Three Weeks

Is it only three weeks? Really? I don't know about the rest of you, but I feel like I have aged about three decades.

I am trying to stay grounded in my values, in the music I love, in my belief that love is the only power there is. But everything feels so surreal, as this siren call of the black hole is trying to pull in everything and everyone in sight, everything with even the slightest energetic match.

Not-Love can handle about anything but genuine love, beauty and goodness. Those things, it cannot register at all. It spits them out. There simply is no energetic overlap. So I guess my goal moving forward will be to stay at as energetically "high" a level as I can. My goal will be to stay solid, and not let pieces start slipping into the insistent current away from love. I hope all my writing and all my doing in the world will come from this grounded place. It will definitely be a day-at-a-time, keep-breathing kind of process, probably for a long time to come.

Silence

About a gazillion years ago (26, actually) I left New York City after nearly a decade of working at Time Inc., paying off student loans, and studying art at Parsons School of Design. My interim destination was Pendle Hill, the Quaker study and retreat center outside Philadelphia, and I was so at home there that I ended up staying over four months. Someday perhaps I'll speak about this time at more length, but in a nutshell, to experience this tradition, which was itself somewhat of a "protest" against the high church Anglicanism I was brought up with, helped me fill in some of my own empty places. Since then, I have always looked for "that of God within," rather than "up there."

The traditional Quaker worship at Pendle Hill (and elsewhere) consists of participants sitting in a circle in silence. There is no leader or priest. Out of a meditative, God-centered, still place, people may feel led to stand and speak to the group. In fact, on a few occasions even I experienced that shaky, quaky feeling that propelled me to stand and speak. To hear what feels like authentic, holy words out of one's own mouth rather than from a prayer book is a novel, even revolutionary experience.

The fascinating thing is that in a community of Friends (Quakers), business is conducted in exactly the same way. They hold "meetings for worship for business" (and I beg my Quaker friends' forgiveness if I describe this imperfectly.) Out of a space of deep silence, a community concern is raised. There is more silence. People then speak to the problem from a thoughtful place. More silence. The aim is to reach wide agreement, which may not always be full unanimity, but something the whole group can live with and which feels spirit-led. An extremely sensitive clerk tries to articulate the meeting's intention in words, which are entered into the minutes when it is clear they represent the "sense of the meeting." This can be a smooth process, or at times, an almost unbearably drawn-out one. I remember one gathering where there was a controversial issue regarding the source of some fruit being served in the kitchen. The "discussion" (speaking-silence-speaking-silence) went on for over an hour, and I believe in the end the decision was tabled for another time. I remember running out into the cold night nearly tearing my hair out. (Thought to self: "Lordy, can't you people just take an up-or-down vote?")

That's the point. They were not seeking a "winner." There are many benefits to our democratic process, and it has been a historical step forward, but the downside is that there is always a "loser." There is always heated, even angry, debate, and a resulting pool of resentment. Perhaps we have started to outgrow this model, but clearly the Quaker one would be utterly impossible in diverse countries of dozens or hundreds of millions of people. I am not sure what the answer is.

This may sound disingenuous from a person who is now blogging more like five days a week than her original two or three, but I'll say it anyway: that regular interspersing of silence is beginning to sound awfully good about now!

Music for a Sunday

As they say these days, this. (Voces8: Lux Eterna -- Edward Elgar)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IwdeqVmXlHk

Substance

Today, I had planned to talk mostly about Thanksgiving -- the two pumpkin pies that I baked and the potatoes I mashed, that kind of thing. It's a Saturday, after all, and the shopping race has started. But I am not entirely clear what this beautiful freedom to speak will look like after the inauguration, so the spirit is moving me in an entirely different direction.

The last few days were brought to life in part by having accessed a place of gratitude, and in part by the presence of a beautiful, cheerful, curious, 14- or 15-month old boy. Much to my surprise, his joyful energy shone another light on my lack of children and grandchildren, and I burst into tears about it, which I have rarely done before. Another iron bar around my heart has shattered.

But it also highlighted once again how this "60 portal" is so different for me than for most of my friends. Looking ahead, I don't have the tether of these younger ones, or the responsibilities of aging parents or husband. As most of you know, I have also chosen under the circumstances to avoid the responsibility of a home, car or significant possessions, I have no money to manage, and I cannot look back at a successful and lucrative career, or around me at an intentional community of people. In fact, looking at my two-year planner, I see that technically, I have nailed down absolutely no plans whatsoever after January 2, 2017. It is, in artistic terms, an entirely blank canvas, as my life has so often been.

I've been told several times that I have done nothing worthwhile in my life, which is ridiculous on its face. But it is true that my physical life has become increasingly "insubstantial" with every passing year. The paradox of this, when I feel the growing weight of my substance as a highly intelligent, creative, artistic, musical, wise, articulate, loving, expressive woman, is almost too much to bear sometimes. Why, when I am obviously so aligned with who I was meant to be and I have so much inner power, do I find it so hard to "have"/earn substance and support, operating from that place? I mean, I have chosen to live in integrity with me, to follow the tether of my own heart to the Divine, but goodness has there been a cost.  Yes, I am rather inept at practicalities, but sometimes I just think it is because I have largely self-actualized outside of our world's traditional male construct. Its energy and mine are on two different wavelengths. I don't get it, I can't function within it, and in the end I'm glad I've walked the tightrope, although I'm exhausted from the energy it takes not to crash entirely.

What keeps me going, when the parents scoop the little kids out the door, and I look around at someone else's house, and watch an entire country tripping over itself to spend money when I have none to spend? What keeps me going when there is no "job" (other than writing this blog) that fully fits my unique skills and passions? What keeps me going when I walk towards age 61 in a landscape I can barely see from the fog? I think it's two things. Number one, someone, someday, will want the benefit of my wisdom and unique experiences. Someone, someday, will "pay" me to be me (and I put that in quotes because I suspect that whole system will change completely in upcoming years.) Number two, I am hanging on in the hope of seeing a day when every little girl in the world is encouraged to fully self actualize, and discover her talents and powers early in life, outside the pressure of money and motherhood. That new world will embrace her, know she is substantial, and give her an even wider scope of choices about how to "do" her authentic self, including of course, motherhood.  It won't be so either/or. As for the current voices at odds with such a vision for women, well, I am sorry there are such unhappy people out there, but we are on a journey to a better world for all men and women. No human being is meant to be left out. Take my word for it.

Thanks-giving

For several years, I have written almost-daily "lists of ten" in my personal journal -- ten things I am thankful for, or that are just plain good in my life. At times it was very hard to come up with ten, at times very easy. But I was fairly "religious" about it until a few months ago. Like many other people, I swooshed into the black hole and have forgotten gratitude. On this day before Thanksgiving, time to start again:

• I am so thankful for a warm room, and a roof over my head.
• I am so thankful for food, and for the one or two feasts that I will take part in tomorrow.
• I am so thankful for the inexpensive but serviceable winter boots that I just bought, now that snow is on the ground.
• I am so thankful that I keep finding a little income from jobs I can tolerate, spiritually and physically. The choice stream gets narrower and narrower as I get older, but you know what? Despite it all, and the tightrope I constantly walk...
• I am so, so thankful to be me, free, overly-spiritual, underly-practical, and single. I wouldn't want to be anyone else. 
• I am so thankful for all my beautiful friends!
• I am so thankful for my lifelong love affair with England and English church music. It's been a bit unrequited, but still, I wouldn't have wanted to be anyone else with a different passion. What a journey!
• I am so thankful for a wonderful, patient, strong physical body that has hung in here with me.
• I am so thankful for the grace of knowing that somehow, this excruciatingly hard national and international moment will eventually lead to a more love-filled world.
• I am most thankful for you, dear readers. It is so good to know you are there. 

Have a blessing-filled Thanksgiving. I work Black Friday at a non-retail job and won't be spending a cent. See you Saturday!

Turn

Several times since starting this blog, I've reminded folks that I am not, repeat not, a theologian. Being on an intensive spiritual journey doesn't really qualify me to talk about these kinds of issues, but with that caveat out there, I guess I'll proceed.

The last few days, I haven't been able to stop thinking about Jesus's admonition (Matthew 5:39 and Luke 6:28-29) to "turn the other cheek" when someone treats you poorly. I am sure I heard this first as a child at church, and it must have been presented in such a way that I envisioned what I still envision -- a playground bully hitting you in the face, and turning your face 90 degrees or so, so he (or she) can do it again. I can only imagine that there are dozens, if not hundreds or thousands, of PhD dissertations on this, perhaps even as many sermons and books. What did Jesus mean here? That we literally let ourselves be pummeled by our adversaries? (For women, this has a particular horror.)

I am fortunate in that I have never experienced this kind of physical attack. I was once attacked from behind on the street by someone trying to steal my purse. I didn't see who did it, and yet my instinct was quite the reverse; my arm clamped down on the handbag as I resisted its theft. The police later told me that this was not a good idea, that I should have just let go.

But I certainly have been at the receiving end of verbal "attacks"/unwarranted criticism/condescension, as have most humans, and I'm embarrassed to say that in the past I haven't handled it well. As I think I may have said in a very early post, I have usually burst into tears and left the room (or closed the e-mail.) Sometimes anger eventually got me all riled up, only the moment was lost or my belated arguments no longer had much traction. It's not so much a thin skin, I don't think, as much as not liking conflict of any kind. It quite literally pains me when people are at odds with each other and I don't want to "go" there. I have strengthened up in recent years and can hold my own somewhat better, but this biblical saying stays with me. The question remains, if you are not spiritually attuned to returning violence for violence, and you don't want to run crying from the proverbial room, what is the third way?

There is an aspect to this metaphor that I've never heard discussed, and that is this: if you turn your head so that one or the other cheek is facing forward, that means that your eyes are facing well away from your attacker. You are literally no longer honoring this person with your gaze. You cannot "see" them, you are not acknowledging their presence. You are looking at a landscape where there is no conflict. Metaphysically, you may be starting the process of creating a world where there is no conflict, where these things do not happen. Is it in that sense a moment of active creative power?

I don't understand

You wake up on a Monday morning, hoping that through some miracle the current nightmare will have gone away over the weekend, that it was all some kind of frenzied figment of your imagination. It has not. It was not.

This isn't quite the post I intended to write, but I just need to say that on so many levels, I do not understand what is going on right now. And I can't help but wonder if many of us, standing way back and trying to get a more universal, divine perspective, might feel the same way.

I do not understand hatred. I don't. I particularly do not understand blanket hatred of huge communities. I don't understand wanting people to suffer. I don't think it is possible for beings of love to hate at all, much less in such an all-encompassing way. We may need to step away from individual people and groups at times, but there is a way to do that calmly and without malice. Just bless people and move on.

I do not understand wanting power over people, or wanting to amass more and more power. I just don't. I can understand being in touch with one's one spiritual power and attempting to become a genuinely loving leader. But fear-instilling leadership, no.

And no, I've never understood our capitalist system or the profit motive (and I've been non-functional within it.) I could have understood the love motive or the beauty motive or the harmony motive or the nurturing motive or the wisdom motive. But profit, no. And how this factors in to what is going on is certainly fascinating, but as usual, I feel like a being from another planet watching people whose motivations and actions are utterly inconceivable to me.

The good thing is that, although the intellectual me would like to try to understand what is happening, the spiritual me celebrates that I am not likely to ever understand. Somehow on this Monday morning, I need to keep aligning with what feels most spiritually true in all these areas, what feels most loving, and act only from there.

Sunday best

This is the best I can do this Sunday, as cold rain turning to snow has changed everything. It is my affirmation for today, even if I haven't quite made it there yet (from Florence Scovel Shinn's Your Word is Your Wand):

"I am harmonious, happy, radiant; detached from the tyranny of fear."

Blessings, folks.

Let the Sun Shine

After a flurry of frenzied activity around me early this morning, I am now in a quiet, empty house. It is November 19 and it must be at least 60 degrees F. The front door is open, and the sun is pouring in. Birds are singing. I'm about to hang some laundry.

It is so peculiar, but so perfect. Tomorrow, it's supposed to snow. Until then...let the sun shine.

Star light...

Dear friends: I've spent the last few days trying to make sense of what is happening and how to respond, and I even managed to write (good Smithie that I am) a long, well-reasoned persuasive piece, complete with supportive quotes. And yet a short foray into the news last night sent me reeling yet again. We have chosen a monstrous path whose ripple effects may be with us for decades, and to force my agonized thoughts into a polished college-type essay just isn't possible yet. So here are some brief observations, my own perspective. All of us must dig deep and follow our own beliefs and consciences.

Despite my initial instinct to join the "fight," I know too much about the law of attraction and these sorts of black holes. Any attention -- positive or negative -- will only feed the swirling darkness (as I think we've seen over the last year.) Well-meaning actions taken with deliberate reference to this movement may also suck us into the abyss. "Flight," to me, isn't an option either because it is fear-based, and I literally don't think there will be anywhere to physically escape to.

This sounds bleak, but if there ever were a time for good people (beings of love and light) to shine unconditionally, it is now. It is a "take off the covers and shine from within-don't hold back" kind of defining moment. It is a "what are we for?" kind of moment, a "cast care aside" kind of moment. The fact is, while there are black holes in our universe, there are also stars that manage to stay far from the event horizon. There are stars that continue to shine brilliantly. It will still be possible, albeit challenging, to focus on the light, and on being the light. I'll do my very best to start today, which is all I can do -- today. Tonight, I'll look up. "Star light, star bright..."

Missionaries

A few days ago, at dusk, the doorbell rang at the house where I am living. No one else was home, so I went to the door. There stood two young missionaries, 19- or 20-year-old men, pale, clean and earnest looking. I opened the door, and they immediately commented on a piece of art on the living room wall. "That's nice! Did you paint it?" No, I said, but I could tell this was what they had been trained to do -- engage the person about something totally neutral so they won't get turned away in the first two seconds. Before they could turn to their "spiel," however, I said, "Listen, guys, I don't think you will get anywhere with me. I am a post-Christian feminist and have spent a lifetime figuring out my spiritual views." (Christianity is my ground. It is my frame of reference and the home of the music I love, but the lives and perspectives of women will almost always be my highest spiritual priority. It's a hard paradox, and I am sure these few words don't completely encapsulate it, but it's the best I've been able to come up with.) In the past, this has elicited a sort of bug-eyed terror, and the young men have quickly turned tail and power-walked down the sidewalk. However, these guys were pretty nonplussed. "Oh," said the guy on the left. "Well, do you know of anyone who needs their leaves raked?" I suggested that they bring a notice to the senior center about two blocks away.

That would probably have been that, but something in me found it in me to say to the (ahem) elder of the two "elders" (which is hysterical; what do they know about being an elder?): "Hey, I just want you to know that I appreciate the fact that whenever some of you come to the door, you are always friendly, well-mannered, and nicely dressed (although it's cold out! I hope you have warmer coats with you!)," kind of thing. He teared up. I am sure these guys are so used to rejection and so prepared for it in any form, that he was genuinely shocked to receive praise. He looked me in the eye and said, "My name is John. What is yours?" I said, "My name is Liz." He held out his hand and I shook it, the other kid shook my hand, and then they turned around and headed to their next stop.

Zing.

There have been relatively few bright spots like this, this week, and it may take until Friday to write my next post, trying to assess what's happening "one week on." Let's all dig deep and find our courage.

Gwen

As if this week could possibly get any more distressing, there was the news late yesterday that Gwen Ifill has died. For anyone who doesn't know, Ifill was an exceptional award-winning journalist, host of PBS's "Washington Week" and co-anchor of "PBS NewsHour." She was 61, a mere five months or so older than I am.

When I first saw the headline, I literally screamed "No!" and proceeded to cry on and off throughout NewsHour's fine retrospective of her life. It's hard to pinpoint why this was the last straw that finally brought me to tears. She was so many things I admire -- brilliant, prepared, courageous, ground-breaking, hard-working, wise, spiritual, tough, funny, and full of life. That's it, isn't it? The world of journalism can seem rather grey, but she shone brilliantly and with goodness. Her smile was infectious; her co-workers spoke of how they could feel it down the hall. She loved her work. Even some of her male colleagues were in tears and that is saying a lot. Apparently complete strangers would come up to her on the streets of DC or in the airport and hug her. She influenced younger generations of African-American women, indeed women of all backgrounds and ages.

There's this little thing that I do, perhaps an odd holdover from WASP genes that have never really been in a position to strut their stuff. I mentally "give" regular formal dinner parties, inviting people in the public eye on a given week who I think would make for an interesting mix, people who could potentially "solve the problems of the world" over good wine and catered food. The only requirement: they have to be fascinating, intelligent, kind and humane. (Kindness and humanity are crucial.) Gwen Ifill would have been a regular.

I felt like a lost child last night. She was the only figure on TV who I think I fully trusted. I had hoped she would come back to PBS from "addressing health concerns" and explain everything that is going on, but now she's gone. I also grieved that after 60 years of trying so hard and, indeed, sharing some of her same qualities, I haven't yet made a serious dent in the world's consciousness. As I was drifting off to sleep, two things came to me. Number one, I am Gwen Ifill now. We all are. We can't wait for someone else to save us or inform us. The courage and intelligence are in us, and the tools are at our fingertips. Thought number two: some people have careers that span age 20 to age 60, and some people have careers that span from 60 to 100. It appears that mine will be the latter.

Flooding

Those of you who have been reading for a while know that I like water metaphors. So it was that yesterday, when I was at the public library reading the New York Times, a map on their Op Ed page drew my attention. Another patron was kind of breathing down my neck so I didn't have much time to look at it, but it was a map of the U.S. with all the parts of the country won by the president-elect "above water" and those won by Hillary Clinton "below water." (I have gone on their web site this morning and can't seem to find it, but it's worth a look.) Needless to say much of both the west and east coasts were gone, labelled as inlets or bays of the Atlantic or Pacific Ocean or the Great Lakes, and then various cities across the country had, themselves, become "lakes." With one exception, everywhere I have ever lived in this country was under water. As I was walking home, I thought of the maps I have seen of the potential effects of sea rise due to global warming, and there seemed to be quite an overlap. I don't have a clue what that means. Just putting it out there.

One eerie coincidence last week, eerie to me anyway, was the fact that I just happened last Monday through Wednesday to be reading a novel about the lost city of Atlantis. It wasn't a very good book, and of course references to Atlantis are for all intents and purposes metaphors in themselves, but still...that sense of having been swamped continues to be quite visceral. New Zealand has just experienced an earthquake/tsunami in reality, and I hold them in the light.

What do you do when you find yourself under water that you didn't deliberately dive into? Try as quickly as possible to get your bearings then head to the surface. Find something to hold onto. And, once you have fully surfaced, keep breathing.

Sundays

Now that I am committed to writing every day or two (rather than every three or four), I feel quite energized and committed. It is something I long to do. However, some days (including most Sundays), I may be exceedingly brief or just offer a quote from a writer I admire. So...

I just saw a wonderful (anonymous) sign on the street: "Make America kind again." Yes. Please.

Rummage Sale

Yesterday was hard. I think it was a little like having been bitten by a spider or wasp. It takes a few days for the venom to spread through your system. Friday, despite Thursday's beautiful singing experience, it just felt like every cell and bone and atom of my body had finally succumbed. I collapsed.

So today, I knew I had to try to get up and out, and a church rummage sale organized by an older friend seemed like a good catalyst. I believe in this kind of recycling on principle, but I always forget (how is this possible?) that as someone who owns virtually nothing, table upon table of "stuff" is very hard for me to process. The sale was run mostly by 70-plus-year-old ladies, bless them, but I looked on the whole thing like a visitor from another planet. I am nearly their age, but it's difficult to imagine me in their place. There's a paradigm shifting here, and I don't know how the events of this week fit into it, but it's hard to see me becoming a good "little old lady." Heavens, I haven't done anything else the way I was supposed to! Yet I hope the event was successful for them, patronized by better shoppers than I.

There is a reason for everything, and in the book section of the sale I did find a compendium of the works of Florence Scovel Shinn, my first teacher of metaphysics/law of attraction. My own Shinn books are in storage, but I can tell I need to revisit her wisdom now so I made this one purchase. At a little after eleven, I went outside and walked the church's labyrinth, and held some good family friends in the light as they mourn the loss of their father, an avid sailor. I do hope that some of those valuable navigation skills have rubbed off on all of us.

Tudor church music in trying times

Yesterday, I had the privilege of spending one glorious hour singing Tudor church music with four other excellent singers/sight readers. The a cappella music of Tallis, Tye, Byrd, Gibbons, Merbecke, Parsons, Taverner and others is not for the faint of heart or reading ability. I am rusty and had to keep a beat going against the side of my leg so as not to get too far off, but I was proud that I still have a strong, clear, bell-like alto that pretty much stays on key. The other singers were sensitive and musical; this genre of music requires an extremely high level of skill and awareness of the other voices. We had never sung together before, and I think all of us left thinking, wow, that wasn't bad at all.

As I was thinking about it last night, thinking about how this music (and modern English church music) is the music of my soul, I realized something. I wonder if there is, deep in me, almost a "Pandora" radio station on at all times, kind of a streaming thread of the Tudor greats through Purcell and on into the glorious 19th century giants of Parry and Stanford and Elgar, then Howells, Walton, Ireland, Britten, Leighton, Tavener and beyond, and then looping back to the beginning. There is a quality of beauty and clarity in this music that is my touchstone, my backbone, and for whatever reason, other musical genres barely move me. Singing it, as I did last night, I felt like myself for the first time in months, plugged in to the electric current of the Universe. I suddenly saw it as the "horizon" image that I worked with in painting for several years, an energetic ribbon moving through my own inner landscape. Things in my life that haven't reflected that musicality and resonance -- from jobs to people to places -- haven't lasted long because they were not an energetic match. Arguably I haven't been quote-unquote "successful" in the wider world because of this impossibly exquisite musical standard always flowing through my core. That's not a good thing (!!) but I think it explains a lot.

Renaissance/Tudor choral singing requires cooperation. Love. Sensitivity. An appreciation of beauty. Hard work. Intuition. Inner-centeredness/outer awareness. What it is not is competitive, hateful, self-righteous, cynical, outward-lashing or individualistic. At this exceedingly challenging moment in the world, this music has much to teach us. As I headed to the rehearsal yesterday, I had to convince myself that singing for an hour was even remotely relevant. Now, on some level, I understand that perhaps nothing else is.

Another Tuesday

Several of my friends, bless them, look to me and this blog to help them frame events both personal and societal. I fell down on the job yesterday. I had stayed up late, until about 2 AM Wednesday morning, and then for really the first time in my life was too depressed later in the morning to get up and face the world. The election result wasn't unexpected -- I'm afraid I sensed it coming for almost a year -- but the heartbreaking reality of what it could mean for all of us was too much to bear.

Back in 2001, I learned about an opportunity to teach a course at the Community College of Vermont called "Seminar in Educational Inquiry," a wonderful capstone course for students nearing graduation. I spoke to the administration on Monday, September 10, and got a call that I was hired later that day. I was then scheduled to come in to the office and pick up a load of books, syllabi, etc. at 11 the next day. Well, we all remember what happened early in the morning of September 11. I walked to downtown Middlebury, literally not knowing whether our whole country was under attack and what would happen next, and when I spoke with my coordinator about the Wednesday night class, we agreed that assuming the class took place, I should just go with the flow. Let students talk.

In a case of perfect synchronicity, the course "question" for that week was, "How do I know who I am?" And as the dozen or so of us met around the table, shaken and afraid, we introduced ourselves to each other, and we tried to articulate who we felt we had been on Monday, and the change that had taken place over 24 hours.

Isn't it strange? Another Tuesday shocker, fifteen years later, only this time it is not really a bolt out of the blue. It was the democratic process at work; we chose our own destiny. Once again, who I was on Monday of this week and who I am now, while not two "different" people, feels utterly reconfigured.

I was able to make only one decision yesterday. I've tended to write this blog about every three to four days. I've wanted to write more, but those childhood admonishments ("don't think so much") have held me back. No more. I think it will be important to check in almost every day, even if some readers choose only to read occasionally. Part of the reconfiguration involves the metaphor of me on the boat, going down a new stretch of river. No longer do I feel like the captain of the boat, or the boat itself. I feel like I am the river, that at the very least I am called right now, drop after daily drop, to flow through this altered landscape with water as clear and pure as I can make it. I will just keep flowing and witnessing, at least for now. See you tomorrow.

Choices, Con't

Looking back, I see that I have written several blog posts about choices. Choices are a particularly big part of American life, especially so in the last few decades, as we have created an astonishing array of products and options in every area of life. When I was a child, my breakfast bowl of cereal was placed in front of me. About thirty years later, I watched my young nieces being offered the choice: "Do you want a bagel? Or do you want an egg?" I always felt on the fence about this. Not being a parent myself, I could never really decide whether these kinds of choices were empowering or just confusing to children. To this day, faced with a complex array of toothpastes or pastas at the store, I'm a bit overwhelmed myself.

But there is one thing I do know. That moment when you "own" your own choices is like the graduation day of the spiritual journey. The moment when you can look back over a lifetime and see your own string of deliberate choices (I chose to go to that college or university rather than this one, I chose to marry or not marry, I chose that company and to stay with it or leave it, I chose to move here, or to live there) is the moment when a surge of power seems to go through the system. And even more challenging -- but potentially more rewarding and empowering -- is coming to peace with having chosen on some higher level the hardest aspects of our lives, even the ones that might seem to be random or "someone else's fault": the place or circumstances of birth, our pursuit of a passion that tradition has excluded us from, an illness or disability or that of a loved one, being hurt by another, or to live during times of political instability or financial collapse. From the simplest cold to huge life catastrophes, it's so much easier to place the responsibility on someone else's door, the guy who sneezed on us in line or "those people" who stole our jobs or whose hourly income is more than our yearly income. It is much harder to step back and take a view from the heavens, and say, wow, I chose this for the good that will ultimately come from it. I chose this so I could make a difference. I chose this so humanity could move forward. I chose this because I was strong enough to experience it and then turn around and teach others. I chose this to remind myself that ultimate happiness comes from within.

Wednesday morning, some segment of our population may be in full fault-finding mode. Yet no matter how the election turns out, it will be the beginning, not the end, of a complex series of societal choices and new developments. I hope maybe we can all "own" the fact that as a culture, we are choosing to learn some new life lessons. I hope most of us will stay empowered enough to remember that our personal happiness and freedom are not imposed on us from outside. I hope most of us will remember to love all our fellow citizens as best we can. In the end, though, I cannot even make this choice for others or impose my perspective on others; my main job tomorrow and every day is to choose as wisely as I can and own every decision, even bagels vs. eggs. I have the power to do that. And that makes me happy.

The City Bus

I spent quite a bit of time on the city bus this morning, and one of my thoughts as we head into this unprecedented election was: what if every major candidate were required (yes, required) to spend several weekdays during the election cycle traveling incognito on a city bus -- in any major (or even medium-sized) American city? Their lives are lived in such a privileged bubble. The city bus may be a bubble, but of an entirely different sort, one that we all should experience. I guess I don't have to tell you that there are people from every possible walk of life traveling by city bus; every color, nationality, religion, gender, age, and place on the economic, mental health, disability and addiction spectrum. It's ridiculous after all these years living on the edge that I still have an instinctive default to snobbery ("I am not one of these people") but these days, it lasts about two minutes, until I realize, yes, I am one of these people. I am probably far more "one of these people" than I am a person of the cookie-cutter suburbs or wealthy gated communities or doorman apartments. I have friends across the entire landscape, but even a sudden change upwards in my life situation would probably not make me, at 60, fit any rigid stereotype, and overall I am glad for it. I've been fortunate in that I can imagine, and function in, a huge range of social milieus. Can our candidates? Do they have any clue about the daily lives of the bus-bound?

Riding the bus promotes compassion, empathy, and patience. There's that lady who always comments on your nice earrings. There are people complaining about their work in the box stores or about their efforts to balance three jobs. There are university students talking about philosophy finals and guys comparing notes about their experiences in prison. There are people talking to themselves. And yes, the bus may be late. It may spend five minutes at a stop, facilitating the ride of a wheelchair-bound patron. You can't just drive impatiently by in your big SUV. You are sitting on a seat, someone else is driving the bus, and your "fate" is joined with the other ten or twenty or more people around you. The first thought on seeing the wheelchair is, darn it, what will this do to the bus schedule, but then you look at the person in the wheelchair and realize with humility and gratitude that your two feet still get you around. All in all, you are really the luckiest person in the world. And you send a little prayer to them, imagining the hard, almost nonstop impatience they must feel on a daily basis.

If it were not for the fact that I truly believe our world is becoming more and more love-, liberty- and beauty-filled, I would be quite downcast right now. This election is opening up an almost toxic cauldron of buried rage, and however the immediate election turns out, I suspect we are in for a "hold onto your hats" kind of decade or two. It's difficult, even after many years of deliberate, positive spiritual work, not to anxiously sense the complexity of what is coming down the pike.

As events unfold, may I remember that in the end, we are all on one bus. We are part of one whole. We are "them," and they are "us." May I retain a sense of patience and humor about this ride on Route Earth. May I frequently remind myself to look out the window to get a broader perspective, and, all in all, may I enjoy the ride. We are here to do that! Yes, we are.

Baseball

Well, so I am not a big baseball fan. I am one of those people who doesn't watch it all summer, and only occasionally watches when World Series comes around. This year, because I really had no preference between Chicago and Cleveland, I didn't even watch the first six games. But last night, I had to watch. I knew it was going to be a historic win either way, and it turned out that the level of play was just amazing. I couldn't turn it off. After a rain delay, the game went into a hold-your-breath tenth inning, and was won by Chicago at nearly 1 AM, their first championship in 108 years. I mean, that is so cool, isn't it?

It was neat to watch people who love what they do, care so, so much, and play a sport where the "beating" is only metaphorical. I'm not sure I'll become an ardent fan, but "never say never."

Saints

Today is All Saints' Day on the church calendar, and it's a commemoration I continue to love, although in a somewhat expanded way. So many of the people I know and love do beautiful things for other people, or create miracles large and small, or have lived lives of courage or beauty or integrity, that it seems a shame to limit the designation to those who have been canonized.

The other week, I encountered an older lady who I've known kind of "around the edges" for many decades. The last time I saw her she was terribly ill, so it was a surprise to see her looking extremely healthy, almost beaming. Indeed, when we sat down to chat, I swear I saw a halo around her. She said she had never been happier, and I asked why this was. It turns out she spends every day doing things or making things for other people. She is a volunteer par excellence, and clearly one who is led from the heart to do what she does. Joy was emanating from her. I knew in that instant that she is (in my book) an angel and a saint.

However, the story doesn't end there. I left the encounter feeling rather "guilty" and inadequate, because at least up to this point, I have never found the same satisfaction in that kind of selflessness. Indeed, I would beam with far more joy helping people to rid themselves of their possessions than I would giving them more. There is an expectation of us as women that we should be eternally giving, and I know many women who are simply drained to the max right now who might not survive a "retirement" of nonstop giving and helping.

I've given a lot of thought to this, and I've tried to articulate it in previous blog posts too. There are many ways of joyfully helping the world; adding positively to the energy of life on this planet can take many forms. It can take the form of climbing a mountain that few people have ever scaled. It can take the form of advocating for the homeless or the environment. It can take the form of creating a unique piece of art. It can take the form of working with children, or creating new business opportunities, or loving your pets or taking a meditation retreat. It can take the form of winning a marathon or working at a soup kitchen. The sign that it is genuinely the optimum activity for you is if you beam with joy when you do it, and at the prospect of doing it. When we reach a high level of divine alignment, we will feel called to a particular activity that is right for us.

I remembered, fortunately, that there have been a number of moments in my life when I beamed just as brightly as my friend, and when an onlooker might have seen a bright aura -- the times when I have sung choral evensong, or participated as a congregant in the choir stalls of an English cathedral. I have also felt that way several times when I have finished writing this blog and prepared to click "publish." The "giving" I was doing was somewhat more subtle, more in the realm (at least I hope) of inspiration or beauty..

So today is our day, all of us who are doing our best to align with the highest light within us, to do no harm to anyone, and to help people and the planet with our joy and our gifts. Even if our halos aren't visible every day, even if they only come out once in a while, here's to the saint within all of us.