Twenty Years Ago: My Brother Died

January 26, 2008

Today would have been my brother's, James Monroe, birthday. He would have been 75 years old. He died from liver failure due to immunosuppressants taken for his two kidney transplants. He was only 55. How very young! He was my hero and yet I really did not know him that well. I simply loved him. He was my big brother whom I idolized. That was 20 years ago. I now live next door to my big sister, Bessie Ruth, who was two years younger than he. They grew up together and, therefore, she has a different memory of him.

I am 65 years old this month. I am going through my second childhood. I find myself, though 65, still acting and reacting like a child to grown-up situations.

Why is my observance of my brother's birthday so important to me today? I've not overly reacted to January 26 in years past. Why today? And why do I mention my sister in conjunction with memories of my brother? Why not my memories of him?

Could it be that I am still floundering around for my own identity separate from not only my siblings but all people with whom I am related or involved? Or do we indeed have separate selves independent of others? Do I? If I am not a wife, mother, sister, grandmother; then who am I? But should I suddenly find myself cut off from all those I know and love, would I simply disappear? No. Where are my boundaries? And are they constantly changing as my relationship to others change? Am I more amorphous than constant? Is everyone? Is it even desirable to be one or the other? If so, which one?

Who am I?

Looking back 2.5 years ago, I think I was moving to the country to be alone. Alone in the Garden of Eden, newly created not having eaten of the fruit.
When I first moved to Eden, which I called Stepping Stones, I was happier than I had been in a very long time. I remember when I decorated my study, I left out any paraphernalia, be it pictures or whatever, that had anything to do with anyone else in my past or current life. It was decorated with MY things; my paintings, my writings, my pictures. No pictures of husband, children, parents, or siblings were allowed. Of course, this was not consciously decided. It just happened that way. Once decorated, I took a look around and realized I was alone in my room. And I was very happy. No demands were being made of me to be a good this or that. I had not eaten of the tree of good and evil. I was child like. I was FREE.

I had escaped social life and lived only with nature without people. I spent hours each day observing the View from My Window and I wrote all this stuff about what lessons I was learning. However, as time passed, situations arose that interrupted my idyllic existence. Eve, in the form of people, entered my garden and asked me yet once again to eat of the apple of human relationships. In the past, I had always gladly eaten thereof to pacify Eve; to please her in whatever way that I could. But then over time, this response became tedious even causing extreme resentment and rather than refuse the apple I simply let a chasm open between my true self and the self I presented while eating of the apple.

And so, I fell from grace and no longer inhabit the Garden. Now my geographical location is inconvenient for it puts me smack dab in the center of human contact. Firstly and foremost there is the sister that I mentioned earlier. Why does she live next door to me? In order to help her (there I go being a good sister again to win those brownie points in some "good book" that is kept only God knows where), I buy the place next door to me (although there was a certain amount of selfish motive involved here; i.e. to keep "others" away from me) so she can sell her house down the road a bit and not have to worry about money. Three motivations for one action; one good and pure, the others are questionable.

Secondly, my daughter and her new husband decide to have a child and this makes me a grandmother. Oops....bells and whistles, loud ones, warning me that here come further complications and now I must be a perfect grandmother. Some might say I was not even a good mother, how in the world shall I be a good grandmother? No, No, I do not want any part of it. Run, escape.

Thirdly, my community seems to me to need me. How can an organization run without my expert control? I must stick in my two cents; otherwise, it will flounder.

So, now I find myself, right back where I began. Twenty years ago? Thirty? Is that why my brother's birth date called out to me? I need to be reborn yet once again. And hence my statement that I am going through a second childhood. I never finished my first. Nor, will I. Life has taught me that. I will always be a work in progress. One does not ever grow up. Until death, that is. Maybe it is then that we become a self and cease morphing from one personality to another. Why? Because it is then, perhaps, that we no longer deal with "others" and we are truly alone.

Therefore, engage life. Fully, fruitfully, though imperfectly. It's okay. Everyone does it. We are all on this planet doing the damned best that we can. No more, no less. Let it be.
No, I will not live in the Garden of Eden; nor do I really want to. I want to live at Stepping Stones enjoying life, humanity and nature...all of it. But primarily, discover more about that Garden that exists within me and eat freely of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.

The Fullness of Emptiness

I had such an interesting experience this morning. I was gazing out my window and something very white caught my eye. It appeared quite small and distant. I had never noticed it before amidst the trees in the woods about our home.

After some attention to this "object", I realized it was indeed empty space between leaves of trees and that I was actually viewing "nothing".
And yet, in seeing this object as something, then realizing it was nothing real, only my perception of something; I felt I had stumbled unknowingly upon a great truth: the fullness of emptiness.

I felt I had experienced an awakening of sorts; something that mystics try to talk about but say words cannot describe. Words are only signs to point. And so they can't describe. Nor shall I be so presumptuous as to try.

All I can say is that a saying ascribed to Zen Buddhism now makes a little more sense to me. "At the beginning of your spiritual practice mountains are mountains and trees are trees. As you progress further on the Path mountains are no longer mountains and trees are no longer trees. But at the conclusion of your Buddhist career, on becoming Enlightened, mountains are once again mountains and trees again simply trees."

I certainly do not intend to imply I am Enlightened. I simply think this morning I caught a glimpse of the fullness that is emptiness. Or to express it another way, I caught a glimpse of the emptiness that is fullness. Yet another, the reality of emptiness.

Nature Experience

After three days of being a shut-in due to an overdose of a dilation medication for an eye exam, I am feeling somewhat hungry and empty of my usual intake of spiritual nourishment received by walking about Stepping Stones. I know what medication I need; to be outside working and piddling about the land I love. But that cannot be for now.

I am reminded of a painting that I bought to hang upon the fireplace at my previous home in the metroglobulus. (I know, Spell-Check, that metroglobulus is not in your dictionary but it is in mine. My made up word means that maze of concrete, asphalt, buildings, manicured lawns and superficiality of people and things of a large metropolis....yeah, you did not mind that word; however, metropolis is not descriptive enough of the emptiness that exists there while at the same time there is the over stimulation of the senses to trick one into believing that one is living and thereby feels as though one is truly alive.)

Back to the painting: it was entitled "Nature Experience" by Celeste Holmes (I believe that is correct). My take on the painting was the very thing that I was trying to escape upon moving to Stepping Stones; the experiencing of nature through glass represented by a dragonfly (in western culture a creature with sinister connotations while in eastern cultures, particularly Japan, it is imbued with positive qualities like happiness) on a window pane as the focal point in the painting amidst an abstract representation of a metropolis of angular buildings of glass.

Here at Stepping Stones I am surrounded by so much of nature's beauty but due to the dilation of my pupils, I must remain inside my darkened house, viewing the beauty through dark sunglasses which leaves me feeling detached, isolated and alone. Cold and apart from nature, as depicted in the painting, feelings from which I need escape.

I am truly a child of nature. With the awe and wonder of a child I usually walk about Stepping Stones in a trancelike state receiving nourishment from its vibrant abundance. Even sitting inside, before a partially undraped set of windows, I can suckle the nectar of the Rose of Sharon, the lantana, or a wildflower just like the multicolored butterfly I see flitting about the blossoms outside my window. Perhaps a dragonfly will do me the favor of presenting itself upon the window's pane.

Though experienced through glass, I am uplifted by the life cycles I see happening before me and I am satiated for now, until once again I can wander about like the butterfly or perhaps a dragonfly amidst the various plants and trees using all of my senses, not just what is visible through glass, to be suckled by the spiritual kinship that I have as a part of nature. That is, for me, Nature Experience.

And a child shall lead them

Recently, I received a request from my grandnephew who lives in Florida to help him by participating in the Flat Stanley Project. The story goes that a little boy named Stanley was flattened when a blackboard fell on him. He asks his friends and relatives to take him about. School children throughout the globe are given the task of making a drawing of themselves, in my nephew's case, made of construction paper. They name their likeness "Flat ____" and mail him/her to friends and relatives asking their participation. My nephew's name is Brandon, so I was mailed Flat Brandon along with instructions as to my part in helping him learn about his state, others states (I live in Texas), etc. I and my husband were to take Flat Brandon (hereafter referred to as FB) on our outings taking pictures of him and writing an essay as to his activity depicted in the picture. We were to return it to the child who along with his fellow classmates would share pictures and stories about where their "flat" counterpart had visited.

I was quite excited over the project and immediately began to plan an itinerary for FB. Living in Texas, I wanted to capture the flavor of my state, at least what people think of when they think of Texas. I first thought of a visit to a ranch and the first ranch that came to my mind was Southfork Ranch, featured in the long, worldwide popular TV series "Dallas". However, I decided a real ranch might be more age appropriate for a first grander. Actually, I must admit I was the one wanting to make the tour and was simply using FB as an excuse for in my mid forties I had a somewhat teenage-like crush on J.R.
He allowed me to fantasize what it would be like to be ruthless, powerful, and rich every Friday night.

But I digress. Back to the FB adventure. I found a couple of cooperative longhorn cattle, beautiful specimens, on the other side of a strong iron pipe fence from me along a country road. I taped (scotch tape that is) FB to the fence and just as I planned, natural curiosity placed the cattle right beside FB as though he were quite the accomplished cowpoke.

Another stop on our itinerary took us to a dude ranch. I was not looking forward to actually going inside and explaining to the personnel about my wanting to have basically a "paper doll" play cowboy and ride one of their horses while I took his picture.
Good fortune was with me yet once again for there were about six of their horses in a pasture near the road before going through the entrance to the dude ranch. And so FB was once again taped in near horseback riding position, and again it was due to natural curiosity. However, either the horses were more hungry than curious than the longhorns for they almost ate FB.

Having barely escaped with his pasted on cowboy hat and boots intact, we were ready for the next item on my list; a salt mine. Morton Salt has a plant in Grand Saline which is near where I live. So, later that day, my husband and I took FB to the salt mine. Now I knew people were no longer allowed to tour the mine for safety reasons; but, I thought FB could maybe hitch a ride down into the mine with one of the workers. After talking with the very nice and understanding receptionist and then to the Human Relations Manager, who also is interested in relations with young people even if they are flat, very pleasantly agreed that we could leave FB with him and he would see to it that FB would get to go below and have his picture taken. And thus it happened that FB descended 750 feet below the surface of the earth into a salt mine. His fellow miners equipped him according to federal safety regulations with a hard hat, boots, safety goggles, and a miner's light attached to his hat. FB ascended about 10:30 a.m. the next day, for he had spent the night at the mine, though I was assured as his Aunt that he would not be left down below nor left alone. He was waiting for me to be picked up in the lobby hanging out with the receptionist.

My husband and I spent two entire days driving over a hundred miles taking many pictures of FB. But the most amazing thing was how the representation of a little boy's presence, encouraged us for two whole days to view this world of ours through the eyes of a youngster. We were excited, enthusiastic, curious, and even childishly innocent again (how else could a grown woman with a straight face ask the supervisor of a major company to "do what?").

In the brief span of two days, driving on back country roads we had driven hundreds of times before, we stopped here and there and saw things we'd not noticed before. It was like everything was suddenly in slow motion.

And you know, FB, you may have learned something about Texas, at least the part we showed you, but we learned something of such greater wisdom and so much more important. Through your presence in the vehicle, we entered a "let's play like" place again; life from your youthful perspective. And you know what else FB, we had a blast!
Thank you FB. We may just make it a practice to enter the world of pretend, fantasy, and imagination quite often.

The Fountain of Youth

Recently, I was cleaning out and organizing a closet that had had stuff just tossed into it in order to put stuff somewhere out of the way when we first moved here. I came across dishevelment and chaos. While unpacking from our move out of the metropolis of Dallas-Ft. Worth, I was so busy with the cosmetics of my surroundings that I ignored the arrangement of items and quickly stashed away them away out of sight for the sake of appearance of the room to which the closet was part. In doing so, I had a lovely guest bedroom but a closet whose contents would spill out upon the unsuspecting guest should they choose to open the closet door.

It occurred to me while rearranging objects from the closet and discarding unneeded items how I need to do the same thing with my mind at times. I am somewhat careful, given the fact that I have never been much into cosmetics, about my appearance in that I attend to my cleanliness and general overall presentation. However, I perhaps could do likewise with my mind. Review ideas that I have stashed there on my "hard drive" from so long ago that I can't remember where they came from. In so reviewing, I will probably run across many that need to be discarded; they have outlived their usefulness and their "truth" for me. In fact, mind cleanup should be a daily exercise I perform just like I make the bed or take a shower. It would do me well to take an inventory daily to clean up my "disk space".

If I do indeed regularly review, organize, and clean out my mind, then when I open my mouth perhaps nonsense and gibberish from long ago held mindsets will not spill out on an unsuspecting listener, much like the guest opening the closet door and having all manner of stuff dumped upon him/her. But the primary benefactor of such a practice will be me. I will then be more open and willing to learn and accept new ideas as they are presented to me from various sources. Furthermore, I will be presented with numerous opportunities for growth. Just as I discard old, dead cells of the epidermis, I can shed old, outdated ideas.

Perhaps, this practice is the way to the fountain of youth, for should I cease to grow, I am indeed old.

Serendipity

I had an interesting experience yesterday. I had labeled it my Play Day, and one of my play projects went awry when I could not find the bobbin holder to my sewing machine: a small object but nevertheless essential to the use of the machine. This loss set off a mild depression which grew deeper and darker as I spent hours in search of it like a greedy gold digger panning for gold which was not to be found. I, like the greedy dreamer of hitting pay dirt, only managed to totally disturb everything in the guest room and more importantly disturb my "inner space". The result was that I ended up with more lost than that with which I had begun my search. I had lost my inner peace, my good mood, and I had ruined the planned play day by putting myself in a foul mood.

I sat in my study, looked out the window upon the beauty before me, took several deep breaths and then turned my attention to sending a card to a friend of a friend whom I had wanted to thank for being so supportive of another dear friend and to wish her and her husband, who is ill, good wishes for the coming year, each day as it comes.

My depression had lifted. Furthermore, another friend dropped by with a bulb of a plant to be planted by my pond providing shade for the goldfish from the summer's sun. And then another friend came over and brought me a package from the post office, an errand that I had asked of her so that I could have my play day at home. We three sat together drinking hot tea on a cold winter's day before the fireplace, laughing, chatting and having a great time.

I secretly mused how my depression had completely disappeared, and how very silly it was for me to have been depressed over such a small thing, and how wonderful my play day had become. The warm wishes I had sent the woman, whose card had not yet been posted, were returned to me many times over with the warm companionship of that winter day's closing hours.

I had indeed serendipitously found that which I had sought, though not what I originally had set out in search of, but something of far greater pleasure and value; a true play day.

Compassion

A friend of mine belongs to an online community of people with a common goal and interest. In the process of sharing their ups and downs in reaching this goal, a woman mentioned in her online journal that she was currently without employment. Due to a lack of work and therefore money, her electrical service was soon to be terminated if she did not pay her bill. With three young children, food had to have priority over electricity.

My friend, upon reading of this woman's plight, took a plunge into action based on compassion and empathy, for she herself had been in similar circumstances in her life.
She, being of very modest income herself with the usual expenses concomitant with aging, momentarily asked herself "what if the woman is unable to pay me back, or even worse, what if this is a scam of some sort?". But being an ethical and basically trusting person, she decided to take the chance because it would bring more happiness to herself to help another person by alleviating some of this woman's suffering. What the woman did or did not do was out of the control of my friend, so she told me. She would take positive action and the result was no longer up to her.

As my friend discussed the matter with the woman online to get her address to send a check for the electrical bill, the woman at first protested that she could not take assistance. My friend suggested she think about it and let her know for the offer was there. And so the next day, they communicated and it was decided my friend would mail the woman a check and when the woman found a job, repayment would be forthcoming.

Imagine, if you will, the check on its way to this woman via the U. S. mail. We all know how painfully slow the postal service can be, especially when our anticipation of a certain item is very high. And so it was in this case.

However, while the check was on its way to the recipient, the receiver of another's trust and compassion, received offers for two part time jobs. The woman happily corresponded her good news online to my friend. Furthermore she replied that the joy she had received through the bond of friendship, though writing void on the check and being able to return it brought joy as well, was of greater value than anything to be deposited in a bank.

Any CPA or governmental equivalent could do the figures. Multiply this one act of human compassion times the approximately six billion human beings on this planet Earth and what a better quality of life everyone, including the few wealthy, would have. The positive side of the balance sheet of human happiness would pay the debt of human suffering.

I am very fortunate to have this person as my friend and, as it so happens, as my sister as well. Do a compassionate act toward someone today. Like my sister told me, it makes you feel so happy. And isn't happiness what we all want more of anyway?

Namaste!