Prayer in Schools

 

Prayer in schools seems to have become an issue.  I don’t understand this.  Public schools do not have corporate prayer , except the “under God” part in the Pledge of Allegiance.  Students are not forced to say it..  If I am aware of or suspect a student is of another faith, I call the parents to better understand their faith and make allowable accommodations as necessary.  As a former teacher of 30+ years I prayed silently every morning before my students entered the room.  Nobody stopped me from doing that.  In Texas, every.school day started with the Pledge of Allegiance, the state Pledge, and a moment of silence.  It was up to the individual to decide what to do with that moment of silence. 

There are private schools where prayer is used, along with some rituals practiced related to the accepted faith of that private school.  I’m okay with that.  What I am not okay with is pushing my or any other faith on people whose faith may differ from mine.

This country was founded because people wanted freedom of religion.  I hope that the people of the United States of America still believe in that.

If you feel your religion requires you to proselytize, go for it.  However, please remember that public schools are educational institutions, not religious institutions, and that proselytizing is not appropriate in public schools.  We educate students of differing faiths, abilities, backgrounds, socioeconomic differences.  Public schools take and accept EVERYBODY.  For me, that is my faith in ACTION.  What’s better than that?

Inclusion

As a long-time educator of students with special needs, I am well aware of what inclusion means in the educational world.  It is to be included, to the highest degree possible, into the mainstream of education.  Public education has come a long way in this regard, compared to when I was a neophyte teacher 40 years ago.  Has the world outside of formal education kept pace?

Since the Individuals with Diasabilities Act (IDEA), the face of education has changed.  In like manner the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) has changed the world we live in.  Public buildings and restrooms must be accessible to those with handicaps, for instance.  But has it really changed daily living challenges for those with differences?  To a degree, yes.

Something caught my eye recently that I feel obligated to share.  The JC Penney company has just earned my business forever.  I will now go out of my way to shop there.  A local JC Penney has announced that it is hosting a special shopping event for those with autism.  The shopping environment will have adapted lighting and sound.  There will be staff educated about autism on hand to assist in any way necessary.  Frankly, I'm tickled pink.

Most people have no idea of what being a caretaker to someone with autism entails.  It is a a 24-hour, 365-days-a-year job.  There are no half-hour lunch breaks, no 15 minute work breaks.  There is no sigh of relief when the weekend comes.  A night out is rare, as few are willing to sit with someone with autism.  

To know that a company is willing to make unrequired accommodations for a segment of society that is most often overlooked or misunderstood is wonderful news.  To learn more, go to inclusion@jcp.com

Dallas

My heart is painfully tattered, rent asunder like my grandmother's old sheets-ragged and torn.  Last night's rampage in Dallas has left me reeling; stunned by man's inhumanity to man.

I cannot pretend to know what it is like to be a person of color living in today's world, but the empathetic pain  I feel is visceral.  Nor do I fully comprehend the valiance of those who vow to serve and protect even in the worst of circumstances, though my gratitude and admiration are deep.

The ugliness, spite, and hatred found in this imperfect world seems to feed on itself, whether it be racism, injustice, politics, religion, sexual orientation,  or just plain evil.  Media is rife with sensationalized reports of all the wrongs in the world, and none of the rights.

Here is what I do know:  I vow to gather up the pieces of my wounded heart, and once again patch it together, piece by ragged piece.  It will be frayed; weaker in some parts than others.  It will be hurt;  it may be frightened, even intimidated.  But I promise you this:  it will spread love.  In thought, word, and deed my heart will beat the drum of love, because at the end of the day, love is what will save us.

You've Got to Be Kidding

Despite the stereotypical view of what it means to be from Texas ( Hi y'all, I wear a cowboy hat and boots when I go out dancin' with my honey, etc.), it is actually quite a diverse state.  I have friends and live amongst people from all walks of life, of many colors, of varying sexual preferences, and a multitude of religions. I considerate myself fortunate, as such people make my world a happier place.

Having said that, I feel I must speak out in support of my Muslim friends, attacked and persecuted of late by many, including some of our dubious Presidential candidates.  The belief that all Muslims support terrorism, and should be variously banned, segregated, avoided, and even terrorized themselves is not only faulty, it is patently ridiculous.  Should all Christians be banned because Timothy McVeigh, a homegrown terrorist raised as a Roman Catholic, decided it was reasonable to bomb a building in Oklahoma City?  Are all upper-middle class white people crazy because John Hinckley, Jr., as upper crust as they come, decided to try to assassinate President Reagan?

You get my drift.  Unwarranted persecution of any kind really ticks me off, but the viciousness and ludicrous nature of the current attacks on Muslims has me stymied.  There are Muslims living in the United States of America that are natural citizens.  There are American Muslim soldiers that have gone to war under the American flag and returned in a coffin.  If one of the cornerstones of our nation is religious freedom, why in the name of all that is holy do some feel this rabid need to persecute?

Edmund Burke said,  " All that is needed for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

I sincerely hope that when it comes time to elect the next President of the United States in November we stand up and do something.

A Blustery Climate

Well, here it is, only the first week of February, and the blustering has just begun.  I, for one, am already weary of the coldness of the climate.

Before you think I'm talking about the weather, let me assure you, I am not.  I am referring to the political climate in our country, and that amongst most candidates hoping to win the office of President of the United States of America.

I rarely discuss politics because I dislike conflict and argument.  There is indeed quite a difference between a discussion, and a discussion that escalates into an argument.  I must say, I've not been hearing much discussion.

Sadly, what I seem to be hearing the most of is rambling rhetoric and blustering buffoonery from many candidates who seem to be running a race where mud-slinging is encouraged, a race that has been misreported and misrepresented by the media and by candidates themselves, a race where candidates pick up their marbles and go home pouting if things don't go their way, a race that seems to be more and more about who's got the money, honey, and a race where a sense of duty and service has been replaced with a desire for power and greed.

I long for the days when we spoke of statesmen not professional politicos, whose desire to run for the highest office in our land stemmed from a sense of duty and responsibility to citizens.  I long for the days when what one had to say held more importance than how much jingle was put in one's pocket.  I long for integrity, decency, honesty-those characteristics that some of our forefathers had.  I long for a political climate that seeks to work together towards the best interests of our country, regardless of a partisan line or personal gain.

Yes, I am probably an impractical idealist.  Dreaming that this country could turn the histrionics down and work towards the common good is a highly improbable reality.  I guess I still am naive enough and have enough hope left to cast my vote once again.

I sincerely hope you do, too.  Don't let apathy or disgust or even the counted-on indifference you may feel sway you.  When it's time, cast your vote.  It's your right, your responsibility, and your integrity that are really hanging on the line, not theirs.

Ethan Couch

Ethan Couch, the teen who killed four people and injured twelve others while driving drunk, and was then sentenced to probation with "affluenza" being cited as a contributing factor, broke the terms of his probation.  He has reportedly been detained along with his mother in Mexico.

There are a number of things about this that I find troubling.  First, anyone with any sense that has ever watched an episode of  "Law and Order" should recognize "affluenza" as synonymous with "flight risk."  Further, if ever there was a child that has not yet had the opportunity to learn that actions have consequences, it would be Ethan Couch.  He has also been denied the opportunity to take personal responsibility for his own actions.  Given his most recent action (ducking out while on probation), it would seem to indicate that the only lessons he has learned thus far are ones that have simply reinforced his lack of personal responsibility.  Sadly, his mother is also culpable, as an enabler and encourager of this lack of responsibility.

In my opinion, not only did the judge who granted him probation miss the boat; she wasn't even standing on the dock.  Granting him probation not only devalued the lives of his victims, it didn't work.  Ethan obviously didn't connect his actions with serious consequences because there weren't any.  The lawyer that sold "affluenza" as a valid reason for avoiding responsibility certainly earned his presumed exorbitant fees.  He might just as well have stood in the pasture selling cow paddies like they were bars of gold.  I also wonder what the sentence might have been had this been a middle- or lower-income progeny of parents that didn't have the big bucks to pay someone to spin hay into gold.

Here's the catch: I think Ethan doesn't want to change.  Why should he?  His sense of entitlement says he doesn't need to.  His lack of personal responsibility says he doesn't want to. The lack of appropriate natural consequences proves both.

There are no winners here.  Until Ethan Couch feels the pain of the consequences of his actions, he has absolutely no incentive to change, even if he wanted to.  Ethan Couch may fit the fabricated definition of a victim of "affluenza," but my observation tells me that perhaps there is a more fitting definition:  sociopath.  I have no knowledge that he has ever been labeled as such, nor even examined by someone with the expertise to do so.  I can, however, refer to Merriam-Webster:

Simple Definition of sociopath

• : someone who behaves in a dangerous or violent way towards other people and does not feel guilty about such behaviour

Pity the man who has been denied a normal life, if you must.  But waste no time in giving him the opportunity to learn that, in the real world, actions do have consequences.  In the real world, negative consequences can be a catalyst for change, if the desire for change is there.

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The Perfect Storm

Halloween is near.  There will be a full moon, and in my part of the world, barometric pressure will be dropping.  For my colleagues still in the teaching trenches, this absolutely constitutes the perfect storm.  Any one of those elements by itself is cause for concern, but this triad is guaranteed chaos, albeit controlled chaos.

Regardless of your school's policy regarding the wearing of costumes, you will undoubtably come across at least two Elsas, several zombies, more than a few witches, and a green Hulk making a run for the trash can to throw up because he's already found and broken in to his mother's stash of Halloween goodies.

You will deal with several irate parents that fall on one side or the other of the "For crying out loud, let kids be kids for once," and "Halloween is a pagan ceremony and should not be brought into our kids' classrooms."  You needn't bother responding that you do not make school policy because said parent is already making his or her way to the principal's office where they will continue ranting.  If your school is really special, you'll have parents with placards protesting in front of your school.

You will not be able to hand out even a token piece of Halloween candy, at least in our state, as it is prohibited.  You might choose to make due with new pencils for everyone, but this is itself a rather fruitless effort as 90% of your students will pull off the erasers on top and chew on them.

If by chance you get a moment to sit at your desk, an activity frowned on by most administrators, don't plan on staying there long, as every third student will come up behind you and yell "BOO!' In an attempt to scare you into taking an unscheduled restroom break.

You will survive.  Even if you have lunchroom duty.  Even if one of your little darlings tries to "trick" you by placing a tack in your chair (veteran teachers know that checking before sitting is a given).
Even when you're asked for the 1,342, 567th time, "Guess what I'm going to be for Halloween?"
You will even survive the pumpkin-painting contest (no knives allowed).

It might behoove you to place a witch hat and a broom in your coat closet, should you be fortunate enough to to have one.  Allow a few glimpses of said objects throughout the day, simply as a matter of self-defense.

Remember that after all is said and done, there is always the possibility of midnight margaritas at Friday's choir practice,

This entry is dedicated to my colleagues still in the teaching trenches.

Saints and Sinners

Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.  Credit that line to whoever came up with it first-it's been rolling around awhile.  I readily admit I have travelled both paths more than once.  That, however, is not my point of discussion.

My first point concerns the people that have crossed my path along the way.  I have met people on either end of the spectrum, and I have to say, the human spirit continues to amaze me.  So many leaning towards the saint side have overcome obstacles I don't think I could have endured.  Just as many nearer the sinners side are finding their way out of a morass of misguided attempts to find a better way.  I'll not name names, but many of you may recognize yourselves.

My second point concerns the path itself.  It would seem to be a continuum with Point A representing the saints, and Point Z representing the sinners.  Are we to be consigned to an existence that volleys us back and forth between the two points in a never-ending cosmic ball game of some sort?

I would most emphatically say indeed not.  Imagine that as you're volleying back and forth, you just happen to land out-of-bounds.  It does happen.  Should you be fortunate enough to be graced with this out-of-bounds existence, pause. Pause. Take it in.  Take it all in.  Open your eyes, your mind, and your heart.  The very air that you breathe sparkles with opportunity.  The people you find yourself in the midst of sprinkle kindness like glitter wherever they go.  Though you may at times venture off this new-found path, you have forever gained the ability to recognize those that have traveled this common road.  A connection is felt, unable to be described with mere words.  You travel in a world of silver-lined clouds full of joy, amongst people that have an infinite capacity for love and mercy.

Take a chance, if one isn't thrown to you first.  Step out-of-bounds.  It's a lovely place to be.

Second Graders Get It

One of the best times of my life teaching ( there, I've outed myself) was the semester I taught second grade in an enclosed classroom.  The enclosed classroom part is important-all of that open-concept classroom stuff is bunk.  The ambient noise distracts everyone, including the teacher.    I digress.

Our principal required each teacher to sit down with her class and develop a list of class rules that everyone agreed upon and felt they could follow.  Having taught in other capacities than a regular classroom for several years prior to this, I did some reconnaissance during the early part of the week to see what the other classes were coming up with.  I saw things like "Raise your hand to talk," "Keep your hands and feet to yourself," "Don't use the pencil sharpener if the teacher is talking," etc.

So, my little charges and I sat down to have a chat about rules.  Maurice raised his hand and said, "Don't talk while the teacher's talking."  I agreed, and said, "Yes, that would be disrespecting my right to teach and others' right to learn, wouldn't it?"  The class agreed that was so.  Serena raised her hand and said "Take care of our books and stuff."  I said,  "Yes, we would want to respect our own and others' property."  Ricky raised his hand and said,  "No fighting or cuss words."  "Yes, that would definitely be disrespectful," I responded.  We went on at this for some length, until the class had pretty much run out of rules.

I then reviewed for them all the rules they had come up with, and the one thing that all those rules had in common.  Respect.  I saw several "aha!" faces. ( Teachers live for "aha!" faces).  I then said that our class really only needed one rule and that rule was respect.  So, up on the laminated chart that said "Rules" I put the number one, and next to that I wrote the word respect.  That left a whole lot of blank space that did get some odd looks when visitors happened by.

You know what?  My second graders got it.  If  on the rare occasion they didn't get it, they didn't pitch a fit, they asked about it.  As an example:  I had called the children to the carpet for a group lesson.  One boy didn't come.  He was visibly upset.  Ricky raised his hand and said, "Miss, Tony is disrespecting you.  He didn't come to the carpet when you said to!"  I said, "Ricky, do you think Tony can hear me from his desk?"  He acknowledged that was so.  I asked if he was disturbing others.  He acknowledged that he was not.  I then said,  "Well, if he's not disrespecting my teaching, or anybody else's learning, including his own, shouldn't I respect his need for a little time to get himself together?  He'll come over when he's ready."  Incident solved.

So here's my question:  if second graders can get it, why can't we?

Hope

I am so weary of the negativity that seems to permeate our society these days.  It seems that no matter where you are or which way you turn, unless you are purposefully looking for the positive, you are bound to be bitten on the backside by the negative.  I no longer waste time wondering about those that would hide pettiness behind piety.  I have no tolerance for those that would drape patriotism over pandering politicking.  To state that racism is still an issue is beyond obvious-I want to hear practical, workable solutions.

I have stopped listening to the news stations.  I can get news from other sources.  Perhaps mine is a head-in-the-sand attitude, but I have come to believe that their sole purpose is to glorify and publicize all of the negativity going on in the world.  They may throw in a gratuitous "feel good" sound-bite at the end, but it doesn't undo the damage inflicted.  I truly feel depressed and somewhat hopeless when I do listen to the news, so as a means of self-preservation, I've banned it for myself.

I have come to believe that perhaps one of the purposes of my life is to be a conduit.  I have, over the years, been a conduit of many things: at one time, chaos; knowledge, calm; some might say wisdom, and I would hope joy and love.  Most especially, I don't want to lose what some might say is a child-like belief  and the ability to to be a conduit of that thing called hope.  I want to be a conduit of hope for others; I want people to know that you can overcome adversity, that resilience does exist.  I want people to know that if they care enough to work for it, they can effect change.  I want people to know that when you strip it all away, we're all pretty much the same, with the same basic wants and needs.  I want people to know that there is still hope for humanity as long as humanity still has hope.

South Carolina and Joe

There are really no words that can truly express the tragedy that recently occurred in South Carolina at the hands of one young man.  Travesty.  Cold-blooded murder.  The chill that I feel down to my bones and the knot I have in my gut have not gone away.  While I grieve for those mercilessly slain, I also can't get Joe out of my mind.

As a public school teacher of 30+ years, most of those spent teaching those who marched to the beat of a different drummer, I'd seen it all.  I'd been cussed at, spat on, slugged, dodged a desk or two, been bitten, found myself knee-deep in the middle of a riot-you name it, I'd been there.  I stayed because I believed I made a difference.  I never gave up on the worst of the worst-in fact, when they let me, I'd put an arm around them and welcome them.

Then I met Joe.  He was about eleven when I met him.  I wasn't afraid, but I did feel immediately ill-at-ease. Later that week, I had a chance to review Joe's file.  I learned that his dad died drunk when he rolled his truck; that his mother was killed when he was an infant in a drug deal gone bad.  He'd gone through withdrawal as a baby.  He was currently in the custody of his paternal grandmother, an already overburdened woman ill-equipped to deal with him.  To the best of our ability and to the extent of our limited resources we tried to get help for Joe.  Medical, psychological, psychiatric, social services-you name it.  As is the way of many inner-city children, Joe was with us only for about two months.

I thought of Joe occasionally over the years, and when I did, I thought of him in terms I had never applied to another child:  "This boy is beyond repair."

One day about six years later, I read about Joe in the newspaper.  He had beaten his girlfriend until she was dead.

I don't know what the answers to children like Joe are.  I know there were clear signs that problems were there, and I know that many people and entities tried to address them.  And I know it wasn't enough.  What haunts me still is the tiny small seed that was planted in me by Joe-the fear that for some very, very few, perhaps there just isn't enough.

Second Chances

Having been the beneficiary of many, I believe in second chances.  What a different world we would live in were it not for second chances.  Were it not for the divine gift of second chances, I would have been stone cold dead years ago.

I often think of Easter as symbolic of second chances.  There is the dark morass of crucifixion, followed by a sunrise of hope on Easter morning.  That is the Easter everyone talks about.  There is, I believe, a second kind of Easter that some people are fortunate enough to experience, a personal one, a resurrection of the soul.  These are people whose lives have been transformed by love.  God, in his magnificent omnipotence, takes a broken life and replaces it with a spirit of renewal.

Margery Williams' well-loved children's book, The Velveteen Rabbit, poignantly illustrates the renewal that comes through love. 

“Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'

'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'

'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.” 

Love brings the kind of renewal that effects changes.  Easter's message of hope and renewal ensures that there will be new life, one that promises to be profound, yet not without some pain as one progresses.  This, then, is a second chance at having a new life.  Those that have been graced with second chances, as Ms. Williams so sweetly illustrates, " become Real."

Doing the Limbo

When I was a kid, the Limbo was a funny song that had a ridiculous dance to go with it.  Adults and children both would bend backwards, hands not touching the ground, and try to skim under an ever-lowering pole without touching it.  Funny to listen to, to look at, to do.  As I grew older, I was taught that limbo was a sort of holding cell between heaven and hell, a place where one bided one's time until somebody, usually God, made a decision as to where you were to land.

These days, I think of limbo as a space of frustration, having gone through one doorway but not yet entered another.  It's been said it's hell in the hallway, and that I do believe.

Limbo is a state of suspended animation sitting on a foundation of powerlessness.  There is nothing that can be done at the present time to alter one's position in the quagmire of the unknown.  I suppose that, then, is the crux of it.  I want to take charge, make something happen or not happen.  I'm a pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps kind of girl.  I get things done.  I get results.  Limbo puts the kibosh on all of that.

There's the rub, dearies.  Reality dawns.  You've never really been in charge.  All of that business may have served you well in the past, but the idea of truly being in charge of anything has been an illusionary safety net.

When limbo knocks you on your backside, you hit the ground hard.  Taking inventory of what is and is not, the realization that faith and a nickel is about all you've got in your pocket, and a nickel doesn't buy you much of anything, peace of mind in particular.

Holding fast to that faith, you know that you will be able to deal with what comes, whatever that might be.  It's still hell in the hallway, but perhaps it's not quite as dusty and dingy there as you first perceived.  It's certainly not as lonely.  The Light still shines.

Racism

     It's an ugly word, isn't it?  Worse, it represents a behavioral mindset that still exists in this day and time.  What business do I, as an older white woman, have in addressing this issue, having never personally experienced racism to the degree that others have?  It is my business because I know it still exists and to act as if it doesn't is wrong.
     A short example, if I may:  I was a public school teacher for many years.  My heart has been touched and broken many times over by various things I have witnessed, but none more so than an incident that happened relatively recently.  I had amassed a large personal library of books over the years, books of all kinds for all levels.  The 5th grade class next to mine had a weekly service project that required each class member to select a book from the library during their scheduled period to read aloud to a 1st grader once a week.
     Apparently, Lila had forgotten to check out a book to read to her first grader.  She stood in my doorway, and said politely, "Excuse me, ma'am?  May I please borrow one of your books to go read?  I promise I'll bring it right back."  My response was, "Of course you can."  Yet still, she hesitated to come in my room and pick out a book.  Lila then said,  "You trust me?"  My response was, "Of course I do.  I know you'll bring it back."  Well, that wasn't enough for Lila.  She asked,  "Why do you trust me?"  I replied, "You haven't given me any reason not to."  With that, Lila bounded into my room, snatched up a book, and hurried off to do her service work with a big smile on her face.
     As for me, I sat at my desk and cried.  I understood what Lila was really asking when she asked why I trusted her.  What her question really was meant, "Why are you, a white lady, going to trust me, a black girl, with anything?"  It broke my heart to know that an eleven year old black girl has to grow up in this day and time thinking and feeling that she didn't have a right to another person's trust just because of her skin color.  Still.  Have we really made substantial progress against racism if a child has been taught she's not going to be trusted because of the color of her skin?  I think we have miles to go.
     I am not going to comment on the recent events that occurred in Ferguson, Missouri.  I wasn't there.  I didn't see what happened.  I wasn't on the grand jury, and I didn't hear the evidence presented.  It would be presumptuous of me to make any kind of comment.  What I do know is that no child should have his or her trust brought into question just because of the color of skin they have. I do know right from wrong, and that is wrong.  I have no one-size-fits-all answer to the atrocity of racism.  I only know that when it confronts me, even subtly, as it did with Lila, I can make a difference, if only a small one.

Faith

Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark.   -Rabindranath Tagore

There are so many definitions for faith.  I believe it is up to an individual to come to their own conclusion as to what faith is.  I can say today that I do have faith, strong faith, acquired when I became willing to believe that it did, in fact, exist.  This willingness to believe was acquired at first through observation of the faith that others had.  The more I witnessed this, the more I came to believe, that I, too, have had experiences that have allowed me to sprout some faith of my own.

Some dear friends are currently walking through challenges that might cause others to doubt that having faith under such circumstances is even possible.  I was witness recently to the heartfelt truth that it is indeed possible.  Despite grave circumstance, one of these friends spoke only of the grace of God and faith in God's divine omnipotence.  I don't know that my faith is as strong as this, but I do know that because this person was able to share the extent to which faith can reach, I have hope that I would be able to do the same in similar circumstances.  Through the selfless act of  sharing a difficult personal journey, the message of hope and faith was extended to many, myself included.

Today I know that faith is the courage that walks through fear.  I know that faith is found in believing in and accepting God's omnipotence.  I know that faith holds steady during a storm.  I know that faith is the belief that dark clouds hold silver linings if you're willing to look for them.  I know that when faced with difficult circumstances, it is possible to wade through whatever muck life presents and reach the other side. I know. 

Bitterness

"Sorrow on another's face often looks like coldness, bitterness, resentment, unfriendliness, apathy, disdain, or disinterest when it is, in truth, purely sadness."  -R. E. Goodrich

My brother died a bitter, sorrowful man.  It had not occurred to me until I came across the quote above  that bitterness and sorrow are one and the same.  He held tight to his bitterness, like a drowning man to a buoy, as if  it was the only thing keeping him alive.  I know he thought it was.  In fact, that buoy was not his savior-it only prolonged his demise.  Disdain and resentment were his bedfellows, too, for they allowed him to build walls that kept him isolated and alone, walls that shielded him from truths he could not bear to see. To see might require that he take action to change-I believe the mere thought of that terrified him.  His death was a lonely one; a sad man isolated behind a locked door and drawn curtains, incapable of letting go of his bitterness because to do so would require change-something he was unwilling or unable to undertake.  I often wonder what his life might have been like had he been able and willing to tear those walls down.

When I am faced with bitterness now, I try to see it in a different light.  I realize it is the mask behind which a deep sorrow lies, so deep that the one in which it resides may not even be aware.  I am painfully aware that walls built to keep others out can only be torn down by those that built them; few are willing to undertake such a daunting task.  To do so might require a change in thinking and a willingness to be vulnerable-things I know cause most people to cringe.

I have on occasion, been caught off guard by bitterness, and my default reaction is to tilt at windmills,  to attempt to tear down walls, to rail at bitterness in an effort to break through.  However, I am slowly but surely coming to the realization that to attempt the above is not only not my job, it is an exercise in futility.  If someone clutches tightly to what they believe is essential to their very survival,  it is not within my power to unfurl their fingers one by one.

What is within my power is to allow each person to walk his own path without unwanted intervention or interference from me. I can bear witness to their sorrow without having the illusion that I possess any power to change it.  In remembering that, and continuing to practice, and I do mean practice that, maybe someday my default when faced with bitterness will become one of love and tolerance.

Loss

"Don't grieve.  Anything you lose comes round in another form."    -Rumi

Usually, I consider Rumi to be kind of a cool dude.  I will grant that perhaps he is right, and that losses may somehow come back around in another form.  I think I may have experienced that on occasion-rare occasion.  However, I really think old Rumi missed the boat on grieving.  I think grief is part of the passage of healing.  All of that pain, remorse, regret, sorrow-cannot and will not be denied.  I believe that to deny those kinds of feelings is tantamount to throwing yourself under the train.

There are all kinds of loss:  the loss of the first tooth, the loss of a job, the loss of a loved one, the loss of a possession, the loss of that first breath of a baby just born-ad infinitum.  What they all seem to have in common is that they leave a space; a space that yearns to be somehow filled.  In some cases, that seems to take care of itself-the baby tooth is replaced by a permanent one; the old job is replaced by a better one.  But there are losses that cross your heart like fault lines-they become cracks that are never fully filled.

I have found that one can easily fall into those unfilled cracks, sinking down into a blackness that appears to never end.  I have also been fortunate enough to have been pulled out of that blackness just long enough to realize that unfilled cracks have another purpose-it is through some of these cracks that light glimmers in.  The fault lines still cross your heart, yes, but climbing out of the blackness is akin to the process of grieving-it is something one must wade into to get to the other side.

As to the other side-things are not the same-they can't be.  The universe has been rendered different forever because of that loss.  The light's glimmer will eventually come through, and the healing can begin.

So, Rumi, old man, I guess we will just have to agree to disagree on this one.  I don't know that every loss comes round in another form, but I do know that those whose hearts have fault lines filled with light are not lost-they are the beacons that lead the way for those still lost in the dark.

Angels

"No, I never saw an angel, but it is irrelevant whether I saw one or not.  I feel their presence around me."   -Paulo Coelho

Angels have been on my mind lately.  The word angel has several origins, the most common being the Late Latin "angelus," meaning "messenger from God."  I've found that as I go through a day, however mundane, I usually have an angel drop by.  

My angels are sometimes visible, in human form, as when someone says just exactly what I needed to hear at that very moment, whether I knew it or not.  The hairs on the back of my neck tingle and travel down my arms to form goosebumps. It is hard to ignore something as visceral as that.

I find that angels are also present in forms I can't describe.  Events are orchestrated and outcomes happen for the best through no machinations of my own, even though I sometimes only see those in hindsight.  I have felt angels' guidance in times of great difficulty, when the path I am to follow is so crystal clear it might as well be a yellow brick road.  When I am graced with a certainty too strong to be ignored, I have learned to follow.

Would that I had the ability to conjure up a Bean-friendly angel whenever I felt the need for guidance, life would sail smoothly along.  It doesn't seem to work that way.  I am graced with angels on some other-worldly timeline I can't begin to comprehend.  While it would be nice to have my own personal angel on call as needed, I've found that expecting or trying to force that to be a frustrating exercise in futility.

What I can do is try to recognize and acknowledge angels' presence in my life, and try to heed the messages I am given when they come.  It is as simple, and as complicated as that.  I try to maintain a state of readiness and willingness, and then get out of the way so I hear the message instead of the jumbled cacophony of my own mind. 

The Darkness Within

" There is no great genius without a mixture of madness."  -Aristotle

The passing of Robin Williams, one of the great comedic actors of our time, leaves a hole in our hearts.  My sympathy goes out to his family and loved ones.  Please know this:  Suicide is one of the most selfish acts man can commit against another.  Know also that when one is in that place of darkness, rational thought does not exist.  His thought was only on trying to stop the crushing, air-sucking pain of trying to live with major depression.  It doesn't mean that love for others didn't exist, only that he'd lost sight of anything but pain.

Unfortunately, suicide does lie amongst my many areas of expertise, as does alcoholism and the addictive personality.  Having been in the uncomfortable position of trying to explain to a distraught mother that her troubled son, would, not might, but would, turn to self-medication with drugs and alcohol should she not seek help for him now, at the age of ten, and then being proved right five years later is not an experience I would wish on anyone.

Mental health care in our country is a sad joke.  Too little access available to the few that can afford its exorbitant costs -the same old story.  It is no wonder that so many try to alleviate their pain with drugs and alcohol, not realizing that those temporary solutions only exacerbate their pain.  Once sucked into the downward spiral of addiction, few are able to climb their way out, even if they want to.  Many find the struggle too difficult; destined for a slow and painful death.

For alcoholics and addicts that have found a solution -be ever vigilant.  The late Phillip Seymour

Hoffman, with years of sobriety under his belt would always answer, when asked to define or describe himself, would answer simply:  " I am a heroin addict."  Despite a number of years in remission, he did succumb to the disease of addiction in the end.

I so regret and mourn the passing of Mr. Williams.  Probably one of the fortunate few who could afford access to quality mental health care, his spiral down continued, no doubt in spite of supportive loved ones and access to experts in the field of addiction and depression.  Unfortunately, it seems that many caught in the throes of despair are able to make it look tolerable on the surface, and in fact, seem compelled to do so, as mental illness in this country still carries a stigma that keeps so many from getting the help needed before it's too late.

I truly mourn the passing of Mr. Williams, and hope that his spirit has found a place of eternal light and perpetual peace.  My heart goes out to his loved ones.  I understand your pain.  To lose one capable of bringing joy to so many, knowing that he was unable to find that that joy for himself seems almost unbearable.  But bear it you must.  Speak for him, as he can no longer speak for

himself.  Be that beacon that sheds light on a disease too long stigmatized and kept in the shadows.

Tolerance

"Tolerance implies no lack of commitment to one's own beliefs. Rather it condemns the oppression or persecution of others." - John Fitzgerald Kennedy

Things have become somewhat heated in my neck of the woods lately.  As a border state, Texas has become a hotbed of debate over "The Children."  The influx of thousands of unaccompanied illegal immigrant children has folks stirred up.  It is a complicated, complex situation that likely cannot be addressed quickly or easily.  There are notable differences in beliefs and strongly vocal opinions about what should be done.  That is not what I am concerned with in this entry.

My concern lies with the apparent lack of tolerance for these differing beliefs and opinions.  There has been a spewing, volcanic plethora of mud-slinging, name-calling, and downright ranting over differences in beliefs and opinions.  Far too many people are freely and righteously affording themselves the opportunity to express their stance on the issue without extending the same courtesy to others.  Tolerance is, at its heart, one of the concepts upon which the United States of America was founded, yet it seems to be quickly disappearing as far as this issue is concerned.

Yes, this is a situation that needs to be addressed.  Can we not approach resolution with compassion?  Can we not freely discuss this issue in an effort to find solutions rather than irrationally and rudely shutting down any opinion other than one's own?   Can we not afford to include common courtesy in the expression of opinion?  Can we not fairly represent varying opinions in their entirety without resorting to sensational sound bites?  Can we not behave like adults rather than immature children?  Can we not seek to find common ground without oppression?  If we cannot, then we are, in effect, not seeking solutions but creating more problems.  Opinions become meaningless if no action is taken to resolve differences with grace, dignity, compassion, and yes - tolerance.