indulging ~ thinking of suffering and death

EDIT: I have decided to re-post this ~ i.e. make it current, once again ~ in remembering September 11th. I remember. I seek no revenge ... just peace for those suffering with hatred and vengeance in their hearts and minds ~ that's the suffering hurts humanity the very most.

Luciano Pavarotti died the other day. And, when I reflect on him, I find myself wondering how the disease manifested itself in him ~ how he suffered, and what the suffering looked like. And what his death looked like. My husband smiled dryly and replied, "Once a palliative nurse, always a palliative nurse, huh?" I suppose he means the part of my soul that needs to bear witness to the suffering of others will never stop throbbing for more. That's the contradiction inherent in me ~ for the very experience my soul yearns to witness, to me feels crushingly unbearable to endure on so many levels. I thought about this. About my capacity to channel what surrounds me. And how that capacity renders me vulnerable to humanity ... far more vulnerable than I care to admit.

I thought about a comment I made at Aunty Belle's Front Porch ~ expressing my concept of a sacred pilgrimage as a visit to the places of WWII's of greatest human suffering and death. Why, when witnessing the suffering of others caused me the greatest anguish, would I seek out such a pilgrimage? What makes suffering and death so sacred? It purifies, and that's part of it. But, also, the scale. The scale on which the carnage and cruelty occurred in these places renders each place special. Special, in the sense that it symbolizes the monstrosity of evil. Special, in the sense that it symbolisms bright potential lost to that monstrosity. And, special, in the sense that death occurred there. And, some small essence of the spirits, and their suffering, lingers. They want us to bear witness. They want us to confess, on behalf of the human race. They want us to surrender hatred, anger, and other such violence. They, who suffered so immensely in the carnage of war, bask in divine light. I always witnessed death and the suffering of imminent death as quite mystical. I often felt divine presence(s) close at hand ~ a silent, yet sweet guide for the suffering soul. And suffering, in and of itself, seems to me a sort of pilgrimage.

What happens when we die? Does the body die, thereby expelling the soul into the waiting arms of its guide? Does the waiting guide pluck the suffering soul from the bondage of its dying companion, the body, at which point, physical death occurs? I feel inclined to reject the first possibility in favour of the second. I have always believed the soul animated the physical body. To the point of making us look the way we do. Even immediately after death, a corpse looks different than the person did alive. Why? Because, I believe, the soul has departed. Convincing me that the formless soul gives a person her form, as an individual. And that despite the tension between soul and body, the two fuse seemlessly to provide existence. Like lovers fuse seemlessly to produce a life. I suspect the bond between soul and body exists at that level of intimacy. I should think, then, that the soul feels some sort of trauma on separating itself from the body, at the time of physical death. Similarly, at birth. Unboxing and also, boxing, of the soul must cause some level of pain or discomfort. I imagine, then, that upon physical death, the lingering divine presence, of which I spoke earlier, comforts and soothes a bewildered and throbbing soul, the way a mother comforts her distressed child.

suffer!! what have we become?!

here's a reality check for all those who purport to have fears about school shootings, and mass shootings in general. it seems to me the USA no longer lays claim to the monniker 'land of the free' ~ what's free about it, if you can get your fucking head blown off, just for going to school? NUTHIN', that's what! IMHO, of course. read on, if you'd rather stick your head in the sand about all that.

I'd just published a post on time and the universe seeking balance through its expansion. And then, I had a change of heart. This public ad ~ its not new ~ changed my heart (squeezed it, too). I've seen it numerous times in the past. Each time, I feel instantly inclined to change the channel ... and each time I deny myself that indulgence ... that self-centred, petty indulgence. So many of us do actually change the channel, clinging to the pre-operational notion which tempts us each to think, if we shut something from our vision, it does not exist as a problem for us.

So ~ watch this video. Its short ~ 2 minutes. It should give you a mammoth heart ache. It should make you feel abject shame at your membership in the human race. It may make you cry. Its designed to garner a reaction ~ to open our eyes to selfishness and cruelty, as humans. This video serves as a humble reminder, on this fair Sunday afternoon, the we, humanity, truly are the scourge of the earth.




Expand the post to read the poem, Treat Me Kindly

Treat Me Kindly

Treat me kindly, my beloved friend,
For no heart in all the world is more
rateful for kindness than the loving
heart of me.

Do not break my spirit with a stick,
For though I should lick your hand
between blows, your patience and
understanding will more quickly
teach me the things you would
have me learn.

Speak to me often, For your voice is
the world's sweetest music, as you must
know by the fierce wagging of my tail
when your footsteps fall upon my ears.

Please take me inside when it is cold
and wet, For I am a domesticated
animal, no longer accustomed to the
bitter elements. I ask no greater glory
than the privilege of sitting at your
feet beside the hearth.

Keep my pan filled with water, for I
cannot tell you when I suffer thirst.
Feed me clean food that I may stay well,
to romp and play and do your bidding,
to walk by your side, and stand ready,
willing and able to protect you with
my life, should your life be in danger.

And, my friend, when I am very old, and
I no longer enjoy good health, hearing
and good sight, do not make heroic
efforts to keep me going.

I am not having fun. Please see that my
trusting life is taken gently. I shall
leave this earth knowing with the last
breath I drew, that my fate was always
safest in your hand.

~ By Beth Norman Harris 1968 ~

on suffering

a fellow blogger asked, recently, “Is not our pain as much a part of our existence as our joy?” Well, IMHO, yes. and i do see pain as sometimes correct. i really see this as neither good nor bad. just … the nature of existence. and so, we do learn to live with scars, and many do never mend completely, instead laying dormant like the varicella virus. once again, such is the nature of existence. i suppose the lesson i have taken away from the darkness of suffering involves seeing pain, not as something from which we need escape, but rather as a tool ~ an entity which carves us into being.

my blogging colleague also spoke of ‘win[ning]’ against pain and suffering. honestly, not being flippant, but, i wonder. how does one win against pain? it seems as likely as conquering death ~ impossible.one makes oneself prisoner when one seeks to escape. one must understand and internalize one’s suffering. however hard this feels for us, who live in a society that feels entitled to an exclusively pleasure-filled existence.

pain, i think, seems necessary. for example, how do we know something requires our attention? ~ because we feel pain. in fact, that we feel pain means we can use this awareness to heal ourselves. if we have no awareness of said wound, as it continues to grow and fester, then … the results will inevitably lead to disaster. i’m thinking here on a physical level, from a clinical perspective … but … i think this can be extrapolated and applied to the non-physical realm.

pain seems like the universe’s way to invoke change … to get us to attend. it seems like a harsh attention-getter, at times. alas, its the only message many of us hear …i suppose a lesson of life, then, involves not eradication of pain and suffering … but what one does with (i.e. how one reacts to) this pain and suffering. and the life path thru which it leads us …

to feel no pain at all ~ this could lead to disaster. think of heroine addicts - when they get so high they no longer feel physical pain … and this can result in some nasty wounds … that also could become gangrenous if unattended. most pain, in a metaphorical sense will lead to some sort of rot, if unattended. or perhaps pain seems more like fire to some ~ mind those burning embers! at any rate ~ you have the right idea - awareness … living involves awareness, when we mostly would rather not have awareness.

and now, somehow, this makes me think of that question from the matrix ~ red pill? or blue pill? society wants us to swallow the blue pill … some, like me, refuse. i will NOT go quietly into the night with that little blue pill. i will go kicking and screaming ... i'll bite, gouge, and spit if i have to ... but i will NOT take that blue pill. EVER. EVER.

Another blogger says "scars remind us what we learned in life." indeed. so ... what about scars? they're the mark of suffering ... the signature of pain. by definition, scars can never heal completely. methinks. sure, new ’skin’ grows, replacing what’s been damaged … but the afflicted ’tissue/skin’ never functions the same as it did before. i suppose now we are talking about adapting … to new realities. and development ~ growth ~ real growth of new arteries in the vessel that is the Self.

"Affliction [i.e. suffering] compels us to recognise as real what we do not think possible.”

~simone weil

if you want feel good, see previous post

otherwise ... take a look. take a good look. its real. its not a political statement -- just ... the best thing i could find to express what i feel like inside.

sacred life - part 2

still contemplating life. this time, though, its end. i'm thinking of issues that pressed themselves into my frail and weak soul. end-of-life issues. euthanasia. life support. resuscitation. futility of treatment. i've faced this stuff. in my career as a caregiver. and, now that i have achieved a safe distance from that role, i see things differently. and, i'm inclined to think it hinges upon the way i see suffering. read on. it will become clear. i hope.

terry schiavo. tracy latimer. do you remember these stories? different circumstances. different people. yet, the same issue at play in both cases - the value and definition of life. so ... know i ask. does cognition constitute life? does cognition serve as a criteria upon which medical treatment decisions get made? do only we only allow life for those individual with physical and cognitive capacity to contribute to society? who are we to decide such? to decide when death should visit? to decide when life should end?

the soul - its the spark of g-d. the breath of g-d, that gives us life, existence. its not ours to destroy. its not ours to create. its ours to honour. and love. in the face of disease. in the face of suffering. in the face of physical pain. in the face of emotional pain. in the face of psychic pain. does suffering have a purpose? i believe it does. and so ... it seems selfish, vain, short-sighted to end a life with a view to ending suffering. does death - a la assisted suicide - really end suffering? i don't believe it does. it merely makes it easier for those of us who remain standing.

i sympathize with michael schiavo. and with robert latimer. but ... i cannot condone the actions they took. it seems selfish, vain. it dishonours the sanctity of life. such actions put our own selfish fears and despair ahead of g-d. they reflect a lack of trust. in g-d. in ourselves. while i appreciate the cruel irony of removing a feeding tube from a woman who, indirectly, sustained brain as a result of an eating disorder, i cannot agree with the action taken. instead, i just think it underscores the importance of making treatment decisions with complete information, based upon reality, and not hope. [of course, hindsight is 20/20]. it also underscores the importance of each and every one of us making our wishes known to our loved ones - in writing. what treatment would we want to undergo? and what would we want to refuse? one of my assigments in nursing school involved writing my own living will. it had to be specific. and articulate. and it opened my eyes to a world i had never before entered.

with respect to the latimer case. i sympathize. i have felt the crushing despair of having a child whose care needs i cannot meet. of having a child who lacks the cognitive capacity to return my love. its worse than death, i believe. for, having a child like this involves loss of the child on so many levels. and never-ending, at that. still. it never, ever occured to us to kill our child, to take his life. i could not imagine snuffing out such a beautiful, angelic spirit. in fact, i am inclined to believe that 'special children' possess a special sort of divinity. their spirit - contains such frail and divine beauty. anyone who has worked with these kids will know what i mean.

and so ... i conclude that what the latimers did they did out of fear, out of despair, out of selfishness. do we ever want to destroy the thing we love the most? no. and that makes me think about a reminder that mayden, dearest provided us in her blog, today. yes, indeed. the difficulty in loving lies in knowing that the needs of your loved one takes precedence over your own.

image - a collage by moi!

breathe. can we?

[also posted in wakeupcall] deny. demonize. deny some more. then kick sand in everyone's face if they express opinions that differ from yours. have we, here in this north american society, grown this small? really? i despair. it feels like we have. where, oh where, have our hearts and minds gone? where has constructive outrage gone? where has compassion gone? oh ... sometimes i feel like its all too much. far too much.

did we think the threat of mcarthy-ism dead? think again. maybe not. did we think solving the middle east difficulties would really be that easy? did we bother to inform ourselves of the history of the conflict? did we already forget about lawrence of arabia? did we already forget that 54,000 canadian, 400,000 american, and 25 million in total, soliders died in WW2 - a war that spanned 6 years? the world effectively lost an entire generation of men. do we have a fucking clue? about history? about things that happen on the other sides of the oceans?

do we really think its ok to send adolescents, who have questionably yet to reach the age of consent, into a environment filled with manipulative, power-addicted narcisstists (read:politicians)? OMG. what the fuck makes us soooooo blind and naive? really, its all too much. i wonder if its occuring to anyone out there that sexual deviance and sexual repression goes hand-in-hand. or if we are all just going to put another pair of blinders on and get on the 'indignant outrage' soapbox.

it saddens me a great deal that people out there still think the collective WE bears no responsibility for all the world's suffering. absolutely saddens me. that they honestly believe, because they did not pull the trigger, wield the torture device, or hold down that 15 year old girl so 14 others could rape her, this grants absolution and frees them from accountability. why? why, if another human, somewhere - anywhere - out there, suffers would ANY one think they have no responsibility to contribute toward efforts to relieve said suffering?

and why have we attached some sort of twisted ideological entitlement to the relief of suffering?

and what the fuck is up with this culture of retribution and revenge?

breathe. can we?

image originally uploaded by wimdejonge.

in the face of helplessness

"... i eventually realized the hopelessness of the situation."

the words of my husband (a UN brat who spent one-third of his life in africa) ring true in my head. i peer thru a veil of tears, as sanjay gupta tells the stories of the sudanese refugees of brutal civil war. silent sobs fill my chest, as i focus on the photon-spewing flat screen sitting a mere 6 feet away from me.

a NGO/MSF worker strolls with gupta on camera as she paints a picture of daily life in sudan, near the chad border. a 14 year girl, gang raped by 15 members of one tribe. the women and children of another village taken, raped and killed. my heart crumbles, with each syllable, each word, each phrase, each story uttered. and the videography? equally heart-wrenching.

my heart crumbles. and i feel the fullest sorrow of those words - "... i eventually realized the hopelessness of the situation." such carnage. such brutality. such corruption. so widespread. i feel no outrage. or indignation. or anger. just incredible sorrow. and something i feel inclined to call guilt. for, the fact of my membership in humanity holds me, in some infinitesimal way, accountable for such pockets of incredible suffering and carnage.

and so, what do i do? how to i act? i know. i know. one person cannot change the world. but, i believe in the eisenberg principle. and i believe that humanity changes one human at a time. and, i see witnessing as an crucial form of action, of doing. and so, i watch. i fervently watch.

i deliberately choose not to look away from the screen. or leave the room. or cover my eyes and ears. i do not shield myself from the event of this suffering. i embrace its connectivity in my living room. it touches me. i touch it. i decide. not to let go. and then, i embark on a journey. my mind's journey. a journey into my humanity. i seek to inform myself. i owe it to myself, to my humanity.