Sunday musings – May 21, 2017
My first thought is that it has been a very routine week. Time with friends, daily gym time, time with clients (on line, phone and in person), writing a daily blog, normal chores, attending fundraisers for organizations for which I am very thankful, and some time for reading and bike riding have filled the days and evenings. Of course, I was also aware of being part of the body politic on a local, state, national and international level. Yet, other than the fact that what each of us does reverberates to touch many and, thus, will have some effect I have not been a very responsible or active citizen this week. In fact, I have not devoted a lot of time and energy tracking the events which are a result of the actions of the overall body politic and which affect the actions of the overall body politic. Other than those seemingly few connections with individuals and organizations which seem committed to exploring the road to a conversation which will accomplish more that breast beating, one is invited to join in the criticism or bashing of those labeled as opponents. While I have no desire to be one of those who contribute to insanity because I hesitate to speak out, I seem unable or is it unwilling to be a someone who beats up others with my version of a truth. That is not to say that I can claim to have freed myself from all passionate, simplistic sound bites or pronouncements of “the truth.”
At the same time, as I was sitting on the deck typing a letter to a man who has now been in prison for many years, I am acutely aware that he, along with many other inmates, refugees and those who are homeless or living in other dangerous situations would love to be enjoying a “routine” life with the freedom to do all that I do or all that I choose not to do. It is very easy to take this freedom for granted.
This morning I was listening to someone talk about the life one has as a result of the accident of birth. I happen to be born in the United States of certain parents who inhabited a certain place in the financial hierarchy and who were possessing of certain characteristics while not having others. I attended a 12-step lead recently in which the speaker talked of his addicted parents and being taught early about surviving as an addict. I read about another person who is both a king of a country and an airline pilot. Yet another person’s accident of birth has him or her bearing witness to the random killing of family members because of someone’s allegiance to their version of the truth or their addiction to power or ….
I listen to quotes from the writings of Hannah Arendt about being both uprooted and those whom particular societies deem are superfluous. Throughout history humans have been defining and redefining what it means to be human, often as a way of justifying who is to live and who is to die. We have seen this on a mass scale and we see this as a self-inflicted diagnosis as we compare our insides with someone else’s outsides.
At a fund raiser for homeless veterans and later while listening to a veteran talk about living with the aftermath of killing parts of oneself under the guise of killing the enemy I am reminded that PTSD is, in essence, the inability to integrate a particular traumatic experience into the core of one’s being. It is like an induced schizophrenia which leaves one immobilized or frozen.
This week I can choose what I will do with both my accident of birth and the totality of the effects of the decisions I have made in the nearly four scores of this life journey to date. I am not imprisoned except to the extent that I imprison myself.
What can I do? I can show up with laughter, love, intention and be grateful for the gift of a routine. Birds sing. The sun peeks out. My stomach grumbles. A zephyr kisses my exposed flesh. I smile.
Written May 21, 2017
My first thought is that it has been a very routine week. Time with friends, daily gym time, time with clients (on line, phone and in person), writing a daily blog, normal chores, attending fundraisers for organizations for which I am very thankful, and some time for reading and bike riding have filled the days and evenings. Of course, I was also aware of being part of the body politic on a local, state, national and international level. Yet, other than the fact that what each of us does reverberates to touch many and, thus, will have some effect I have not been a very responsible or active citizen this week. In fact, I have not devoted a lot of time and energy tracking the events which are a result of the actions of the overall body politic and which affect the actions of the overall body politic. Other than those seemingly few connections with individuals and organizations which seem committed to exploring the road to a conversation which will accomplish more that breast beating, one is invited to join in the criticism or bashing of those labeled as opponents. While I have no desire to be one of those who contribute to insanity because I hesitate to speak out, I seem unable or is it unwilling to be a someone who beats up others with my version of a truth. That is not to say that I can claim to have freed myself from all passionate, simplistic sound bites or pronouncements of “the truth.”
At the same time, as I was sitting on the deck typing a letter to a man who has now been in prison for many years, I am acutely aware that he, along with many other inmates, refugees and those who are homeless or living in other dangerous situations would love to be enjoying a “routine” life with the freedom to do all that I do or all that I choose not to do. It is very easy to take this freedom for granted.
This morning I was listening to someone talk about the life one has as a result of the accident of birth. I happen to be born in the United States of certain parents who inhabited a certain place in the financial hierarchy and who were possessing of certain characteristics while not having others. I attended a 12-step lead recently in which the speaker talked of his addicted parents and being taught early about surviving as an addict. I read about another person who is both a king of a country and an airline pilot. Yet another person’s accident of birth has him or her bearing witness to the random killing of family members because of someone’s allegiance to their version of the truth or their addiction to power or ….
I listen to quotes from the writings of Hannah Arendt about being both uprooted and those whom particular societies deem are superfluous. Throughout history humans have been defining and redefining what it means to be human, often as a way of justifying who is to live and who is to die. We have seen this on a mass scale and we see this as a self-inflicted diagnosis as we compare our insides with someone else’s outsides.
At a fund raiser for homeless veterans and later while listening to a veteran talk about living with the aftermath of killing parts of oneself under the guise of killing the enemy I am reminded that PTSD is, in essence, the inability to integrate a particular traumatic experience into the core of one’s being. It is like an induced schizophrenia which leaves one immobilized or frozen.
This week I can choose what I will do with both my accident of birth and the totality of the effects of the decisions I have made in the nearly four scores of this life journey to date. I am not imprisoned except to the extent that I imprison myself.
What can I do? I can show up with laughter, love, intention and be grateful for the gift of a routine. Birds sing. The sun peeks out. My stomach grumbles. A zephyr kisses my exposed flesh. I smile.
Written May 21, 2017
RSS Feed