Monthly Archives: September 2023

Serious People

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My druthers

I hear this word around me. Perhaps it was floating in the air of the ancestry story. Perhaps it was transmitted in my DNA.

 

It seems folksy and from the type of hard scrabble, unbreakable stubborn people who would choose to grow crops on rocky hill sides. The smashing or lifting or rolling of obstacles out of the way was the way. Not once, did these obdurate people say, “Oh let us move to level, greener, more civilized fields to plant a life.” There was joy in effort.

 

And so, I hear the word “druthers” inside my head as I think about my choices. I would rather paint my deck than paint my nails. I would rather mow my grass than build up points with video games or cards. In my past, I would rather go to the stacks in the library and learn about the Victorians than sit for hours in a coffee shop at University. I prefer pruning my plants in my garden to following the neighbourhood drama and fear of the homeless walking our back-alley way. Some here have put up cameras as sentries to protect their territory. I choose to walk barefoot on my piece of land and watch for new buds, or the green tiny globe of a hot pepper’s promise on the corner of my deck transitioning to a delightful scarlet red.

 

I see my hands, my bent over back, my strong legs as a source of joy. It means I can strive upon the earth. Hundreds of ancestors watch me and cheer me on.

 

Time is not meant to be squandered, burned down to ashes without forming a prayer to be sent up. “What is the outcome?” my non forbearing forebearers would ask. Why would you wrap a ribbon in your hair when you could be wrapping the base of a tree to protect it from clawing animals? Be sensible always.

 

Silly choices, trivial choices, no account choices were condemned. I can feel the presence of my ancestors standing in rows behind my shoulders observing me. They ask me to consider. They ask me to take time to dissect with discrimination what I hold as a vision in my heart.

Caroline Schmidt

“Are you sure?” I hear the voice of Laetitia my far distant grandmother who raised 17 children that she alone brought into the world.

 

“Is this wise?” I hear my Quaker grandfather speaking quietly and evenly.

Francis Cook, Pilgrim

“Does this create a more substantial life?” say my Lutheran forebearers.

Sarah Black, Grandmother

“Is this merely a fancy, a decorative gesture or is it solid and serious?” say my Puritan dynasty filling the boats to struggle in a new country.

 

I am pleased as I stand viewing what my effort has created. A cleaned out space, a weeded garden, a tidied shed gives me more joy than any layered chocolate cake, celebratory party can ever deliver. Now, I know myself and I do not struggle with my choices as I did in the past.

 

I know my druthers. I know who I am. I am home.

 

The Seer

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We are like a strobe light. At times, we shine brightly. We are clear in our thinking. We do not stumble on our own feet, catch our toes on the edge of the coffee table leg, slide in error misjudging that last step. At times, we are masterful and calm.

We are periodically like ancient masters of the sea who could navigate by the stars a world unmapped, hazardous and wildly unpredictable. But only in moments, or months at a time.

The lesson always returns. The universe keeps track of what we are here to learn. We will be walking ankle deep in frustration afraid to slip on the slick surface of the unaddressed issue, the downhill slide of ego or error.

The human mind thinks of “success” of “achieving a goal” and it is what handicaps us in our growth the most. We are constantly growing, shape shifting, becoming. Upon occasion, we may take a deep breath and say to ourselves, “I have got it now.”

let go

It is a source of great humour for people with deep spiritual practice.

There is no grabbing the brass ring in your hand as you whirl around the merry-go-round. There is no “bing of the bell” as you swing the heavy mallet to drive yourself up to the top of it all.

We are simply pilgrims climbing the next hill side to stand and see that yet another, higher path awaits our legs to climb. Our legs get stronger, more sturdy with each new highland.

The difficulty of judging where we are in life is that we are nowhere. We are always nowhere. We live in a pulse of on/off. It is never still, this life, this decade, this day. It is a swirl of energy that we are constantly trying to ride.

To believe that we can achieve perfection, a 100% grade as a student, a pass out of the class room in order to frolic in a near by park is an error in understanding.

Yes, there will be picnics, sunshine, times of calm water on the sea. But these moments are not a sign that we are a good person, a perfect culmination of ourselves. School is not over. To mistake a period of good luck or of peaceful days as a reward for our special achievements is naive.

love is the way

In addition, we have the ego sitting in a golden throne over-seeing our lives and trying to keep us from challenges. Its voice is constant and annoying.

“Don’t try. Don’t risk it. Don’t grow. You are not sufficient. You are damaged and weak.”

It will always murmur fear to us.

We are on journey without a map. We are spelunking without a head lamp. We are swimming up to our necks in the water of lessons and frequently don’t know which way is the shore.

It is up to us to notice how the challenges are making us stronger. It is up to us to stop and thank the lessons for helping us become more of who we were born to be. We are the seer. We are the wise student. Always, always thank the lesson.

 

How cutting toe nails was a major goal for me

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Or, perhaps, I could write about that gloriious day months after my hip replacement surgery when I was able to get on my underpants without a Cirque de Soleil contortion routine across chairs, the bed, sometimes holding on to the top of a short wall. I developed a system and it was awkward. It was prone to failure and once in a while a fall.

So often I notice that we mortals toddle along like cartoon characters dump de dump de dump. We do the same things daily. There is a rhythm of success we don’t even notice. Our minds are restless and on the look out for the disappointments, the dropped glass pitcher moments, the flat tire on the high way, the slip with the knife while cooking.

But almost generally, we can say things work. We get from our homes to our appointments. The clothes we put into the washer come out clean. The slow cooked chicken is succulent and safely done to the bone.

If an angel rang a bell for every successfully completed task during our everyday, we would be deafened.

Every single day we experience a thousand victories which we don’t even notice.

It is only when the front door warps and the key won’t turn the lock that we realize that disaster can stop us in our tracks. How do I get in, if the key doesn’t work?  And then it is time to repair, replace, restructure, reassess. Then it comes home, the realisation of the complexity of everyday rituals.

What I noticed most about not being able to sit or walk for 15 months was that my toe nails began to look like the claws of a giant ant eater. They hooked on the sheets, caught on curtains, were painful in shoes and made getting anything other than a skirt or dress on impossible.

I had to take myself for a slow walk on the sidewalk. I had to gently begin physiotherapy. When I walked, I lurched to the left because the muscles in my right hip had weakened from two years or more of not working properly.

The surgeon slid over to me in a chair, made eye contact and popped his eyes out at me to try to explain that my expectations were child like. He was direct. But I could see myself on a unicorn riding over a rainbow to cotton candy land through his gaze.

fantasy shoes

I lurched so unpredictably that I repeatedly ran off of the narrow cement walking highway. One day I said to my neighbour, “I need a tee shirt that says,’ I am not drunk or stoned. I am just relearning to walk.’ ”

And then the glorious day 6 months after surgery, I did it. I brought my feet up toward me and I clipped my predator’s nails. An entirely new future opened for me. I could wear socks, and slide my feet into all of my shoes. I could wear long pants and successfuly push my now civilized toe nails down the tube to pop out below.

What I have known on some level, is that I have never realized how many “missions” I have completed successfully in my life. The habit of self criticism is strong. But I feel like an Olympian with a gold medal now: I can walk. I can put on my own underpants. I can clip my toe nails . Damn, it feels good.