New Experiences. . . Meditation, A Friend and My Spirit

Yesterday I attended my first ever meditation retreat. The retreat was scheduled from 10:00 a.m. until 4:00 p.m. I hung in there until 2:30 p.m., which was very good I thought for someone who's never meditated longer then about 10 minutes at one time. I had a little difficulty following the rules - like the "no talking" rule and the "donation recommendation of $95.00 - $35.00" rule and the "don't look at anyone else" rule and the "don't leave early but if you do let the instructor know so she won't worry about you" rule - but other than that, I think I stayed in bounds most of the day. Oh, one more thing. Though this wasn't on the official rule list, it probably should have been and had it been, I would have broken one more. The "don't steal" rule. Yeah, I know - lame, right? I couldn't help myself. There were these really beautiful rocks lining the church flower gardens that I spotted on my first walking meditation, and I just had to have one. Ok, make that two. Wouldn't have happened had I not been following the "keep your eyes down" rule, cause I wouldn't have seen them otherwise. So it's really the rule maker's fault that I was tempted in the first place! They (the rocks) just called out to me. "Hey you, Ms. Meditation Girl, I'd make a really nice souvenir". So I brought them home with me and set them on my dresser. Wonder if I'll ever pick them up or even notice them in the future? Hmm. Maybe I shouldn't have stolen the rocks. I probably just caused myself a lot of bad karma. And for what? Rocks that will do nothing more than collect dust on my dresser. Yeah, probably a bad idea. Note to self: if you ever go back to the Unity Temple, return the stolen rocks! So what did I get out of this experience? I went for two reasons: 1st because a friend asked me to go and 2nd because I was hoping to find or connect with my spirit. For those of you who haven't read my earlier blog entries, I'm on this mission of sorts - to find my spirit and not let thoughts control my life. Anyway, I was really hoping to get plugged in - connected - to spirit. Sadly, I must confess that it didn't happen. It wasn't because I didn't try. I did! I tried my heart out! I did sitting meditations. I did walking meditations (that's when I stole the rocks). I did eating meditation. I did moving meditation (which was really lame by the way, because the leader just made shit up as she went along and got me all off balance). And last but not least, I did guided meditations. While I didn't find my spirit (which is really a disappointment to me), I'm glad I went because of reason number 1. My friend invited me. I showed up. I accepted an invitation and then I followed through. I didn't find 50 reasons to cancel at the last minute, which is progress for me. I didn't allow my negative thoughts to talk me out of going at the very last minute. Oh sure, they were there (though not as loud as usual), but I didn't let them control me. And I'm so glad I didn't. I enjoyed being with my friend and her husband. We had coffee together in the morning, I did my walking meditation with my friend (that's when we broke the "no talking" rule). We ate lunch together (in silence - wink/wink). And they drove me back to my car when the three of us skipped out early (breaking yet another rule). This shared experience with a (new) friend was simple enough, but it was so powerful at the same time. I can't say why exactly. It just was. She felt it too. She told me - more than once - that she was so glad I came. And I told her that we needed to do more activities together. She agreed! I've spent so many years lonely because I have a difficult time connecting with people. I've always just assumed that folks wouldn't like me if they got to know me very well. Because of that, I've spent way too much time by myself. . . lonely. But this new person in my life seems to like me just fine. She hung out with me for more than a minute and she didn't run away. She seems to enjoy my company and I know I enjoy hers. Hey. Wait a damn minute. Maybe spirit did reveal itself to me. Maybe I just didn't realize it in the moment. Maybe me connecting with spirit wasn't in the meditation. Maybe, just maybe, it was about my friend. Maybe I connected with my own spirit as I spent time with a friend bonding. It was in my time with her that I felt "whole". Don't get me wrong. The meditation was nice for what it was - relaxing. I didn't feel enlightened or anything. But the time spent with my friend - just hanging out - just being with one another - was when I felt most alive. Yeah, maybe spirit did reveal itself to me. And now that I've seen it, felt it, I know I like it and want more of it. It was a good day. Thank you spirit. Thank you for being there and for showing up, even if I wasn't paying attention. . . in the moment.

Memories

What did I do on May 15, 1966 or August 28, 1971 or October 2, 1976 or January 11, 1983 or March 1, 1989 or April 20, 1994 or June 9, 1999 or July 19, 2006 or yesterday for that matter? Heck if I know. Seriously. I have no idea what happened on most days of my life. When I think back, very few dates and the associated events of those dates are present in my memory bank. Sure I have memories - both long and short term - but I can't really put an event with a date unless it was some monumental something - like the day I was born. February 12, 1961. The date of my birth. Actually, I don't remember my birth at all. I'm told that's the day I was born. So, actually, I don't remember what I was doing on February 12, 1961, I just remember what my parents told me I was doing that day. . . getting birthed. Driving down the road today, I heard an interview with Marilu Henner. Remember her? Actress who played in the television sitcom, Taxi. Do I remember the dates that Taxi aired? Heck no! But Marilu does. The interview she gave today was all about this rare condition she has called "Superior Autobiographical Memory". The condition enables her to remember what she did on every single day of her life. I didn't hear the interview from the beginning, so perhaps she can't remember every single day - like the first 1460 (that's the first 4 years of her life for those of you who don't have a calculator). But other than that, other then the first few years of her life, you give her a date - any date at all - and she can tell you exactly where she was and what she was doing. Amazing! As I listened to the interview, I thought back over my own life and I tried to remember dates of really important stuff - like where I was when I turned 16, what day of the week it was the day I turned 21, what date I graduated from high school, what day I voted for the very first time, what day my husband proposed to me, etc. Sadly, I couldn't. I couldn't remember any of it. I wished someone had told me when I was 5 to start writing everything down. Make a note of every day of your life. Record where you were and what you did. It's your life! What could be more important than that? If you weren't blessed with Superior Autobiographical Memory, like Marilu was, there is no other way that I am aware of to remember every day of your life. What better way to realize the value of your life then to be able to remember it - all of it. As I reflect back on my life, I remember lots of really good stuff. I remember my little brother not being there one day and suddenly appearing - like magic the next. He was my baby. Oh how I loved that lil bundle of joy. Don't recall the day he came home from the hospital, but I sure remember the feeling I felt. I remember the perceived pain of losing my first baby tooth. Can't recall how old I was, but I remember the fear. I was scared to death that losing that tooth would be the equivalent of losing an entire leg or arm. I don't remember losing my other baby teeth. . . probably because the pain of the first wasn't nearly as bad as I had convinced myself it would be. I remember having the mumps. Ouch! Now that was painful. Thought I had big ol' globs of oatmeal stuck in my throat. I don't know what day it started or what day it ended. I don't remember how old I was. But I sure remember the feeling, and more than that, I remember the love of my mother as she tried to comfort me. I remember my kindergarden teacher, Mrs. See. She was born in Japan and I thought she was the most beautiful non-white person I had ever laid my eyes on. And she was super cool! She brought a tadpole to our classroom one day and promised us all that it would soon become a frog. We checked the little tadpole's makeshift pond every day until finally one day it happened. The tadpole was gone and in its place was a feisty lil frog. Sure wish I could remember the date that happened. My first experience with nature; at least the first I can recall. I remember kissing a boy for the very first time. Lee. Oh my he was handsome, or so my seven year old mind believed. I had quite the crush. I tricked him into joining me down in the cellar one afternoon after school. And there we were - just me and him - sitting in that dark, damp, private place. The anticipation was almost more then I could stand. And then I did it. I reached right over and planted a big ol' sloppy kiss right on his beautiful lips. He was so shocked he bolted - ran up the stairs and right out the door. Like the wind. Here one minute, gone the next. Don't remember the date, but I'll never forget the anticipation of that first kiss or my embarrassment afterwards. Square dancing for the very first time is something else I'll never forget. I was in the 7th grade. I loved it! All my classmates seemed to hate it so I had to pretend I hated it too. Couldn't have my judgmental classmates thinking me so nerdy as to love something as "gross" as square dancing. After all, girls and boys had to touch in order to do the dance. And who in the 7th grade can admit to wanting to touch a member of the opposite sex, right? Right! So I pretended I hated it when all the while I loved it. Loved everything about it. The music, the funny looking costumes, the caller, the dose doing, but most of all. . . the boys! Gosh, how I now wish I could remember the day I experienced square dancing for the very first time. It's when I became a girl I think. When I fully realized for perhaps the very first time that boys and girls were not alike. What a happy day it was sitting on my Auntie Pearl's lap and learning the hand movements to "this is the church and this is the steeple and open the door and there's all the people". Oh how I loved my Auntie Pearl. She made every moment fun, but more than that, she showed me what unconditional love was. I'm so sorry Auntie Pearl that I don't remember the date you taught me about church and steeples and people. More than that, I'm sorry I don't remember the day you passed away. The day you died was the day I felt the pain of loss for the very first time. I can't remember if it was a Monday or Tuesday or Saturday or Sunday. I don't know if it was in March or July or August or December. Was it summer or spring? I really don't know. Oh how I wish I had written it down. You mattered to me more than any other person ever did. And I didn't write it down. I didn't take the time. I'm so sorry. I just didn't realize. So many things - good and bad - happened to me after my Auntie Pearl passed away. Most events I can recall, I think, but I don't know what day they happened. In most instances, I can't even tell you what month or year it was. My beautiful husband married me on April 22, 2011, one of the happiest days of my life. Will I ever forget that day? It was Good Friday 2011 at 1:30 p.m. at the Platte County Courthouse. Our closest friends and family joined us as we exchanged our vows and promised to love one another forever. It is unconceivable to me that I could ever forget a day full of so much love. . . so much emotion. But as I sit here looking back at my life and realize just how many important dates I have forgotten, I fear that it could happen. So I have done the only thing I (now) know to do. I've written it down. Forever, I can look back at this blog entry and forever I can know exactly what day and time I married my very best friend.

Who Wants to be Exceptional? I do, I do!

How do I get from "here", my marginal life, to "there", my exceptional life? Don't we humans have all the same stuff? Muscles, bones, organs, blood, body, mind, spirit? If so, then why is it that some folks live a really exceptional life while others - like me - live a marginal one? What sets us apart? Is my chemistry, my essence, the stuff of which I'm made, all that different from say a Queen Noor, Sandra Day O'Connor, Gloria Steinem, Ann Richards, Michelle Obama, NeNe Leakes, Mother Teresa, Oprah Winfrey, Michael Moore, Albert Einstein, Warren Buffett, Abe Lincoln, Martin Luther King, Jr., John Grisham, Bethenny Frankel, Rosa Parks, Annie Leibovitz, Harper Lee, Billy Graham, Gandhi or even the Pope? Why did these folks and so many others like them reach their full potential, their individual exceptional life, and why can't I? Or maybe I should ask, since I ain't dead yet, "why haven't I"? What sets us apart? What do they have that I don't have? Anything? Under a microscope, would a scientist be able to see any difference between one of these folks and me? Probably not. Strip it all down and we're - every single one of us - just a bunch of cells, right? So what got them there - what was the wind beneath their wings - what motivated them, what propelled them, what made them know they could? Was it fear? Did fear of failure give them the strength they needed to get "there"? Was it desire? Would they rather have died trying than never to have tried at all? Was it fate? Would they have reached their exceptional lives regardless of what they did or did not do? Hmm. I can't believe it was fear. Fear does not produce desirable outcomes - it keeps us frozen - unable to move toward our goals. As for desire? Yeah, I don't really buy that one either. Desire is the type of thing that comes and goes and loses its appeal after awhile. How 'bout fate? Was Michelle Obama fated to be the first African American First Lady while Jane Doe was fated to be a high school drop out standing in a welfare line because not even the local McDonald's would hire her? Sorry. I just can't buy into that one either. I also refuse to believe it was chemistry. While the human cell might vary slightly from person to person giving some of us blue eyes and others brown, I refuse to believe that they can vary to such a degree that Warren Buffett can live in a palace (solely because he has good chemistry) while John Doe lives in a tent along side the banks of the Missouri River (because his molecular structure is flawed somehow). So if it's not fear or desire or fate or bones, blood, organs and muscles, what is it? What's left? Mind? Spirit? That's it. Has to be. There is nothing more. Right? Body, mind, spirit, nothing more, nothing less. Basic recipe for all humans. So what is it about my mind and spirit that keeps me marginal - keeps me from exceptional? I don't have all the answers. Heck, I don't even have a few answers. But, after careful consideration and much reflection, here's what I've come up with. My spirit - my driving force - is lost to me. I have an awareness of my spirit, but I'm not really plugged in - connected. We've all heard that phrase, "let the spirit move you", but mine doesn't or I won't allow it to - I'm really not sure which. So the first thing I gotta do is find my spirit. If I can do this, then I think I'll easily be able to identify what it is I want from this life. What is "it" that will get me to my exceptional life? When I look back over my list of folks who have - in my mind anyway - lived an exceptional life, the common thread, the common denominator, seems to be spirit. They are - or in some cases were - filled with and lead by spirit. So I have to find a way. I have to find the path that will lead me to spirit. That has to be first. Just has to be. How will I find spirit? Now there's the million dollar question! If I knew that, I probably wouldn't be blogging about this subject. The truth is I just don't know. I've looked for spirit at church, but I didn't find it. I've looked for spirit in books, but I didn't find it there either. I've looked for spirit in prayer, but it was still lost to me. I've looked for spirit in movies and songs and paintings and dance, but all I could ever find was the spirit of others. I never found mine. This coming Saturday I'm attending a meditation retreat with a friend down at the Unity Temple. It's a 6 hour retreat. God, I hope they won't make me meditate for 6 whole hours! I can't even get a good 6 minutes in till I'm ready to throw in the towel. But anyway, I digress a bit. Sorry. The point is I'm going to this thing because I'm hopeful that I'll find my spirit. And if I do, then I fully intend to keep it. It shall become the biggest, brightest, best part of me. And surely then I'll be on my way. Leaving marginal Karen behind while I run full steam ahead toward my exceptional self. . . my exceptional life. Then there's mind. What is mind anyway? I know what a brain is - I've seen one. I saw it while visiting a cadaver lab over at Cleveland Chiropractic College several years back when I was a student at the Midwest Institute of Natural Healing. Anyway, it was gross. How would I describe what I saw that day? Hmm. Well, it was this nasty looking blob of a thing that appeared to be composed of spaghetti noodles or worms. It looked like the kind of thing one could easily squish if stepped on. What it did not look like was power. When I think of the human brain, I think of power. Think about it for a minute. How strong must the human brain be to do all its business? Doesn't it tell the lungs to breathe? Doesn't it tell the heart to beat? Doesn't it make our muscles fire just right so we can move through life without even thinking about it? Even when we are asleep, the brain keeps right on working. Work, work, work. It never gets a day off. So that lil bugger just has to be strong. But it sure didn't look strong the day I saw it sitting there on that cold, icy, stainless steel, lab table. Nope, it looked like some overgrown bug that I could easily scrape off the bottom of my shoe if ever I were to step on one. But the question I have about how to get to my exceptional life is not so much about brain as it is about the function of the brain. The function of the brain - or at least one of its functions - is to think. Thought. Where do thoughts come from? Why are some thoughts positive and some negative? Why are some thoughts so good that we want to experience them over and over again while others are so horrible that we wished we'd never had them in the first place? I wonder if Mother Teresa ever thought about killing someone. Seriously! She was human - just like me. I have never killed anyone but I sure have thought about it. So maybe she did to. But she didn't - kill anyone that is. That's just it. No matter how negative Mother Teresa's thoughts might have been, they never kept her from living her exceptional life. From this, I am convinced that I don't have to stop my thought processes. I can live with negative thoughts; I just can't act on them. To live my exceptional life, I have to find a way to use my brain's function - thought - for the good. I have to use thoughts to get me where I want to be. More than that, I have to find a way not to let negative thoughts keep me from where I want to go. My exceptional life awaits me. This I firmly believe. I just have to find my spirit, connect and let it move me while at the same time not allow negative thoughts to stop me from getting where I want to be.

When In Doubt. . . Read This!

I was up way past my bedtime last night watching OWN. . . Oprah Winfrey Network. Every time I turn that station on, she is there - Oprah that is. Does she ever sleep? Does she spend all of her time filming programs to be aired on her station? Sure seems that way. I don't know how she does it, I really don't. But thank Jesus that she does! For if she didn't, I wouldn't have seen the show I saw last night when worry and dread and mental pain consumed me - robbing me of precious sleep. Don't ask me the name of the program cause I don't have a clue. I tuned in a tad bit late, so I didn't catch the name. Doesn't matter one wit. What matters is that I saw the program. Got the message. Saw the light. Received light where only dark had been. It gave hope. Hell, it was just down right cool. Deepak Chopra was Oprah's invited guest. They talked about Karma, which is really the same thing as "The Golden Rule". "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". "We reap what we sow". "Every action generates a force of energy that returns to us in like kind". Basically, what we have in our life right now is present because of something we did a minute ago, an hour ago, a day ago, two days ago, a week ago, a year ago and so on. I can change my karma by changing what I'm thinking which leads to what I'm doing. . . right this minute! And if that's not enough of an eye opener, try this one on for size. . . close your eyes. . . see the moon in your mind's eye. . . now see an oak tree along the muddy river bank. . . now see a red triangle. . . now . . . open your eyes. Do you see how easily you let a thought - a thing - a vision - into your mind? More importantly, do you see how easily you let the thing, the vision, the thought go? The message? YOU ARE NOT YOUR THOUGHTS! They are not permanent. Your mind has the ability to think any thought - ANY thought at all. And! It has the ability to let the thought go! Because? It is NOT you!!! I am NOT it!!! My thoughts are not me. They are not the essence of me. They are thoughts - nothing more - nothing less. They don't matter one wit. And, I have absolute power over them. I can change them into anything I want with nothing more than an imaginary switch. Moon? Tree on the river? Red triangle? When a thought comes in that I don't like - one that is dark - one that disturbs me - one that is upsetting or negative or hurtful in any way. . . S T O P! Let it go. Think. . . Moon. Think. . . Oak Tree. Think. . . Red Triangle. Just stop. Take a breath. Let it go. Think a new thought. One that is more pleasing. One that is more positive. One that is better suited to me and my needs in the moment. Just stop, breathe and change the channel. When you change the channel, you change the thought. When you change your thoughts, you change your actions. When you change your actions, you change your karma. Don't like what you have? Change it. It all starts in the mind. Pretty f***ing cool if you ask me!

Someone, Please Turn On The Light

A thought comes in. If it's dark, it's all encompassing, all consuming, like a weed, it takes over until it owns me. If it's not dark, it doesn't last long, it doesn't prevail, it doesn't conquer. It is there but a minute and then it's gone again. Where did it go? Why oh why can't I get it back? The darkness I can fight against all day and all night, which only causes it to grow deeper roots and me to become completely exhausted. It's as if the fight is water mixed with the proper amount of miracle grow - just makes the darkness stronger - harder to kill. Damn it! Why does this happen? Why can't I stop it? What is so wrong with me? Do I not have education? Do I not have good life experience? Do I not have opportunity? Do I not have light within? What? What? What is wrong? Darkness loves me. Light eludes me. It hates me. It refuses to plant itself and take up residency - something I really long for. What possible reason is there to go on? To wake another day? To breathe another breath? Why? So that darkness can breed making itself more prevalent, more life consuming, more soul sucking? Breath for me is like gasoline on a fire. It spreads evil, wicked, torment, black, it feeds the demon within. Happiness, joy, love, light, laughter I cannot have. Not for more than a second or two. And those seconds grow farther and farther apart it seems. I can't remember the last time they were here with me. So long ago. I have a memory of them, but my memories grow weaker and weaker and the good gets harder to recall. Will the day come when I won't know them at all? As if they never existed? If dark has its way, that is exactly what shall become of me. Walking death. No life. No love. No happiness or joy. Only dark. Only pain. Only sorrow. I don't want that. I don't want my life to become that. Is it better to die then to go on living and letting dark have its way with me? I believe it might be. I can't find a reason to live for this - for darkness. It has stolen most of my life now. Little is left. It won't be happy until it has all of me and I can't be happy with any of it. I don't know what tools, if any, will destroy it. For if I did, I would buy a truckload and get to work. Dig, pick, pull - do whatever necessary to get it out or die trying. I'd buy tools for friends and family too and let them have a go at the life sucking demon. Does the world need people like me in order to know the good - the happiness - the joy it has? Is that my purpose here? To make life better for others? If that is so, then there must be others like me - carrying more than their fair share of darkness. I can't help but wonder whether they too have written a blog about the pain they face on a near daily basis. I wonder if they have sat in their rooms considering whether someone like me existed. Maybe we should all get together and share war stories - to see whether we can "one up" each other in the darkness department. Ha! I can visualize the party invites in my mind now. "Hey. . . does your life absolutely suck? If so, join others just like you and compare life horror stories. Yeah, come one, come all, make a new friend - someone else who can let you down on a regular basis since there's absolutely no room for happiness in that dark, fucked up life of yours. No need to RSVP (the hostess doesn't need yet another let down when your sorry ass doesn't show up) just come on over if you don't kill your worthless self first." Hmm. Maybe not. I don't see how any good could come from that sort of a party, or should I say gathering? "Party" just somehow doesn't capture the spirit of the thing. So if I can't fight the fight on my own and if there are no tools in the toolshed to kill the demons within and if a gathering of other dark-minded folks won't work, whatever should I do? Is 51 too young to die? I don't really know. Since I don't really know, maybe I should wait until I find another possible solution. In the meantime, perhaps I'll take another pill and see if I can't numb myself to the darkness. Pretend it doesn't have power. Hide from it. Fake happiness for the good of others. It's 10:30 now. If I ingest now, happiness or some fabricated form of it, should come knocking on my dark mind in about an hour.

To My Daughter

As sure as my name is Karen, I'm sure that I want me a baby girl. I just do. Think I've always wanted this - clear back as far as I can remember. When I was 12, I busied myself thinking up names for all the many children I would have one day. I believe there were eight total. Eight children! I can't even imagine it now, but at the ripe old age of 12 - when I knew everything there was to know about life and living and grown up responsibilities - I wanted 8 youngins. Summer, Tara, Heidi, Annie, Barbie, Rene, Maria, Tiffany, Jennifer, Samantha, Joshua and Michael. See why I want a baby girl? I had so many perfect names for all my many daughters, but struggled to come up with even two names for my sons. So I want a baby girl. Wanted her then and want her now. While my name selection has changed from the childlike "Summer", to a wiser, more mature list including Abigail, Betsy, Elizabeth, Jessica, Katherine, Laura, Lanie, Mallory and Scout (yes, as in To Kill a Mockingbird), not much else has changed. The idea that I would be a wonderful mother is, on most days, first and foremost in my mind. The older I get, the more I think about what I have given up. . . my ability to have a child. My body has now passed the baby-making stage and moved into the stage where I'm better suited (at least physically) to be a grandma. Ick! How I hate the thought of that. I don't want to be a grandma. I want to be a mom. A mother, a mommy, a mama, a mom, a ma. It's not natural to be a grandmother without ever having been a mom. It's just not. Least not for me it's not. If I were a mom what would I do? Above all, I would love my child unconditionally. I would let her (or him) know each and every day how much they are loved. Not only would I tell my child that I loved her, I would show her every opportunity I was given. I would "show up" when showing up meant something. To all the things that were important to her - I'd be there. I'd be the parent she could always count on no matter what. I would sing to her and play with her and dress her up in fancy clothes and play make-up. I would curl her hair and take her shopping and bake cookies with her every Sunday morning. I would set a time aside every single week that would be our "girl" time. Just she and I. We'd have a special activity that the two of us would do each and every week. I can think of at least 100 things I would enjoy doing with my daughter. But that's selfish of me, so I think I'd wait til she was old enough and then let her pick our special activity. Whatever was fun for her, then that's what we'd do. Not only would I love my child unconditionally and plan activities for the two of us, I would expose her all the religions of the world. Help her get in touch with her spiritual side. We would go to a new church or temple or synagogue or mosque every month until we found something that resonated with her. I've come to realize that spirituality is so very important. Without it, humans are like robots. I wouldn't want my child to go through life all mechanical and stiff like. I would want her to live a full, spiritual life, and I would help her discover and then embrace that part of herself. Culture is important too, I believe, to live a complete and balanced life. For this reason, my daughter and I would spend time together learning about different world cultures. We'd spend time in libraries and museums and theaters. We'd go to concerts together - everything from classical to celtic to blues and reggae. If we could afford to travel the world, then we would. Otherwise, we'd spend time learning about the four corners of the earth on a computer in the comfort of our living room. We'd wear our PJ's, snack on popcorn and read all about Bangladesh one night and Peru the next. So many things I'd love to do - to share - with my daughter. Above all, I'd consider it a privilege to get to know her. The real her. Who she is on the inside. What she loves and what she fears. What goals she has, what dreams she dreams. Who she wants to be and how she wants to get there. Above all, I'd teach my child that she is perfect - just as she is. She'd never have to apologize for what she feels or thinks or says. In my world, she would be free to be who and what she is. I'd love her unconditionally and I'd teach her - from the day of her birth - to love herself. . . unconditionally. So to my little Scout, mommy loves you madly and can't wait to get to heaven to meet you. Until then, look inside when you want to be with me, cause I'm right there. . . in your heart. . . and always will be.

A Man and His Dog at Home

Today is April 17, 2012. While driving down the road yesterday, I saw a homeless man and his little dog sitting on the side of the road. The man held a sign asking passerbys for help. The dog just sat there - hoping someone would stop to help his master. Homeless people and their signs have become so common place that I wonder how many non-homeless folks even see them. Do we look right through them? Do we turn and look away so we don't have to see them? Have we all become so callused that we can easily pretend like homeless men, women, children and their pets don't exist? Is it that we are callused or is it really a matter of fear? Maybe we - the non-homeless population - are afraid that if we look at a homeless person - really take the time to see them - that their homelessness - their dirtiness - their shame - their poverty - will rub off on us. Like homelessness is a disease one catches or something. Or maybe we are afraid that if we see the homeless, we'll be forced to do something about it. . . or worse. . .admit we can't. If I pretend you don't exist, then I'm not required to do anything, right? Yes, I believe this is the more likely scenario. People look away - refusing to see the homeless - because they fear having to do something about it. The fear, I think, is more about not knowing what to do then it is about having to do something. What is the solution? How do we as a society "fix" homelessness? Politicians, church leaders, social workers, advocates - many, many knowledgable - trained - people - have tried to find a solution, and failed. And if they can't fix the problem, how on earth can I? So I look away. I don't have an answer. I don't have a solution. I don't like to be reminded of my shortcomings, so I refuse to see you, Mr. Homeless Person. I want to sleep well at night in my big comfy bed in my toasty warm house - without guilt. And how can I do that if I see you? Hey! Homeless People! You hit a nerve in me! But not because I am afraid of you. I'm not. I'm afraid of failure. I'm afraid of my inability to find a solution. I'm afraid of not having control. I'm afraid of the unknown. It's easier to look away - pretend you don't exist - then it is to face my own fears. I fear I have failed you, Mr. Homeless Person. In fact, I know I have. I am so incredibly sorry. What can I do to fix this wrong? Maybe a place to start is on the curb, by your side, like your little dog. . . fully seeing you.