Everything we wear, everything we choose for ourselves in life, makes a statement. You can find -- or custom-order -- t-shirts screaming just about anything in thick, bold colors. Political statements, tv show/brand loyalty, you name it, you can find it out there. The cut of a man's suit, our footwear selections, even our jewelry can all add levels to the picture we draw for the world of who we are.
On the inexpensive chain of my favorite necklace, a small blue starfish charm hangs, along with a simple hammered oval with the words "It matters to that one" in black. People often ask me what it means.
It's a philosophy. To understand, you would have to be familiar with the Starfish Story, paraphrased here (originally by Loren Eiseley):
A wise man used to rise early in the morning and walk along the beach to gather his thoughts. One morning, while he was strolling by the edge of the ocean, he noticed a far-off figure repeating some strange movements. A dancer, perhaps? he mused.
As he drew closer, he could see that the figure was that of a young man who kept bending down to pick something up. Over and over again, he threw what he found into the sea.
"Pray, friend," called the wise man, "What are you doing?"
"I'm throwing starfish back into the water," replied the young man. "The tide washed them ashore and if I don't throw them back, they'll die."
The wise man shook his head and said, "But there are miles and miles of beach, and tens of thousands of starfish! You cannot possibly save them all -- don't you see? What you do doesn't matter!"
The young man simply smiled, bent down, picked up another starfish, and hurled it with all his might into the water.
"It mattered to that one."
I wear a starfish to remind me that what I do matters. I cannot save every aching soul I come across, as much as I wish I could. But that doesn't mean that what I do isn't important. Every time we lend a shoulder or a hand, even if our efforts feel like so little in a hurting world, we should all remember: It matters to that one.
Global telesummit for peace -- and you're invited!
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RxR
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This just hit my inbox this morning, and I wanted to share.
Top peacebuilders from all over the world, including the 13 Indigenous Grandmothers and so many others of note that I'd embarrass myself trying to name even a handful without wanting to list them all, will participate in the "largest virtual peace summit ever created," starting September 14th.
Registration is free, and you may participate in any one of the series of calls or all of them, if you wish!
Click here for more info.
Top peacebuilders from all over the world, including the 13 Indigenous Grandmothers and so many others of note that I'd embarrass myself trying to name even a handful without wanting to list them all, will participate in the "largest virtual peace summit ever created," starting September 14th.
Registration is free, and you may participate in any one of the series of calls or all of them, if you wish!
Click here for more info.
Upheaval and peace
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RxR
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As I sit here, the shadows are lengthening and evening is fast bidding late afternoon adieu. It is the time of deepening darkness and of quiet reflection, sometimes wistfully so.
Last Monday, the 23rd, I received a phone call from my father. Before the phone rang, my hand was reaching toward it, and I knew who would be calling and why -- one of those moments of knowing without understanding how you know. And one of those moments when you wish you knew nothing because there was nothing to know.
All of that to say that that day, my great-uncle began his journey to the Summerlands. Brightest journey, I felt the words come, and with them, a wave of relief that his suffering is now past and he is surrounded by peace and light and beauty.
Words fail to capture the brokenhearted tears that just kept flowing, and the wrenching sobs of grief that left me voiceless and feeling quite ill for a few days...and yet, that sorrow is all selfish. I miss him fiercely; he was an extraordinary person -- and *is* such an effervescent, bright, storied soul. I look forward to when our spirits might cross paths again.
There's so much right now that's hard to grasp -- that I can't ever call him now to hear that "New Joisey" accent that always made me smile. No more letters smelling faintly of his favorite pipe tobacco, and filled with love and warmth and laughter, the serious and silly and mundane all wrapped together in the best kind of present: time.
I've no one to write to now, none left in my life who value the handwritten letter as I do. The other, my paternal grandmother, passed on in 2008. Her scratchy, spidery script and his blocky, thick print...they wove my life with reassuring patterns of family and familiarity, comfort and understanding.
I suppose being pen pal-less is okay right now, as my address may be changing in the next six weeks or so. If my spouse gets the out-of-state job he's interviewing on site for on Thursday, I will be packing up and painting walls and generally in chaos for the next several weeks!
It occurs to me that upheaval is as much a constant in our lives, at least in certain chapters, as stability ever is. And in reflecting on this, I come across a quote in my mind from Gandhi:
This, then, is my goal on the journey right now. To flow with the changes, to use the chaos to deepen the serenity at the core of my being...it IS a journey, an ever-changing one, and I am learning to be grateful for opportunities for growth.
Last Monday, the 23rd, I received a phone call from my father. Before the phone rang, my hand was reaching toward it, and I knew who would be calling and why -- one of those moments of knowing without understanding how you know. And one of those moments when you wish you knew nothing because there was nothing to know.
All of that to say that that day, my great-uncle began his journey to the Summerlands. Brightest journey, I felt the words come, and with them, a wave of relief that his suffering is now past and he is surrounded by peace and light and beauty.
Words fail to capture the brokenhearted tears that just kept flowing, and the wrenching sobs of grief that left me voiceless and feeling quite ill for a few days...and yet, that sorrow is all selfish. I miss him fiercely; he was an extraordinary person -- and *is* such an effervescent, bright, storied soul. I look forward to when our spirits might cross paths again.
There's so much right now that's hard to grasp -- that I can't ever call him now to hear that "New Joisey" accent that always made me smile. No more letters smelling faintly of his favorite pipe tobacco, and filled with love and warmth and laughter, the serious and silly and mundane all wrapped together in the best kind of present: time.
I've no one to write to now, none left in my life who value the handwritten letter as I do. The other, my paternal grandmother, passed on in 2008. Her scratchy, spidery script and his blocky, thick print...they wove my life with reassuring patterns of family and familiarity, comfort and understanding.
I suppose being pen pal-less is okay right now, as my address may be changing in the next six weeks or so. If my spouse gets the out-of-state job he's interviewing on site for on Thursday, I will be packing up and painting walls and generally in chaos for the next several weeks!
It occurs to me that upheaval is as much a constant in our lives, at least in certain chapters, as stability ever is. And in reflecting on this, I come across a quote in my mind from Gandhi:
"Each one has to find his peace within. And peace, to be real, must be unaffected by outside circumstances."
This, then, is my goal on the journey right now. To flow with the changes, to use the chaos to deepen the serenity at the core of my being...it IS a journey, an ever-changing one, and I am learning to be grateful for opportunities for growth.
Be still
Posted by
RxR
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Life is beautiful, tragic, poignant, absurd, fun, and excruciating by turns, it seems to me, and it touches with abandon every place in between. We fight for our chosen causes, scramble to make our voices heard, claw our way up the ladder in career and financial stability, juggle everything we can possibly hold and then some.
"Go and do and achieve and acquire! And if you do not like something, fight it until you find another way to get what you want." This seems to be the message people live with/by, in large part. Perpetual motion, lives going ever faster, round and round on our big blue ball.
It is natural to move forward, to strive to exchange what you have or where you are for the next thing or place along the way, for something or someplace better/different. If I want a better job, I get the additional certifications and I apply for the position I wish to have, for example. We follow our desires. And when something blocks us from attaining what we want, we focus our energy on removing that blockage. We beseech higher powers for aid in our noble pursuits (whether they be noble in truth or not sometimes!). We fight and rail against and bend our will toward changing anything that does not suit us.
To be sure, there are things to be said for that kind of indomitable spirit; you don't get anywhere in this world by rolling over the first time you meet with resistance and letting life pass you by instead of living it, striving for a life that satisfies and enriches.
Yet...there is an even greater wisdom, it seems to me, in learning when to fight and when to be still.
There are those things in life that are beyond our control, as they should be, and sometimes these things are incredibly painful. We naturally want to fight them, to find a way to reject these events and facts and replace them with something more palatable, something that doesn't hurt so much.
My great-uncle and longtime penpal/friend/mentor/favorite storyteller is dying. He is so dear to me that I simply cannot imagine life without him -- I suppose it's more accurate to say that I can, but I don't want to.
We've been writing letters for almost a quarter-century. I'll be 28 this fall and I've written back and forth with him since I was five years old. The things he has taught me would never fit in a blog post. Or a blog. Or one lifetime's recounting.
He has lung cancer. His "year" of time the doctors gave him in June appears to have been incredibly optimistic.
When I first heard the news of his illness, I immediately went into fight mode. Surely there had to be a treatment option they hadn't considered. I asked questions. I researched. I asked again. I cried and railed at life in general. I prayed to the gods for miraculous healing or to wake up and find that it'd all been a dream or a mistake and that he was healthy.
After speaking to him on the phone recently and hearing firsthand how fragile he is and how limited his time (his voice was so thin; the coughs so thick and overpowering!), I had to concede that there is no fix to be had. Not a fix as *I* would have it, at any rate. With tears streaming down after the brief conversation, I prayed again...this time for the grace to accept what is and cannot be changed -- what will come, and on its own timetable, not mine. I stopped struggling and finally held still.
And in the stillness, I felt comforted. As if the universe or the gods themselves paused a moment to say "Shh, child" and hold me close. It strongly reminded me of this verse I learned years ago:
"Go and do and achieve and acquire! And if you do not like something, fight it until you find another way to get what you want." This seems to be the message people live with/by, in large part. Perpetual motion, lives going ever faster, round and round on our big blue ball.
It is natural to move forward, to strive to exchange what you have or where you are for the next thing or place along the way, for something or someplace better/different. If I want a better job, I get the additional certifications and I apply for the position I wish to have, for example. We follow our desires. And when something blocks us from attaining what we want, we focus our energy on removing that blockage. We beseech higher powers for aid in our noble pursuits (whether they be noble in truth or not sometimes!). We fight and rail against and bend our will toward changing anything that does not suit us.
To be sure, there are things to be said for that kind of indomitable spirit; you don't get anywhere in this world by rolling over the first time you meet with resistance and letting life pass you by instead of living it, striving for a life that satisfies and enriches.
Yet...there is an even greater wisdom, it seems to me, in learning when to fight and when to be still.
There are those things in life that are beyond our control, as they should be, and sometimes these things are incredibly painful. We naturally want to fight them, to find a way to reject these events and facts and replace them with something more palatable, something that doesn't hurt so much.
My great-uncle and longtime penpal/friend/mentor/favorite storyteller is dying. He is so dear to me that I simply cannot imagine life without him -- I suppose it's more accurate to say that I can, but I don't want to.
We've been writing letters for almost a quarter-century. I'll be 28 this fall and I've written back and forth with him since I was five years old. The things he has taught me would never fit in a blog post. Or a blog. Or one lifetime's recounting.
He has lung cancer. His "year" of time the doctors gave him in June appears to have been incredibly optimistic.
When I first heard the news of his illness, I immediately went into fight mode. Surely there had to be a treatment option they hadn't considered. I asked questions. I researched. I asked again. I cried and railed at life in general. I prayed to the gods for miraculous healing or to wake up and find that it'd all been a dream or a mistake and that he was healthy.
After speaking to him on the phone recently and hearing firsthand how fragile he is and how limited his time (his voice was so thin; the coughs so thick and overpowering!), I had to concede that there is no fix to be had. Not a fix as *I* would have it, at any rate. With tears streaming down after the brief conversation, I prayed again...this time for the grace to accept what is and cannot be changed -- what will come, and on its own timetable, not mine. I stopped struggling and finally held still.
And in the stillness, I felt comforted. As if the universe or the gods themselves paused a moment to say "Shh, child" and hold me close. It strongly reminded me of this verse I learned years ago:
Be still, and know that I am God. (Psalms 46:10)
Though my belief system is different from those who carry that particular book around, I see no reason for the wisdom within to be discarded, and indeed, this *is* what I felt. That in the moments of our deepest despair and grief, if we can pause a moment, cease struggling against things beyond our control, we are better able in the stillness to feel the Divine guiding all things. We are not abandoned in our hour of need; we just spend so much time making noise and ramming ourselves against those brick walls that we miss the message.
The hardest aspect of the Serenity Prayer is the serenity part.
The hardest aspect of the Serenity Prayer is the serenity part.
Good news!
Posted by
RxR
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It does my heart good to see that a judge has ordered that my gray wolf bretheren in Montana and Idaho be put back on the endangered species list, thereby granting them protection from "harvest"/hunting.
In September 2009, I had the indescribably stunning privilege of meeting wolves face to face for the first time, in Lucerne Valley, CA.
And I do mean face to face:
A Mackenzie tundra wolf and yours truly
I love wolves. Always have...they are my totem, my spirit animal, however you want to put it. I know this like I know my name. And I have become more and more of a wildlife advocate over the years, particularly for these magnificent, oft-misunderstood creatures.
When it comes down to it, it's a matter of right to live. That is something we all share, and I am grateful that the gray wolves in these two states have been granted a new lease on life, which should never have been necessary in the first place.
In September 2009, I had the indescribably stunning privilege of meeting wolves face to face for the first time, in Lucerne Valley, CA.
And I do mean face to face:
A Mackenzie tundra wolf and yours trulyI love wolves. Always have...they are my totem, my spirit animal, however you want to put it. I know this like I know my name. And I have become more and more of a wildlife advocate over the years, particularly for these magnificent, oft-misunderstood creatures.
When it comes down to it, it's a matter of right to live. That is something we all share, and I am grateful that the gray wolves in these two states have been granted a new lease on life, which should never have been necessary in the first place.
Wolf prints, mid-July edition
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RxR
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I mean to make this a regular feature, twice per month or so. In wolf print blog entries, you will find links, music, and more from my travels through the internet and elsewhere, things that caught my attention.
These are the authors of the moments of "Ohhh" and "Neat!" and "I had no idea..." as well as rich treasures I have long held in my hands and find myself returning to often. They may be emotionally stirring, intellectually magnetic, or spiritually satisfying; I also reserve the right to post silly and random things that I nonetheless find valuable. Sometimes the most random things that tug at me for reasons I am not aware of may well resonate within another heart.
In this inaugural run of the wolf print feature, I thought I would begin with my favorite song of all time. It is my personal anthem and though it was never terribly well-known, it resonates with me today every bit as much as it did when I first listened to it with tears streaming down my face and a huge "Yes!" in my soul.
In smile-worthy news, could it be that our society is actually one of 'survival of the kindest'? That is what a very interesting body of research is suggesting. Read about it here.
I also wish to share this video with you, of a man who has learned to harness his spiritual power to help others. I believe we are all capable of such things, even if our precise gifts might vary (some have the gift of, say, elocution; others may have the gift of foresight or the ability to be a comfort to all they come into contact with simply by passing a bit of energy to them, letting their aura envelop them for a moment, however you'd like to conceptualize it).
In closing, I would like to direct your attention to a wonderful group of guided meditations by Philip Carr-Gomm and others, which you can learn more about in this post on Philip's own blog. Although meditation forms an important part of my spiritual journey, I had not done much with guided meditation. I decided to purchase the compilation of meditations because I have had trouble focusing lately and was becoming somewhat frustrated with my inability to center myself.
I have only, thus far, listened to/journeyed through the meditation dealing with the Earth element, but am very much looking forward to the others. I listened to this last night and was pleasantly surprised at how willing my body and spirit were to be led into tranquility. I hadn't realized the acute and gradual toll stress had taken until it was lifted and peace happily reclaimed its place at the core of my being. I woke up this morning still feeling so much better!
Also, today for the first time in a month of failed attempts due to my iron levels being out of sync, I was able to donate blood, and I believe it was at least in part due to the renewed vitality and equilibrium I achieved with the aid of this meditation. This is the least stressed I've been in weeks.
What do you think of wolf prints? Good idea, bad idea? Did you like the assortment of materials here, or would you prefer to see something a bit more organized?
These are the authors of the moments of "Ohhh" and "Neat!" and "I had no idea..." as well as rich treasures I have long held in my hands and find myself returning to often. They may be emotionally stirring, intellectually magnetic, or spiritually satisfying; I also reserve the right to post silly and random things that I nonetheless find valuable. Sometimes the most random things that tug at me for reasons I am not aware of may well resonate within another heart.
In this inaugural run of the wolf print feature, I thought I would begin with my favorite song of all time. It is my personal anthem and though it was never terribly well-known, it resonates with me today every bit as much as it did when I first listened to it with tears streaming down my face and a huge "Yes!" in my soul.
In smile-worthy news, could it be that our society is actually one of 'survival of the kindest'? That is what a very interesting body of research is suggesting. Read about it here.
I also wish to share this video with you, of a man who has learned to harness his spiritual power to help others. I believe we are all capable of such things, even if our precise gifts might vary (some have the gift of, say, elocution; others may have the gift of foresight or the ability to be a comfort to all they come into contact with simply by passing a bit of energy to them, letting their aura envelop them for a moment, however you'd like to conceptualize it).
In closing, I would like to direct your attention to a wonderful group of guided meditations by Philip Carr-Gomm and others, which you can learn more about in this post on Philip's own blog. Although meditation forms an important part of my spiritual journey, I had not done much with guided meditation. I decided to purchase the compilation of meditations because I have had trouble focusing lately and was becoming somewhat frustrated with my inability to center myself.
I have only, thus far, listened to/journeyed through the meditation dealing with the Earth element, but am very much looking forward to the others. I listened to this last night and was pleasantly surprised at how willing my body and spirit were to be led into tranquility. I hadn't realized the acute and gradual toll stress had taken until it was lifted and peace happily reclaimed its place at the core of my being. I woke up this morning still feeling so much better!
Also, today for the first time in a month of failed attempts due to my iron levels being out of sync, I was able to donate blood, and I believe it was at least in part due to the renewed vitality and equilibrium I achieved with the aid of this meditation. This is the least stressed I've been in weeks.
What do you think of wolf prints? Good idea, bad idea? Did you like the assortment of materials here, or would you prefer to see something a bit more organized?
Beyond the blood - Part I
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RxR
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The quest to understand the core of who we are often has auspicious beginnings. My journey begins in blood.
I am a blood donor, as regularly as I can be (I sometimes am deferred due to low hematocrit). I am on the National Marrow Registry. I'm drawn to things like this; I can fully imagine myself as a surrogate for a mother who cannot bear children. I would hand over a kidney or part of my liver to a stranger in need without a second thought.
Am I a saint? Hardly. These things don't even feel like selfless acts to me, though I do/would do them freely. I have this burning need to give such as I am blessed with, to share the wealth that I have, the abundance, with those who do not have these things.
I'm not rich, though sometimes I think about how much fun it would be to have the money to be an anonymous philanthropist, investing in people who might not otherwise get to do certain things (whether it's afford a wedding gown or a heart transplant; perhaps paying for a poor but promising kid's education without them ever knowing who stepped in for them).
I don't have the space in my home or the income to adopt a child or children (I have three little ones of my own), but I could see myself doing that, too. There are so many things that I would absolutely love to do for people, that some part of me needs to do if I ever become able. For now, I do what I can; I have the fortune of my good health at the very least. And this, I can share.
Donating blood, that vital essence, is an intimate act of giving that touches at least for a moment, that ever-raging fire inside, yearning to give more. I take part of that which keeps me alive, and I offer the same vitality to another, who will never know my name or the gladness with which I gave. I have been on the receiving end as well, though my donations and desire started long before February 2009. And I wonder if the four people whose generosity kept me alive and granted me the ability to keep giving to others, felt as I do.
I have my own wants in life, to be sure. I'm not Gandhi or Mother Teresa; my life is not devoted to the masses in an overt way. While I would not call myself extremely materialistic, it's true that I love gadgets and crisp books and music on my iPod; I play games and am heavily engaged in the life I live day to day. I have frustrations and I screw things up just like everyone else on the planet.
But underneath it all, there is always this hyper-awareness of how interconnected we all are. Like so many hubs of one giant wheel, we all have these spokes connecting each of us to all others in our world. I wish to send healing and peace, light and hope from myself, to send it humming through and along the spokes from where I am, to any other life that crosses my path -- and to those who never do, to whom I am still connected and hold in my heart just the same.
I am boundless. I am one spirit in one body, but I am not alone and I will not live as though I can't affect the world. The world is already connected to me. And this, I think, is why it hurts so much -- I was trying, and failing, to explain the other day to a friend -- when I get deferred from giving blood, or when something I wish to do for someone in another way gets derailed, even temporarily:
I hate the thick pauses in what I do for others. It's like an unexpected silence halfway through your favorite song on the radio. You know the notes and words coming next, have them written upon your heart and on the tip of your tongue; every fiber of your being wishes to sing them out and to hear them surrounding you. The sudden absence of the melody, even if only for a few seconds, is disquieting. You feel not quite yourself until it resumes, and then you exhale the breath you didn't realize you were holding, and comfort returns. Any perceived spoke-stillness on my part bothers me to no end. I wish them to always vibrate with my offerings, to keep a steady flow of to-and-for-you going.
The first part, then, of who I am, is we. I am only one person, but I am a part of something much bigger than myself, and I feel and know this with every breath, and wish simply to brighten every spoke in the wheel in any way I can. It is this which compels me, this which drives me. This which strums my soul-strings and brightens me.
I am a blood donor, as regularly as I can be (I sometimes am deferred due to low hematocrit). I am on the National Marrow Registry. I'm drawn to things like this; I can fully imagine myself as a surrogate for a mother who cannot bear children. I would hand over a kidney or part of my liver to a stranger in need without a second thought.
Am I a saint? Hardly. These things don't even feel like selfless acts to me, though I do/would do them freely. I have this burning need to give such as I am blessed with, to share the wealth that I have, the abundance, with those who do not have these things.
I'm not rich, though sometimes I think about how much fun it would be to have the money to be an anonymous philanthropist, investing in people who might not otherwise get to do certain things (whether it's afford a wedding gown or a heart transplant; perhaps paying for a poor but promising kid's education without them ever knowing who stepped in for them).
I don't have the space in my home or the income to adopt a child or children (I have three little ones of my own), but I could see myself doing that, too. There are so many things that I would absolutely love to do for people, that some part of me needs to do if I ever become able. For now, I do what I can; I have the fortune of my good health at the very least. And this, I can share.
Donating blood, that vital essence, is an intimate act of giving that touches at least for a moment, that ever-raging fire inside, yearning to give more. I take part of that which keeps me alive, and I offer the same vitality to another, who will never know my name or the gladness with which I gave. I have been on the receiving end as well, though my donations and desire started long before February 2009. And I wonder if the four people whose generosity kept me alive and granted me the ability to keep giving to others, felt as I do.
I have my own wants in life, to be sure. I'm not Gandhi or Mother Teresa; my life is not devoted to the masses in an overt way. While I would not call myself extremely materialistic, it's true that I love gadgets and crisp books and music on my iPod; I play games and am heavily engaged in the life I live day to day. I have frustrations and I screw things up just like everyone else on the planet.
But underneath it all, there is always this hyper-awareness of how interconnected we all are. Like so many hubs of one giant wheel, we all have these spokes connecting each of us to all others in our world. I wish to send healing and peace, light and hope from myself, to send it humming through and along the spokes from where I am, to any other life that crosses my path -- and to those who never do, to whom I am still connected and hold in my heart just the same.
I am boundless. I am one spirit in one body, but I am not alone and I will not live as though I can't affect the world. The world is already connected to me. And this, I think, is why it hurts so much -- I was trying, and failing, to explain the other day to a friend -- when I get deferred from giving blood, or when something I wish to do for someone in another way gets derailed, even temporarily:
I hate the thick pauses in what I do for others. It's like an unexpected silence halfway through your favorite song on the radio. You know the notes and words coming next, have them written upon your heart and on the tip of your tongue; every fiber of your being wishes to sing them out and to hear them surrounding you. The sudden absence of the melody, even if only for a few seconds, is disquieting. You feel not quite yourself until it resumes, and then you exhale the breath you didn't realize you were holding, and comfort returns. Any perceived spoke-stillness on my part bothers me to no end. I wish them to always vibrate with my offerings, to keep a steady flow of to-and-for-you going.
The first part, then, of who I am, is we. I am only one person, but I am a part of something much bigger than myself, and I feel and know this with every breath, and wish simply to brighten every spoke in the wheel in any way I can. It is this which compels me, this which drives me. This which strums my soul-strings and brightens me.
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