Perfect Moments: catch 22

Today's moment moved like a snail...in slow motion



Today I was in a crowded place, filled with noise. Babies were crying, music was playing, people were laughing. Everything around me was in fast motion. Suddenly, everything slowed down and I was able to see each individual person separate from the others. I studied them all carefully and was able to catch a brief glimpse into each person's story---who they were, why they were there, what kind of life they had lived, what kind of life they might live in the future. It was a very surreal, vivid moment.

Even though it happened in a split second, I thought about it most of the rest of my day---what people were wearing, their features, the way they walked. Each person, innumerably different from the other, yet underneath it all, there are these common threads that keep the stitches of the fabric of humanity intact. Although it, for certain, happens in varying degrees and circumstances, every single person that passed me today has at one point experienced loss, kindness, cruelty, hope, hopelessness, elation, excitement, and a myriad of other states of being and emotions. It was in thinking on this when I felt like I had been given a great gift--the ability to see that there is not one of us that can say, "I am special." Because we all are...but that, in turn, means that we also are not. It is a catch 22. The greatest potential for peace lies in our ability to acknowledge and appreciate our differences while we increase our awareness of and reflection on our "sameness".

Perfect Moments: Pure Luck

Today I read something that completely blew me away. There was an article on Yahoo about the rape of women in the Congo. EVERY DAY (when averaged out) there are 1, 152 women raped (approx. 48 an hour---to read the article see http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20110512/ap_on_re_af/af_congo_rape. Also, see http://www.msmagazine.com/spring2005/congo.asp on what one woman, personally affected by the war has gone through...caution..it is very graphic). And that is a conservative number as many women do not report their rape to someone. This is devastatingly horrific to me, not only as a woman, but as a human. If this doesn't shake you, I don't know what will. I just think to myself, "What in the world can I do?" Sex violence has been a part of war-torn countries for centuries, but I cannot simply accept it as the way things are. Awareness, I think, is the first step. Sharing that awareness with others, the next. After that? Still thinking on that.

Although I realize that picking this article as the "Perfect Moment" of the day seems out of line, let me explain. When I read articles like these about people across the globe, it hurts me. But, in that hurt, I find a reason to be thankful. I am thankful for the hurt because it shows me that I, like all of us, am connected to everyone else....even people a world away. It reminds me of the very basic needs that we all share and makes me think about the hows and whys. How did I happen to be born in such a different condition from these women in the Congo? Why? It was not because I am better than them. It was not because I am from a blessed people and they from a cursed. It is out of pure chance....at least this is my thinking on this. Some may disagree. But, I really do believe that it is possible, had the events of history been different, that I could have been the one born in a country where the rape of women is so commonplace. Coming from this perspective... this belief of the way people are connected, it is extremely difficult for me to support wars, ours or theirs, as in any war, people---PEOPLE!!!--individuals...like me (most, of whom, are innocent) die. Because it could just as easily be me.

Work of Art

Cotton candy-tinted tens
Glitter-specked cheeks
Tresses drenched in toxic fumes
And across her lips? a plastic, painted smile

You went to the school where they taught that if you paint a pretty portrait you can call it art
But art is not the perspective lines on the paper, its the perspective that lies in the painter
Hollow, empty, without soul
No one can feel you when you've encased your body in a shroud of shellack
Oh, how you lack
The understanding of the beauty of real

Barbie queen, instead become a stripper, and strip your skin's dead layers of empty vanity
Get back the core, the woman you were before they sold you on the lie that she was not enough
When you find her once again it will be clear to you that she is lovelier than you remembered
Her mind still strong, and her heart still tender
Because even though she's been buried, with decay and death determined to destroy her
They could not touch her
She would not let them, for she knew that you would come back for her one day
When, both, youth and men went away
And you were left hanging alone in a museum of art that never did sell

I Can't Live Without "ME"

All that really matters is perception. How much understanding you have, how much awareness. How accurate your perceptions are in relation to what really is. That is what matters. I have lived my life with an obsession for validation. I have always depended on others to tell me that I am smart, to tell me that I am beautiful, to tell me that I am a good person. Things I so desire to be. But, even if they tell me these things does that make it so? Is it real? Do these things even matter? It is so limiting. Aren't there much greater things to be? I find myself in a constant state of flux, going back and forth, peace – conflict – peace - conflict --- all of it depending on what feedback I am getting from others around me. But, how can one maintain this way? It is lunacy….madness. There is no external validation that exists that will provide for me the steady peace I seek. Where is the immovable center? To be alone, completely and utterly alone and be content – content with life in a silent room of solitude….until I can get there, I have not truly lived, I have not come to understand anything. When I can get there, then that is when I will be able to give – give entirely. Until I get there, then, all my interactions with people are merely variations of bartering. I give, only to take – to trade. When I can give and be content to never receive in return….that is when, I think, I can say I am a healthy, whole person. That is when I can truly help someone else, when I have understood real compassion.

What kind of friends are we? What kind of spouses are we? What kind of parents are we, if we are constantly seeking to take pieces of our friends, our spouses, our children away to add to our sense of worth? It is painful, deeply hurtful, to think about these things…but necessary. I wrote of the inescapability of selfishness before and on my doubt that any act is done for a purpose apart from self-preservation. Is it really inescapable – is there a way to TRANSCEND the self? Just because I haven’t seen it or experienced it yet…does that mean that it cannot …or that it has not been done?

I think it was Mother Theresa who once said (this is paraphrased), you give until it hurts, and then you continue to give until it stops hurting. I think most of us do the first part, we give until it hurts…but then we stop. We get scared. We are afraid to continue giving because we are afraid of losing ourselves entirely. If we lose ourselves, then, what remains? But, maybe…just maybe…we will find that if we lose what we see as our self…we will find something even better than that self…wholeness, liberation, understanding. I HAVE NO IDEA about any of it! I think it will take me a lifetime to grasp, if that. I hope that I am blessed with enough days on Earth to seek it out…to at least get close. I hope the same for you.