building on mystery

new address

2011-07-22T11:27:00.000-07:00

Hi to old friends and new. I'm still alive and kicking! and blogging -- strangely enough -- although I've been slow and erratic in getting started again. But here I am, gathering my courage and putting thoughts to paper (is that an outdated phrase these days?) over at my new site (sorry, yes, again!) at realmudgarden.com. Please drop by and tell me what you are up to and what your thoughts are!

integration

2011-01-11T14:48:00.000-08:00

One day, a long time ago, I was still pretty new at my practice in my former paying job in health care. One of my patients was a middle-aged gentleman who had undergone radical surgery for prostate cancer. He had been told that the surgery had gone well, and that the surgeon thought he had excised the tumour completely.

With tubes and lines coming out of nearly every orifice, the man was bearing up well with the post-op recovery and optimistic about the prognosis. However, he was shaken in his confidence when I informed him that he had been booked for a bone scan that day.

"Why?" he wanted to know.

I tried to explain in simple terms.

He wasn't satisfied with my answer. "I thought the surgeon said he got it all."

Over and over and over again through the course of the day, he would ask me again, and I would try to explain why bone scans are generally done in these circumstances. My answers didn't satisfy him at all.

He was a gentleman used to giving orders and getting answers in his professional life, with a decent education and a tendency to organize his life so that it made sense to him. I could understand his frustration.

To my delight on one trip past his room, I spied his surgeon making his rounds. I popped in as unobtrusively as I could and listened to their conversation.

No mention of the bone scan.

Not having heard their full conversation, but suspecting that the patient wasn't going to ask the question he had been pestering me with all day, I asked:

"Did you ask Dr. X about the bone scan? Here's your opportunity."

"Oh yes," the patient said, but he looked as if he would rather murder me!
"Why am I having a bone scan if you said you got the tumour, doctor?"

The surgeon standing at the foot of the patient's bed rocked back on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. He had looked out the window during most of his conversation with the patient and that didn't change.

"Because I said so," he said flatly.

I looked at him, aghast. Then I looked at the patient.

"O.K.," was all the patient said.

The doctor turned on his heel and left the room.

Even so early in my practice, I had seen this many times before. However, I could not help being a little surprised.

"Are you satisfied with that answer?" I asked the patient.

"Well, no," he admitted. "But I don't want to make him mad."

I must add that this kind of autocratic behavior from doctors is quickly becoming a rarity.  Many patients still have the attitude that doctors are gods, but many more expect clear explanations and rationales for the diagnostic tests and course of treatment.  And some even want to participate in the decision-making process. And doctors are changing with their patients.

Although many people still buy into it, entering the system so reliant on the liberal administration of drugs or surgical intervention, that such a client may leave a doctor's office disappointed indeed if she does not leave clutching a prescription or a referral to an expert or surgeon, many individuals emerge from encounters with orthodox medicine feeling justifiably disappointed and angry.

This system is one of industrial strength bureaucracy, impenetrably impersonal, an assembly line of health care delivery. Tests and treatments are often delivered in an un-integrated manner, leaving the client feeling she is trying to navigate a maze at best, or worse, feeling excluded from the process of their own care, bewildered and dissatisfied.

According to the National Center for Complementary and Alternative Medicine in the United States, approximately 38% of Americans use some form of CAM.  Although these people come from all sorts of backgrounds, more women use some form of CAM and more people from higher educational and higher income backgrounds.

According to the authors of The Okinawa Program, doctors working in orthodox medicine (and I would add nurses and other professions) are frustrated too. Insurance companies and government health plans are pretty specific in the kinds of tests doctors can order, the types of treatments that will be covered and even in the amount of time a doctor can spend with a patient. Their training in alternative and complimentary treatments is very limited, if it exists at all. Often, doctors leave medical school with the attitude that CAM is a field of quacks and charlatans, with patients who are silly or gullible to subscribe to superstition and old-wives tales. More often, they are quite uncertain about what alternative therapies are actually about.

But this too is changing.

The dissatisfaction with a model that has treated people as objects has grown to such an extent that many of the conventional medical schools are including some courses on alternative or complementary medicine in the curriculum, starting the process of integration.

It is amusing to notice the extent to which whatever system of belief enjoyes being accepted as the orthodoxy will persecute another system of belief that appears to challenge it and will label it as heresy.

Any questioning and experimentation of an inquisitive intellect, often propelled by need, will breed new or "exotic" theories and therapies. These are almost always, without exception, resisted by the orthodox of any place or time as quackery.

To complicate things even more, there is the well-researched placebo effect, which has been shown to be so strong that belief and trust in a therapy or therapist, often elicits real cures, even when the methods are based on wrong assumptions and beliefs and the methods are completely unrelated and insignificant to the cure.

So, deception is the element that must be included in the definition of a quack, where an individual or an organization pretend to have medical knowledge, using intervention intended to deceive a gullible client, often for material or some other secondary gain to the practioner(s).

A practioner, orthodox or otherwise, who genuinely believes in her methods and is able to create belief in her client is not a quack, even if her beliefs and practices turn out to be unsound.

But the greatest driving force of change here is that people are demanding it. Where they used to be satisfied with the old health care system with its top-down hierarchies of power, history is being made by the newly empowered consumers of health-care, turning the former paradigm on its head.

With more education and money than ever before, today's client has access via the internet to information of almost any kind, including information about their health problems and the treatments available.

This worries a lot of people in orthodox health care. It worries consumers as well. How to find diagnoses and treatments that are sound? What to do about consumers who might be taken in by quacks? Who is the best authority on one's health? What about all the mis-information out there? (I promise I will deal with that problem in a future post.)

But an honest health-care professional will admit that no system of therapy has a monopoly on knowledge and even more certainly no system has a monopoly on failures. And most bewildering of all are the people who get well despite the worst prognostications of one system, often when those people have left to seek another!

It is discouraging to note that clear and dramatic cures of advanced illness following therapies of any kind, of any system, are very uncommon and rarely documented, except in anecdotal form.   It's as if  we don't know how to study the situations where these people get well. In orthodox medicine where we keep statistics on such things as morbidity and mortality, we don't keep such good statistics on cures, especially cures that "aren't supposed to happen."

But integration is probably the eventual outcome of the historic dichotomy that has existed between the orthodox system of medicine and what we today call alternative and complementary systems of thought around wellness and healing.

Of course, there are some who will throw out the orthodox baby with the bath water, who will not get their babies innoculated, who won't go near a doctor for any reason. And then there are those who still regard objective science as the answer for everything, even though long ago, science itself has undergone a transformation in which it finds itself contemplating the extent to which the observer materially changes what is observed, where theories are exploding our former Euclidian understanding, resulting in a fractal universe, so to speak.

Scientific theories of chaos and complexity, quantum theory, the holonomic universe, systems theory, morphogenic fields, dissipative structures, etc., can leave one feeling like the supposed mirror of "pure science", of universal objective reality, has become disorganized and distorted to such an extent that it floats in atomic and subatomic splinters before our very eyes.

Anyone, all truth-seekers, can see that there is an influence of a huge, all-inclusive web of factors on everything in this world, every object, feeling, emotion, action. We realize we are no longer just a complicated mechanism, a mechanical object, an unemotionally self-aware rational ego separate from the interconnected webs of life and the universe. We realize that it is most certainly pathological and destructive of life to continue as we have, denying that life depends on interlocking circuits of contingency and interdepence and influence.

In terms of health care, we are starting to reconnect the body and emotion, the unconscious, the imagination and intuition. We are getting a glimmer of the immanent intelligence of nature, and we are mourning too late the disappearence of indigenous and archaic cultural perspectives (see for example Wade Davis: The Wayfinders, Why Ancient Wisdom Matters in the Modern World.)

The question remains, where is orthodox medicine? Hopefully it is ready to relinquish the unhelpful and open to a soulful embrace of magic! The public is already well on its way!

new/old practices

2010-12-31T21:18:00.000-08:00

(The next couple of posts, with some editing, appeared in part in a paper I wrote in 1995 for a university course in Oncology Nursing. The paper was entitled "Alternative Medicine Integrated Into a New Health Care Model for the Oncology Patient".)

Whether we acknowledge it or not, people have always consulted people other than orthodox or allopathic expert health-professionals to verify their subjective experience of symptoms, and to verify their impressions regarding whether to self-treat or to seek professional treatment.

What this means, simply, is that we will usually talk about our fears, our feelings, our pains or sorrows, first with someone we trust and with whom we can identify, not a certified expert.

Maybe, in the midst of whatever we are experiencing, we already know. Our intuition, a gut feeling, is already telling us something. But often, we don't feel we have the knowledge or the authority to say what we know about our own state of health.

Orthodox or allopathic Western medicine is the only form of medicine taken seriously by most people today. Staunchly refusing to admit to its embarrassing past, when questionable practices like cupping, blood letting, or intestinal purging were accepted treatments among the university-educated medical men, it is backed today by huge sums of money, political and intellectual prestige. Supported by the best scientific minds, with access to the latest technological advances, it exerts such a tremendous influence on our lives and thinking as to be nearly a religion. It is certainly the only system of thought that enjoys such legitimacy.

It is so dominant that many are surprised that other systems of thought regarding health and treatment of illness exist, not only in rural areas, non-industrialized Third World nations, or ancient, indigenous cultures, but in the more developed and prosperous parts of the world as well.

Orthodox medicine enthusiastically embraced the scientific-objective view suggested by Isaac Newton, that certain immutable laws of nature existed and operated with or without our knowledge or consciousness. This new scientific method was adopted whole-heartedly as a logical alternative to religion and magic.

Technology and scientific discoveries of the late 1800 's and early 1900's did seem at first to be the answer to all humanity's problems. Spectacular scientific medical triumphs over infectious diseases occurred. Vaccines, vitamins, hormones, wonder drugs of all kinds, and refined diagnostic and surgical instruments and techniques were developed. Laboratory tests, new anasthetics and surgical procedures, marvelous technological machinery, seemed capable of almost anything!

Coincidentally, some of my acquaintances from Africa equate the leap of humanity's progress with the coming of Christian missionaries and wanted nothing more than to receive a Western education.

However, new horrors and stresses on society and our earth are directly or indirectly tied to the advance of science: contamination of the planet's vital resources, many-fold harmful effects on animal and plant life from chemical and radiation pollution, extinction of uncounted species, massive deforestation, soil erosion, the breakdown of the ozone layer, global warming, all an indictment of science gone amok!

"Pure science", objective truths, a measurable universal reality, turned out to be easily subverted, sold-out, to specific political and economical agendas. We now seem to be unable to control at all the ways in which our scientific knowledge and skills are used, consuming endless resources and intelligence for purposes of social and ecological subjugation. Science, Richard Tarnas suggests, is "in thrall to man's own self-destructive irrationality."

Suddenly, we find ourselves in a crises that mirrors man's world view, a man-made environment, mechanized, soul-less, self-destructive, disconnected from anything resembling the natural world from which we arose and of which we sense, in some distant echo, we are an inseparable part. The psychological and biological crisis has never been more disturbing.

Orthodox medicine is still appealing, because it confers a high ability to describe, predict and control the observable world, but it must move forward. In my next post, I will discuss how and why in some ways, it is a backward-looking model. We long for a holistic model of health which will unify and address the hidden, the mystical though unoccult, dynamics of life.

healing

2010-12-26T14:41:00.000-08:00

Being sick sucks. Everybody knows that. Or do they?

I know that quite often, when I used to work in the allopathic health care industry (which is still regrettably suspicious of alternative therapies), there were times when I and my colleagues would wonder if some people didn't enjoy being sick, a phenomenon we even have a term for. We call it "secondary gains". In simple terms, that means that being sick still sucks, but we might be willing to do it for the things we get as a result of being sick: sympathy, attention, a way to get out of work, a sense of belonging in a community of like-minded sick people....You could probably come up with quite a list yourself.

Many years ago, I was dumbfounded when a patient specifically asked me to advise him on how to change his diet. He had heard that I was a vegetarian. Perhaps he had also heard that among vegetarians, generally, bowel cancers occur less frequently than they do among those who eat the usual North American diet. A complete meat-and-potatoes guy up until his diagnosis and consequent surgery for bowel cancer, suddenly he wanted to do a complete about face!

Two possible reactions to illness. There are countless others.

And then Healing itself is truly a mystery. Scientists can describe for you a whole host of events that cascade one upon the other in the process of healing, but cannot explain why it happens at all, why sometimes it doesn't happen or does happen and takes so long, or does happen to some extent and isn't quite enough.

People will tout one treatment or another, within traditional medicine and outside it, swearing by its efficacy.   There is scientific evidence. Then there is scientific evidence that contradicts the previous studies! And then there is anecdotal evidence that seems to point in this direction or that, or even flouts all common sense or understanding.

There is lots of information out there, much of it confusing, much of it not to be trusted. How to navigate your way if you are seeking healing? How to cope?

And on top of that are the existential questions. Why me? Why now? Is there any meaning in my suffering? Do I have a part to play or is this an act of God, or fate, or bad luck?

In my years in the health care field, I became convinced that healing is a holistic endeavor. In the course of my training, I was taught that medicine is, or should be, concerned with all aspects of a patient's needs, psychological, physical, mental and social. In practice, I usually saw patients' needs ignored or fragmented and referred to a whole host of differing specialists.

In other words, like going through an assembly line, even the patients themselves chose to view their illness through a lens that analyzed, dissected and treated their bodies as parts. This diseased part was to be repaired or removed and then a patient expected to be well. Move along the conveyer belt.

This is understandably easier in some ways than it is to consider treating all the body systems as a unified, interdependent whole. Just fix the broken part, like a machine, and then the patient can get back to living their life. But being a whole, consisting of interdependent systems, it is dangerous, sometimes even irresponsible, to treat a human being as a collection of parts. What if a patient's whole life is broken, not just a part that shows the symptoms?

Then, confusion would set in. The conveyor belt didn't move along as it should have. Complications arose, seemingly out of nowhere. Sometimes it was another body system, also not functioning in a healthy way. Sometimes there were emotional or social issues. Sometimes there were issues of addiction or even psychoses. The ripple effect brought more problems into play. There were obfuscations and blurry hints of things under the observable surface. Often nurses could sense another layer of reality below the facts, a watery world of emotional, social and spiritual agony.

What to do, what to do? The more systems that seemed to be falling apart, the more experts became involved, and invariably, nurses were frustrated in trying to bring all those disparate points of view together, to even talk to each other!  Nurses would often say, in utter frustration, "too many cooks..."!

And where was the patient in all this? Or the family? Trying to cope, trying to find answers, grasping at this or that straw. Hopeful, frustrated, angry, supportive, trusting, not trusting, blaming, passive, aggressive, participating, opting out.... confused.

One day I said to a surgeon I respected greatly, that many of his patients would do better if there was also a witch doctor on the team, the old fashioned kind, the guy who rattles shells and bones in your face, mumbles and chants mysteriously, burns evil smelling herbs to smoke up the room, tells you the gods or your ancestors are angry and asks you for your best chicken as a propiatory sacrifice!

As crazy as it sounds, I aim to tell you why.

It occurred to me that not just in the hospitals where I worked, but everywhere around us, people are hurting.  It is rare these days to encounter anybody who does not have one ache, one pain, one sorrow that they want to tell you about.

And, it occurred to me that we often know exactly what is wrong. How often did I encounter a patient who knew something was wrong and had to fight and fight and fight to have somebody take her seriously?

We know ourselves, our bodies, but we don't have experts back us up. We know but feel shame or guilt. We know but feel inadequate and lost. We know but sometimes it's just easier to ignore things, hope they will go away. We think we should be stoic. We think we should be strong. We think we need to be good patients, compliant. We think the experts know the answers.

Often, although we know deep down what is wrong, we lack the vocabularity or even the authority to diagnose and find healing by, or rather, for ourselves. (I don't aim to step on the toes of the medical profession here, as will become obvious if you stick with me.)

Bold idea? Maybe. But I aim to explore it with you in a few blog posts to follow.

Jejus

2010-12-17T13:52:00.000-08:00

I watched a lovely video today shared by a friend on Facebook. I'll let you watch for yourself, but I want you to notice the voice of the youngest narrator. Telling The Christmas Story, the little narrator softly mangles the names and puts a child's "spin" on the story:

"They called the baby Jejus and they loved him. And he has two daddies, God and Joses! They both needed to look after the baby."

My friends know I have long had trouble with the literal judeo-christian history of/with God.   But I love the idea of Jejus! I can hang with Jejus!

I have heard that when he grew up, Jejus told some grownups once, to be "as little children".

As children, we experiment. We fall down a lot. Mary's belly makes us laugh. Presents we try to give somehow end up tumbling down in the hay. A handshake becomes an opportunity for a playful armwrestle. We build sandcastles and we become caped crusaders. And in our play we rehearse the lines of living we see around us.

We are constantly learning, looking at the world around us and asking why, why, why. We measure our growth often, stretching to our full heights with that book balanced on our heads. We aren't done yet.

We imperfectly re-tell the story of Jejus we have heard, and wonder with surprise at the fact that he had two daddies. And it goes without saying that sensibly, they both needed to look after him.

We identify with baby Jejus and we understand that it takes both daddies, God and Joses to look after things.

And of course, the most joyful part of the story is always the arrival of the magic:  the magic of angels, stars, sheep and shepherds, and presents from wise men who have come from far away.

"Then there was a party!"

There.  A happy, little story about a baby named Jejus. Not as weird as some stories I've heard lately.

Monday's pink theme

2010-11-15T19:36:00.000-08:00

walking the tight rope

2010-11-15T15:38:00.000-08:00

I have arrived. I am now here, 3000 miles from my old home, on the "other" coast: I am in Vancouver. There is a lot of adjusting to do, a lot of decisions still to be made, many details which need to be sorted out.

It took me approximately two weeks to find an apartment. My boxes will be shipped out the beginning of December. My new apartment is in a very nice, brand new building, convenient to nearly anything one could want, and not too far from downtown Vancouver.

Everything is, of course, pretty easily accessible using the transit system here. Besides, it is rare that you are waiting for a bus on a street corner in -20 degree weather, as you might have been in Ontario!

Those details aside, I have found that the search for a new place to live is as much a logically planned strategic undertaking as it is an intuitive process of listening to your heart!

Naturally, I asked lots of questions of the locals. The answers were about 75% prejudice and rumour and 25% fact, I think. I trotted about in the neighborhoods of Vancouver to get a sense of the places in person. And I answered some craigslist ads (more on that later) as well as viewed some places that were in the classifieds of the local paper.

Besides several really crummy places, I did see some that on the surface of it, looked great. All the ducks were in a row; the facts fit my parameters. But still, I had nightmares about one apartment that was high on my list of potential places. It ticked all the boxes, but it gave me nightmares! I realized that again, I must follow my intuition. That place is not the one for me, even though I can't give you a rational reason for my decision!

I have heard real-estate agents laughing about the "thing" that sells a house to a prospective buyer. It may seem to be something rather unimportant, as far as houses go, vs the important things like location, structural soundness, etc. But in balance, it may be that just those intangibles, or things that seem illogical to a practical, objective mind, are what are most important.

It may seem "logical" that a view of the sea or access to the beach sells. But that desire to have a view of the sea or access to the beach is based on a largely inexplicable desire many people have to feel connected to the natural world. And then to others, that view of the sea or the beach may be anathema!

And so, here's one craigslist experience I had. The ad lacked all the basic facts an apartment hunter would want to know: the general location of the suite, the main intersections nearby, what is included in the rent. I asked. The answer was a very long and detailed story about how his daughter had posted the ad, wasn't she smart. How they had moved to Utah. How they needed to put the place up for rent, even though his father didn't want to...on and on and on. Then came the request for my personal information, so that they could send me the application form and pictures of the unit....Still no mention of the actual location of the suite or what was covered in the rent. Too much detail, and none of it relevant to what I needed or wanted to know. Raised all my hackles anyway.

In the book Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking, Malcolm Gladwell describes how people often have to make snap judgments, and good ones, and also, how often seemingly less information is better than more.

Of course, somebody who is very knowledgeable in her field is going to have better instincts. For example, it is a very foolish doctor who ignores the call from an experienced nurse saying she has a "bad feeling" about her patient. The nurse will wisely try to have some facts about her patient's status, but sometimes the facts do not seem to correspond with the "bad feeling", the other subtle things the experienced nurse is picking up that are not easily defined in objective terms, eg. a slight pallor, a slip in level of consciousness, uncharacteristic anxiety. You know what I'm talking about here.

I wonder how often, if pressed to describe the route they took to their decision, people would describe a serious, totally fact-based process. Certainly, I freely admit that the instances where I have ignored my intuition in the face of the "facts", I have soon regretted it! I think that is because we are not actually consciously aware of all the different facts and impressions we have gathered with all our senses as well as our intuition in any situation. A snap decision may truly be nothing of the sort. Making decisions based only on the objective, measurable facts we are able to marshall into some logical order may actually be a way of crippling our full decision-making capabilities!

Sometimes, the things that nourish the soul, the places that are the "calm waters and green pastures" where a soul can be refreshed, and the things that inspire a soul to create, are those intangible unmeasurables. In my attempt to live "on purpose", I need to respect the soul side of my personality. I would like to make of my life "a work of art in progress" and to an artist, the work must have meaning. Because I think the meaning comes from my soul's intentions I need to create a place to live where my soul will flourish. So if thinking about a possible place to live makes me have nightmares, I need to pay attention!

Monday's berry theme

2010-11-08T18:51:00.000-08:00

Ok, just thought I'd slip that in there to see if you were paying attention!

Monday's yellow theme

2010-11-01T18:08:00.000-07:00

My first day back in Vancouver. It's raining. No better excuse in the world than rain to look for my favorite colour, "lello". Here's some of what I found!!

i told you so

2010-10-28T06:26:00.000-07:00

Don't you hate it when people say that? I hate it even more when people show you that. For me, I know it's wishful thinking: even when people tell you something really awful about themselves that contradicts the impression I often get of a nicer person inside, I have tended to ignore what they tell me. Foolishly.

That is something I am trying to pay attention to. Because really, false or real modesty, self-deprecation, whatever it is...I'm not sure how much time one should invest in a person who is bad news. After all, one can still continue to believe in the best that one sees in another, without becoming entangled in the god-awful mess of their lives, being taken down with them, or becoming so enmeshed that one forgets to live one's own life.

Just musing here, but it seems to me that anybody with the instinct for helping others, or working in the helping professions (I notice my tendency to want to cross lines and when I had the paying job I saw it happen to a colleague) runs the risk of losing sight of boundaries, personal and professional! When it becomes "fix" rather than "help".

The other "told you so" is when people say you really have to step off the cliff before the Universe starts to marshall its forces to help you! That is true too. And I'm ambivalent here because I can tell you how difficult it is to step off the cliff! But here I go...and already things are moving to help me towards my dreams.

The latest update is that everything is packed -- nearly. You know, the exceptions are the things that just won't fit into the suitcases and I'm already so loaded down with my carry-on luggage that I'll have to buy a second ticket for my stuff! (Still struggling, still hanging on to things. I'll leave scratch marks all the way down the face of that cliff!)

An amusing thing that I've started to notice is the way others, well-meaning, protest:

"Are you sure you want to give that away? Don't you think you might need it? But if you have always loved it, don't you want to take it with you? If your Dad refinished it, you should keep it as a reminder!"

Sometimes, I'm not altogether sure that the voice isn't my friend at all, but a silly voice in my own head repeating an old pattern!

And still, most surprising of all for me, is that most of my acquaintances...actually pretty much everybody that has bothered to comment (I do realize that I'm not the centre of the universe, not even the centre of my friends' lives!!), thinks I am embarking on an adventure. It doesn't really matter what they think of course, in that I do have to try to figure out how to live my best life on my own. However, it amuses me to think how I had almost come to expect some negative comments.

I think, that, most of all, shows me how far I have come. There certainly was a time in my life when I heard lots of negative comments about anything I had tried to do back then. It seems to me that those doubtful voices are probably still making noises, but I'm no longer in a place where I want to listen. They are just not part of my life anymore. And for that, I'm grateful.

Besides, if I'm not careful, I'm my own most negative voice, and I don't want to be saying to myself down the road: "I told you so!" Unless, it is to congratulate myself for daring to make a change, daring to move in the direction of my dreams, daring to step into a larger and more abundant version of my life.

told you so!

2010-10-18T16:52:00.000-07:00

Listening to CBC radio as I work on clearing out old files, etc., an item on "as it happens", caught my attention!

Apparently, escapades that would win rats an immediate death-sentence can be carried out if the culprit is wearing a fluffy-tail disguise. Would-be vandals would be well-advised to be as cute as a squirrel. No matter how damaging your rodent rampages might be, people foolishly would tend to "cherish" you!

I admit that I'm biased. After suffering from the work of these rodents in disguise, I'm a rabid squirrel hater. I think people are simply being deceived by the cuteness factor!

And on the "guerilla gardening" front, I'm pleased to report that my wee neighbour across the hall came by yesterday to report that she and her little friend had tidied up the spent tomato and cucumber plants. I gave them my shovel. Now, I don't know if it was they or somebody else who weeded one of the beds out back and put beach stone along the back edge of the bed under the windows where the condensation from air-conditioning units tends to splash mud up on the windows. See, gardening is a somewhat contageous disease!

in the meantime

2010-10-14T09:27:00.000-07:00

This is the "in the meantime" time, you know, the time the writer Yianla Vanzant speaks of, the time sometime after you've said goodbye to what was, before you get to where you want to be ...

I'm letting go, throwing things I don't want away, trying to find good homes for things I love -- like some of my plants.

I brought in a pot of succelents from outdoors. I'm not sure if the plants were nibbled on by the squirrels or nipped by frost. As soon as I brought this pot indoors, the Crown of Thorns started to drop its flowers in the low indoor light. These guys too need a home.

There will be things I will have shipped out to me later. I'm trying to strip away everything but the bare essentials, however. I'm sure getting naked is called for here!

I'm tired, very tired. Sometimes it seems like procrastination is the only answer. As a friend recently observed, often the very act of avoiding that huge unpleasant task gets so many other things done. But at the end of the day, not the best time to evaluate anything, I feel scared and alone.

I'm emptying out my life as best I can. This meantime is starting to feel very empty. All the space being revealed is refreshing when I'm having a good moment; other times, it's overwhelming and sad.

It rained hard last night. It was still pouring rain when I woke up this morning. Outside my windows, the autumn leaves barely clinging to the maples are being pulled down by the streaming rain.

Many conflicting emotions are battling each other in my mind. I think of the conversation I had with my brother last night. We talked of death, making of each momentous occasion "the last hurrah". We talked a bit about loss and the unbearable ephemeral nature of life. We talked about pain and mistakes and misunderstandings and surviving. We talked about loneliness and we talked about sharing.

I think I understand what he was trying to say. And I am deeply and profoundly grateful for the kindness, for his big heart.

This is a strange, witchy time of the year. Hallowe'en is approaching. Ancient wisdom measured time so that this was the end of the old year, the beginning of the new.

This has also traditionally been, in the northern hemispheres, when the veil between the living and the dead becomes very thin. In the metaphorical sense, as well as the literal one, death is a mysterious gateway. The leaves fall off the trees in a blaze of glorious colour even as the seed-heads of flowers shatter to lie hidden by the detritus of the dying splendours of summer. That rich, dark mold is blanketed by the oblivion of cold snows, only to become the nourishment within which the seeds of next spring will grow.

So, I share my brother's sentiments. In the words of Dylan Thomas, I will not go gentle into that good night. Like the leaves, I will celebrate. And, I will procrastinate a little more and let myself be enthralled by the bold, cheeky bluejays, the raucous, arguing crows and the flock of tiny, golden-crowned kinglets dancing in the rain-soaked trees outside my window.

The more serious work of packing up, wrapping up, will all get done in time. In the meantime, I am allowed to get a little drunk on the rain-saturated red of the leaves. Maybe I'll dance too.

undoing

2010-10-04T15:45:00.000-07:00

Is it undoing? Is it letting go? Or is it making space?

I don't know. Lately, this process has me feeling like I'm disappearing. No, even that's not quite right...

This process is nearly complete. I've been working at it for quite some time now. I am getting rid of everything that is not essential or really important to me.

Lately, there have been many times that I regret having prayed to be shown what to do. I actually said the words. I said that I was willing to let go of everything in order to be led to whatever the new life is that I am to create now, post-retirement from my paying job -- my renewed life-on-purpose.

Circumstances in my family led to my decision to move from my long-time home in Ontario to Vancouver, to be nearer my aging parents. They are quite frail now and my mother requested my help -- quixotically immediately changing her mind, and then changing it again. That's to be expected, I know. It added to my confusion because I didn't imagine really, that living in Vancouver was on the horizon, even though I had had concerns about my parents' abilities to cope on their own for a couple of years now.

But there you are. I have always believed you have to take the next step as it presents itself. There's no going around it or turning away from it. There may be choices in how "artfully" you take the next step, but you do have to take it.

Preparing for my imminent move to Vancouver has been very "enlightening."

I do feel lighter, now that I have gotten rid of untold numbers of boxes and bins of books, old papers, knick-knacks, clothing -- stuff that I've accumulated and saved without really thinking about why I was hanging on to it -- or rather, why I wasn't making a conscious decision about it and dealing with it. Easier sometimes not to make a choice, thinking the consequences are postponed that way, maybe? Foolish thought. I did plan, eventually, to "get to it", to make the decisions, to streamline my life and make it more focused. Eventually.

Well, eventually is now. I'm making the choices now: "toss", "give away" or "keep". Especially the "keep" is hard because it is all too soon going to be crunch time and I will have to be absolutely sure this thing or that is important enough to box and have sent to my eventual home on the other side of the country at crazy expense.

It's not just the physical lightness. It's also the psychological and spiritual lightness. And it's sometimes profoundly uncomfortable. It rather feels like stepping off a cliff into utter darkness.

It's not just the discomfort of no longer having, close at hand, some of the creature comforts one has been accustomed to: favorite books, a certain spoon, the microwave, drawers in which I used to organize my socks...I have also had to stay determined despite the fact that the actions and reactions of some family, friends and acquaintances have been cruel and discouraging.

Some people in my life, hostile, question my judgment and abilities. Others describe me as a "good daughter", self-sacrificing, words of praise that make me weirdly uncomfortable.

Another source of confusion was a reconnection during the last two years or so with a friend from my high school days. This special friendship brought me enormous emotional joy and heartbreak all in one. When the love offered was suddenly withdrawn in the next heart beat, the pain I experienced was excruciating. The love that made me wildly hopeful for a short while, left me feeling physically broken, heart shattered, in a soul felt darkness. Now, there are still many moments during my day when I'm overcome with grief. But I must go on, and I do, blessing the past, letting it go and looking forward with great hope for the future.

But still I have those best friends who have always offered me their unconditional love, moral support, advice and assistance, knowing ultimately, that the path is 100% my own to make and involves the integrity of all facets of my being. To them I am eternally grateful.

And I find, I'm not disappearing at all! I'm not defined by my stuff, others' opinions of me, my job-title or the successes or failures of my past. I'm somehow bigger, beyond and outside what's happening in my life even as I am busy being my life. I'm a work-in-progress and I'm watching the process as well as participating whole-heartedly, messily, joyfully, enthusiastically, hopefully and with complete belief in the making of my life-on-purpose. That may seem an impractical, nonsensical, mystical path to take, but it's the only way I know.

subject/object

2010-05-30T07:20:00.000-07:00

The question always seems to come up, in conversation, or when getting to know someone. People very quickly ask me why I so obviously have turned away from calling myself a Christian, just as surely as I once earnestly did call myself one.

I was at a party last week, celebrating simultaneously the retirement of two of my peers as well as my own, and the question again came up. I was frustrated at not having a concise answer. There would be nothing I'd like better than to explore that question, but it's not a conversation that is easy across a table at a noisy party!

My little neighbour across the hall asked me yesterday morning what I plan to write about, now that I have retired. To keep it simple, and because I don't know the answer to that either, I told her I might write about my trips to Africa.

The wise advice for writers is that one should write what one knows best. And since it seems that what I know best is my struggle to know anything at all, this is what I'll write about!

Obviously, everybody approaches the world in different ways. Even in my own family, not every one is as curious about the meaning of life as I seem to be. I can't seem to be content with following the path that was prescribed for me.

I soon observed that my teachers of that path were anything but at peace. I observed inconsistencies, human frailty, hypocricy. I saw cruelty and unkindness carried out by those purporting to be acting out a higher purpose.

I also had questions that could not be answered through the very literal interpretation of the Bible as I was taught it. On one hand, I was told the Bible was "inspired", but I was taught it as if it had been dictated by God into the English of King James. And if "not one jot" and "not one title" should be changed, I felt keenly a vast difference in sensibility when I read a French translation, and wondered how that could be. Even my mother commented on the difference in certain Biblical texts as she heard them in Finnish constrasted with English.

The question of language quickly took me to the idea of God contained in a word as being somewhat idolatrous. Poetry, and even beautiful prose, is probably impossible to translate accurately into another language. Surely, God, or the idea of God, would be akin to the best poetry? Therefore, any fixed notion of God in a religion or teaching should always be less than the essence of "god-ness".

But what I saw constantly in the oft-repeated stories and texts of my experience in church was a terrible fixed-ness. We had the Truth in capital letters. We were the Promised People headed for the Promised Land. We should go forth and proselytize.

But, wasn't it possible, I thought, that the "other people" I had been so long protected from, might be further along on the path of Truth than we were? Wasn't it possible that other religions or cultures might even be in the Promised Land, somewhat like Rousseau's Natural Man? (ah! here my most devout friends would exclaim that the only path to salvation is through Christ! again, the literal, historical guy who was nailed to the cross -- never mind, that no such historical evidence has actually been found -- not that it actually matters, really, more than the idea, or the essence of the myth, the underlying truth. )

In some cases I was to become acquainted with while in university, just such "preaching of the blessed gospel" from an arrogant point of view had caused terrible, though unintended consequences (events I've described in other blogs on my other sites) in some African cultural settings, cases which caught my attention because of my ties to my childhood home in Africa. Which of the values I had been taught were universal, then, and which arose out of my culture?

Yeah, I did some reading in university, and afterwards: the usual philosophical pillars that a generally educated person in the West reads. And I've tried to comprehend Eastern philosophies as well. And I've read what we think we know about pre-historical and extra-historical (if you believe that there's a history besides the one written by the victors) cultures and beliefs. I still read constantly, and I'm often thrilled by inspired writers who challenge me to see things in a new way.

And really, I think what matters to me is that I want something that inspires me to live life. Whatever gives my life juice is what gives it meaning. Material possessions, status, accomplishments are only a small part of it. They are not un-important. Ask someone living in poverty and starving, or someone who doesn't have a job. But I lived and worked, every day, with people who were very accomplished, who by any standards enjoyed a wonderful way of life but were profoundly unhappy.

So, last night, while baking some biscotti, I happened to watch a program on a local public television station called Lark Rise to Candleford. In this episode of the series, the Bishop is coming to consecrate the church font and Thomas, a postman and a very pious character, cannot contain his excitement. I was very amused to see his horror and his efforts to contain the mayhem when a Lark Rise tree starts to 'bleed'. The hamlet becomes rife with talk of witchcraft. He takes it to such an extent that he kidnaps a confused old fellow who sees visions of food falling from the sky. Finally in a climactic frenzy, poor Thomas takes an axe to the offending witch tree.

I found it very funny and, I must confess, what quickly came to my mind was pictures of many of my devout Christian friends, the zeal with which they attack other Christians and "heathens", foreigners and other cultures!(nothing like an ex-pat Finn remembering the good old days in the old country, eh? when Sunday meant sitting still as a child and doing nothing more dangerous than reading the Bible!)

So this morning, stopping to enjoy a midmorning coffee and biscotti, I looked at my biscotti and thought to myself, "The angle sloping upwards from the left would feel better in my hand if it sloped down and under instead." (Perhaps only retired persons have thoughts like this?) A thought that took only the barest flicker of a second. I flipped the biscotti around, clockwise, only to have the angle still sloped the same way. That made me laugh. So I experimented a bit more. Rotating the biscotti away from me or towards me along its axis does bring the angle around to its opposite! But it's still a biscotti!

And I realized that in some ways, as I try to flip my biscotti around, I'm like poor old Thomas myself when I go to church and I'm horrified by the hemmed in language and the stultifying sermons (as I see it)! I'm overcome by a vicious urge to take an axe in my hands to hack down this enormous dead tree, a tree people talk of as having magical powers but to which they no longer bring garlands of flowers.

And I remember a student I had, way back ages ago during my teaching days. A lovely child, she seemed to like me and often invited me to attend with her at her Jehovah's Witness meetings. I resisted, of course, thinking I knew better, and asked her instead, to try to put into a nutshell what she believed. I was pretty sure back then, that I could put into a nutshell what I believed. She could not, which to me was proof of the pudding.

Now, I am no longer so sure of myself. I'm not attracted to attend Jehovah's Witness meetings yet, but I am much less inclined to think that what gives my life juice can be described in a "nutshell" as I had demanded of my young student.

Instead, I think it's something beyond words, something that gives me delight, that speaks somehow to my heart, like the stillness of the trees in the quiet of morning, even before the birds have started their song, in the soft light of the moments before dawn. And it's also in the last glimmers of the embers of a dying fire in the dark. To that essence I humbly bring my garlands of flowers.

C.O.L.

2010-05-17T14:07:00.000-07:00

It's official. I'm a cranky old lady.

It's not just that I have officially retired -- well, I will have once I've had some of the vacation time I'm owed. Technicalities.

Really, I'm here, confused by the sensation of daily not having to count down the hours that are left to me before being obliged to present myself at my paying job. Don't have to do that anymore! I still have to remind myself.

However, the old "to do list" still grows ever longer, doesn't it? It might have something to do with my deliberate choice to stop trying to do as much ... As my dad would say, "Everything is relative." So that begs the question, how much, relatively speaking, was I wont to do before?? Good question.

Remember, I'm now officially a COL, so be careful.

So I ventured into the garden over the last few days. Found the usual evidence of squirrels.

ommm....I am letting go of my urge to kill all the squirrels I see...

psst: it helps that I have seen some feral and/or otherwise cats, plus a red-tailed hawk (thrilling as it swoops down from the tree-tops), all actively lingering in my neighborhood lately.

I've also had some interesting encounters with one of my rather deaf neighbours. She throws dried bread crumbs out for the birds, etc. several times a day.

psst: I wonder if I should enlighten her that the crumbs attract all sorts of vermin, including those aforementioned squirrels, plus skunks, raccoons, mice, rats and gulls? never mind the mold on the previous disseminations already festering in the grass!

I suspect she also has some short term memory loss, because in the span of only a couple of hours one day, she came out at least twice, if not three times. Both times, she defiantly told me she had permission to feed the birds.

psst: um...so many feedings that the lawn is white with breadcrumbs, and plants in the vicinity of the front steps and/or in the area accessible to the reach of her throwing arm are smothered by the weight of it all? we have the best fed vermin in the neighborhood!

and no, this old lady is not the same old lady -- now deceased, bless her heart -- who made the gardens white with raining moth balls -- sung to the tune of "it's raining men"

A couple of days later, I'm gardening again, and out she comes, starts to throw out more bread crumbs and asks me if I mind. Um, why would I mind, as she apparently has permission??

She also told me and my pesky would-be assistant(more about that later!!) several times, that bread-crumbs should always be stale, because fresh bread crumbs will make the birds ill. And that she promised her husband to always feed the animals. By the way, she loves birds. Yep, she loves animals. Did I say, she promised her husband that she'd always feed the animals?

Ah, the cranky part?

psst: I suspected I was being cranky already!

It's my pesky, would-be assistant that has been the last straw, the final straw that drove me over the edge into confirmed COL-hood. I can't seem to step out into the garden without her being there, asking if I wouldn't like her help.

Meanwhile, you see, she's already been busy -- my pesky WBA, I mean -- before even offering her services to me in the garden!

The superintendent of my building thought one day to speak to me about a small drawer someone had, no doubt, thrown out for recycling. It had been fished out of the trash and filled with shriveled up, dried-out dandelion flowers and seed-puffs, then ceremoniously placed at the east side of our building.

psst: funnily enough, right under said pesky WBA's apartment window!

Now,I have no idea why my superintendent would have thought I'd do such a thing. Nothing like my sense of aesthetics, I assure you!

I mean, I've been known to enjoy the cheery yellow of dandelions, but not that much!

I said to her I thought it might have been children playing.

meaning: who could it be but my pesky WBA??

You think this is trivial? Obviously, you've never lived cheek-by-jowl in a small building that houses a collection of all sorts of people, most of them just fine, I would like to assume. However, I am constantly reminded by some of those very people, that I should be suspicious of some amongst them.

a difficult temptation to resist! (ommm....)

So, yesterday, I'm in the garden, trying to get some plants into the ground, some plants I bought to celebrate my retirement.

psst: I never really need a reason to purchase more plants

When who should pop up but my pesky WBA. And she's not alone; she has a side-kick.

They want to help me. Can they help me? They love flowers. Am I putting in more flowers?

god help me!

Keep in mind that I have already rescued a large, multi-budded stem of an iris and some delicate, newly interred, delphinium plants from under a heavy, smothering blanket of wilted dandelion stems, lilac and wild-cherry branches.

I'm not the least bit cranky or bothered by that. n-o-t a-t a-l-l !!

Trying to be nice, I suggest pesky WBA and her side-kick help by taking the plants I bought and putting them on the front steps where they (by that I mean the plants!) can wait until I've dug out an extension to accommodate them in the beds already along the front walks (as I said, I mean the plants -- no intention of interring the pesky children!)

as tempting as the thought is...

psst: I'm hoping the tedium of waiting for me to dig up the sod will extinguish their patience and desire to help, and that when they skip off, I'll have my opportunity to sneak the plants into place without their as-ahem-assistance. a very loose description, in my opinion.

As hoped, the digging-up-the-sod part soon bored the children. But they kept coming back to check on my progress.

And to ask me how Old I am.

Ancient.

What does that mean?

Very old.

Like 30? My dad is in his 30's.

No. Older.

Like, 40's?

No. Older.

50's?

Yes.

That's old.

Yes, ancient.

And to ask me the names of many of the plants already in the garden: sage, lavender, gaura, iris ... more lavender.

This is lavender, Pesky's side-kick exclaimed!

And I wondered, because the lavender was not in bloom yet, if it was as meaningful to her as the answers I sometimes gave to "inquiring minds" at my paying job who wanted to know what their loved one's hemoglobin say, or potassium, or (pick a lab value) was today...

psst: I'm glad I don't have to wonder about that anymore -- ie, do they even know what hemoglobin is?

I was nearly finished when I noticed another pile of wilted dandelion stems and leaves, lilac blossoms, etc. had been unceremoniously dumped upon the variegated miscanthus grass by the front steps and footprints were all over that corner where I had just planted some daylilies too.

Unlucky pesky WBA happened to return at that moment and tried to suggest places where I could plant the last of the pink coreopsis.

No, no room by the daylilies which will grow rather larger (I fervently hope), and which, I reminded pesky WBA, must not be stepped upon or they will not grow!

Immediately, pesky WBA hotly denied stepping in the flower beds.

Later that evening, after a shower and a pot of herbal tea meant to cool my post-menopausal hot flashes...

it's not working, the tea, but that may be because I refuse as yet to give up drinking my beloved coffee -- although I have cut down, honestly I have!

I happened to glance out my window only to see pesky WBA and side-kick stripping more branches off some bushes along the back fence. Irritated, I wondered if I'd see more bundles of dead things tenderly laid over the fragile things I'd planted today. I resisted the urge to go outside to check and carry out a rescue...

prn...

thinking: sometimes one attracts what one does not want by putting out that energy. And...

I wondered why I am not at all the child-friendly teacher of the love of gardening that I secretly aspire to be, like a guru of grubbing about in the soil, a guerilla of greening spaces, a humble disciple of Mother Nature.

go forth and convert all to a love of the green, floriferous, natural world!

Not at all! Instead, I have discovered that I am a cranky, judgmental woman, anxiously grumbling to myself about Some People's Children!

ps: I gave in to my urge to check on the garden this afternoon -- no blankets of dead things -- only to spy pesky WBA in the front passenger seat of her father's car, her black eyes nailing me on the spot. I had planned to take more photos to update you on the garden, but slunk indoors instead, defeated by a 10-year old terrorist.

2009-10-27T10:45:00.001-07:00

test

2009-10-27T10:44:00.001-07:00

test

back on the horse

2009-10-27T08:38:00.000-07:00

Some of you who have followed my story here and on my previous blogs know that I've struggled with injuries this summer and fall.

Every runner knows many theories are out there to explain injuries.(just google knee pain associated with running and watch what happens!) One is that running over-uses certain muscles in relation to others, and the resulting weakness in "collateral" muscles puts too much strain on the major muscles used in running.

Of course, running your foot into a very unyielding bedpost will also cause problems!

In a nutshell, sometime in June, I developed severe pain in my left knee which kept me from running much at all. And just when I thought I had rested it enough, I managed to break the little toe in my left foot. That in combination with waiting for a diagnosis and then treatment of the left knee, basically put a kibosh on my running life over the last 5 months.

Now that all that is over (I do sincerely hope!), I have to wrap my mind around getting back out there, getting my conditioning back, putting my training back on track.

Everybody faces this at some point: getting over the fear, making the decision, finding the right approach, and just getting started again.

I have gained at least 10 lbs. I'm afraid of pain. I notice definite weakness in the left leg. And mentally, I'm afraid that I'm a perfectionist: it's all or nothing. Realistically I know I have to back up and start small. But how much smaller is enough/too much?

Yeah, am I over-analyzing this, or what? It's just easier to worry than it is to get out there and do it.

phone

2009-10-27T07:36:00.000-07:00

I received this email and found it very moving. Like many of these things, it has probably been circulating for a while, but I would love to know who the author is. If you can help, let me know. In the meantime, if you haven't read this story, enjoy:

THE OLD PHONE

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was 'Information Please' and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.

My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my Mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.

I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing climbing up. I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.

"Information, please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.

"Information."

"I hurt my finger," I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.

"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.

"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.

"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.

"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."

"Can you open the icebox?" she asked.

I said I could.

"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.

After that, I called 'Information Please' for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, 'Information Please,' and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled.

I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring Joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, " Wayne , always remember that there are other worlds to sing in..."

Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."

"Information," said in the now familiar voice.

"How do I spell fix?" I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest . When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston . I missed my friend very much. 'Information Please' belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.

As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy...

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown Operator and said, 'Information Please.'

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.

"Information."

I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"

There was a long pause.

Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."

I laughed, "So it's really you."

I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?''

"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."

Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered: "Information."

I asked for Sally.

"Are you a friend?" she asked.

"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago..."

Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne ?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you. The note said, 'Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean.'"

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.

Whose life have you touched today?

Why not pass this on? I just did....

Lifting you on eagle's wings,
May you find the joy and peace you long for.
Life is a journey ... NOT a guided tour.
So don't miss the ride and have a great time going around.
You don't get a second shot at it.

I loved this story and just had to pass it on. I hope you enjoy it and get a blessing from it just as I did.

energy

2009-10-26T13:39:00.000-07:00

endod, or 'soap berry ' plant, well known to traditional healers, is being studied as a natural control of the fresh-water mollusks, mollusks which spread the parasitic disease schistosomiasis, found in many parts of Africa

The philosophical approach of holistic health has always been one that made more sense to me.

To be clear, while my paying job is in the field of conventional medicine, I have often felt conflicted or dissatisfied with the limits of conventional medicine, not because I think it is not effective, but because I think in most settings I've seen at least, its approach, or focus, is limited.

I've often pondered why it seems limited.

The best explanation I can give is that it is directed by doctors; ie its power structure is a top-down one with the pharmaceutical/surgical and other such 'scientific' options for diagnosis and treatment being accepted as the viewpoint that directs health care.

That in itself is contradictory, because doctors are rarely involved in true 'health' care, ie, helping healthy people stay healthy. They are actually most often and most profitably employed in diagnosing and treating illness.

However, so often health problems an individual has cannot be diagnosed or treated from the mechanistic/objective scientific perspective of the doctors. A more global approach would discover that the individual's physical complaints are minor symptoms only of a larger spiritual/emotional/energetic dysfunction.

Any nurse will tell you that certain personalities seem to go with the certain ailments that we see on a regular basis. Obviously, we would be hard pressed to say which came first, the chicken or the egg, but I'll say it here: we do roll our eyes if we hear an individual with certain diagnoses will be in our care, knowing we will have a very predictable set of difficult/unhealthy behaviors to contend with as well.

So, I ask myself, knowing as much as we do about the physiological responses to certain states of mind (eg. stress releases certain stress hormones which have profound physical effects on the body), should there not be more study of the mind/emotions/spirit/energy fields of human beings and should the emphasis not shift from the medical/mechanical model to one that encompasses more alternative approaches?

There seems to exist no way for an individual to find health care without shopping piece-meal for alternative therapies and/or choosing to enter our present health care system as it is now, driven by the medical/scientific approach, ie with a medical doctor as pretty much the only gateway.

I'd love to know more about places where the more global/holistic attitude and philosophy are used to deliver health care!

random relatedness:

The Canadian Holistic Nurses Association

The American Holistic Nurses Association

music and healing ceremonies of the Zar traditions of Ethiopia and Sudan, Pacific Review of Ethnomusicology, UCLA

Zar cults of Ethipia and SudanPriestess, mother, sacred sister: religions dominated by women,by Susan Starr Sered

Impacts of Urbanisation on the Traditional Medicine of Ethiopia, by
Wondwosen Teshome-Bahiru,
Anthropologist, 8(1): 43-52 (2005)

The Role of indigenous Medicinal Plants in Ethiopian Health Care, Fekkadu Fullas, Holler Africa

The impact of objects and landscape on psychological health in the immigrant experience, Salman Akhtar on TVO.ORG/Video/Big Ideas

"Can Aboriginal Traditional Knowledge Survive in the Modern World?" Leanne Simpson on TVO.ORG/Video/Big Ideas

How the medical and legal systems are failing in the so-called war on drugs, Gabor Mate on TVO.ORG/Video/Big Ideas

The Hundred Year Lie, How to Protect Yourself from the Chemicals that Are Destroying Your Health, by Randall Fitzgerald

The Path of Practice: A Woman's Book of Ayurvedic Healing, by Bri Maya Tiwari

Spontaneous Healing: How to Discover and Enhance Your Body's Natural Ability to Maintain and Heal Itself, by Dr. Andrew Weil

Why People Don't Heal and How They Can, by Caroline M. Myss

Rules for Getting Well and Staying Well, a simple list

Are You Getting Enlightened Or Losing Your Mind?: How To Master Everyday And Extraordinary Spiritual Experiences, by Dennis Gersten

HealthyOntario, our provincial government site which provides information on conventional medicine and services for Ontarians

Listings Canada: Ontario: Health: Alternative

dangerous?

2009-10-26T12:41:00.001-07:00

Back of the Pack: The rewards and risks of extreme exercise, cbc news

Is Running Marathons dangerous?

Running Cardiologist Expert Paul Thompson, M.D., Comments on Marathon Deaths at Runner's World

Are Marathons Safe? , article at the NYTimes

one of the greats

2009-10-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

Ethiomedia, bidding farewell to Tilahun Gessesse

moral hazards

2009-10-23T13:36:00.000-07:00

Do starving Africans a favour...

Aid only feeds Africa's corruption

The limits of humanitarian aid intervention: genocide in Rwanda, the book by A. J. Kuperman

Moral hazard in humanitarian aid, Alan J. Kuperman

Foreign aid is bad: read the Munk debate

asmari

2009-10-23T12:53:00.000-07:00

Asmari: singers in Ethiopia who are renowned for their creative lyrics. They may sing praise songs about patrons of the asmari-bet, or bar, who are expected to pay the singer a generous tip. Or the asmari's song may be a joke, full of double-entendres about the patrons, the government or issues of the day. Being the topic of the song for a ferengi can only be guessed at if one picks out the reference to ferengi or inglesi or americawi...and much hilarity ensues.

Masinko: Ethiopias traditional one-string violin, made of wood and animal skin. Its sound is so particular, so unique, once you hear it, you will never forget it.

joy jump

2009-10-23T12:23:00.000-07:00

So I still struggle to pick out an Amharic word here and there, but it doesn't matter. This music makes me want to jump for joy.

Anybody who can translate the words for me, please contact me!

climate change

2009-10-23T12:11:00.000-07:00

Race Against Climate Change in Ethiopia

childhood dreams

2009-10-23T11:24:00.000-07:00

This has been knocking around talk shows, inspirational networks and the internet for ages. Just look at the number of people who have viewed this on You Tube! However, it's just plain fun and refreshing to hear someone talking about childhood dreams.

One of the things that really made me smile was the thought that at some point in your life, you realize you are not going to achieve some of your childhood dreams. But it will be enough just to stand near somebody who has.

discussion: do boys need boys' schools

2009-10-22T09:52:00.000-07:00

School Gate - Times Online - WBLG: Do boys need boys' schools?

CBC News - Toront0 - Boys only grade school proposed for Toronto

Globe and Mail - Ontario board pushes for 'boy-friendly' school

hunger

2009-10-22T09:28:00.000-07:00

CBC News - World - Ethiopia appeals for urgent food aid

BBC News - Hunger stalks Ethiopia again

BBC News - Ethiopia asks for urgent food aid

BBC Focus On Africa Magazine - climate change and loss of forests: Once upon a time, Africa boasted seven million square kilometres of forest but a third of that has been lost - most of it to charcoal

taking stock

2009-10-22T08:11:00.000-07:00

I love making lists. I love paper. I love sorting things.

But I get distracted. Unless I'm very, very clear before I start making my lists, I can so enjoy the process that I get quite lost. I get lost in the lists themselves, making lists of lists. I get lost in the things I'm sorting, wandering off to wherever the things take me.

Take the process of taking stock of my fridge, for example.

Yesterday, I started thinking that cleaning out my fridge was long over-due, but before I could do anything, I needed to eat something like breakfast. Knowing I had only one lovely purple plum in the way of fruit, besides the cranberries (and I don't know what I plan to do with them!), I realized I'd have to get some groceries, just to eat breakfast, otherwise I would be too faint to do anything.

That meant I'd have to get dressed and that would require a shower so I'd be presentable out there in public...Oh, tried a few deep-knee bends and squats first. My balance is just a little off because of the broken toe I had on the left foot. If I concentrate, my balance is nearly 100%. However, my left knee is still a little swollen from the arthroscopic surgery last week. Maybe it's only the tapes on the skin limiting my range of motion; notice ugly grating noise in right knee. Sigh.

Seems I'm working backwards, doesn't it?

Without any organization, I ran off to the grocery store, buying some things I generally like for breakfast, trying not to get carried away, reminding myself that going crazy would only be wasteful if these foodstuffs were left to spoil while I was away in New York City and then British Columbia over the next couple of weeks...

The cab driver, whom I've gotten to know, very kindly carried my groceries up the stairs right to my door.

Home again, I realized that to make room, I should discard whatever containers of left-overs were still lingering from Thanksgiving. Besides, I know I'm not going to be able to face even a wee snack of anything from Thanksgiving anymore, even if it's fine because it's frozen...

Then, after I put most of the perishable groceries away, I took a little time to eat that very-belated breakfast. Yup, as you might imagine, I was feeling faint by this time. Ahh, but I enjoyd my coffee and I had a new running magazine to mull over with CBC radio in the background.

Then, I started cleaning up the kitchen, washing those containers from Thanksgiving. But not before I realized that the tea towels in the kitchen needed to be replaced with clean ones. So then I sorted out all of the laundry that needs doing (I'll get the laundry done tomorrow)...before wandering back to the kitchen to finish washing the dishes.

While putting dishes away, I remembered my vitamins: a multivitamin, glucosamine, vitamin B6 and B12, cod-liver oil capsules, and an herbal combo to alleviate the symptoms of menopause. Should I re-examine what I'm taking, I wondered?

Then I watered my house plants,
fussed that the plants I brought indoors from their summer places in pots out on the steps are still willy-nilly in baskets and need to be sorted out and potted up for the winter, and the plants that will go in the garden need to go in soon. Should I get some bulbs too? Is it too late, or would the squirrels just dig them all up? How am I going to handle carrying around heavy soil or digging anything right now? Fall will soon be winter and I can't catch up.

I potted up the amaryllis bulb I bought while out grocery shopping.

I noticed the water in the vase of fall flowers on my coffee table is getting rather thick! Hmmmnn...decide to deal with some of this later.

Must check my emails. Reply to most pressing ones, make dates to meet friends over the next few days and enter those in calendar. Remember that the insert in the running magazine has directions for the supporters (that would be me and Jim on this trip) on how to get to various points along the race route in New York City (make note to take this along this evening and share with Jim and the rest of my running gang.)

Then I went back to what my intentions had been at the beginning, to take stock of my fridge. Taking stock of my fridge was supposed to fit in with making meal plans to improve my nutrition and dove-tail with a nenewed regimen to get my fitness back on track, a regimen that somehow takes into account my responsibilities at my paying job, as well as allowing me to make time to continue my studies, spend time with my family and to have a social life.

I realized that this is all part of the process I had hoped to begin here, to describe how I'm taking steps to get my life back on track, to set new goals and priorities, to follow through on some of my prior plans...and it seems I'm simply tossing some new balls into the air, dropping others, trying to juggle things much as I've always done, in circuitous fits and starts which bear no resemblance to organization! I told you it was going to get ugly!

Ah! But as I finished this note, the sun peeked out of the grey sky and started playing with the yellow, gold and ruby leaves outside my window. It was as if the leaves and the sun were smiling at each other. The branches waved and danced, and leaves twirled down to carpet the pavement.

And I thought to myself, yesterday I did accomplish something, after all. It might not be perfect, but that's all right. Sometimes, it is in lingering over mundane tasks that one's interior life has the time to get clearer, mellow, ripen. The sun agrees with me. It came out again to bestow a positively beaming smile upon the leaves. And the leaves are nodding, dancing.

random relatedness:

Taking stock of Canada's worst peacetime maritime disaster

A list: 33 things that make us crazy

43 things, dream it, list it, do it

Ontario Fall Colour report

Ain't No Sunshine, Bill Withers on You Tube

Un rayon de soleil, William Baldé on You Tube

Cité Soleil, an indictment of the misrepresentations of the news by mainstream media

un rayon de soleil

2009-10-22T08:10:00.000-07:00

change

2009-10-21T13:21:00.000-07:00

Any season can be the beginning of change. Autumn seems especially poignant as the leaves intensify in their fiery colours and one seems to feel the urge to "rage against the dying of the light."

I've mentioned that I have felt a shifting in my life. It's troublesome. It leaves me feeling lonely, unsettled, unmoored. I feel the need to take stock: unfinished business, unfinished projects, goals yet to meet. I feel the need to sift through my "stuff", literally and metaphoretically, to discard what I no longer need, to organize what I intend to take with me as my life moves forward. And I feel the need to re-focus, to refine my goals and make plans.

In other places, I mentioned that I've made some decisions. I've yet to make others. Balance is such a difficult place to find. Is it on a map somewhere?

I got a birthday card from a dear friend which helped to lift me from a potential slide into serious depression. I was in danger of believing my own bad press (beware of the rantings of your ego!). I was in danger of believing that unless I had achieved certain kinds of material wealth, status, physical exploits, sign posts in my career, I had failed. However, this birthday card was still sitting up on my dresser. My birthday was a whole month ago.

First, I admired the coincidence that several birthday cards all seemed to be of the same colour, a soft green which matched the decor of my bedroom. I wondered if my family and friends had been a particularly green mood when they bought my birthday cards or if thinking of me made them think of green?

Okay, no more dithering. Here's what the card said:

If you believe
that each of us
was designed by God
for a specific reason,
then you know
there's no such thing
as an ordinary person.
So happy birthday, extraordinary person.
Don't ever forget how truly unique,
how essential, how important
you are.
I know I won't.

The other thing that came into my mind then was the dictum: write what you know.
Well, writing what I know might be rather ugly, I thought. I've met some pretty 'interesting' people lately and they might not appreciate what I write about them! Ah, and then I remembered that I also learned a lot about myself in meeting these people. And whom do I know better than the person I see in the mirror each day. I have no idea really what motivates those people I've met recently, some of whom pissed me off! But I know a little bit about what motivates me, sigh.

So, for what it's worth, I offer you here a sort-of running chronicle of my attempts (again!) to get my life on track and to reach for some of the things that get me jazzed up about life. It might be a rough ride, but it is what it is. And as my running pals would say, it's all good.

random relatedness:

Annie Dillard's official website, author of The Writing Life amongst much more

Biology Unmoored, ethnographic research on a worldview that is not reliant on biophysiological reproduction

Browze Inside...The Writing Life, by Annie Dillard

Coming Unmoored -- redesigning a life in a tiny floating home

The Writing Life II, a blog about writing

Unmoored -- info on the groove-, later death-metal band from Sweden