Discussing Under the Influence

I was just about to make my clinching argument to the blithering idiot in the chair across from me, who probably didn't have enough brains to understand me anyway, when a tall man in an officer's uniform came up to me.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I need to ask you to step out of your seat."

"What? Who are you?" I demanded angrily.

"I'm the conversation officer, ma'am, now please step out of your seat." Amazed, insulted, and a bit scared, I did as he said.

"Ma'am, I'm arresting you for D.U.I.E."

"What on earth is that?" I demanded.

"Discussing Under the Influence of Emotions", he answered back with a steely face.

"I wasn't influenced by emotion!" I shouted, "I KNOW PERFECTLY WELL WHAT I'M SAYING."

"Ma'am, please cooperate, and this will go much easier. Now I need to have you do a few tests. Would you please breathe into this analyzer?" Still annoyed, but getting more frightened, I did as he asked.

"What is that supposed to measure?" I asked.

"It tests to see if your breathing is deep, slow, relaxed, and completely fills your lungs", he said, writing on his pad. "I'm sorry to say that the results show you are breathing rapidly and shallowly - a sure sign of not being centered. Now I'd like you to walk forward slowly in a straight line, feeling your connection with the earth under each foot." I walked as slow as I could, but didn't feel much of anything, except anger and humiliation.

"Just as I thought, ma'am, you are not grounded at all - your first chakra is completely disconnected." He scribbled more notes on his pad. "For the last test, I'd like you to look deeply into the eyes of the person you were just arguing with, and tell them from your heart that you still love them." This I simply could not do, no matter what the consequences. I cast my eyes downwards.

"I see," he said, "you are coming from a place of fear instead of love."

Fear? I thought I was angry. Could I have been angry because I was afraid of something?

"Ma'am," the officer interrupted my thoughts, "you know that with a few more violations of this nature, you can lose your privilege of connecting deeply with others. Your driving influence in this community may be severely curtailed."

The emotions were starting to settle, and I began to realize how out of control I had been. I began to see how I was doing significant damage to this relationship.

"Fear and love do not mix, ma'am." he said with a kinder voice. "There's nothing wrong with having emotions - just be careful how you express them."

He continued, "Ma'am, I'm going to make this a warning, but with repeated violations, you could end up in isolation.  Please remember, relating to others is a privilege, not a right." And with that he walked out of the room.

I looked back to my opponent, who was still looking at me.  He didn't seem to have noticed the officer at all. Now underneath his glare, I noticed he too seemed to look scared, the way I had been. So I sat down again next to him, took a deep breath, and said,

"Okay, I'm ready to hear you now."

Fireflies in the Grass

Last night, I was sitting out in the hot tub, and noticed some fireflies in the grass. Their fairie lights always fascinated me. The magic was still about them, undispelled by years of adult rational living.

One of them was lit constantly, as fireflies do when they're dying, and I wondered what had injured it, and why the fireflies were in the grass instead of sparkling in the night air. Then I remembered.

Last morning, I prayed to the gods to give me a bug-free backyard. I prayed by hooking my hose to a pesticide and spraying it over the grass and shrubs. The mosquitoes had been horrible as I had tried to catch a few meditative moments outside, and I decided to do something about it.

And the gods answered my prayer. But I hadn't thought about the fireflies.

This is our dilemma, isn't it? The wonderful power we have gained to conquer disease, build a better world with better food, assure the ability to stay warm in the winter, a better world with transportation and education and medication - that same power is what has enabled us to destroy forests and mountains, wipe out species, and alter the temperature of the planet to what may turn out to be a lethal amount. How can we know today what we will need tomorrow to survive? Which actions will we regret, and which will turn out to be wise?

We are a naked child sitting in the grass playing with a loaded gun, incapable of comprehending the power that lies in our hands.

Comment posted by Patrick Levasseur
at 7/29/2006 10:44:00 AM
I had forgotten all about fireflies as a child until I moved to northern Vermont this year. My first night there it was pitch black, without the moon as I hadn't yet turned any lights on from my nap, pondering my fate and lonelyness. To my horror I saw these eerie lights flashing through the kitchen window out in the yard and my heart sank with fear as I got the nerve to go outside and investigate. I was suddenly taken back to my childhood and remembered the fairies that would float along in the air as the light faded in the sky. There were hundreds of them both high and low, illuminating the pitch black so I was able to see the different parts of the yard for just a moment, and then disapearing again in to blackness. I could hear the bullfrogs in the pond as they took turns singing to one another and suddenly wasn't afraid anymore. I felt so grateful, my heart was pounding, and felt as though it was going to explode. I wasn't alone for that while, I finally had a home at such a wonderful place, mosquito bites and all.

Comment posted by Anonymous
at 7/19/2006 7:34:00 AM
I agree with your comments, Gene. When I was a young child, on a summer night I would look at and chase after the fireflies (also called lightning bugs) in the back yard, and look up at the stars, but now I don't see either as much as before in the DC area, perhaps because of pollution, although I saw fireflies in the back yard of the people who hosted the Folklore Society's monthly Open Sing most recently; apparently they thrive only in certain kinds of places. Humanity is harming life on our planet in a number of ways, and I feel concerned about it. By the way, I enjoyed all that our group did last Sunday evening at your home; thanks for having us over. Andy

Father Zossima's Brother

I'm including a post from Dostoevsky's "The Brothers Karamazov". It's rather long, and the russian writers are not usually who I go to for inspiration, but this piece has always moved me to tears, and somehow seemed relevant to the recent postings. I want to share it with you all.
Father Zossima's Brother

In the sixth week in Lent, my brother, who was never strong and had a tendency to consumption, was taken ill. It was a late Easter, and the days were bright, fine, and full of fragrance. I remember he used to cough all night and sleep badly, but in the morning he dressed and tried to sit up in an arm-chair. That's how I remember him sitting, sweet and gentle, smiling, his face bright and joyous, in spite of his illness. A marvellous change passed over him, his spirit seemed transformed. The old nurse would come in and say, "Let me light the lamp before the holy image, my dear." And once he would not have allowed it and would have blown it out.

"Light it, light it, dear, I was a wretch to have prevented you doing it. You are praying when you light the lamp, and I am praying when I rejoice seeing you. So we are praying to the same God."

Those words seemed strange to us, and mother would go to her room and weep, but when she went in to him she wiped her eyes and looked cheerful. "Mother, don't weep, darling," he would say, "I've long to live yet, long to rejoice with you, and life is glad and joyful."

"Ah, dear boy, how can you talk of joy when you lie feverish at night, coughing as though you would tear yourself to pieces."

"Don't cry, mother," he would answer, "life is paradise, and we are all in paradise, but we won't see it; if we would, we should have heaven on earth the next day."

Everyone wondered at his words, he spoke so strangely and positively; we were all touched and wept. Friends came to see us. "Dear ones," he would say to them, "what have I done that you should love me so, how can you love anyone like me, and how was it I did not know, I did not appreciate it before?"

When the servants came in to him he would say continually, "Dear, kind people, why are you doing so much for me, do I deserve to be waited on? If it were God's will for me to live, I would wait on you, for all men should wait on one another."

Mother shook her head as she listened. "My darling, it's your illness makes you talk like that."

"Mother darling," he would say, "there must be servants and masters, but if so I will be the servant of my servants, the same as they are to me. And another thing, mother, every one of us has sinned against all men, and I more than any."

Mother positively smiled at that, smiled through her tears. "Why, how could you have sinned against all men, more than all? Robbers and murderers have done that, but what sin have you committed yet, that you hold yourself more guilty than all?"

"Mother, little heart of mine," he said (he had begun using such strange caressing words at that time), "little heart of mine, my joy, believe me, everyone is really responsible to all men for all men and for everything. I don't know how to explain it to you, but I feel it is so, painfully even. And how is it we went on then living, getting angry and not knowing?"

So he would get up every day, more and more sweet and joyous and full of love. When the doctor, an old German called Eisenschmidt, came:

"Well, doctor, have I another day in this world?" he would ask, joking.

"You'll live many days yet," the doctor would answer, "and months and years too."

"Months and years!" he would exclaim. "Why reckon the days? One day is enough for a man to know all happiness. My dear ones, why do we quarrel, try to outshine each other and keep grudges against each other? Let's go straight into the garden, walk and play there, love, appreciate, and kiss each other, and glorify life."

"Your son cannot last long," the doctor told my mother, as she accompanied him the door. "The disease is affecting his brain."

The windows of his room looked out into the garden, and our garden was a shady one, with old trees in it which were coming into bud. The first birds of spring were flitting in the branches, chirruping and singing at the windows. And looking at them and admiring them, he began suddenly begging their forgiveness too: "Birds of heaven, happy birds, forgive me, for I have sinned against you too." None of us could understand that at the time, but he shed tears of joy. "Yes," he said, "there was such a glory of God all about me: birds, trees, meadows, sky; only I lived in shame and dishonoured it all and did not notice the beauty and glory."

"You take too many sins on yourself," mother used to say, weeping.

"Mother, darling, it's for joy, not for grief I am crying. Though I can't explain it to you, I like to humble myself before them, for I don't know how to love them enough. If I have sinned against everyone, yet all forgive me, too, and that's heaven. Am I not in heaven now?"

And there was a great deal more I don't remember. I remember I went once into his room when there was no one else there. It was a bright evening, the sun was setting, and the whole room was lighted up. He beckoned me, and I went up to him. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my face tenderly, lovingly; he said nothing for a minute, only looked at me like that.

"Well," he said, "run and play now, enjoy life for me too."

I went out then and ran to play. And many times in my life afterwards I remembered even with tears how he told me to enjoy life for him too. There were many other marvellous and beautiful sayings of his, though we did not understand them at the time. He died the third week after Easter. He was fully conscious though he could not talk; up to his last hour he did not change. He looked happy, his eyes beamed and sought us, he smiled at us, beckoned us. There was a great deal of talk even in the town about his death. I was impressed by all this at the time, but not too much so, though I cried a good deal at his funeral. I was young then, a child, but a lasting impression, a hidden feeling of it all, remained in my heart, ready to rise up and respond when the time came.

Comment posted by Anonymous
at 7/12/2006 10:21:00 AM
Wow that is beautiful and inspiring. thank you.

Dancing with delight

Last week I danced with Heather. She just glows with this pure joy when she dances - no flirting, nothing put on, no sexual energy - just the pure joy of dance. I look in her face, and I remember what pure joy feels like.

Every 32 beats, we are apart, and I forget, and we come back together, and I remember what joy looks like again. It fills me with such glory and happiness.

The odd thing is nothing external changed. I danced, I looked into her face, and suddenly I was happy. All she did was remind me that joy is available. The implications are staggering. It means I could have been that happy all along, and I just forgot that the dance was that enjoyable, that the dance makes me happy, that life is a wonderful thing. It's remembering the joy we had as a little kid from just sucking on our toes.

Why can't it be that way all the time? Why am I not accessing this energy all the time? It's inside of me, as my friend Ann always says.

Are there reasons to not be happy? Yes, I can think of some. But most of the time that I am unhappy, the reasons are not valid. Most of my depression comes from repetitive thoughts of the past, and are not in touch with the present moment. Heather was deriving her pleasure from the present moment, from the pure experience of the dance.

There was no desire for anything, nor any fear of losing anything. She knows it's temporary, it will go away - but she also knows it will come back. That absolute security brings her absolute happiness.

We wander around looking for meaning, forgetting the simple joys. There is meaning in happiness. When Heather dances, there's meaning there. It's not nothing. It's absurd to say there's no meaning there. For that instant, the dance is so important, it fulfills her whole being with joy, and she glows.

May we all awaken to the joy inherent in the dance of life.

Comment posted by R in Northern Virginia
at 8/4/2006 10:24:00 AM
Dancing is glorious! I remember the freedom when, as a teenager, I learned how to really move my body. A dear friend of mine, who is, incidentally, a beautiful and talented dancer, taught me. She moved with me, put my hands on her body to better experience the sinewy movements which define the difference between joyful dancing and the fulfilling of an obligation.

Your post really is about living the present moment -another lesson I keep forgetting and relearning--but reminded me of that dance experience--tten years ago, a lifetime for a woman in her twenties.

Keep sharing your thoughts, pleas. I recently discovered your journal and am enjoying it.

Small Details

Days go by, and I hesitate to write in my blog because I don't know if it will please my audience. I so much crave attention from others, as if, like the falling tree in the forest, I would cease to exist if no one heard me. And yet, I know my audience is few - dear friends, yes, but not the world-wide acclaim my ego would hope for to assure me that I am loved.

Today I sit outside with nothing between me and the air, reading the journals of Etty Hillesum, and from her frankness, I am again inspired to write. She details her life as if it matters - as if her feelings about a tree being cut down matter. My tendency is to look for "important" things in my life to share - great insights, clever sayings, dramatic events, as if the rest of my life is not really worth it. Yet the smaller things are important to me, or I would not go through them. I would not have driven to the store to buy eggs for breakfast if it had not mattered - I could just as easily have had cereal. But I took the trouble to dress, go out, go through traffic, go through the cold store, and come back maybe 40 minutes later, just so I could have three fried eggs.

Etty's journals show such intimate delight in her life that I can see that it is the small details that make life worth living - it is noticing and loving the movement of the sun, first as it beat down warmly on my skin, making me sweat, then as it moved behind the house, bringing a refreshing chill on the breeze. This is living, this is what life is about perhaps. We fight wars and diseases and amazing hardships just so we can sit in our backyard and feel the sun and breeze once again on or skin. Is this not the purpose of it all?

Today I am at home, alone, relishing my aloneness. I had planned to be in Oregon today, and I cancelled the trip at the last moment and at significant expense, because something inside me was in agony, struggling to be heard. Too often I ignore what appears to be trivial to me - this time I listened. And in the stillness I see more clearly that I need to speak and live my truth, and how I need to pick my words, not for imagined effect on my popularity, but because it is what I need to say.

Comment posted by Gene
at 7/9/2006 5:32:00 PM
Why, I'm delighted, Sapphire - you're the first new voice on my blog. Thank you for speaking up. Hope more posts speak to you also.

This lesson continues to challenge me - my distain for triviality runs deep, and I need to reach even deeper to find reality. After all, what will be left after we have destroyed the earth and there is no one left to even remember our passing? Nothing - no cures for AIDS, no great philosophies, no technological breakthroughs - nothing except our experience - the fact that one day, a glorious creature basked in glorious sunshine, and was fully aware of the glory of that moment. Perhaps that one day, that one experience, is enough to justify the long journey the universe has travelled to produce such a miracle. Is it possible?

Comment posted by Sapphire
at 7/9/2006 5:15:00 PM
I happened to find your blog on the main page of Blogger and read this post. It is so elloquent. I think many of us fall into that same rut of perhaps starting a blog for ourselves, but then when people visit, our ego swells and then it changes to blogging to keep people coming back for more. We lose sight of the fact that we started the blog for ourselves, not for the masses.

Comment posted by Anonymous
at 7/8/2006 8:34:00 PM
I'm glad you said that, Heidi, about loving life and all its little pleasures. It's good to hear from you also. Andy

Comment posted by Heidi
at 7/8/2006 7:27:00 PM
I imagine a professional counselor would have wanted those 3 eggs for breakfast also *grins* It is refreshing for me to hear someone expound on the melacholy of the inner mind only to be calmed by the beauty of the most trivial mysteries of nature in their own back yard. I'm glad others find peace in simplicity - and yes, maybe that's really the purpose of life - just being alive and loving life, I think. God doesn't need us to be important for Him - he's already done it all for us. But I guess sometimes we simply need to feel and express it and that makes it all important to us.

Comment posted by Anonymous
at 7/8/2006 8:01:00 AM
Hey, I hear you, Gene, whether you're a falling tree or whatever! Keep letting us know your thoughts and where you're at, and call us together to meet at your home whenever you feel like it, or be alone when you feel like it. (Being alone in a crowd, like at a folk festival, is what I often do; it's better than being really alone at home, although at home at least I can watch cable TV.) We need more people in this world who like attention and add something to other people's lives. It sounds like you're going through some heavy stuff right now that you don't want to keep to yourself, so maybe you would benefit from some professional counseling. Anyway, it's good to tell us what's on your mind. Andy