​Who am I – without my nationality, my race, my ethnic heritage, my current appearance, my sight, my education
 
Aging for those of us who do not have surgery to smooth out the wrinkles, to lift the sagging body parts, or bionic replacements is a rich spiritual time of this life journey when we are forced to confront who we are beneath the artificial and constructed differences of race, culture, nationality, temporary appearance, uplifted breasts, bulging muscles, erect penis, full balls, smooth thighs and legs unmarked by veins, lack of age spots, hair distributed in patterns which are culturally acceptable, a flat stomach and costume de jour.   Some, of course, reach this stage at a much younger stage of life because of an illness, an accident or the deliberate disfigurement by another person or in an act of war.  Some do not reach this stage of life until they are well into their seventies.  If one has sufficient money or other costumes of prestige, one might be insulated from the knowledge of one’s nakedness for some time.  Some pills can now insure firm erections for a longer period of time and surgery can ensure firm breasts for a time.  In the end, if we live long enough, however, we all must face our own physical, emotional and spiritual limitations.
 
Some of us manage for a very long time to hold on to an internal image of ourselves as the prom queen or football star even those others may see extended bellies, soft muscles, varicose veins, fatty tissue deposits, celluloid, stooped back, thinning, dull hair, ashen or patsy skin tone
 
Few will see the emotionally and spiritually naked person in public unless, of course, one’s control has slipped to the extent that one’s anger, fearfulness, or hopelessness is worn out in public like the metal or plastic curlers of past times.
 
Nearly daily, it seems, I hear from a client or spend time with a client in my office who is distraught over their emotional and spiritual nakedness.  Many are also sure that their body is not good enough although at some cognitive level they do accept that functionally all bodies are limited in some ways and skilled in other ways. They are clearly convinced that they are not worthy of love or respect.  They are convinced that they are not enough physically, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually and/or financially.  They may no longer have the energy or the means to don and wear the costume which hides their nakedness.  At that moment, seldom does one want to hear that God loves them unconditionally or that we all age and lose the layers of costumes which skin, muscles and functionality may cover.  Accepting that one is worth loving is very difficult when one feels just the opposite and “knows” if the other person could see their complete nakedness then that person would know how unworthy one is.
 
Often one does not want to see the nakedness of the other either because their nakedness would reveal one’s own shortcomings, flaws and why they are not unconditionally worth loving.  Us humans often project our fear onto others.
 
This then is the existential dilemma; how to accept that as humans we are worthwhile.  As we age or are with others whose illness or the results of an accident have left them naked, we are faced with the choice of deciding that none of us are worthwhile or that all of us are worthwhile.  If we are able to step back, we will have to accept that none of us have a scientific system for deciding that one person is more worthwhile than another.  None of us has a scientific system for assigning x points to this behavior or thought and Y points to that behavior or thought. Certainly, some behavior enhances the quality of life for others and some behavior distracts or hurts the quality of life for others.  Yet, closely examined we have all hurt others and been helpful to others.  There may be those whose brains are too damaged or limited by birth to consider the needs of others, but we can hardly hold them responsible.
 
It was Jesus who is reported to have said, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”    The Buddhist teachers with whom I have studied suggest that we can only grow spiritually if we quit keep thinking in terms of good or bad.  Paradoxically they usually point out that the less we judge, the more we are able to focus on being our best selves. The more we are then able to treat others with love the more they will also be able to grow spiritually.
 
The quicker we accept what is evident in our nakedness the quicker we will grow into our best selves.  Hopefully we do not have to wait until are old, infirmed and exposed before we are naked with ourselves and accept that being human is good enough. We can then focus on growing spiritually into our best selves – still human but kinder, gentler, stronger humans.
 
Written June 19, 2017
 
 
 
 
 
 

The engine which could
 
 
When one of the leaders of the Safety Harbor, Florida Writing Circle suggested that this month the writers in the circle tell the story of a hero, I began to think of the legions of people I admire. Many of those have been very present mentors for me.  Some have been mentors who I did not personally know, but who I read or listened to in a lecture hall, on the radio or now in a podcast.  Since the writing assignment is limited to 600 words I knew that just listing the names of a portion of those who have shown to me extraordinary faith, courage, emotional strength, or wisdom would fulfill my quota of words.   I would essentially have created a wall of names as a memorial.  While memorial walls serve a purpose, they may not tell us much about those listed on the wall other than what they share with the rest of those who are duly named on the wall.
 
Those that I most admire are those who imagine a light or a possibility when there is no light or possibility which is visible.  They may be an inventor who imagines a voice traveling through space to an ear which is thousands of miles away. They may be an artist who defies all the rules and ignores the critics who loudly proclaim that this is not art.  It may be a first responder;  the person who risks his or her life to save the life of others. It may be a war veteran.  It may be the person who painfully begins a journey of recovery from active addition.  It may be that man, woman, child, or engine who pushes ahead when the challenge seems too much to most observers.
 
 
It may be an Etty Hillesum who gathers in the ghetto of Amsterdam during WWII  with Hans and Lisa to celebrate the yellow star rather than allowing what it is supposed to symbolize to suck the life and hope out of them.     It may be the young child who falls a 100 times before he or she can walk. 
 
It may be a Reinhold Niebuhr who drafts and attempts to live by the Serenity Prayer.
 
It may be the parent, the teacher, the homeless person, the boss, the friend or the stranger who says “You are the engine who could.”
 
It may be leaders of the Safety Harbor Writer Circle, Sheila and Jan, who see possibilities in all who have the courage to show up.
 
It seems to me that each of us comes equipped with a hero within us.   Many of us will never claim that hero.  It takes great courage to call forth that part of us-  to take a step outside our comfort zone.
 
Sometimes that next step is as simple as “right foot, left foot, right foot, dance and then right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot DANCE, DANCE, DANCE.
 
502 words
 
Written June 18, 2017
Jimmy F. Pickett

​Sunday Musings – June 18, 2017
 
It has become my habit the past few months to use this Sunday space on the blog to write about what stood out for me this week and what I want to take from this week.    Although it has been an exceptionally busy week which included 4 trips to Pittsburg in addition to seeing clients, writing, doing chores. staying in touch with friends, often just relaxing with the more recent James Connelly book or just porch sitting, in most respects and compared to those dealing with the death of a child, the aftermath of an apartment building fire in England, the destruction by the shooting at the congressional baseball practice, other shootings, ongoing war in many parts of the world my week was very routine and, to some, probably very boring. Certainly, most of my week does not merit detailed reports on social media.  Yet, from my perspective there was nothing routine about my week.  Even now as I sit on my porch tying I hear and see the birds, the butterflies, and the cars all heading somewhere on the highway not far from my house.  I see the roses growing alongside the north-east side of my porch and the herbs on the South West side threatening to surpass the height of the rose bushes across from them.  The butterflies gracefully visit the area all around the porch.  My world is constantly new, often lovely, fun, exciting and hopeful.  It is occasionallysad, confusing and disappointing. 
 
Yesterday I was again reminded that for those suffering with such illness as clinical depression the world is seldom pleasant, fun, exciting or hopeful.  There may be moments for which they are very grateful. They may even laugh at times.  Yet, the positive experiences do not connect.   Between these brief moments of positives is an overriding darkness.  Chemically, certain illnesses, such as depression, block out the experience of color and movement. The world appears to be shrouded in black.  The contrasting whites and greys which are often what makes black and white photographs so powerful are missing.   Often depressed people appear angry, disconnected and fearful.   It can be depressing to be around depressed people.  Thus, many who feel unable to call upon enough extra positive energy to override the darkness of the depression avoid the depressed person which, of course, further isolates the depressed person. The depressed person might, at times, be relieved to be ignored because social interaction may seem to demand energy which is just not available.  Yet, because the depression is experiencing the world and often interprets it the depressed person might blame others or themselves for the lack of contact with others.  Thus, one may often be wrong no matter whether one ignores the depressed person or attempts to connect with them.
 
Sometimes medication keeps the acute depression at bay and allows the depressed individual to experience the colors and the movement.  Sometimes, if the clinical depression is not too acute, the depressed person can correct the overriding negative interpretation of the world.  This will not necessarily allow the individual to experience the positive feelings, but they will not be feeding the biased lie of the depression.
 
In my memory, I head Nikki Giovanni saying, “If there is anything worse that having an unequal share of the wealth, it is having it and not enjoying it.”  I looked for the quote and cannot locate it. Perhaps it was not she who said it, but it sounds like something she might have said.  At any rate, I am reminded on this Sunday to be very grateful that I can experience the simple positives of this life journey and I can connect the dots. I want to remind myself to never forget to be grateful for this state of Grace. I did not earn the right or ability to experience the world without the lens of depression. It is just grace. By the same token I cannot and should not judge those in whose shoes I have not walked.
 
I do not want to avoid loving those with clinical depression. At the same time, I have to decide if I am healthy enough to avoid being sucked into the depression. When I am not, I may have to temporarily, when possible, stay away from depression.  Most of the time, however, I do have the energy to spend some time just surrounding the depressed person with love. Paradoxically the love often protects me as well.
 
Written June 18, 2017
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

​ 
Unfolding consciousness or transcendence
 
On June 15, 2017 On Being Host, Krista Tippett had a conversation with the artist, philosopher, physicist Martînez Celaya.  I have listened to that podcast and read over portions of that conversation several times. I am sure I will continue to revisit. Mr. Celaya brings to the conversation a sense of order and the friction between the “domestic spheres of our everyday lives – children, families - …and these larger movement of time and history and God…And the two of them rub against each other; and that friction between the domestic and the epic is a source of a lot of my work.  So, what I’m interested in is always sort of the small – the small breakings, the small fractures.”
 
Still later Ms. Tippett says to him, “You sometimes say that artists should be prophets, and then often quality it and say. ‘minor prophets, at least.’…you wrote, ‘The prophet is not a martyr or mystic who seeks transcendence, but one who turns humbly and curiously toward the world.”
 
The terms art, unfolding, small fractures, prophecies are themselves living entities as I listen to and read this conversation.  They open a place within me.  I take the time to view, via the internet, some of Mr. Celaya’s offerings of art.  I say offerings of art rather than his artwork because it seems to be that each piece is both a gift and an invitation to allow the relationship between what he calls the consciousness which is embodied in the art and that opening – that crack or fracture   - within me to now connect to something which is more than the piece of art or the self I had known prior to this encounter.  It is within the tension of this encounter that I think the prophet might make an appearance.    It is what Mr. Ceyala refers to as that strangeness - that sense of otherness in us – of not being a local.  Yet, in my experience I am at once both a local and a stranger.  Just as the consciousness unfolds in the painting so does my own consciousness unfold.  Perhaps this is the space in which the prophet appears.
 
I suspect that we all have the ability to transcend the present, but I also think that, for me, the paradox is that transcendence only occurs when I have the courage to be fully present. It is only when I am open to the friction between what Mr. Ceyala called the epic and the domestic that I catch a glimpse of the order which is always present – most notably in the midst of the chaos. 
 
I further suspect that transcendence incorporates the past, present and future.  It is that combination which then forms the new present (for lack of a better term).  When I meet with a person, a painting, a bird, or anything which I think of as outside myself I have an opportunity to absorb something of that with which I meet.  The result of this meeting then forms and informs the future.  I would argue that if we are open we can never be passive observers.  Yet, us humans develop many rituals and boxes which attempt to keep us disconnected from interacting with that  which is thought of as outside ourselves. When preparing for war soldiers are trained to conceptualize the other as a non-human enemy – as someone who is unlike them – as someone on can kill as easily as many would crush an ant or a mosquito.
 
It seems that I am suggesting that it is only by being fully with the “other” – fully present - that one transcends what one normally thinks of as the present.  Perhaps transcendence is not the best word to describe what I am thinking or saying.  Perhaps I am really talking about opening to being more than I am or more than I experience myself in this second.
 
As we in the United States approach the day we have set aside to honor the role of Father’s Day, as a father of an adult child, I am aware of my role in both taking the risk of unfolding my consciousness and in supporting my son in his own unfolding.  I think it is within that unfolding or rather in the midst of that unfolding that a new vision – a new prophecy - will emerge.
 
 
(I am indebted to Mr. Ceyala and Ms. Tippett for ticking my mind with the entire conversation and the particular quotes contained in this brief post.  Yet, the wandering thoughts herein expressed are my own. As always I encourage the reader to listen and enjoy their own experience with the conversation contained in the podcast.)
 
Written June 16 and 17, 2017
 
 
 
 
 
 

​Rumors, gossip, and helpful sharing
 
We have all heard the saying, “Where there is smoke, there is fire.”  This saying is usually spoken or written when someone has heard a rumor that such and such happened or, more likely, person X did action B.  Every time one repeats a rumor to someone new it is as if the potential truth of it is reinforced. Soon, it has moved from the realm of rumor to absolute fact. Now it is likely to be repeated in a way which leaves no doubt in the mind of anyone who has heard it.
 
All of us or certainly many of us have done that exercise where some statement is given to a group of people who then passes it on to the person next to them in a way which prevents the rest of the group from hearing.  By the time the last person in group tells what they heard, the statement does not even closely resemble the original statement.  It does not matter how educated the group of people are or whether they are normally skeptical or easily convinced of some alleged fact. 
 
It is so easy to forget that all of us hear with our mind and not our ears just as he sees with our mind and our eyes.   Whenever we experience something with one or more of our senses we are receiving sounds, sights, tactile sensations, smell, possibly taste or some combination of these which then need to be interrupted. Depending on our particular cultural, ethnic, and very individual history the stories and events we have stored to help us interrupt the world will determine what we experience as “the truth”.   Sometimes, as with the actions of politicians, bosses or a spouse/partner with whom we want to terminate a relationship we look for possible stories which substantiate what we already believe or want to believe.    One need to look no further than the stories which repeated about figures such as President Trump or President Putin.  While it may be true that some public figures say, or do things which leave the interpretation of their behavior very open, it is also true that one very likely has no way of knowing the truth of what was said, done or intended.
 
Obviously, sharing information about each other is an important way that we know what to celebrate, who to pray or hold positive thoughts for and who may need other forms of help.    Just this week I received a photo of a father and a new baby. The father is the godson of a friend of mine.  From my standpoint and based on the information which I have previously heard my friend share about this father, what I think I am seeing – a very happy father and new baby – is probably very accurate.  I feel confident that I could pass along this photo and this interpretation of the photo without fear of starting a false rumor or putting anyone in danger.
 
Recently, I received a message containing a rumor that so and so is doing action X.   This person is a very public figure who has occupied public office and has been a partner in a very well-known business.  In addition, he has a profession which often puts him in the public spotlight   He is a man I have met and who is a friend or acquaintance of a number of people I know.  I have stored stories about him personally, about those who practice his profession or who occupy the political positions he has occupied.   All this means that it is very possible that as soon as I hear his name I have already made a number of assumptions about him.   If I mistake those assumptions for truth and pass them along as such I am guilty of gossiping and potentially causing harm or distress to this person.   Pretty soon others will embellish this rumor and then pass it on. Even if there was some truth to the initial message what has been passed along what I heard is far from the truth.  Most important is the fact that there was no reason to pass feed this rumor. No one will be helped.
 
The other day I saw a man I had not seen for some time. He is younger than me and historically has been this vibrant, young looking, very fit man.   When I saw him the other day he had obviously lost weight, could barely walk and looked much older than me.  He did not volunteer any information about his health status.   I did later have an opportunity to ask someone we both know if they know what is going on with him. They did not.  Asking about his health was not spreading a rumor.  Despite the impossibility of my seeing “the person” it is not likely that I am wrong in thinking something is wrong medically.  It happens that this person, a physician, is unlikely to be without financial resources. I also have reason to believe that he has a large support system who live geographically closer than I who are helping him with practical needs.  There is nothing else I need to do.  It would not be kind to speculate with others about what might be wrong medically with him.
 
There have been times when I have used an example from a conversation with someone in a blog.  99% of the time the person with whom I had the conversation is fine with this.  There has been at least one occasion when I did this and the person felt I violated the friendship by repeating a conversation that they thought could identify the person and be hurtful to them. Although I did not see anything which could have been viewed as unkind, the important point was I had been remiss in insuring that the source of the conversation could not be identified. The person with whom I had the conversation clearly experienced my behavior as spreading a rumor.  I felt terrible about what I had done even though I did not see how what I said could be read as negative. The fact that this person experienced my behavior negatively – spreading a rumor - was the important point.
 
Obviously, we are a village – sometimes a very large village and sometimes a very small village.  We need to keep each other appraised of how we can be helpful to each other.  Unless someone has specifically asked for help with a particular task, we will make educated guesses about what might be helpful and pass those guesses along.    The intent is not to spread a rumor but that does not preclude someone as experiencing it as a rumor or even as gossip.
 
I think that the best I and others can do is to be very thoughtful and intentional about what information about each other we pass along, our intention in doing so and the possible consequences in doing so. We can also be very intentional about whether we present information as out truth or “the truth”. 
 
Written June 15, 2017
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The discomfort of honesty
 
I have often written about the HOW of the 12-step program. Most of my readers know how much I admire and personally make use of the 12-step program even though I do not have an addictive disorder.  Most of the issues addressed in the 12-step program are, to my way of thinking, common to most, if not all, of us humans. Certainly, to this human.  
 
Just yesterday I was talking about the fact that honesty with myself, much less with others, can be very uncomfortable. The reason why it is so uncomfortable is that many of us carry around a more idealized image of ourselves than the reality of who we are on a day to day basis.   The example to which I referred yesterday while meeting with some men and women who are in a residential treatment program for addiction, was one I may have previously mentioned.  For many years, I was a member of a racial justice committee at the YWCA.  Members of this committee were required to examine and write their own history of learning to be racist. They also were expected to share this with other members of the committee.   The first time I wrote about my history of racism, I talked about intentionally using my three or four-year-old knowledge of the racism of the adults in my life to shift the blame for my behavior to the African American boy with whom I had been experimenting with making cigarettes out of weeds in the empty lot near my house.   Rather than own my role in this decision I blamed in on him and, thus, reduced my punishment. I lied about my role and, for years, I kept this incident a secret because I was so ashamed of what I had done.  As a member of the racial justice committee I was sure that my history of racism began earlier than most and was more reprehensile then that of the other members of the committee.  What I found was, of course, that other members of the committee had similar histories.  At the time, I was the newest member of the committee and, thus, I had not heard their stories.  It was a relief to find out that I was not any different or worse than the other members of the committee.
 
 
Since then I have been involved in many situations which have challenged me to be more honest with myself about my thoughts, behavior and feelings.  I have discovered that I am no more and no less human than many of those individuals that I admire.  Yet, it seems that daily I am confronted with the opportunity to “come clean” with myself and often with at least one other person about a lie that I have told myself.   For example, this morning I was chatting with my primary care doctor about the fact that the results of blood tests this week showed that my blood sugar level - the A1C- was higher than it has been only a couple of months ago.   I had told the doctor that I had significantly reduced my carbohydrate intake.   Yet, when I began to review what I had eaten and compared it to a list of high carbohydrate foods, I had to admit to myself and the doctor that while I reducing pasta and most potatoes I had increased my intake of some other high carbohydrate foods.  Admitting this led me to make a decision to further reduce carbohydrate intake rather than take another medication.
 
Fortunately, I have the sort of relationship with my doctor that makes this level of honesty relatively painless.    Still, I was reluctant to admit what I was doing because I did not want to have to tweak my nutritional intake or admit how much I had cheated!
 
This is a relatively benign example of the lies I tell myself and then tell others.  There are many other examples with which I am confronted daily. These include:
 

• I retain a lot of sexist, racist, and other discriminatory thoughts and consequent behaviors despite my intentional work to identify and let go of these thoughts and behaviors.
• I am often judgmental including being judgmental about those I experience to be judgmental.
• I have a difficult time defending some of my strongly held stated beliefs and many have more in common at times with those I secretly considered less moral.  (Really! Yuk!)
• I like to see myself as more accepting of the aging process than I actually am.
• I have thoughts and desires which are not always consistent with the person I pretend to be.

 
The bottom line is, of course, that it seems that few, if any, of us humans are entirely satisfied with being who we are.    We seem to have a basic, strongly held belief that we are not enough – good enough – wise enough - attractive enough – talented enough.  Honestly and acceptance of ourselves is a life long journey.  Fortunately,  I am no longer shocked about the fact that I can and am still dishonest with myself and, thus,  admitting it to myself and others is much easier than it was even a week ago.  I know that everyone knows that I am this human who, by definition, is a work in progress. 
 
Fortunately, I am not in a position where being honest is going to cost me a job, reputation or some other form of public humiliation. I am not a politician, CEO of a company or organization, or a  person who has built a professional reputation of being more than I am.  All of my friends know and accept that they and I are works in progress. There is nothing I am likely to do or say that would come as a shock to them.  Occasionally there is that person who I thought accepted me as I am who is “shocked” at my behavior and withdraws from our friendship.  There is nothing I can do but accept their decision.  Obviously, this was a friendship build on the sand of unrealistic expectations.  (This statement does not excuse my behavior or reduce my obligation to make amends when possible.)
Written June 14, 2017

​Grandma says: “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
 
Yesterday I was attending a Pittsburgh Symphony performance.  Although I know better I did not check to see what else was going in the downtown area of Pittsburgh.  Soon, traffic – lots of very slow moving traffic – alerted me to the fact that something was going on other than the symphony.  Eventually I became aware that many of the downtown streets were closed off.  In addition to the Symphony performance there was a ball game, the gathering of hockey fans even though the game was being played elsewhere, the last day of the Pittsburgh Arts Festival and Gay Pride events.  Individual men, women, teenagers, same sex and opposite sex couples, many dressed in rainbow costumes and even rainbow dyed hair, vibrant music, and the many sounds of “We are here. We are proud.” filled the streets of Pittsburgh.  I was also aware that today, Monday, the 12 is the first anniversary of the shooting in the gay nightclub, Pulse in Orlando, Florida leaving 49 dead and many grieving partners, family members and other friends.  That shooting could, in another era, have been a reason to run back to the closet; to allow fear to deny one’s existence. Yet, in many places in the world, there is no longer a race back to the closet.  Even in countries where members of the LGBT community may be killed, jailed, or otherwise abused, there is an increasing awareness of the presence of same sex love as well as transgender, and bisexual individuals.
 
Once I finally was able to get to Heinz Hall and seated, I looked around at the diversity of the members of the symphony and the audience.   Pittsburgh is not the most racially diverse city compared to a city such as New York, Los Angeles or even some Texas border cities, but is it increasingly more representative of the larger culture. Pittsburgh has always been a diverse city in terms of ethnic groups.  There is Polish Hill, Squirrel Hill, and the South side which welcome immigrants who would join and often lead the labor union.   It has taken longer for the white and African communities to come together, famous leaders such as August Wilson notwithstanding.
 
Over the years that I have been blessed to attend cultural events in Pittsburg I have done my best to notice who was represented in both the audience and the body of the performers.  It seems to me that it has markedly changed in terms of race, nationality (when one can tell), age and sexual orientation.    Thus, I noticed that the two men sitting next to me were apparently Asian.  Not far off were African Americans.  In front of me were what appeared to be a couple who had been part of the gay pride celebration. 
 
I also noticed that the percussion section of the orchestra had two females.    This seems to be more consistently true recently.  Although difficult to tell from my relatively inexpensive seat in row T way up near the top of the balcony, it also seemed that the orchestra is increasingly even more diverse.   
 
Finally, it was time to attend to the performance.  The guest conductor, Vasily Petrenko,  was the tall, slender, 41-year-old man from Russia who is currently the conductor of the Oslo Philharmonic Orchestra.  The guest pianist joining the orchestra to play Piotr Tchaikovsky’s Concerto No. 1 in B-flat minor for Piano and Orchestra, Opus 23 was the 26-year-old “child”  Behzod Abduraimov, from Tashkent , Uzbekistan.    The orchestra was amazing as usual.  The conductor insured that the orchestra did not drown out the piano. In fact, he seemed to have, during the brief rehearsal time, brought the pianist,  himself and the orchestra together in a way which reminded one of a perfect marriage which has reached that point of love which blends together as one and, yet, honors the individuality of each.  
 
My first thought of the pianist was that he was a child who could know nothing of the richness and depth of the passion this composition both expresses and draws out of each member of the orchestra, the pianist and the audience.   The tall, slender, “child” (Remember I am old and anyone younger than 70 is a child.) from Uzbekistan connected his long fingers to the keys.  There was an instant melding of the two as there is with the earthy passion of this young man which flows through his fingers to the keys of this grand piano.   This passion has fingers which now extend to every member of the audience - a hall of electrifying fingers – reaching in to the depths of the being of each of us.  It is a perfect, terrifying intimacy which one cannot resist.   All too soon, it is over and we are exhausted with the intensity of the intimacy.  Finally, we claim our hands and our voices and we, the audience, has soon surpassed the sound of the gay pride celebrants outside the hall.
 
Somehow this child has become a wise old man who has reached the age of one who has lived a life worthy of the passion Tchaikovsky poured into the music eliciting the dance of flying Cossacks .
 
As I settle back into myself I am reminded, yet again, how the arts, including music, demands that we own the universality of our shared humanness.  All those lies we learn about our alleged differences are just that.   Lies.  It is quite simple really.  There is no us and them.  There is just us.  I again reflect of how I have yet to learn the depth of the lies I have internalized and wander if I have enough time to unlearn them.
 
I think of Grandma Fannie and her advice, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”   The cover is often racism, ageism, sexism, religious prejudice (or is that self-righteousness, physical appearance, wealth,  and costumes.  We are not our covers.  No one is their covers.
 
Written June 12, 2017
 

​Character flaw or illness? “Let’s ask the daisy.”
 
As a teenager, I recall that the petals of the daisy flower could predict the future of one’s love life.   One would simply pluck petals off the daisy, one at a time. The first pedal was “He/she loves me.”  The second was “He/she loves me not.” The last pedal would predict the future of the love interest. 
 
It seems that, as a society, we have decided to apply the wisdom of the daisy to the question of whether addiction is a chronic disease or it is a symptom of a basic character flaw.   If it is a disease, then we know that:
 

• One cannot be held responsible for choosing the disease.
• Making a decision to get treatment and stay in treatment when one has a disease which affects how the mind works is very difficult at best.
• One can and should expect relapses with this disease just as one expects relapses with other chronic diseases which require one to follow a strict regimen. In the case of addiction one must refrain from certain substances, food, or other compulsive drive triggers.

 
If it is a basic character flaw which one has chosen, then:
 

• The addict is a bad person who deserves to be punished because he/she is making decisions to be hurtful to others.
• One has made the decision to compulsively use despite how it affects others.
• One chooses addictive behavior and, thus, one chooses to throw away years of expensive school and other professional training and become homeless, penniless and otherwise unable to function. 

 
As a society, we need to decide if we are going to use the very unscientific system of allowing the daisy to decide if addiction is a chronic illness or a character flaw.   We also need to “come clean” in admitting that we, as a society, want to use the daisy wisdom for some addictions and not for others.  For example, the following addictions are very socially acceptable:
 

• Addiction to power which allows one to engage in standard addictive behavior, i. e. lying/deceit, hurting others, satisfying one’s needs no matter what it takes to gain and keep power.
• Addiction to money.  No matter how many people are hurt in the process of gaining and keeping money having a lot of money is laudable.  For example, athletes, college presidents, certain contractors, real estate moguls, pharmaceutics companies, etc.
• Addiction to things which may or may not involve money.

 
Some addictive behavior is socially acceptable up to a point and a character flaw beyond that point.  The point which determines whether it is acceptable or a character flaw sometimes is very fluid. Sexual behavior often falls into this category.  We can use sex to sell nearly every product on the market, have a billion-dollar porn industry, make jokes about the mile-high club, but if someone crosses that fluid line, it becomes a punishable character flaw.
 
Ironically, shame often plays a significant role in making it more difficult for addicts to consistently and successfully work a recovery program.  Punishment becomes a part of the shame-addiction cycle. 
 
Just this morning I as reading a new report of a decision by the West Virginia Supreme Court that “evidence of illicit drugs in a newborn’s umbilical cord is sufficient to bring a child abuse proceeding against the mother and the father who knew about the drug use.” (Jan Hicks, city editor, Charleston in article in The Intelligencer entitled “West Virginia Supreme Court Decides on Drug Charges.”. June 10, 2017)
 
Really!  Obviously, the court believes the mother’s addiction is a character flaw which she chose even after she knew she was pregnant.    The father of the child was supposed to do what?  He was to reason with the pregnant mother?   He was to force her into a quality treatment center which takes pregnant women no matter what the financial status of the mother?  He was to reason with her? The chances are the father was also addicted.
 
Perhaps we should drug test all women who are capable of becoming pregnant at least weekly and sterilize those who test positive for a drug? Perhaps we could castrate all men who test positive
 
Is an actively addicted mother capable of being a good parent?  Probably not?  Does this woman need treatment and might we need to provide temporary care of the baby?  Yes!  Might the father need treatment? Very likely.  Is it really difficult to know when it is safe to return a child to those with such a serious, chronic illness?   Yes.  Is the cost of addiction to the community as a whole very high?  Yes, the cost is high financially, emotionally, and spiritually. 
 
Is it expensive to treat addicts as criminals?  It is very expensive. In fact, it is more expensive that quality treatment would be. 
 
Is dealing with chronic illness frustrating, exhausting, financially draining and enormously sad for all affected by chronic illness. Yes! Yes!  Yes!
 
If we quit using the daisy method to decide if addiction is an illness or a character flaw, we can rely on science to better understand and more effectively diagnose and treat the illness.
 
The daily method is not scientific whether making a decision about a love interest or about the nature of addiction.
 
Written June 10, 2017
 
 
 
 

​Sunday Musings – June 11, 2017
 
Here in my little corner of Wheeling, West Virginia it is a lovely, sunny, summer morning with nary a care in the world.  One of the neighbors is mowing grass.  The birds are busy finding treats in the grass and doing church in the nearby gigantic evergreen. Their voices could rival the most passionate human choir.  Nearby highways carry people and goods to their destination.   One could easily delude oneself in thinking that all is right with the world.  Yet, I have read the newspaper and listened to NPR.   A family I know is mourning the death of their artistically talented, kind son following a dispute which involved a gun.  In fact, there is a long list of recent deaths in the obituary section of the newspapers.  Some are from natural causes and some from illness which stopped the life journey of many “before their time.  Some are the result of violence. Still other are a result of addiction.  Many I know and many more who I do not know are branded as criminals and are languishing in prison. Some are fighting what they believe are just or necessary wars.  In other words, life goes on.  Despite longer life spans for some, more mobility and quality of life for others, and a more connected world us humans continue to allow fear, righteous anger and, to my way of thinking, a “unholy” way of honoring God by killing those considered His or Her enemy to guide much of our activity.
 
A local pastor asks in an editorial in the Wheeling Intelligencer today June 11, 2017, “Does anyone sin anymore?”.  I am reminded of the faux sense of security of labeling the sinner and the saints.  The author of this editorial, is clearly concerned that we have quit labeling sins and sinner. He names “sexual wrong doing, laziness, sloppiness, destruction of property, declaring bankruptcy, abusing drugs, child abuse, and other sins.  I read the entire editorial and feel as if I have been hit over the head with the plowshare which has been beat into a sword.  Although the author hints that we are capable of treating each other better, I search in vain for a sense of compassion.  Certainly, every spiritual teacher or system I know stresses that we need to be aware of how our behavior affects our own health, the health of others and the health of the universes (s). The 12-step program is clear that we need to acknowledge and make amends for all the way addictive behavior and thinking hurts others.    Part of my daily spiritual practice is an ever-increasing honesty with myself about my thoughts and actions. 
 
I grew up being beat with the sword of sin. Often I spend so much time feeling bad about myself that my best self-lay dormant.  Self-flagellation takes an enormous amount of energy.  It weighs one down rather than allowing one to blossom into the glorious flower one can become. 
 
The paradox is that the more we beat someone over the head with sin the more passively or actively hurtful our behavior becomes.  I agree that attachment to sex, money, drugs, power, things, and positions can keep us from being our best selves. So, can attachment to “our truth” as “the truth”. 
 
Today, I will “church” with the birds and later with the Pittsburgh Symphony.   I will church as I drive to Pittsburgh, greet my neighbors, and do my best to be my best self in my little corner of the world.  Somehow, Theresa May, President Trump, James Comey, Vladimir Putin, and many others will do whatever they are going to do without my sage hands on guidance.  
 
Written June 11, 2017

​Watching the corn grow
 
Although I was born a city boy, by age 5, for the second and last time, my family loaded up a truck with all our worldly possessions and make the trip from Chicago to Oklahoma where my father’s parents lived.  I would not travel again in real time more than 100 miles from our home (that was only twice if my memory) until I was 18.   From approximately age 5 to age 16 my mother, father, and 3 siblings would live in a three-room house. We moved from there shortly after my youngest sister was born.  Although there were many chores, I somehow always found time for reading.  There was no electricity, no television and only on occasion a radio hooked up to the car battery.  Actually, that is not true. There was a transistor, Diamond match box sized radio which sometimes would bring programs such as “The Squeaking Door”.   When the weather permitted and I could safely escape without fear of extreme punishments, one could find me in the arms of an oak or hickory tree reading.  I read anything that would feed my imagination or remind me that the world was larger than the one I then experienced. 
 
I was also, much to my mother’s frustration, a day dreamer. I could spend much valuable chore time just staring off into space or watching the corn or other vegetables grow.  Although I had a mind which could easily wander from question to question and possibility to possibility instead of focusing on the task at hand, I could also spend a lot of time with no conscious thoughts at all.  Those were blissful moments.  I was not worried about school, whether I would ever amount to anything, or the various and seemingly endless ways I could displease my parents.  Actually, I had, according to my mother, become an expect at finding ways to misbehave.  To be fair I was not the perfect farmhand or the best assistant for my father who was always building something - a motor, a boat, a mobile home, a piece of art or furniture.   His talents seem endless. When not active, he could be found sitting in the only “easy” chair I recall being in our house, dressed in his bathrobe, reading some book or designing something and calling out, “Daisy, bring me a cup of tea.” (Daisy was his wife, our mother.)
I never saw our mother reading and it was not until the children were grown that I discovered how much she liked to read - for pleasure and to learn.
 
Those times when I had no conscious thoughts or worries I would later come to call my “watching the corn grow” times.  I might now talk about the spiritual practice of emptying my mind and just being present.   In those days, I thought of that time as more zoning out or a way to escape.  It did not occur to me to explore the use of alcohol or later other drugs to speed me to this “absence of stress” space.   I seemed to have a natural talent for empting my mind.
 
By the time that I was into my thirties and had filled my days and evening with work, school, pleasure reading, chores, and when I had our son with me, parenting, and, yes, worrying there seemed to be no time to empty my mind until I fell into bed.  Occasionally, however, I would steal some time.  When living in Hoonah, Alaska, I might go to be with the trout stream. When in Juneau I would hike to the mountain stream and have long conversations with the stream on the nature of beingness.  I could also just sit and allow myself to flow into the stream.
 
While living in Indiana I made friends with a couple who taught at the University of Kentucky in Lexington, Kentucky.   In my memory, they lived in the middle of a corn field in Paint Lick, Garrard County, Kentucky.  When I would get worn out I would visit my friends, sit in the rocking chair on the porch and watch the corn grow.  I think I only actually visited them only once or twice, but in my mind Paint Lick became a metaphor for allowing myself to just be present.   
 
Many of my friends and their families are now taking disconnected holidays – times when agree to not check their email, texts or social media sites, answer their phone, listen to the radio or the television, play with hand held games or otherwise be anyplace other than where they are.  They are being very intentional about watching the corn grow or becoming one with the corn.    Of course, they may be in the woods, at the beach, on a mountain, in a canoe or kayaks, but they are losing self to find self.
 
Today I daily take time just to watch the corn grow. Despite the fact that I can and often am the consummate energizer bunny,  I can spend hours watching the corn grow or just observing the million shades of green of the foliage in the tiny forest which sits behind my house.  It seems as if we all need time when we empty our minds so as to allow new ideas or feeling to emerge – new music, new art, new feelings, new dances.   I recall when my friend Frank began to work as a graphic designer for an employer who knew that one had to just sit and wait for the new ideas to emerge or coalesce. At first Frank was worried that his boss would be expecting him to be actively productive – to look productive, but his boss reassured him that he knew that new ideas would emerge if one made space for them.
 
I suspect that parents, teachers and others who are responsible for the next generations of leaders will need to be very intentional about giving the very connected children permission to stop and watch the corn grow.  I fear if they do not learn that this is a necessary practice they will resort to the use or drugs to numb out which is not the same as being present. Watching the corn grow may prove uncomfortable for many adults as well as some of the children, but, once experienced and claimed, the need for this practice will not leave them.
 
Written June 8, 2017