Out of the Ashes Beauty Will Rise

Hold on, hold on

Life will rise

Greening over

The burnt bits the ashes

Pain fades and

One day

You will open your hand and

Watch it go

Smoke curling into the sky

And what will be left, you ask

You, eternal, beautiful you

Standing tall 

Waving in the currents

Of the wind.

                                          ~ Claire Gryffn

On a walk in a nearby nature reserve we came across a hill that had burned down a few years ago.  I marveled at the intense green of the moss in such sharp contrast with the blackened stumps still around.  I realized what so many others---thousands, millions, billions maybe---have realized before: no matter how painful, how devastated, how burnt and dead, there is always the chance for resurrection, maybe not in the same form, but in some other way that could be even more beautiful than before.  I have always loved the thought that hearts need to be broken to allow the light in. 

Blessed be.

In the Tomb of the Soul

We went to an Easter service at the Unitarian Universalist church this morning.  It was deep and lovely and very touching.   Here's one of the readings:

Rolling Away the Stone


In the tomb of the soul, 
we carry secret yearnings, pains, frustrations
loneliness, fears, regrets, worries


In the tomb of the soul
we take refuge from the world
and its heaviness


In the tomb of the soul
we wrap ourselves in the security of darkness---
sometimes this is a comfort
sometimes it is an escape
sometimes it prepares us for experience
sometimes it insulates us from life


Sometimes this tomb-life gives us time
to feel the pain of the world
and reach out to heal others.
Sometimes it numbs us
and locks us up with our own concerns.


In this season where light and dark balance the day,
we seek balance for ourselves.


Grateful for the darkness that has nourished us
we push away the stone and invite the light 
to awaken us to the possibilities
within us and among us---
possibilities for new life in ourselves and in our world.


One of the many things that struck me in this reading was how rolling away a stone in front of a tomb is an act of love.  When you are inside the tomb you may not be able to roll away your own stone.  But someone can do it for you---someone who is not put off  by what might lurk inside, someone who wants to let in the light simply because they care about you.  And once they have, and you emerge, and you see the light,  then you can do it for someone else. And so, rolling away the stone is a collective effort.

I would be remiss if I don't add a link to the song "Roll Away Your Stone" by Mumford and Sons here.

Not the Destination

T.S. Eliot claimed that "April is the cruelest month, mixing memory with desire."  I'd argue that that distinction goes to March.   Here, high up in the Northern hemisphere, I know that February is brutal---I expect nothing less.

I have tried to train myself again and again not to be fooled by March, but every year I fall anew for her trickery.  One day she opens her hand and gives you wonderful soul-nourishing warmth and then the very next, she snatches it away.  Just as your optimism has been kindled, she whacks you over the head with a frozen fish of a day.  Worst is when she gives you bright sunshine with an icy breeze.  I bet March laughs when she sees us heading out in our cool clothes just to run back into the house after five minutes to get out winter jackets.

This past Sunday was just such a day---bright and sunny, but cold.  I itched to get out of the house, to soak up some of that nice sunshine, but where to go?  I imagined a coffee shop which faced west where we could sit in the sun and have tea and a scone.

I force the kids out of the house.  "Enough with sitting in the house playing video games.  Get your shoes and jackets on.  Dad and I'll be waiting in the car. Chop-chop!"

Grumble grumble grumble, but they comply, as children generally do.

We've been driving for about seven minutes when the question comes:  "Where are we going?"
"To a coffee shop."
"Which one?"
"I don't know."
"How can you not know?"
"I'm looking for one that faces west so we can sit in the sun."
"You mean, you have no destination in mind?"
"I do have a destination in mind."
"Then where is it?"
"I told you already, I don't know.  We're going to drive around until we find something we like."
Collective moaning from the back seat.
"I don't like this!" 
"I absolutely always need a destination otherwise I get very upset! 
"Can you please take us home!"

"Please keep quiet and look out of your windows to see if you can see a coffee shop with sun shining into it," I say.

"How can you go somewhere if you don't know where you're going?"
At this point my irritation level is starting to rise but I keep my calm, confident that when we find that coffee shop, and when they have a treat in front of them, it will be all worth it.

"Anyway," I say, "we're explorers.  This is what exploring is.  You set forth to see what you can see.  If you always only go to the places you know, you'll never see anything new."
"We don't want to explore..." Moan moan moan.

Rudolph and I look at each other.  What were we thinking.  This is hell.  At least they aren't fighting with one another.  But they are starting to bicker.  When it gets too loud Rudolph tells them to quiet down.  They only do it for a minute.  Pretty soon the noise has reached a level that makes it impossible for us to have a conversation.  We ask them to be quieter again.  Once again they comply for about a minute.

Then suddenly, despite all my high hopes, despite all my best efforts, I lose it.  I yell at the kids. I tell them that I am sorry I brought them with and that I am never going to do it again and that they are ungrateful little brats.  I listen to myself but can't seem to make myself stop.  I am behaving like a two year old.

They're quiet in the back seat.  I am fuming in the front seat.
"Where are we even?" I spit out.  "I have no idea where we are."
Rudolph asks "Do you want me to turn on the gps?"
"No!" 
Who's the child now? some part of me asks.

I drive along, tasting my regrets.  I regret everything---and I mean everything: that I had children, that I was born, that I am living in a place that makes me go in search of coffee shops so I can sit in the sun, (I don't regret marrying Rudolph though) I regret having such a temper and so little patience.  I regret being lazy in the morning because that always puts me in a bad mood.

I am still stewing in my regrets along a pretty and winding road which I hardly notice when, right in front of me is a sign that says "Wilson's Farms."

"Hey, look!" I can't help calling out, "It's Wilson's Farms."  I've always wanted to go there but whenever I look for it I never seem to find it, and here it is, right in front of us.

I pull into the parking lot.  The sun is shining.  Below us we can see into the green houses where plants are thriving.  I unfasten my seat belt and turn to the kids.  They look at me with big wary eyes.

Now I regret yelling.  I regret the mean things I said.

A friend told me a while ago that the key to healthy relationships is not to try to never tear them, because that's almost impossible given that we're all just human.  No, the key to good relationships is how well you mend the tears that do occur.

I own up to my childish behavior.  I apologize for everything I said.  I say that I take it all back and that I didn't mean it and that I was just angry and frustrated.  They open their hearts like children do and let their forgiveness flow out to me. I soak up the warmth of  their love.

Now that we're all smiling again, we pile out of the car and into the store.  It is bustling with people who all seem in a good mood.  There isn't a coffee shop, but there is a bakery.  We buy apple pie and hot cross buns.  We walk around for a few minutes and pile back into the car.  We point the car in the direction that we think is home and without a map or a gps we find our way back.  The road seems to unfurl itself in front of us.  Like a red carpet it leads us to our house where now the sun is lighting up the living room.  We make tea, sit on our couch, and eat our apple pie.

"We should do this again," my middle daughter says and the other two children agree.

Daffodils

Yesterday we invited some friends over for dinner.  Among other things (wine, good cheer, kids) they brought flowers (daffodils and tulips).  

Daffodils are my favorite flowers---I have a special soft spot for them.  I ask myself why I love them so much.  Here are some of the reasons: they are a promise of the sunshine to come; their outer petals are like an open hand offering a chalice of gold; they smell so beautiful; the first time I read the poem "The Daffodils" by William Wordsworth it opened up the world of poetry for me.  I memorized the poem (though I often forget the last few lines).  

I wish I could go and have a conversation with Mr. Wordsworth.  I like to imagine it would go something like this:

"Mr. Wordsworth,"  I would say, "remember how once you saw a field of daffodils and you wrote a poem about it and the poem was about how often, when you lay on your couch, you'd think back to the daffodils you saw?"  

"Yes....and your point is...?"

"My point is that because of your poem, I, too, saw the fields of daffodils so that now your memory has become mine, and when I lie on my couch I recall the poem which recalls your memory.  So thank you for writing it.  It has given me a lot of joy throughout the years."

"Oh, well, I don't know what to say.  Would you like some tea and then afterwards I can show you what I am working on right now."

And here is the poem.  Read it slowly, or better, close your eyes and ask someone to read it to you:

          I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
          That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
          When all at once I saw a crowd,
          A host, of golden daffodils;
          Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
          Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

          Continuous as the stars that shine
          And twinkle on the milky way,
          They stretched in never-ending line
          Along the margin of a bay:                                  
          Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
          Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

          The waves beside them danced; but they
          Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
          A poet could not but be gay,
          In such a jocund company:
          I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
          What wealth the show to me had brought:

          For oft, when on my couch I lie
          In vacant or in pensive mood,                               
          They flash upon that inward eye
          Which is the bliss of solitude;
          And then my heart with pleasure fills,
          And dances with the daffodils.

I was looking for a picture to put here but did not find anything that looks like what I imagine the poet saw.

Forgiveness

I used to think that forgiveness was a feeling that I had to wait for---once I felt the feeling, I could forgive the other person.

Last year, I had a moment of clarity.  One morning I woke up and realized that forgiveness is not a feeling at all.  It is an action---more specifically, it's a choice.  It's the choice to let go of blame, anger, pain, and feeling yourself a victim of the situation.  No longer did I have to wait until I felt better about someone or something, I could be proactive and forgive and carry on with my life without the extra baggage.  And why would I not forgive?  We are after all products of our particular circumstances, our nurturing and our genetic make-up.  The poet, Maya Angelou said it best:

"We do the best we can with what we know, and when we know better, we do better."

If you are holding onto pain caused by another, forgive them.  Forgiveness is a gift to others, but most of all you will find that it is a gift to yourself.

Better Days by Eddie Vedder

When I fall in love with a song, I just want to listen to it again and again.  This is the song I am currently in love with.  Hope you like it too! 

I feel part of the universe open up to meet me

My emotion so submerged, broken down to kneel in

Once listening, the voices they came

Had to somehow greet myself, read myself

Heard vibrations within my cells, in my cells

My love is safe for the universe

See me now, I'm bursting

On one planet, so many turns

Different worlds

Fill my heart with discipline

Put there for the teaching

In my head see clouds of stairs

Help me as I'm reaching

The future's paved with better days

Not running from something
I'm running towards the day
Wide awake

Feelings, Thoughts, and Actions

I feel! that I have chosen to come to this planet to explore and experience feelings.  It seems an excellent place to do so.  I am talking of course  about feelings of both a sensory and an emotional nature.

This planet seems just about the most perfect place anyone can imagine to experience feelings.   Let's consider just one thing: fruit.

From an evolutionary perspective, all that was needed to encourage us to eat fruit, was for fruit to taste sweet.  But fruit does not only taste sweet, nor is sweet the only taste we are able to experience when eating fruit.  No, there are so many varieties of fruit and they are all different in taste and texture, not to mention how they look and smell, and we lucky earthlings have the capacity to experience all of those differences.

But in this posting I want to explore specifically feelings of an emotional nature.  It seems we can't help but feel.  We are creatures born to feel.  Whatever we feel physically, evokes a feeling emotionally.  We feel pretty much during all of our waking moments.  We may not always be aware of our feelings, but they are always there, just below the surface.   We can not not feel.  We also can't control our feelings.  Maybe I am wrong.  Maybe some people can control their feelings.  I know I can't.  I also don't think I should try to.

Feelings are packets of information about myself, the people in my life, and my environment.  They are the letters that my spirit sends to itself about how it's going down here so far.   But, if I can't and shouldn't control my feelings, does that mean I should let them control me?  Not at all.  They should inform me, but they shouldn't control me.

I have come here to this planet not by myself but with others.

 Part of that deal is that we will live together here and, in order to do so, we agree to abide by certain rules.  Personal feelings have to be balanced by the rules I accepted when I signed up for earth.  What are the rules I accepted? To try to love others as I love myself---to try to be a good a human as possible.

My personal feelings may not always want me to abide by those rules.   I might feel like I want to yell at the slow driver in front of me, or grab the last of the ice cream, or stay seated while other people are working.  But doing that would break the rules that I agreed to, so I try not to let my feelings dictate my actions. I let them inform me.  I learn through my feelings that I get agitated when I am late.  That means I might need to budget more time when I travel.  I learn through my feelings that I like ice cream and I like it so much that I am tempted to act selfishly.

So, feelings can't be controlled, and should be seen as information.  Actions, on the other hand can be controlled, and should be. I believe that we are always responsible for how we act.  There is nothing more to say about it.  We are responsible.  If our actions hurt others, we are responsible.  If there were good reasons for why our actions hurt others, we are still responsible.

If we can not control our feelings and if we shouldn't even try to, and if we are responsible for our actions, do we have any wiggle room between these two?  I think so.  Our thoughts stem from our feelings and they can inform our actions.  I think we can control our thoughts.  It's not always easy, but it can be done.  I can replace a negative thought springing from a certain feeling which wants to lead to a negative action, with a different thought---one that would lead to a different action.  I can replace the thought "Jerk!" that arises when someone drives aggressively with "Maybe he's in a hurry.  I know nothing about his life."  If I allow myself to think "Jerk" that would most likely spur me onto an aggressive response, and I'd be responsible for that.  Thinking "Maybe he is in a hurry.  I know nothing about his life," opens up the possibility in me to let it go.

I can replace "I will grab the last ice cream before anyone else can" with "There is no food scarcity, I don't need to eat it now" or even "I'll take one bite and really savor it and leave some for someone else."

So, to sum up:  Feelings are information; we can not control them and we shouldn't try to.
Actions can be controlled and should be since we are responsible for everything we do.
Thoughts are the tools which can be used as a means to navigate between feelings and actions.  We can control them.  It's not easy but it's possible.  At least I feel it's possible.

And that concludes my early mornings thoughts and feelings about feelings, thoughts, and actions.  I feel now that I want to put the laptop down and snuggle under my blankets.  I think I will listen to my feelings.

Leisure by W.H. Davies

What is this life, if full of care,

We have not time to stand and stare?
No time to stand beneath the boughs,

And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

Rules to Live By

One of the books that had a big influence on me as a young adult is Sheldon Kopp's  If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him!

Sheldon Kopp was a psychotherapist and he wrote 17 books - most of them with interesting titles like:

• ''Even a Stone Can Be a Teacher'' (1985)
• ''Blues Ain't Nothing but a Good Soul Feeling Bad: Daily Steps to Spiritual Growth'' (1992) 
• 'The Naked Therapist'' (1976) 
•  ''An End to Innocence'' (1978)
• "Raise Your Right Hand in Fear: Extend the Other in Compassion." (1988) and
• "Who am I Really?" (1987)

He died on his 70th birthday from cardiac arrest.  

If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him! has, at the very end, an Eschatological Laundry List of 42 Rules to live by.


When I first read the book I loved the list as much as I loved the book.  Up until then I had always looked to grow spiritually by investigating different religions and trying out various practices - none of which fit particularly well.  After reading the book, I realized that I did not have to try and fit into a system, it was enough to just go skipping through the world, making up my own mind, and developing my own beliefs and traditions - I was in charge of deciding what meaning to make of the world and my life.


I did not realize it, but I made a kind of Buddha out of the 42 rules that Sheldon Kopp wrote down in his list.  That was then - when I was much younger.  In the meantime I have gained some experience, and as an exercise, I would like to look at the list again now (almost 20 years after I first read it) and see what I still agree with.


So here it is, with my comments in purple:

An Eschatological Laundry List
A Partial Register of the 927 ( or was it 928 ?) Eternal Truths

1. This is it!  Sure, if we agree that "it" also encompasses everything we can not see and do not know about.
2. There are no hidden meanings. Of course there can be hidden meanings.  Just because something is hidden from you, doesn't mean that it doesn't exist.  For example, if a friend does not return your call, there could be several hidden meanings for that action.
3. You can't get there from here, and besides there's no place else to go. True, I suppose, if you take yourself as the center of the universe.
4. We are all already dying, and we will be dead for a long time. Or, how about we are all alive and will be alive forever in some form or another.  If you remember 7th grade physics; energy can not be created or destroyed.
5. Nothing lasts. Yeah, things change.
6. There is no way of getting all you want.  Unless you want very little.
7. You can't have anything unless you let go of it. I do actually agree with this - to truly have something, you must let go of your fear of losing it.  If you don't, your fear will prevent you from really having it fully.
8. You only get to keep what you give away.  I like this one.  Many people say they want love, not realizing that love is something that you GIVE TO OTHERS and therefore it is completely in your control whether you have love in your life or not.  If you give love, you are rewarded by experiencing the feeling of love.
9. There is no particular reason why you lost out on some things.  Yes, life is not always fair but if you believe, as I do, that spirit guides us, then certain things come across our way as tests,  challenges,  rewards, or  wishes fulfilled.  
10. The world is not necessarily just. Being good often does not pay off and there is no compensation for misfortune.  This is sadly true.  Many good people suffer just because they had the misfortune to be born in a certain place at a certain time.
11. You have a responsibility to do your best nonetheless. Yes.
12. It is a random universe to which we bring meaning.  I think the universe is anything but random.  It is beautiful, intricate, mind-bogglingly complex like fractals.
13. You don't really control anything. You control very little as it turns out.
14. You can't make anyone love you. Yes.
15. No one is any stronger or any weaker than anyone else.  Hmmmm... tricky one.  Some people certainly seem stronger and weaker than others, in the same way that some are genetically predisposed to feel more pain for example.
16. Everyone is, in his own way, vulnerable.  Yes.
17. There are no great men. I think there are some great people - those who try their best to be decent, loving, fair, and kind, are all great in my opinion.
18. If you have a hero, look again; you have diminished yourself in some way. Not necessarily - you might have a hero as someone to model what you want to master.  That is only a problem if you think of yourself as less than your hero.
19. Everyone lies, cheats, pretends (yes, you too, and most certainly I myself). Yeah, can't really argue with that one.
20. All evil is potential vitality in need of transformation. A nice optimistic new-agey point of view.
21. All of you is worth something, if you will only own it. Sure... we can learn from what we would prefer to look away from.
22. Progress is an illusion. It certainly seems that way sometimes, but I would argue strongly that the flush toilet as progress is NOT an illusion.
23. Evil can be displaced but never eradicated, as all solutions breed new problems. It seems like that is how life works.
24. Yet it is necessary to keep on struggling toward solution.  The journey, the journey, it's all about the challenge and beauty and hardship of the journey.
25. Childhood is a nightmare. For a lot of people that is true, but not for everyone.
26. But it is so very hard to be an on-your-own, take-care-of-yourself-cause-there-is-no-one-else-to-do-it-for-you grown-up. Yes, it is quite hard but probably easier for some.
27. Each of us is ultimately alone.  Gah! I hate this one but I know it's true.
28. The most important things, each man must do for himself. Or woman.  And I suppose that is true.
29. Love is not enough, but it sure helps.  I guess.
30. We have only ourselves, and one another. That may not be much, but that's all there is.  I thought we were all ultimately alone?
31. How strange, that so often, it all seems worth it. Yes, we humans are a strange bunch.  We want so very much to be happy and to be loved and we organize our lives according to those principles and sometimes it works out and we get that.
32. We must live within the ambiguity of partial freedom, partial power and partial knowledge.  So, very true.  The partial knowledge one drives me batty.  I have reconciled myself to the other two.
33. All important decisions must be made on the basis of insufficient data. Yep.
34. Yet we are responsible for everything we do. Yep... pretty much we are.
35. No excuses will be accepted. By whom?  
36. You can run, but you can't hide. You can't really, whatever you are running from will run with inside you until you have faced it and worked it out.
37. It is most important to run out of scapegoats.  Definitely.
38. We must learn the power of living with our helplessness. Can someone explain how helplessness is empowering because I just don't get it.
39. The only victory, lies in surrender to oneself. I like this.
40. All of the significant battles are waged within the self. Mine sure are.
41. You are free to do whatever you like. You need only face the consequences.This is my favorite "rule" on the list.
42. What do you know ... for sure ... anyway? Not much.
43. Learn to forgive yourself, again and again and again and again.  My second favorite rule on the list.

By Sheldon B. Kopp, Ph.D. 

 ." 

Spirit Is What Is Most Real About Us

                  The other night after I tucked first the 7 year old, then the 9 year old into bed with kisses and wishes of sweet dreams, I was ready to come downstairs and crash after what had been a  particularly hectic day.  As I quietly closed the bedroom door I heard a tentative small voiced: "Mom?" coming from my 13 year old daughter's bedroom.  For a moment I considered pretending that I hadn't heard - I was sooo tired by that time.  I know she is old enough that she can fall asleep without being tucked in.  Technically I could have sneaked away, but I am a mother after all, so I didn't.  And I was happy that I didn't---that I listened to the little voice (thank you little voice) that whispered "Just because she is older doesn't mean she needs you any less."

I pushed open the door and the light from the hallway fell into her bedroom.  I went and sat down next to her.  I stroked her hair away from her face like I always do and realized that she had been crying.

"What's the matter?" I asked. She choked up, silent sobs racking through her body.  Finally, when she calmed down a little, she answered me.

"I'm just thinking about you and dad and how you will die one day and how much I will miss you, and then, if I have my own children, then one day I, too, will die and I won't want to leave them behind.  Why do people have to die, mom?" More tears.

Internal panic.  Gods!  What should I say!  Help!!!  Calm down and gather your thoughts, I told myself.

Finally the sobbing eased and she was able to hear what I had to say.  I took a deep breath:

"Spirit is what's most real about us, my dear.  Think of a lamp - what is it? A stand, a bulb, and a lamp shade, right?" She  nodded.

"Now think, wouldn't you say that the thing that is most real and special about a lamp, is the light it gives?  Wouldn't you agree that the lamp exists as a way for the light to be made visible.  The light is eternal.  You learn at school that energy can not be created or destroyed.  The energy that animates us, that makes us alive in a way that chairs are not, can not be destroyed.  Just like lamps our bodies exist as a way  for our spirits to be made visible.  Why are identical twins not the same even though they are genetically identical and raised by the same parents?  How come they can have such different personalities?"

She was listening.  "Because they have different spirits?" and after a few moments, "But how do you know for sure, mom?"

"I don't know.  I just know what I feel and I feel that we are more than our bodies.  I feel that our bodies exist as a way for our spirits to experience life on this earth.  I don't know if, after death, our energy like a river flows into and merges with an ocean of energy (what some people call God) or if our energy stays separate.  I would like to think it stays separate so that we can all meet up again, in this world or another, if that is what we wanted."

"But is there proof?"

"There is no concrete, hold-it-in-your-hands-and-turn-it-over proof for it, but then again, there is also no proof against it.  None of can say with any kind of certainty what happens after death.  Not even the most intelligent people can say for sure because no one, not a single person, knows for sure.  Some people say that there is no such thing as spirit - that we are all just the sum of our physical parts and that the only things we can believe in are the things we understand and have studied.  I don't think that is true.  This universe is so large and mysterious that I bet there are things we can not even begin to imagine."

"But it is true that one day I will die, and dad will die, and yes, even you will die.  But no one knows when that will be and so in the meantime let's do two things.  Let's choose first of all to believe that spirit is real and secondly, let's enjoy each and every day we have together."

This seemed to soothe her.  And truth be told, it soothed me because from time to time I too am overcome by the love I feel for the people I love, and the loss I imagine if I should lose them.  But luckily for me, my belief in permanence of spirit (most of the time) wins out over my doubt.  Also, there is more and more evidence (some might consider it proof) for the existence of the after life.  And so far, everything points to it being truly wonderful.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNbdUEqDB-k
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HbtoX3Q5OI

**photo of Aurora Borealis originally sourced at http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Polarlicht_2.jpg

The Gender Divide: Blame it on Genetic Predetermination

It's not a new thing for women to complain about men.  Specifically, their lack of willingness to communicate: women want men to ask them deep questions, speculate with them, ruminate with them, offer them verbal support, and, most importantly, open up and share what they feel.  Generally when women do not get this kind of communication from their partners, they start to assume that their partners must not love them.  They argue that if their partners did love them then surely they would do the things that make them happy: talk, listen, and be emotionally supportive.

I confess that though I feel for women, I also feel sorry for men.  They had to evolve in a specific way---a way that most effectively met the demands of a challenging and even brutal environment.  For thousands of generations the traits that were acquired and passed down served them and the women in their lives well, and now suddenly, in the last few decades they are expected to not only provide different things (a paycheck as opposed to an animal carcass) but also be different (now they have to emote and where before they had to suck it up and be brave).

I am a SETEC by belief.  SETEC stands for Spiritual Extra-Terrestrial Evolutionary Creationist.  You've probably never heard of it.  I made it up.  One day I'll explain what the main tenets of my beliefs are.  Not now though.  Suffice to say that the "Evolutionary" part used to be the weaker part of my beliefs.  But that changed over time  and more and more I saw that much of who we are, is genetically determined.

Though it seems to be a highly contentious issue I believe that psychological traits too, are inherited, just like physical ones.  Previously I had always thought to myself that while I subscribed to the idea of the evolution of physical traits, psychologically we were largely free - products of individual choice first, nurture second, and nature third.  It was reading about the  taming of the silver fox that finally changed my mind.

Now I look with new eyes at gender differences.  When my husband opens the fridge and asks where the yogurt is, I no longer think that he is being deliberately obtuse or trying to drive me crazy.  Now I ask myself, why does he not see what is (literally) right in front of him?  (And no it has nothing to do with his vision.)

Could it be that all of these vexing gender discrepancies can be traced back to evolution?  Think of it: for thousands of years men had to pay attention to things that were spatially relatively far away from them (deer running away or enemies approaching (the further away they were when you spotted them the better your chances of survival were)).  If you were a man and not good at paying attention to objects far away from you, you could quite literally be clubbed to death or die of starvation.

Women, on the other hand, had to pay attention to things that were closer---spiders, snakes and bugs in general, babies crawling towards these bugs, edible vs. poisonous berries etc.  In short, they had to learn to pay attention to what was within arms reach. Their and their children's survival depended on it. They couldn't afford to not pay attention - the wrong kind of berry could kill you, so could poisonous spiders crawling down from the cave roof.  Paying attention to objects that were closeby became just as an important a tool for survival as scanning the horizon.  

Why are women such good multi-taskers?  Because, as any mother will tell you, little kids scurry towards danger alarmingly often.  But only keeping tabs on the toddler was not going to get the berries picked.  No, women had to pay attention to the various kids running around, get the berries picked, while all the time staying on the look-out for snakes and leopards.

These days everything related to survival seems to happen within arm's reach.  Most men no longer scan the horizon for rain clouds or passing herds of antelope; now they scan their romaine lettuce and tenderized steak at the check-out line in the grocery store, or even easier, give their credit cards to be scanned in the restaurant.  Nowadays danger rarely comes from far-away.  By the time we modern humans see it, it is often too late: cars travelling on a collision path at 60 miles per hour, or, even faster career damaging information zinging over the internet.

But all of that is nitty gritty survival stuff you might argue.  Communication and the lack thereof, the issue that women endlessly complain about (and yes, let's admit it: it is women doing most, if not all, of the complaining) is surely all about love and not subject to the same evolutionary processes?  Maybe.

Communication may have always been important in landing a mate. Mr. Caveman had to communicate somehow that he was more desirable than the next guy.  If he was buff, then it was easy, he just had to flex his muscles and flash as set of healthy gnashers.  But if he wasn't very studly, he would have had to convince his lady-love by others means---perhaps by promising things, or by telling her how beautiful and special she was and how happy he would make her.  But let's face it, once the mate was snagged and tagged, then everyone could relax and go back to being just their normal selves.

Let's take a look at what communication would have entailed for a band of cavemen who were, let's say, out on a mammoth hunt?  Deep and meaningful questions ("I was just wondering what you guys thought: but is it morally right to be eating our fellow creatures?")?  Sharing feelings ("I feel soooo tired.  My feet are really sore.  I wish we could go home now.") ?  Support ("You look a little off.  Is everything ok with OozaWooza?  Are you guys having problems?  Let me tell you about what UgaWhuga said to me the other day... Man, I almost cried...")?  Clearly, on a mammoth hunt, this kind of communication would be detrimental to the mission.  The whole point surely was to not speak about or focus on feelings---if you did, you might lose your courage because walking away from home and safety is hardly ever easy and even more so if return was not guaranteed.  No, you had to suck it up and do it for the team.  If one person started to emote then that would bring down morale for the entire group.  Cracking jokes may have been ok but probably not even that.  If you were walking in the bush you couldn't be yappity yapping at all, you had to be quiet and listen for animals and enemies.

What about the women?  They had to stay close to home because they were more vulnerable, often pregnant, and/or taking care of children.  Since people lived communally for most of human history, naturally the women had ample opportunity to spend time together.  Women are usually very generous with people they trust.  In times when the men were away they needed to rely on one another and share what they had  - whether it was stuff or information.  Their survival depended on it but having a group of sisters that they could trust made life sweeter and less hostile and lonely.  But could a woman blindly trust anyone?

Certainly not.  Women are not saints - they can be sneaky and undermining creatures.  No women of yore had to figure out who was worthy of their generosity.  Who would treat their children kindly, who could be invited into the home without fear of the guest making off with the mate.  And how did women determine these things?  Certainly not by berry-picking contests, or competition of any kind (that will teach you nothing about trust).  No, they had to talk, share, ask questions, and listen closely to see what kind of sister they were dealing with.

And so it goes still.  Men are quiet and women are chatty.  Of course, not all men and women conform to these stereotypes. Next time though that you are tempted to complain about a partner's traits or habits consider the evolutionary origins of these traits and look with a kind eye on them---their existence is what allowed you to be here.

A Favorite Poem

We tend to take our bodies for granted.  We pay them no attention until they actually get sick.  Often we don't give them the rest, nutrition, and exercise they need.  We criticize them.  Often we do not love them and yet, they are to us faithful beasts carrying us through our lives. 

  

Question

BY MAY SWENSON

Body my house

my horse my hound   

what will I do

when you are fallen

Where will I sleep   

How will I ride   

What will I hunt

Where can I go

without my mount   

all eager and quick   

How will I know   

in thicket ahead

is danger or treasure   

when Body my good   

bright dog is dead

How will it be

to lie in the sky

without roof or door   

and wind for an eye

With cloud for shift   

how will I hide?

Looking at Art

It's a tricky thing, going sight-seeing with someone.  Some people race through the rooms, hardly stopping to look at anything.  You see them ahead of you, not looking at the objects on display, but looking back at you, their impatience barely contained.  You know that their ultimate aim is to get to the gift shop where they will purchase something that will serve as proof that they had come, seen, and conquered.  I do not judge them.  Who am I kidding... I do judge them. Why come at all, if they can't slow down enough to take anything in.  But then again, who am I to say what is and isn't the right way to go through this world.

Then there are those who wander slowly but can find nothing good in anything they see - you point out something that you like.  "Meh..." they say, pulling their faces and shrugging their shoulders.  You ask them if they liked anything and they say "Not really."  It's very depressing to go sight-seeing with people like that.  I can't help but lose some of my excitement in their company.   Sometimes it's hard to know whether a friend falls in this last category.  Over time I have figured out that these people are excited by relationships, they like to talk about things that happen between people, themselves and others.  They like drama more than beauty.

I used to think that I would know beforehand whether my friends would make good sight-seeing companions.  I realized over time that I was really bad at spotting the racers and the shruggers.  Now I prefer mostly to go by myself.  And why do I go?

I go because going to an art museum is like looking through the windows into a child's doll house.  All the rooms are different.  Art is a window into the artist's house.  When I look in, I can see a slice of who lives there.  But I can also put myself at the window of the room that the artist was standing in when they created that specific piece of art.  I can see what they saw.  And when I am in someone else's house I see things I probably wouldn't have seen from the limited vantage point of my own house.

That is what I like about art.  Not all the rooms I look into, or views from windows I look out from are beautiful or inviting, but most of them are interesting - exactly because they are not mine.

The first time I saw a Georgie O'Keefe painting from up close I was amazed by how the texture of the paint mimicked the texture of flowers when they are seen from up close.  More than anyone else, her paintings tempt me to touch (of course I would never dare) because they look soft and velvety, just like flowers.  As a little child I remember gazing at the flowers in my mother's garden and it felt as if I could never gaze long enough.  I wanted to drink in their beauty.  Little violets and purple irises, roses.  I wish I could see the world in that same clear-eyed way now.  When I look at Georgia O'Keefe's paintings, I think that she was able to see flowers in that unfiltered way that is now mostly lost to me except when I stand in the house her art built.

The Mind-Blinding Vastness of the Universe

My favorite museum is the Museum of Natural History in New York City and my favorite exhibition there is the Scales of the Universe exhibition in the Rose Center for Earth and Space.  Along a 400 ft walk-way you come to realize how very, very big the Universe outside the self is and then, if you reverse course, you discover how very,very big the universe inside the self is.

It was after that exhibit that I truly realized that one should do what makes one happy and that living by society's rules is not the be-all and end-all of life.  How hard do we not work to do what is expected of us... to do what we expect of ourselves?  But we are star-dust spinning in space for not even a billionth of a billi-second (there has to be such thing as a billi-second right?) We could tell ourselves that we do not matter because we are so small but when we look inside ourselves on the atomic level we are each a universe unto ourselves.  We are both infinitely small and infinitely large--- in body and in mind.  What strange creatures who can not understand infinity, but who can understand that there is such a thing as infinity.

Here's a video that illustrates the vastness of the universe (how lovely that the universe (one verse, united verse?) is called the universe.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oAVjF_7ensg&feature=player_embedded

Here is the wikipedia link for the word Universe  I never knew that the literal sense of verse is to roll into one.

What is a Good Day?

Some days go by and we accomplish very little.  Today was just such a day.  A snow storm closed the schools and we all stayed home.  What bliss to not have to get up before sunrise!  I had many plans for the day.  I was going to make cookies, crepes, a pot of soup... (when I am hungry I tend to over-estimate what I am capable of).  We were also going to play in the snow, play a game of Monopoly, and have a really good time together as a family.

Almost none of those things happened.  The Monopoly was sabotaged early on by the one person who did not want to play (no names will be named).  The cookies were not made because frankly, I am just really bad at baking. The crepes would have taken too much time.  In the end the soup is all that came of my big plans. 

I can't say that I don't feel a little disappointed that the day passed by in the way it did.  A little frustrated (mostly with myself but also with the rest of my family who seem utterly content lying around all day doing nothing).

I seem to carry a feeling with me of how short our time here on earth is.  Christmas rolls around with all of its hype and work and hooplah and expectations.  But if we are very, very lucky, we will see 100 Christmases.  And 100 is not that big a number.  We live as if we have infinity at our disposal but here in this body, in this place, we do not.

The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on
Nor all thy Piety, nor Wit shall lure it back
to cancel half a line.
                              - Omar Khayyam

This is not meant to be depressing, although, if I think about it long enough, I can surely get depressed.  No, rather, it is a call to live each day as if I am writing it in the book of my life - which I am.

But that begs the question... who says what is the right way to live?  Who says it is more noble or somehow better to bake cookies and play Monopoly than lounge around and do nothing?  Is it really a crime to be idle?  Is the beggar really to be scorned for not making his living in the culturally accepted way?

I don't have the answers for these questions.  Most of us are guided either by our happiness or our sense of duty (and isn't duty a commitment to the happiness of others?).  So happiness and duty are the guiding lights by which most of us lead our lives.  Few would argue that one is more important than the other.  So, is there really something wrong with leading one's life in a way that makes one happy even if it does nothing for other people?  Is there a spiritual contract that we make, in coming to earth that we will try to make others happy?

So many mysteries and so few answers.  But I think I will let it be.  The day was what it was.  It was neither good nor bad.  It is only my thinking that wants to label it.

At every moment in time we create our own reality.  We can not control other people and we can not fully control what happens to us, but we can control how we choose to think about things.

On a different note, Quinten asked me what I was doing and I explained to him that I was writing a blog and also what a blog was.  This is his contribution to the blog today:

How to be happy if you are 7 (thoughts by Quinten)

If you have a trampoline, you should go and jump on it.  


If bad things happen to you, you should take a pillow and let your anger out, or if you have a punching bag, you should use that. 

Good Writing

Once in a while you find yourself at a little lake with a couple of hours to kill.  And while you slowly contemplate the possibilities---should you skip stones, go for a walk, lie down in the sun---you see a rowboat tied up to small dock.  I prefer to imagine the rowboat as smallish, big enough for two people at most, old, with peeling red paint and wooden oars.  Perhaps there is a name on its side in in faded gold lettering but from this angle of my imagination I can't see what it is.

So you decide to take the little boat up on its invitation.  You idly splash around the lake for a bit and the times passes by pleasantly.  After a while you think that you had better start heading back, but just as you have that thought, you suddenly see a little outlet where the water from the lake seems to flow away into a little stream.  You row closer and you look down the river but it disappears around a bend and you can't see very far down it.

Then you deliberate with yourself.  Should you investigate further?  Soon it will be time to go home.  If you spend the time to find out, will it be worth it?  Perhaps around the bend the river turns into a murky morass.

But something urges you on and you decide to row down it, just a little bit, just to see what lies around the bend.  And so you go, and, oh, happy day, you find that it's a perfect kind of river.  Not too slow, not too fast.  A gentle current where you want to look at the river stones and faster when you've had enough of that.  It leads you past the most interesting little alcoves and trees and rocks and makes you forget completely about everything but the moment.

A good piece of writing is like a little river.  It can transport you to places that you don't normally go.

Anyway, the following essay was just such a piece of writing.  It took me on a delightful journey and fulfilled completely my wish for a little relaxation and adventure.

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**********************Marking The Self**************
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