gave me life changing and inspiring advice. Pastor Wayne encouraged me not to ask, "Why God? Why me? Why now?" but to ask, "What is your plan Lord? How can I use this to help others?"

And like I have said before...I am not too terribly religious. But there is profound meaning in these questions. These are the very questions I have been reluctant to ask but perhaps it is now time.

The first time...

The first time I remember being in a church was about a year or so after my father died. At the time of his death, I was only about four and my mother hastily explained that he had "gone to sleep." If there was a funeral, I was not part of it. I only have vague images of my father such as he and I having a tea party with stuffed animals. One day he is pouring me pretend tea and seemingly the next, he is gone.

My mother never recovered from losing my father. I lived in the wake of her profound sorrow for many years. The man whose image grew more and more hazy to me over the years, existed with astonishing clarity for my mother. Her schizophrenia helped to resurrect my father in daily hallucinations. When I found my mother talking to herself, it was usually the case that she was really talking to my father's spirit. I always wished I could see or talk to him too. My mind, perhaps lacking in imagination, was forever trapped in reality. I could never enter my mother's world of talking to the dead.

There seemed to be a place, though, where the real world and spirit world co-existed. I found a place where others also talked to their dead. Nobody will accuse you of being crazy if you speak to spirits within the safe confines of church.

And so my mother and I found ourselves in such a sanctuary one winter day. I remember the way my mother's coat smelled coming in from the cold, the snow still clinging to soft wet spots on her shoulders. I can see the inside of the church, the porcelain bowls of holy water near the entrance, the wooden pews, the stained glass windows, and the flickering of candles in the corner. I had no idea what it all meant. But I did feel the specialness of this comforting place.

I watched as my mother walked towards to corner of candles and slowly lit one. Her wavering breath sends the flames to dance, casting shadows upon the wall. It is a solemn moment which is lost upon my childish mind. I stand, entranced by how the light and shadows play. My eyes look upward to the height of this great cavern. I find myself mesmorized by a swirl of dust particles caught in the refractions of multi-colored stained glass light. I become so immersed in my sensory fantasy that I almost miss seeing my mother.

When my gaze finally holds her, she is so still, it seems time stops. I watch as a single tear makes its journey down her cheek, staining her otherwise porcelain face.

paper church

My son who has autism...loves churches. I think that not a day goes by that he doesn't draw or create a church. He makes them out of paper and tape. I have seen them in the fireplace. I have seen them drawn and laid out upon my kitchen floor. He makes crosses out of legos and tapes them to the bathroom door. He lines up chairs for pews.

And before you say anything....no...we are not particularly religious...at all...here. This is just something my son does. He has been particularly fascinated by this theme for as long as I can remember.

So yeah...I think maybe it is time I listen more attentively to what my child is innately feeling.

I am excited about exploring the topic of spirituality. I have many posts to come.

My younger self answers...

I am wanting to write about and discuss the topic of spirituality and I had posed the question earlier of why do you think we suffer. It seems I have been grappling with this question for some time now. I wrote to myself several years ago about this very topic...seemingly answering this question I pose today. Was I naive? Simplistic? Perhaps so but my feelings today are pretty much the same. I wrote this way before I ever knew I would be diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis so...it is quite interesting to read now.

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Things happen for a reason



Do you believe this to be true?

What is the alternative? To fear the world as some horribly destructive malevolent place?

Bad stuff happens everyday. Pain is the great equalizer. Everyone will experience pain in their lifetime. Good, worthy, and loveable people sometimes have more than their share of pain. Pain doesn't play favorites...it just is.

The meaning we place upon it is ours. Could the meaning we put upon our experiences be an illusion? Perhaps. But it is THE thing we do have in our arsenal that we CAN control.

Forgive me for sounding like some damn pop psychology book. I am only coming to these truths myself from experience...and I need to write them down.

Wouldn't it be better to see your experiences as having meaning than...to just dismiss it all as random happenstance? Because...whatever you believe will have a domino effect upon your thoughts...and then your actions...and ultimately on others...who will then have rapidly firing effects upon the rest of the world.

Sometimes we get wake up calls. Things happen which push us to the brink. Pain is usually that sort of wake up call. We are supposed to listen. But it is so hard because...duh...we are in so much pain. But beyond the pain are opportunities. And I hate to say this...but growth within the smallest parameters can produce ultimate possibilities.

I am speaking in vague generalities. Maybe soon I will talk in concrete terms. I just need to figure this all out.

It is as though there is no mistake. I have been told things all along...I have just been resistant. I need to change my perspective greatly. I need to change. I want to. If you do not make the choice to change on your own...life has a way of cornering you and forcing that change. Don’t wait for that...do it now.

Just thinking about water...it is a life force for us all. You go to the ocean and...you see it's beauty...it's magnificence...it's peacefulness. Yet it still has the raw power with which to kill a man. The same water can be life saving in the desert but can also be the thing which is used to take one's life...one can drown in a bathtub of water. There is a dichotomy to life and to us.

Shall we grow or drown?

I do believe it has to do with the reasons...the beliefs...the meaning we intentionally choose for our life.

The Spiritual Question of Why?

There was an interview on NPR recently with Bart Ehrman who wrote a book entitled, "God's Problem." Ehrman, a former devout Christian speaks of his attempts to reconcile why there is so much suffering in the world if there indeed is a God. He cannot come up with any satisfactory answers and ultimately loses his faith entirely.

Here is the link to his interview and book.

It really got me to thinking of how you all might answer the question which Ehrman poses: "If there's an all-powerful and loving God, why do human beings suffer?"

I have my own biases, opinions, and answers to this question which I am still in the process of developing. But I was wondering how you all might answer this age old question.

When you are faced with crises and challenges which are difficult to understand such as the loss of a loved one, mental and physicial illness, and general suffering, the God question usually comes to the forefront. What do we believe and why?

So what are your thoughts...whether you believe in a God or not...why does suffering exist? Is there some greater purpose?

What do you believe?

I had begun with the topic of the human body but...I am thinking that I really need and want to talk about spirituality right now.

Let's start with beliefs...I am very curious.

What do you believe?

1. Do you believe there is a God?

2. Do you believe there is a heaven?

3. Do you believe there is a hell?

4. Do you meditate or pray?

5. What belief most sustains you...helps you through challenging times?

I am not a religious person myself...but I am spiritual. I am finding myself wanting to learn more about this side to me.