“The horror… the horror…”

Demon-in-a-Box-10-21-10_2

Marlon Brando says these words of Joseph Conrad’s, near the dark end of the deeply powerful film Apocalypse Now…

What happened last week in Boston was surely the act of a heart of great darkness.

But an uncomfortable thought still sits with me, even after the death of one, and capture of the other, of the alleged perpetrators… I’m surprised how strongly I’m feeling this – how this Demon In A Box just won’t go away. I want to be filled only with patriotism, and shock, and grief, and – now – some sort of relief. On some level, I am… But not entirely. There is this Demon that will not take its leave of me…

This Demon is the awareness that this kind of thing happens all the time in Syria, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Miserystan, and all over the world. It happens where people gather to pray, and at markets, coffee shops, weddings, funerals, anywhere… Eight-year-old Afghan children are blown to bits in an instant; Pakistani mothers have their arms or legs torn from their bodies by concussive weapons; hundreds of people are killed, or suffer horrendous injuries, with soul-numbing regularity.

And none of them are taken to Mass General, or Brigham and Women’s, or Beth Israel, or any of the other world-class medical facilities that exist in Boston. They simply bleed and die on the streets of their villages… There are no non-stop “special reports,” no massive manhunts, no promises made that those responsible will feel “the full weight of justice.” Their families and loved ones feel only the crushing weight of grief.

And we feel next to nothing.

When this kind of thing happens here, it is an “unspeakable crime against the innocent.” When it happens there, it is “collateral damage” – just another news bite, before dinner. Then, suddenly, we feel the Universe has tilted, and that something has somehow gone horribly “wrong,” when it happens in our front yard, in what has become, for at least a week, our Boston.

It’s horribly wrong when it happens anywhere… That’s the Demon thought that refuses to leave me alone – that the Universe sees no difference between Kabul and Boston, and does not judge the good or evil of any human action on the basis of geography.

This Demon will not let me sit comfortably with the thought that Boston is somehow “different”… That, somehow, bystanders in Boston are more innocent than bystanders in Kabul… And that the perpetrators of such carnage here are more evil than the perpetrators of the same carnage there… Especially if those perpetrators, in some cases, are ourselves.

I think this particular Demon must be my conscience – and today it does not seem willing to be contained.

Carol/Gato

A Helpful Device

Serenotron-2-6-4-10_2

I came up with the little item pictured above a while ago, and it’s something I really wish I possessed in a form more operable than a drawing… It’s The Serenotron (trademarked and patent pending, just in case), capable of monitoring and displaying the overall stress level in a person’s life, 24/7, if desired. It lets you know how close to – or far from – achieving true Serenity you are at any moment of the day or night. (Hmmm… Suddenly, even that idea is sounding a little stressful… Thus underscoring the very reason I need it!)

The Serenotron is basically absolutely silent, glowing with a soft ambient light, but is also capable of playing appropriate music, when so directed – everything from Philip Glass on the left, to Buddhist chants on the right. It is fully manufactured and operable without consuming any fossil fuels; assembled and packaged by reasonably-paid individuals over the age of eighteen, working in well-ventilated, comfortable establishments with their own employee lounges, fitness centers, and free, locally-sourced, organic cafeterias; work days no longer than six hours; and a work week no longer than four days, with two weeks’ paid vacation to start. The unit is offered at a modest price, and available at no charge to those struggling in financial straits – who probably need Serenity most of all. (I like to at least try to think globally and responsibly…)

The various categories on each unit are custom-tailored to each purchaser’s individual specifications, based on responses to a detailed questionnaire. (Sadly, the completion of that questionnaire, in itself, often eliminates the need for purchase of the unit, but I’m willing to suffer those consequences, for the greater good.) It’s apparent here that there are some highly personal categories of my own on the unit pictured above – but I know exactly what they are – and you would know yours equally well.

The unit is not operable from your laptop, tablet, cell phone, or other mobile device. In fact, any time the Serenotron senses any of those devices in operation within ten feet of its location, its needle begins to move inexorably toward the left… This movement takes place no matter what the specific nature of the activity being pursued on said device – checking Facebook will result in exactly the same amount of movement as working on your dissertation. (We thank the inventor’s creative wisdom for the inclusion of this particular feature. In the world of The Serenotron, there is no “good stress” or “bad stress.” There is only Stress…)

It should be noted that the Serenotron does not, and cannot, register any of the following: The weather; the time of the month; any upcoming holidays and/or relatives; anything anyone else just said or did to you; the receipt of any robocall; “news” from any source; the course or result of any political campaign; any knock on the door; or any physical anomaly, of any magnitude, occurring at any time in your body, among many other things. The Serenotron is oblivious to outside events; its only focus is YOU. That’s the whole point.

I need this little device, since I am so often totally unaware of those moments when my needle begins to move inexorably toward the left, until the unit – and I – are both already well on our way out of “Iffy,” and heading for “Bad”… And then, so often, beyond…

We’ve become accustomed to our little devices that remind us of all our appointments, all our phone numbers and email addresses, tell us where we are (so to speak), and inform us of every single thing that someone thinks is happening in the Universe – from a meteor’s striking Siberia to the ongoing debate as to whether or not the currently pregnant Kim Kardashian is getting fat. It seems to me that we could all use some little reminders, from time to time, to PAY ATTENTION to what’s going on within ourselves. The Serenotron is designed to measure just one thing, and one thing only: Its owner’s current spiritual location anywhere between “Really Bad” and “Buddha World.” And that’s why I need it – because where I am on that scale is the only thing that really matters.

Carol/Gato

In The Land of the Red Queen

Illustration by Carol Nicklaus from Out of Order, by Dale Carlson, published by Bick Publishing, 2014

Illustration by Carol Nicklaus from Out of Order, by Dale Carlson, Bick Publishing, 2014

“We are all mad here.”
The Cheshire Cat, from Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll

I woke up this morning with my mind in the strangest place… It was “curiouser and curiouser”… A real wonderland of confusion, and I was quite astonished that I’d never really noticed some of this strangeness before.

It went kind of like this:

Many people have said – and more so, recently – that they feel they need weapons, and lots of them, not only for sport or self-defense, but to stand against “the government,” should our government decide to take over the country. And I thought, “But isn’t the government already sort of in charge of the country? And, if we’re patriots, and we love our democracy, isn’t one of the things we love most is the fact that We, The People, actually choose our government? Isn’t the fact that our government has been designed to represent us the very thing that makes our country so special? And, if that’s the case, why would anyone think we might need to protect ourselves against that very thing?”

“Well, yes,” I then thought, trying to make some sense of this line of thinking, to myself, “There are certainly some things that ‘the government’ does that we don’t particularly like, but isn’t that what’s so unique about our democracy – the ability of citizens to change what the government does, in a peaceful and democratic way? Isn’t that what makes us different from Mali, or Iraq, or Syria, and one of the primary reasons we are always so sure that we need to convince other countries that our way is better, even if we have to blast them into oblivion while doing that convincing?”

Our way is better, isn’t it? If it is, how could anyone think our government is going to turn against us? Isn’t that very thought kind of – you know – unpatriotic? And if our system really isn’t better than other systems, then we’d have to become a country full of heavily armed paramilitary cells, fueled by paranoia, ever ready for armed combat with genuine or imagined enemies… OMG! We’d be Afghanistan! That would be awful! Then the government really would have to take over…

And then I thought… “Uh-oh…”

And then I got even more confused… What about our flag? Doesn’t that flag symbolize our government – the government we choose to represent us? If that flag doesn’t represent us, and our government, why are some people waving it, with special fervor, over their personal, and secret, arsenals that they’ve accumulated in order to protect themselves from… The government?

And isn’t the Second Amendment itself part of the foundation of that government? If so, why are some people “defending” just that one part, and not the whole thing? And, if we all have the right to bear arms, why would anyone be worried that the government might find out how vigorously he or she is exercising that right, and object to documenting, openly, the extent to which he or she is doing so? Are there any other rights we feel we are granted, but must exercise only in secret, lest the government sweep in and take them away from us?

This was all making less and less sense to me, but it just wouldn’t go away…

“Okay,” I thought, still trying to figure it all out, “Maybe the government is secretly being taken over by liberals or Jews or commies or fascists or Hispanics or Asians or blacks or bankers or homosexuals who want to take away all of our guns so only they will have them, and we’ll be helpless.” (And then, for a moment, I got somewhat distracted by the image of a bunch of LGBT activists in full camo, carrying assault weapons, roaming the streets and menacing our children and pets and the American Way of Life… And then I was brought back to this seemingly growing-ever-more-strange confusion of the morning, by the realization that not everybody finds that image as unlikely as I do. I also think the idea of a “zombie apocalypse” is equally remote, but, by this time, I thought I might be losing my grip…)

Still, it didn’t stop there. Next, I thought, “Well, if the government really decides to take over, how would they do that? They would use American troops, wouldn’t they? And wouldn’t these be the same troops we all support, especially if we’re Real American Patriots? And don’t our troops pledge to support… the United States of America…? Isn’t that what they fight and die to protect? If that’s not us, who is it?”

If American soldiers came to our front doors, to enforce the “government takeover”… What would Real Americans do then – try to kill them? Our own troops!? And I wondered how many of the people stocking up on weapons and freeze-dried food packets and batteries and toilet paper, against the possibility of that “government takeover,” are veterans themselves, who swore to uphold that very pledge…

And I wondered how anybody could think that he or she, even with dozens of hand-held “assault weapons” and endless ammunition, would last very long if seriously attacked by the full force of the United States military machine, the most powerful in the world – with planes and ships and ground-to-air missiles and drones and tanks and chemicals and nuclear weapons… As well, apparently, as possibly having to fend off tens of thousands of their less-prepared fellow Americans, who would be clamoring desperately at their doors for food and shelter… Fellow Americans who had obviously been less than sufficiently Patriotic and prepared, and therefore must also be considered “enemies”…

It was right about then that I realized that my mistake was probably looking for reason, where only conviction exists.

And that’s when I thought of the Land of the Red Queen, and the Cheshire Cat.

Carol/Gato

The Wisdom of Bears

Winter-Sunset-6x6-2009

I’m thinking these days that bears may be on to something… Hibernation. The older I get, the more appealing that idea becomes. There’s always Florida, or innumerable other year-round warm places, but I’m looking for the best way to live in the environment I’ve come to love – a place of cycles and changes – of greening summers and frozen winters.

So here I still am, once again, probably more than halfway through what really hasn’t been a “bad” New England winter. As was the case last year, we seem to have gotten our big snows around Hallowe’en. But, that aside, as always in a place like here, the days get shorter until they hardly seem to matter at all, and nights now begin in what used to be the middle of the afternoon. And it’s cold – everything from “chilly” to, “Damn! It’s freezing out there!”

I am not a winter sports person. I do not look forward to layering on the thermal underwear and puffy jacket, strapping on special footwear, and well-waxed extensions to that footwear, and swooping down anything. (I am actually quite concerned about the possibility that I may accidentally “swoop down” my own front steps.) I made my last snow angel probably more than forty years ago. I find looking at snow-covered evergreens quite lovely, and so is the sight of the red flashing light on top of the snowplow grinding its way down my street. My idea of a Perfect Winter Day includes (1) Not having to leave the house; (2) A big fire in the woodstove; (3) Something delicious simmering away in the slow cooker all day long; and (4) A really good book and/or a functioning computer.

Given these facts, I find the idea of hibernating – say, from December 1 through March 31 of any given calendar year – more and more attractive. Just hunker down and rest, in a warm and quiet place. Prepare for it. Eat a lot. Acquire the required stores of fat (something I seem to be inclined to do, anyway). Then go lie down where we won’t be disturbed, and hibernate until Spring is just around the corner once more – that great awakening, that seemingly-always-miraculous reappearance of life and growth, that annual natural rebirth – and become a quickened part of everything, once again. And we’d be ready for it… Because we have rested, and have lain quiet and dormant. We will awaken refreshed, full of energy – hungry, eager, and ready to go, to take our places, fully alive, in the Universe. Maybe some serious stretching and limbering would be needed when we reawaken, but that seems a small price to pay, in my opinion.

Might we be wise to take a lesson from the bear, from the badger, some frogs, hedgehogs, and even some moths? (I do realize that they do not “choose” to do this, but “bear” with me, for the sake of my narrative…) Do we really need to be “awake” twelve to fourteen hours a day, or more, all year ’round? Mightn’t eight months of that be enough for us…? And good for the planet, as well?

And some of the advantages of a period of human dormancy for four months a year…?

No shoveling or car scraping. No broken bones from falling on ice. Trillions of dollars saved on the production and consumption of fossil fuels. (That alone would probably bring the rate of global warming to a more reasonable pace.) No forced joviality at holiday gatherings with family members we don’t even like the rest of the year. No New Year’s Day hangovers – and no obligation to make those pesky resolutions, since we will awaken well past the date most of us have forgotten about them, anyway. Turkeys could look forward to living out their natural years, and our children would not be trained to believe that the sole purpose and reward of good behavior is getting their hands on the latest electronic device.

Human hibernation would offer a regular annual hiatus, of significant duration, from all our conflicts, our agendas, wars, politics, needless consumption, planetary destruction, our relentless depletion of natural resources, personal bad habits and animosities, ideological extremism, the blathering of pundits, the stock market, brutal competition, and all the general havoc we humans wreak daily on the planet that continues to do its best to support and nourish us, no matter what.

Frankly, I think the Universe would welcome an annual respite from us and our activities.

I still have a few questions: Would we dream? Would we need to get up to pee every six weeks or so? Would we continue to age as we hibernate? Would it matter? What things might we forget? What might we remember…?

The older I get, the more the Universe apparently insists that I understand the potency of dormancy, of Darkness, and the inevitability and value of it. We are foolish to fear it; the Universe invites us to welcome it. All birth, and rebirths, come from the Darkness, and it is the place to which we inevitably return. Even as it is the unavoidable destiny of all living things, it is also the source of all our beginnings.

This is the wisdom of bears.

Carol/Gato

Eulogy

Rose,-Snow,-Rock-Wall_2

As one calendar year passes away, and we embark upon what we choose to consider a “new” one, I am reminded of a life that suddenly ended this time of year, not long ago. The following was written on the death of someone I barely knew, but who was deeply loved by someone I love. I send it to you in remembrance of all the lives that began and ended in the past year, and appreciation for all that will begin and end in the days to come. Many of those lives we never know, and never will, but, like all of our lives, they inevitably carry their portions of grief and joy. They are all sacred. May yours be filled with the richness and deep mystery of life.

“We are grateful for your loving presence here, to honor the life of a singular man. We have come together to reflect on a life about which each of us knew only a part. Many of you never knew him at all – but only knew of him, through your friendship with his family. His long separation from his family was his choice, and he worked hard at it. We may never know why he made that decision, but it was his. And, now, the Universe has brought us all here together to remember him.
What we do know is that he was a son, part of a family, a brother, a co-worker, and a friend, and – beyond that – maybe even much more. Only one person knew the whole story of his life: The child, the boy, and the man, who lived it. The entirety of his life belonged to him alone…
We do not honor him because his life was perfect, or close to perfect, and we need not even try to pretend that it was. None of our lives are. But his was, by any sacred measure, a real and valuable LIFE!
As we all try to do, he did the best he could with what he was given, one day at a time. He had brains and charm, secrets and shame, a will to survive, great courage, and many challenges. His deepest struggles, and his greatest victories, he took on, and accepted, alone, for many years. I like to think that he often found strength in what we have learned that he loved: His belief in magic, in mystery, in things that none of us really “understand,” but things that could be possible – life in the stars, worlds beyond our own, heroes and heroines and mythical creatures able to conquer all obstacles, in any circumstances…
And a belief that all problems may surely, somehow, some day, be resolved, if we are diligent, determined, hard-working, and hopeful.
I am sure he was all those things, even when his life may have sometimes have been unspeakably difficult, and lonely, and full of anguish.
It has been this man’s great gift to remind me, yet again, that each of our lives inevitably holds within it the possibility of both excruciating pain and of exquisite joy; that every life is truly sacred; that the Universe is full of magic; and that each and every one of us is a blessed part of it all. I am grateful for what I have learned of his life, with all its flaws, all its struggles, all its dreams and accomplishments, all its failures, all its hope, and all of its humanity… What I have learned of his life is enough, for it has given me strength, and courage, and hope.
If we grieve, perhaps it is for the realization that none of us may, now, ever know more about this very unique individual. He guarded himself carefully, and gave to each of us what he was able to share. His gifts, we have learned, were many.
When we look for comfort, let it be in our remembering that every life – however long or brief – is a great, and sacred, and joyous mystery, and that every life, including our own, merits our most profound love, our thoughtful attention, our deepest gratitude, and our greatest honor.”

The Winter Solstice of Our Madness

Enter the Darkness

Enter the Darkness

“Darkness within darkness – the gateway to all understanding.”
Tao Te Ching

The Universe, in its eternal wisdom, cycles through Light and Darkness, year after year, century after century, eon after eon. In our human experience, this has always been and, in our hopes, always will be. Light gives way, inexorably, to Darkness and, in equal measure, that Darkness always yields to growing Light. Today, December 21, 2012, is the Winter Solstice – the shortest day, and longest night – of this cycle. In this night of greatest Darkness, the Light begins to return. It is a Darkness we must embrace.

For many, the Winter Solstice of Our Madness occurred on Friday, December 14, at an elementary school in a small New England town – the kind of place we like to think embodies all we love about ourselves as a nation. And it does. But that day, a black maelstrom of madness and heedless weapons of death ended the young, bright lives of more than two dozen small children and young adults, and exploded our delusion that this kind of Darkness can be overlooked – that it should not touch us, that its existence is an aberration, that this kind of thing is somehow visited on us from somewhere else – that this Darkness is not really “ours.”

Each time, we look for reasons; we try to “understand.” We want to reassure ourselves that this kind of thing can be explained by some particular set of circumstances, if only we can find them. We look for some individual responsibility, some legislative solution, some counter-attack, some set of moral rules that – if only everyone obeyed them – would assure us that this kind of thing could never happen again. We look at each incident as an exception, isolated from all the others… Because we insist on trying to ignore the fearful Darkness that we, ourselves, have allowed to become a subterranean part of our culture – unnamed, and unacknowledged. And the unacknowledged only grows in its destructive power.

All children know this Darkness, and we once did, too. Children are quick to cry out that there are monsters under their beds, hiding in their closets, and banging on their windows, with fangs and teeth and claws. Their instincts are right. And the children call upon us to help them dispel those monsters. And we do. The wise among us do not deny the existence of the monsters; we tell our children how to render the monsters powerless, how to make them go away… And how we can do it through our own will and wisdom, and no way else.

Acknowledgement does not – and should not – suggest powerlessness; it suggests only understanding of what is. The absence of that acknkowledgement is what makes us powerless. This Darkness IS our own, and it will not be ignored. This Darkness is the living hell of the mentally ill, thrown onto the streets or into the arms of families who have no tools or support to adequately help them. It is the Darkness of irresponsible greed, and consequences be damned, of those who promote the relentless sale of almost incomprehensible weapons of death, for their own profit, to anyone. It is the Darkness of our tacitly agreeing to live in a culture that isolates us from each other, that tells us, in a thousand ways, that someone else is more likely our enemy than our brother or sister, our parent, our grandparent, or our child – that we are each responsible only for ourselves, and for no one else – that the others don’t matter. It is the Darkness of our being told that we are somehow “exceptional,” and destined to be better than others, and our so often failing to remember that it is cooperation, and not competition, that allows us to thrive. It is the Darkness of our thinking that we need no help, nor should we be expected to give any. It is the Darkness of our believing that there need be no Darkness, at all, ever, at least not for us…

But the truth is that the Universe is equal parts Darkness and Light, both always moving toward growth and life. On this longest and darkest night of the year, let us sit with our own Darkness, acknowledge it, and then begin to move ourselves, together, by our own wills and the grace of the Universe, once again inexorably toward the Light.

Carol/Gato

Stuff: Part One

Stuff

This is some of our Stuff… I’m not quite sure what this is all about, this ridding ourselves of so much of our Stuff… But it’s been going on for almost two months now – drawer by drawer, pile by pile, shelf by shelf. And I’m thinking about it…

I can look back on a sequence and confluence of Events, although being able to name these Events sheds no light on what actually caused them, what they might mean, or how, in retrospect, they seem to have joined forces with the Universe and led to this. Logically speaking, it began when we had to remove a newly-defunct and empty oil tank from our basement. There was a lot of Stuff in our basement – all very tidy, but THERE. The tank couldn’t be taken out until a path was cleared. So that was the first thing the Universe presented, and my good man got right on it… And ordered a dumpster. (As I’ve mentioned before, having a dumpster is every woman’s fondest dream, no matter what you may have heard about red convertibles and pelts of dead animals.) We began filling it up, with two-by-fours, empty paint cans, leftover floor tiles, scraps of carpeting, broken snow shovels, empty cardboard boxes, and so on.

In the middle of this, my husband went to visit a good buddy in Colorado, whose sweetheart had just come to live with him in the house in which he’s lived for his entire fifty-ish years, full of his Stuff, his parents’ Stuff, his son’s Stuff, and more… Much more. Sweetheart arrived armed with a small book by Karen Kingston called Clear Your Clutter With Feng Shui/FREE Yourself from Physical, Mental, and Spiritual Clutter Forever. (http://www.spaceclearing.com.) My husband – whose intimate familiarity with any Oriental spiritual practice is equal to his personal experience with breast feeding – was miraculously hooked on the entire concept… And we already had a dumpster. We were apparently ready for this. Who can “explain” these things? Sometimes – probably all of the time, actually – the “right” time comes without our really knowing it, and we realize that we are in the hands of the Universe.

That same week, I was in Idaho with a very dear GF, who left her expansive Long Island home a year and a half ago, moved herself, her sweetheart, and Splash, the Wonder Dog, into a thirty-four-foot RV, and has been happily living in it ever since, all over the northern half of the Western Hemisphere. (See my earlier post, Eight Days at Blackwell Island.) She used to have quite a lot of Stuff; now she doesn’t, and she’s more than fine with that. I liked it, too.

So those are the Events-That-Took-Place. But what was really happening? For twenty years, we’ve been pleasantly and regularly accumulating Stuff. We’re not particularly hoarders – except, maybe, for my collection of more than a hundred plastic souvenir snowballs; have to ‘fess up to that… Overall, we consider ourselves pretty tidy. We make our bed almost every day; we dutifiully and punctually recycle every possible thing; and rarely does a dirty dish sit in our sink for more than an hour. (I guess this makes us QUITE tidy, actually.) So why have we now suddenly found ourselves seriously compelled to rid ourselves of so much of our Stuff, and right this minute?

One of the most intriguing things about Kingston’s little book is that it addresses the reasons we accumulate our Stuff. “Just in case” is first on the list, followed by all kinds of other motivations like self-identity, status, territoriality, using a ton of Stuff to bury feelings of insecurity, and so on. No amount of trying to convince ourselves that all those magazines really should be neatly arranged on the coffee table is ever going to trump any of these emotional powerhouses – especially if we’re not even aware of their existence.

Instead of thinking of this as some reiteration of perpetual “tidyng up,” both of us began to consider how we really felt about our Stuff. What had each of us, without much thought, brought to our shared life from our individual former lives, living in different places, with different people? What were we hanging on to for no reason other than the fact it was there, and we were used to it? Were there things we’d never really liked in the first place…? Indeed there were. Major life transitions – divorce, moving, death – often necessitate this sort of reconsideration of Stuff, but this was coming from none of those. It was coming from the great Somewhere Else…

Interestingly enough, we started with the bedroom – the room where we spend that third of our lives, where we are most intimate in every way, and where, each night, we release ourselves to the still, dark, and mysterious unconsciousness of sleep and dreams… The most private place seemed the best place to start. We considered every item in that room, one by one. We switched closets. Bags of clothing we hadn’t worn for years went to the thrift store. I finally confessed to my husband that I’d hated his alarm clock for twenty years, and we got a new one. I told him I never really liked his nightstand, either – or my own. He kept his; I got a new one. Three paintings that no longer meant much of anything to either of us disappeared by mutual agreement. It was a fascinating project – especially for two people who pretty much thought they knew everything about themselves, about each other, and never kept secrets from either…

We’ve worked our way through desk drawers, bookshelves, file cabinets, kitchen cabinets, piles of things that had sat on the stairs for years, waiting to be transported to some long-forgotten destiny; overburdened horizontal surfaces all over the house; the linen closet (Why did we have almost two dozen adorable little guest towels, when we hardly have that many guests in a year, and, surely, not every guest needs his or her personal and unique hand-wiper…?); two china cabinets (Five sets of wine glasses? Four corkscrews?); and even my studio closet – an Ali Baba’s cave of treasures and trash of stunning magnitude. I had to really work my up to that one… And I began to seriously ponder the fact that I had chosen to make the unseen part of my personal “creative space” a repository for anything and everything of mine that had no place else to go. I had stuffed away quite a lot, without even thinking about it… The hidden clutter may be even more nefarious than the Stuff that’s right in our face.

So what are we doing with all that Stuff that we didn’t consider dumpster fodder…? My sometimes-awesomely-brilliant husband came up with the idea of a holiday “Good Karma No-Tag Tag Sale.” We’re having a two-day party, and giving everything away. Free. Whatever it is. No matter how “good” it is – things that were once “good” for us may now be “good” for someone else. The choices weren’t made on the value of the objects themselves; they were made on the value of the connections we have with them. Whatever’s left over will go to that same thrift store, just in time for the holidays – theirs and ours.

We had the dumpster for almost six weeks – until we realized, with a newly-familiar combination of chagrin and enlightenment, that even the dumpster, like so much of our other Stuff, was threatening to become a permanent fixture in our lives, simply because we had gotten used to it. So we called to have it finally, filled to the brim, taken away. We weren’t here when they came to get it, but we’d already said goodbye to all of it.

For those of us whose lives have allowed us the great luxury of being able to accumulate so much, it takes quite a bit of time, energy, and conscious thought, to move toward a state of greater emptiness… But that seems to be what it takes, if that’s what we want. Ask any Zen master. Ask yourself.

“We are not committed to this or that. We are committed to the nothing in between…whether we know it or not.” John Cage

Carol

The Clock… Notes on a Momentary Respite in a Long Journey

There are, at the moment, three items on my bedside table: Modern Spiritual Masters/Writings on Contemplation and Compassion, edited by Robert Ellsberg; an eighteen-page instruction manual for the Brookstone “Tranquil Moments Advanced Clinically Proven Sleep Sounds” machine; and the “machine” itself. (Yes; I know the Buddha is there, too; either I’m not counting the Buddha, or I always count the Buddha…) If the juxtaposition of these objects does not hint at a body and spirit in transition, then I don’t know what would.

The “machine” is, almost incidentally, an alarm clock – a ridiculously expensive alarm clock, since that feature seems an extraneous addition to a menu of sixteen different Clinically Proven Sounds, created by Experts, to lull one into blissful rest, a fine meditative state, or relief from anxiety and stress. (Perhaps a thoughtful reading of Modern Spiritual Masters would do any or all of the above, without the need for the eighteen-page instruction manual. That thought, itself, should be cause for some contemporary contemplation on my part, now that I think of it.) But an alarm clock I could love is what I was seeking, and – so far – this one seems to be doing the trick.

The arrival of this device on my bedside table is the momentary culmination of a search I have pursued, albeit intermittently, for almost twenty years. At the moment, things are looking – and sounding – very promising!

My husband, “B,” came to our twenty years of cohabitation and marriage with an alarm clock he’d already had for at least ten years. For more than thirty years, he has been very attached to his clock – secure in the reliability and trustworthiness of this small and homely, plastic LED-screeened, device, after his own series of relationships with numerous analog, digital, and clock-radio combinations, and any number of other things in life, which had disappointed him by failing to live up to their promises. It is “only” an alarm clock (no aromatherapy, rising dawns, or soothing sounds included), but that solitary task it has performed without fail, time after time. For this reason, B’s clock has earned – and held – his deep loyalty and affection.

However… His clock performs its sole duty by aggressively presenting its own rendition of the sound track from the shower scene in Psycho, morning after morning. I have never liked this about it. B doesn’t seem to mind being jolted at least semi-awake, hitting the snooze button, and falling right back to sleep, only to repeat the process several times, as often as not. This works for him… But it has always seemed kind of ridiculous to me. Either you’re getting up, or you’re not. Being assaulted into semi-consciousness, again and again, is not the same thing as consciously and deliberately “awakening.” Like so many couples, we are wired somewhat differently, and have learned, for a sufficient part, to live with those differences for almost twenty years.

Over these years, B has been both generous and gracious in trying to satisfy my periodically-expressed yearning for a gentler approach to leaving sleep and greeting the day. He got me a combination “gradual dawn” and aromatherapy device, which included several sound options. Unfortunately, it looked like a tacky plastic ziggurat; I didn’t like fooling around with the smelly little beads; and its version of “morning bird sounds” was a pale rehash of the real birds that get going around 5:00 in the morning here. Then followed the Zen alarm clock, which I wanted desperately, and which was really quite lovely – and very promising. However, after a relatively short period of time, its LED display slowly disappeared into irreversible invisibility… Evidently following some inner Zen directive of its own.

In our recent and ongoing effort to shed things that no longer serve or please us, the Alarm Clock Issue reappeared – this time addressed by me with renewed determination. A few hours of web research on my part disclosed this machine – a veritable Maserati among alarm clocks, purveyed by Brookstone, the indisputable prime source (along with Hammacher-Schlemmer) of all things electronic, complicated, beautiful, costly, and generally completely unnecessary for sustenance of the average human life, even here in Fairfield County, Connecticut. However, it had an absolutely lovely set of chimes to ease one into wakefulness, and that’s what I wanted, accessories or no accessories.

B agreed to give it a try, with the mutual understanding that, if he hated it, back it would go. (I would, in that case, get earplugs.) It arrived yesterday. Disconcertingly, there were few “tranquil moments” involved in the set-up and initialization of the thing – from opening the box itself, to installing the button battery with the Lilliputian screwdriver (which we happened to have, thanks to previous experience with sophisticated electronic devices and their requirements), to figuring out the sequence of buttons to push and hold for two seconds to activate one function, and five seconds for another. With repetitions of the Serenity Prayer, and one dark period of a few minutes where we were convinced that “it isn’t working,” we got through all that; set the alarm; and chose a “sleep sound” for the night that seemed richly appropriate: “Unwind.” (It was a clock, after all…)

When we got into bed, I hit the button, and the Clinically Proven Sounds began… In only moments (evidently the “tranquil” ones for which the machine is named), I had melted into a complete and utterly blissful state of limp relaxation… And we were both soon “sound” asleep. This morning, right on cue, mellow chimes gradually eased their way into our consciousnesses. The first word out of B’s mouth was, “Success.” I could hardly contain my joy. Reliability and grace seemed not mutually exclusive after all.

Ridding oneself of something one really doesn’t like much is usually a piece of cake. Ridding oneself of something to which one has long been attached – for whatever reason – is another story entirely. In truth, we’ve both been attached to B’s little clock for all these years – he, for its fidelity; me, because it’s his. But we were looking, now, for something that might not only be dependable and reliable, but something that was lovely, as well – something that we truly liked – not just because we already happened to have it, or because it worked and we were used to it, but because it offered the promise of bringing new pleasure and grace to our lives, in an area where we had long, and somewhat thoughtlessly, just accepted the status quo, the “it’ll do”…

And what better place to try for something better than in our daily awakening? If it has to be a machine, let it be a fine one.

Carol

Democracy or Fear: Pick One…

Because we can’t have both.

The elections are over – mercifully, and millions of dollars later – and one side won most of everything. We have shown ourselves able to speak, after all, as a nation of diversity, and of some responsibility, some generosity, some compassion, and some good sense. And we voted by the millions, as the democracy we are, and were always intended to be.

And, although that is over, the fear mongering is likely not. It will continue – because it works. Democracy and fear are incompatible; they cannot coexist. The mongerers know this fact very well. Democracy functions only when citizens are reasonably fed, housed, educated, informed, productive, confident, and relatively unbowed by fear and want. Frightened people do not make wise decisions, even about their own welfare; often they can make no decisions whatsoever, and will do just what they are told to do, because they are terrified. When we are afraid, we feel powerless – whether we actually are, or not. This is just how most of us are: Human.

If you want to control people, do everything you can to keep them ignorant, poor, and deathly afraid, as much of the time as possible. THIS is the real reason the oligarchs want to gut government assistance for education, nutrition, welfare, job training, medical care, and other social programs. It has nothing to do with “fiscal responsibility”, or “reducing the deficit”, or “reducing the burden on our children and grandchildren”… And has everything to do with keeping as much of the populace as possible in a state of hungering malleability and civil impotence.

The chronically poor have real and legitimate fears: Legitimately afraid they won’t have enough to eat, because they so often don’t. Afraid they will have nowhere to live. Afraid of what will happen to them if they get sick or hurt. Afraid someone else will take what little they do have. Afraid their children will have no chance to live in conditions other than those in which they struggled to grow up. Afraid they are powerless. Afraid their lives mean nothing. (If this election did one thing, I think it did much to convince hundreds and hundreds of thousands of people that they have more power than they knew…)

But how to instill this kind of fear into the “average”, middle class, or even well off, members of our society…? The people who’ve pretty much been feeling they’re basically okay? That’s the ongoing challenge of the One Percent. They’ve got a few ideas, and they almost worked this time. At least almost half of us are apparently willing to give those ideas another try.

A natural disaster, or an incomprehensible act of terrorism, can be a bonanza here… 9-11. Katrina, Aurora, the BP Gulf oil spill, Sandy… In these situations, everyone is reduced to a state of near-equivalent deprivation and fear, at least temporarily. (Read Naomi Klein’s excellent 2008 book, The Shock Doctrine/The Rise of Disaster Capitalism, for an impressive summary of this kind of “opportunity.” She was on to something, even then.) Barring the availability of either of these kinds of events, the most common, and historically effective, tactic is to Invent An Enemy – an Other – and make it very clear that the Other is a real, imminent, and pernicious threat, about to destroy the very fabric of our society, starting by aggressively assaulting everything in which you believe. Nothing has to be rational or proven about the Other; it just has to be presented as an ominous danger, to you, personally. If that gay couple next door is allowed to marry, what’s to stop YOUR children from wanting to do the same, no matter how you feel about it? If that woman who was raped can get an abortion, what’s to stop the Other from making you have one, too? If that lay-about moocher on the other side of town, who probably wasn’t even born here, is given food stamps and a break on community college tuition, who knows what she’ll be asking for next – and how much of that will come out of your pocket? And – good lord – what if the Other insists that you’ll have to register that third AK-47 you’re planning to buy at the upcoming gun show? Keep the veiled innuendos great, and difficult to disprove. Provide plenty of “documentation,” even if you have to resort to recirculating six-year-old pieces of satire you found on the web, as new and factual. Just repost them, again and again, to as many people as possible, with the subject title, “IF YOU CARE ABOUT AMERICA, YOU MUST READ THIS!!!!!!!!!” Truth is for wimps. It’s the goal that matters. And that goal is to engender fear.

Make sure these dangers are kept continuously in the forefront of public consciousness. (It helps to have a good bundle of newspapers and other media outlets under your control for this – but all that takes is cash.) Intone ceaselessly that things are even worse than anyone can imagine, and that the threat has never been greater. Never allow the legitimacy of the danger to be questioned. Make sure that as many people as possible feel PERSONALLY threatened by the behavior of people they don’t even know, at all times, even if – and perhaps especially if – their personal lives are, in fact, not really threatened at all.

The threat of the Other flourishes in either a genuine, or simply perceived, culture of deprivation, oppression, and terror. Democracy, on the other hand, can thrive only in a society of confidence, adequacy, personal empowerment, and the assurance that there is truly “enough” for everyone – a society in which we are confident that we will be given help when we need it, and can give help to others when they do.

The truth is, there really IS – or could be – enough for all, but not as long as some of us insist that it is our “right” to live obscenely at the top, and others of us can be abandoned to live abjectly at the bottom, where we are deemed to deserve to be. It is highly unlikely that the One Percent will abdicate quietly, election or no election, and there is no reason to expect them to do so. Even they are well aware that their tool box is emptying rapidly… But the Fear Hammer is still in there, and I think we’ll still be seeing a lot of it. It’s about all they have left.

So… We have a choice: Democracy or Fear… But we can’t have both. Pick one. And pick wisely.

Carol

This Nation is not a Corporation…

No picture this time, friends. Bear with me! I had vowed that I would avoid “politics” here, which was kind of crazy on my part, because that’s just what I’ve been obsessed with for as long as you may have been, and tomorrow we may start to get some idea of where we’re going. (Sandy left me, and much of the East Coast, with very few communication outlets for at least six days and, for many, more days to come. And many of our fellow citizens have lost much more than their ability to communicate…)

Our country is changing. The world is changing. We will either accommodate ourselves to these changes, and work with them, or we will become the newest “Third World Nation”… A nation whose laws are drawn to benefit multi-national companies, and their shareholders; whose land is raped for their profits, and not ours; run by a government who fears and loathes at least half of its citizens, and considers them (us) to be slackers and ne’er-do-wells; a country where a small minority of wealthy people live in walled compounds, surrounded by an angry, hungry, and uneducated populace, many of them armed and dangerous; a country whose government works to legally impose its “values” on the majority of its citizens. This is not the America I’ve ever had in mind, and certainly not the one I’d like to leave for my granddaughter.

These things are the absolute antithesis of what the founders of this great nation had in mind. The great premise of “America” has always been that we are a nation of citizens, not servants of some corporate entity. We are not here to create profits solely for others; we are here to benefit ourselves, and our fellow citizens, and our descendants, and we expect our government to reflect our wishes. Does anyone remember the British crown and its East India Company – the original “multi-national,” whose strangling grip our founders refused to endure? It strikes me as incredibly ironic that our current Tea Party, apparently so in support of letting Big Business escape the chains of “regulation,” is named after an event that was about exactly the opposite. THAT event was about our refusal to have our lives run by a corporation, its CEO, and its shareholders, to our own detriment.

So, IMHO, we don’t need a CEO for President. We need someone who understands that we are part of a global nation, as well as our own; someone who knows that we are one nation among many, and no more, and no less, exceptional than any other; who understands both our strengths and our weaknesses; who understands the strengths and weaknesses of other nations; and who is aware of our common humanity. In short, we need four more years of the President we have now – Barack Hussein Obama… Because he represents the nation we are, and the nation we were always meant to be.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 26 other followers