Blessings

The White House with a couple of blooming trees and hordes of cherry tourists, April 2, 2009

In George Carlin's opinion, God doesn't give a flying F about America, so why oh why do we always say God Bless America ?? It's a hilarious monologue, well worth watching. He was so funny.

Until recently, I wholeheartedly agreed with George, especially since I don't experience God as a Being with a personna or personality. But ever since election day last November, any time I hear our president speak, or see what he's doing in his administration, or like last night when I learned that he negotiated with the presidents of China and France in order to move forward from a moment of stalemate at the G20 meeting, I wonder if God actually has blessed America.

At this moment of greatest need in our country, for this guy to show up, and get elected - when the odds against that were phenomenal - and for our president to be so good, seems supernatural to me, an Act of God. If God did have a personality, wouldn't She have looked down at the U.S. during the last administration and thought, "They need help!"

For most of us Americans, Barack Obama came out of the nowhere, fully formed, ready to be placed inside the White House to do good deeds and mend so many wounds - already! After yesterday I'm wondering if, after being president for eight years (I hope), he might become a great diplomat, a negotiator of sticky issues all around the world. Do you think?

God bless America? I think She did! Bravo!!!

The visit to the ICU yesterday was a wonderful experience and was not limited to ten minutes. I'm still processing what happened; it was all very good. I'll write about it as soon as I find the language to describe it. My client was breathing without the respirator by the time I got there, on the mend. He will be fine. Thanks to all for your thoughts and encouragement. I felt it, and I bet he felt it too. God bless you and God bless America!


Lafayette Park, in front of the White House

Orpheus

A part of my internship for clinical massage therapy included work with cardiac patients less than an hour after they came out of open-heart surgery. The work was a very specific protocol of gentle compressions on the lower legs to help regulate circulation. (Normally there are machines that do the squeezing, but as part of a study we were allowed to add a human component to the recovery process.)

I loved the work, but always felt, at the end of one of those shifts, like some ancient Sumerian mythical character who journeys to the Underworld. I have no language to describe the energy fields of those patients. Post-surgery energy is completely unfamiliar - to me, but also (it seemed) to the patient as well.

Another one of my clients has taken a turn for the worse. Somehow the family has convinced someone(s) at the hospital to twist the rules (perhaps money changed hands?) so that I can visit my client in the Intensive Care Unit. I'm being given ten minutes to sit with my client. What am I supposed to do with those ten minutes? I have no idea, and I've promised nothing to the family of my client. But I'm going to go, even if only to soothe the family members, make them feel like someone who cares will be close-by for a few minutes. Also I have to admit, I'm curious. It's been ten years since I visited the Underworld. How will it seem to me today?

What does a person do to prepare for a journey to the Underworld? My strategy included double meditation time this morning, a half hour of "Ohm"-ing (I was so loud that my sinuses felt like they were rattling. After about three minutes of this uber-Ohming, the dog went to hide in the bathroom). Step three? warrior pose. I'm going to pray all the way to the hospital, asking for divine guidance, divine wisdom, and divine love. I will gather my spirit guides around me, stand up tall and walk with confidence into that scary room. I hope!

I'm very grateful to have fortified myself this week with all that cherry blossom energy. I also saw the Sufi acupuncturist yesterday; I'm sure that will help. I'm ready as I'll ever be. Wish me luck?

See you on the flip side!

Code Pink!

I had to turn on Comment Moderation for awhile. I'm getting some Asian spam. Thank you, Butternut S!


Stanton Park

Healing comes in so many forms and in so many strengths. The most heroic form of healing is probably surgery. I think of a surgeon removing a bullet from the shoulder of some army guy. Now that's heroic. Several levels down from that magnitude, healing comes in forms more common to most of us, like the taking of an aspirin, or washing a finger you cut while cooking, then applying a band aid. These are acts of healing, but maybe not so heroic.

The most gentle form of healing has to do with witnessing. I think of Walt Whitman sitting with the Civil War soldiers, giving them cigarettes and just talking to them. That was tremendously powerful healing, but gentle, oh so NOT heroic. Thanks Walt! You made a big difference, I know you did.


On the National Mall. Can you imagine walking underneath this pink bower? I did it, smiling and ooo-ing and ahhhh-ing the whole way.

In my own life I experience gentle healing every day. For example, the way my dog's ears flop up and down while he walks is so sweet, it's actually healing. Watching that flopping erases all kinds of minor scratches on my heart, tiny abrasions I am perhaps unaware of until I notice they are being healed. Thanks, Jake, for your sweet mutt ears and their healing floppage.

Every spring there is a week in Washington DC when the Pepto pink profusions of the cherry bloom bring the most delicate, loving energy into the city. Don't ask me how it works, I can't explain it, but I know in my heart of hearts that gazing up into the pink love clouds that are everywhere this week does so much good for my soul. It does. I'm sure, too, that I'm not the only one who benefits from this pink healing.

Yesterday I walked around for hours, taking in the shapes, color, the pouffiness, the pinkness, so milky sweet next to the dark trunks and branches. Fantastic! I felt like I was drinking, through my eyes, the most delicious spring elixir.

As usual I ate a couple of blossoms, tasted the bitter cherry taste. And I took a lot of pictures, too. It's possible that I'm radiating pinkness this morning as a result. Don't know about that, but I do know that I am smiling, for "no reason."

Many thanks to the cherries for doing what they do best: blooming, and filling my heart with their goodness. Bravo!!


North side of the Capitol.

There is no end to the circle.

It was bizarre - and lovely - to walk out of the funeral into the perfection of yesterday. The sky was sparkling blue, the cherries were at maximum pouf, the birds were singing. It was so poignant. Wow. You can not plan for events like yesterday so when they come around, it's only respectful to pay attention.

I felt like Bud Cort at the end of Harold and Maude. I even thought I should maybe learn to play the banjo, though by the time I got back to my neighborhood, I'd put that thought away.



Here I've been winge-ing about middle age, for heaven's sake. Though true that it's weird (middle age), on a gorgeous day like yesterday, particularly right after attending a funeral, it's hard to be critical of anything. My client's death really helped me remember to just be here now, enjoy, not worry and fuss and think so much.

Tomorrow the cherries at the Tidal Basin will be at their peak. I'm going to sneak down early before the masses of tourists decend so I can have a little private time with those amazing beings.

Life is good and I am grateful. L'chaim, ya'all.

A Fine Farewell

What happens after you die? None of us still living know for sure, a fact that doesn't stop almost everyone from forming an opinion.

My client was one of those rare people who had never really given the topic much thought. She was an uber-achiever who had never stopped long enough in her busy career and busy life to think about the beyond, until her first cancer diagnosis.

She was angry when she heard the news, furious even. She met the challenge in the same way she met all of life's challenges, by devising a strategy, making a to-do list, and then jousting with the challenge head on. She did western medicine and eastern medicine, she came to me for bodywork, did bio-feedback, saw a counselor. As a result of the therapy, she decided to launch into a relationship with God for the first time. Though she had never connected with the life of the spirit, her prayer practice was quite passionate and ongoing. She let God know in no uncertain terms that she would not go gentle into the good night. She negotiated her treatment with God in the same way that she negotiated deals in her working life. It was an amazing process to witness. She had balls. She did.

After she finished treatment, she went back to her full-bore life, which meant I didn't see nearly as much of her for awhile. When she received her second diagnosis, she returned to her schedule of bodywork and other modalities immediately. I was surprised to notice a certain softness about her when she returned. It was the last thing I ever expected! She joined a meditation group, started doing yoga. She slowed down a little bit, began spending more time with her family, more time outdoors. Even her relationship with God softened. Hers was an amazing metamorphosis from hard-assed and bitchy to compassionate, open hearted.

For the last couple of years, her life has been all about the cancer, forget the career, forget the uber-achievements. The cancer spread here, then there, and finally spread everywhere. The last time I talked to her (on the phone, she was in the hospital) she said, "You know how, after someone dies, they say that person has gone to a 'better' place?" She said, "I've been given a glimpse, Reya, and you will not believe how beautiful it is. You would not believe it." There was music in her voice when she said that, a music I had never heard in all the years we've worked together.

Cancer, for her, was a situation that polished her spirit and opened her heart, and helped her evolve into one of the kindest people I've ever known. She died in a state of calm, in a state of grace. I would never have imagined such a scene when I first met her. Wow.

May she rest in peace in that beautiful place she got a glimpse of. May we all find beauty at the end of life! So may it be!

Pepto Abysmal

The cherries have popped, always a cheerful spring moment in Washington DC. I tried yesterday to capture some festive images, but unfortunately, gray skies blend so perfectly with the creamy grayish Pepto pink of the blossoms that I had to pump up the contrast just to find the cherries in these pics. Who knows? Maybe they didn't want to have their pictures taken.

We needed the rain so I'm not complaining. Maybe later this week, Brother Sun will make an appearance. Cherry blossoms against bright blue sky are a revelation, they really are. I'm convinced the color combo has a direct effect on my cortical function.

In the meantime, here are a couple of glimpses. Even against gray skies, aren't they beautiful?

Somewhere in the middle

"Always" and "never" are words I use less and less as I advance through middle age, a Very Good Thing, I think. Both words, especially when said vociferously (and really how else would you ever use them except with great passion?) point to a very fragile thought form. There's something about "always" and "never" that seems like it would create stability, safety, I wonder where that comes from? Because both of those ideas create the narrowest mental pathway imaginable. There's no wiggle room in "always" or "never." That way of thinking is a precipice, land's end, a dead end.

Cultivating certain qualities, like trust and compassion, opening to faith, wrestling with tendencies such as the habit of being afraid all the time, helps to ease the choke hold of a mind that wants "always" and "never."

It's not like I haven't worked to expand my capacity for trust and faith, but in some way, the lessening of my need for absolutes is something that has organically developed over time.

I feel lucky this morning for the rewards of having spent fifty-six years on the planet. Life is good, even if that face in the mirror looks much older than I think it should, and I am grateful. Happy weekend, ya'all.