Evolution?

When I was out to brunch with my parents last Sunday, my dad tells me he discovered a new law of nature.  He has been reflecting on how much of his life he has spent sitting.  As a computer programer with  a regular 30+ min commute, he has racked up the sitting points.  


As a side note it is amazing to think about how often we are sitting throughout our day. At the computer, watching TV, eating, driving, on and on...


So, my dad says that as we've evolved things are no longer about survival of the fittest. It is about survival of the SITTEST! 

My dad has also started writing haikus over the past 6 months or so.  He sent me this haiku a few days ago:

Evolving to walk

Through a lifetime of sitting

That is irony.

Indeed. Indeed.

The Example of Monks

I thought I would close out November with a poem I discovered this month. Oh how I love Billy Collins and his sense of sacred in the everyday.  I feel so light and unconcerned by the end of the poem that the weight of the ending almost goes unnoticed. 

November

 

After three days of steady rain -
over two inches said the radio -
I follow the example of monks
who write by a window, sunlight on the page.

 

Five times this morning,
I loaded a wheelbarrow with wood
and steered it down the hill to the house,
and later I will cut down the dead garden

 

with a clippers and haul the soft pulp
to a grave in the woods,
but now there is only
my sunny page which is like a poem

 

I am covering with another poem
and the dog asleep on the tiles,
her head in her paws,
her hind legs played out like a frog.

 

How foolish it is to long for childhood,
to want to run in circles in the yard again,
arms outstretched,
pretending to be an airplane.

 

How senseless to dread whatever lies before us
when, night and day, the boats,
strong as horses in the wind,
come and go,

 

bringing in the tiny infants
and carrying away the bodies of the dead.

 

-Billy Collins

New River

This past week I have been gone to North Carolina to bring home my uncle D.  The weekend we spent at D's friend's home in the mountains was such an incredible healing experience that I want to share it. But I know no one else will know, really, how incredible it was, and thus, here is a continuous dilemma I have had for years. I wrote an undergraduate thesis about it. There I called it "Religious Experience" but that will get me on my semantics soapbox and I don't want to go there right now. 

Except to say this: To me, there was this palpable, unspoken, spiritual-ness to the weekend. There we were, in the mountains at this beautiful house that was tucked into the valley and surrounded by christmas trees. Just us, the wind, and the trees. The premise of this meeting was to send my Uncle D on his way down the New River. He passed back in March but we still had not fulfilled his request to be placed in running water. So I traveled with my mom and met with family and friends for a celebration. We shared songs and food, wisdom and wine, and all around had a good time.  Then on Saturday afternoon we caravanned down to New River with D's ashes.  There, again we all sat together and shared stories, writings, songs, memories. We opened with a reading of the Turtle Totem and closed out the sharing with this song about the New River by the son of my uncle's friend who graciously welcomed us into his home. 

The song was written over a year ago but it was so perfect. We then walked over to the river and got in it. The rocks were slippery but we all steadied each other and one-by-one we each let go of a handful into the water and said our goodbyes.  Even one of my uncle's friends, who needed to stand by the banks due to wearing prosthetics, was brought the bag by his wife.  At the end, my mom and Uncle D's daughter emptied the bag.  Just as we were done, 6 beautiful women in bikini's approached the bank. My uncle's friend started to tell them what we were doing and realized D must have set this up, because he would have loved it! 

Once we got back to the house there was a clear change in the energy. It was lighter. Everyone wasn't crying after someone would play a song. That closure that was necessary had occurred.  I heard someone say on the radio years ago that we forget that the funeral isn't for the dead, it's for the living.  I think it is true.  

It was so beautiful to see this celebration unfold because we didn't have any formal plans.  It just evolved as it needed to and when we look back we can see that it is just as D would have wanted it.  Friends and family reunited, hard workers relaxed, artists inspired.  Everyone healing. Not just from D's passing but from lots of things. It's kinda like once you open up the healing space, it all can emerge at once. 

Even myself.  A long and difficult phone conversation with my significant other that weekend turned into the perfect foundation for a wonderful getaway. Following the Memorial Mountain Weekend, we met up in Asheville and visited this place, Mountain Light Sanctuary for a night. A most amazing night. We spent the night next to the bubbling creek and got to listen to the music all the time. The property is right next to a hiking trail so we spent the afternoon exploring. He took my off the path to walk or crawl up the creek, finding the places where the water picks up splashing on rocks and moss.  I started to wonder where all this water comes from.  He told me that rivers are essentially all the rain that the higher elevation gets. It rolls down through tributaries and such until it comes together. 

So now I can see how this works as a metaphor for our beliefs of the unseen. We don't know what is true in terms of Ultimate Reality, but we all think we want to know. I will propose that when we can put down our own particulars, get in the flow of just being who we are, and be present for others, we can create a new river in which to float down together. How many times have I heard, "They all mean the same thing"? Why do we still struggle with this?

I decided to write my own poem about New River and for Uncle D. Here it is:

New River

I will wade in the New River

and let your ashes drift out my hand. 

This land knows you and you know me

and I am so glad to set you free. 

I will see you at the New River

the next time that the sun sets.

I know I need to know the dark of this town

if I want to see the sun again. 

So, follow me to New River, 

where the laughs out last the mourning, 

where the women and bees, the songs and the trees

sing to us all, Welcome Home. 

Still Opening

Recently, I came across this poem that I had written back in June. It was written on a scrap piece of paper tucked into my copy of poems by Hafiz, a fourteenth-century mystical poet from Iran. This poem follows the theme of the previous post, as well as the concept of Health through Healing, an ongoing process of becoming who we are. So I thought I would share…

Still Opening

This

still opening

seemingly unmoving,

though each day petals

grow fuller and more visible

the sepal, a steeple pointing

towards change. A message

distilled from heaven to open

the hearts of others, my own.

Growing older,

I am always surprised

at how surprised

I always am to find

that I’m in the same

place as before,

still.

Opening.