The Gist of It

 I was struck this morning by something I read, and now for the life of me, I can’t find where I read it. The interview I copied and saved is not it.

Here’s the gist of what I read:

Often, wrote my unknown author, in times of trouble people band together, but this hasn’t been the case with the Covid19 pandemic.

Why is that?

And then my brilliant author who shall remain nameless, came to a brilliant conclusion. Death frightens people, and this lockdown made the thought of death up close and personal. Usually we don’t think death will happen to us. But this virus experience jammed it in our faces.

Not only were we at risk of sickness or death, or but we had to protect everyone else.

The brilliant author’s conclusion was that the real presence of death causes people to circle the wagons. It causes them to find their own kind, and band with them. Then they fear outsiders.

That pretty much explains what happened this past year. 

And then I moved to another author, Ryan Holiday, talking about his book “Stillness is The Key.”

“We’re trying to get to a place where, as crazy as things are on the outside, we can be calm and clear on the inside.”

Quiet, calm, meditation, stillness, these aren’t new age terms. Spiritual disciplines throughout the ages talked of quieting the mind. Buddha was determined to acquire enlightenment so he sat under a Bodhi tree for God knows how long.  Jesus went to the wilderness for 40 days. The Muslims speak of it, the Greeks, the Bhagavad Gita speaks of “evenness of mind—a peace that is ever the same.”

Perhaps this pandemic was to teach us something—to slow down, to look out for our neighbors, to stay firm in times of trouble, to enjoy nature, to take care of it. Perhaps the lockdown was saying we should teach our own children instead of letting institutions do it. Maybe it’s time to know we are divine beings.

Maybe this year was to tell us: “Don’t let the rabble of the marketplace knock you off your steady and firm stillness.”

Yes, the marketplace “rabbled” a lot this past year—not only that, but our livelihood was in grave danger, as wages were cut and lay-offs occurred. We didn’t know where to turn.

Did we lose our stillness, our confidence that things would work out? Did we lose our own internal knowingness?

I have found that it’s easy to stay centered when things are going well. When trouble comes…well, that’s a different story.

How can we help each other?

I will keep reminding you that you are a divine being, that you have a strength within yourself stronger than you know, that thoughts are powerful and to watch what you are thinking and saying. I will try to be upbeat even when it appears that things aren’t working according to plan. I will remind you to follow your own guidance system, and to notice how something makes you feel. That is a barometer.

You know the old game of hot/cold. When you are getting close to your good, it feels better (hotter), when you go away from it your tummy tells you so. (colder).

I know, sometimes indecision can stir you up. I’ve had that-- knowing which way to turn.

Go back to the stillness, your quiet place, and let the divine speak to you.

 

Holding the baby and watching "All of Me," with Steve Martin and Lilli Tomlin--it's a kick. Watch it. You need a laugh, and maybe a baby chick.

They Are Going to Kill Her

 

Whose responsibility is this?

I’m so mad I’m turning to you.

The lady I’m talking about survived the holocaust, for crying out loud, and now she’s in a system that is taking over her life once again.

She was not in a determent camp. She was a Kinder child, a system where they took German children away from their parents, and shipped them to a safe country.  She ended up in England, and she still has friends there. She was a well-known mathematician and highly respected.

Until now.

Now she is in a fine assistant care facility, has her own apartment and 24- hour care. She has MS, which isn’t life-threatening, and she has short-term memory loss. She can be controlling and a pain in the ass sometimes, but that is no reason to kill her.

She’s paying big bucks for care. And caring for her is the job of her caregivers.

Quasi nurses that come in for a few minutes when she is really complaining have recommended that she be placed on hospice care.

Yes, she has a wound that isn’t healing from sitting on her walker (There are fine wound-care clinics), and she has itches that drive her and others crazy. The itching could be from the MS or a side effect of the oxycodone that she is taking (plus, I don’t know what else).

The nurse (not an RN) who recommended she go on Hospice said, “Oh, no, we won’t give morphine unless the patient is in pain.”

The principal person here, the patient, the lady from Germany, has stated that she would rather have pain than being whacked out of her mind.

Well, they did place her on Hospice, and not one day went by, but she was given Morphine, Methadone, plus an anti-psychotic drug. (She is not psychotic.)  This is standard Hospice procedure.

Hospice, I thought, was end-of-life help for people in pain.

She has no terminal illness. She is old.

This is an abuse of the system.

Morphine can inhibit breathing—which is often what kills people eventually. Now caregivers can administer it in liquid form after the patient can no longer swallow.

They even made up her bed in the way they do when they judge that the patient is not getting out of it. (The strange bed-making is so they can change the sheets while the person is in bed.)

The lady doesn’t understand—she trusts those in authority. Those in authority whispered behind her back that they were going to recommend Hospice care, and she asked what they were talking about. Yet they say to her face that “You are our number one priority, and we’re going to take good care of you.” They say they have talked with her but have not made her understand. But she is/was lucid enough to make decisions about her own life. She has a Power of Attorney, but that person is a hired professional, not her family. Yesterday someone unplugged her phone, so she couldn’t talk with what little family she has because she was incoherent.

This is criminal. This is chemical restraint. This is elder abuse.

Once upon a time, a son in a cold Northern cold country decided his father was ready to be placed on the ice flow to die.

Being somewhat sympathetic, the son gave his father a blanket.

The father cut it in half and gave one-half back to the son.

“But, Father, why would you do this? “asked the son. “You need the blanket.”

The father spent the rest of his days with his son.

 

Arbor Lights

Enthusiasm in ancient Greece meant “Filled with God.” 

I love that.

We heard something from our President the other day that we haven’t heard for a long time. That was optimism. 

Those concepts, enthusiasm, and optimism have been sadly lacking in our beautiful world for a time. 

With the coming of spring, though, comes hope and new life, and I see the joy of living springing forth from sticks that looked dead during the winter.

It’s incredible, isn’t it, how after being dormant during a cold spell, they can spring to life?

“We can take a lesson from plants. Hope is coming. 

The Magnolia tree is laden with flowers. The evergreen Clematis on the arbor has more buds and flowers than leaves. How do they do it? Life wants to live, and so do we. And we want to live beyond survival level. We want to live abundantly. 

I do not want to diminish the suffering people have endured or the worry plaguing them; I want to look ahead to a brighter day.  

I think we’re like passengers on a just landed jet plane who breathe a sigh of relief when they safely reach  their destination. I bet even people who feel quite comfortable flying are a bit relieved to have wheels on the ground.

It’s time, though, don’t you think, for us to be “Filled with God” and to remember that child within us who longed for a secret adventure.

Remember when we were kids and we laughed for no reason? 

Those who are filled with that enthusiasm–filled with God–do not harm people, animals, nor soil their bed, which is mother earth.  

I visited the farm store the other day and stopped to look at baby chicks. I’ve been wondering if I wanted to begin again with chicklets. I have two hens that are laying sporadically. They came to live with us as adults, so I don’t know their age, and elderly hens stop laying eventually. 

I asked if they would be getting Americanas, now called Easter egg chickens because they lay beautiful seafoam green or blue eggs. Chickadee, my Margaretta drinking, french-fries eating chicken was an Americana.

Friday, said the farm store lady said. The chicks would be coming in on Friday—that’s tomorrow. The chicks will be three days old. I wonder if I can be as lucky as I was last time when I got three little pullets. Roosters annoy the neighbors and don’t give any eggs. They might provide us with more chickens, though.

I’m debating. We’ll see tomorrow. 

Babies give us the belief that the Universe will continue.

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