You Can Never Speak Up Too Often for the Love of All Thing

You can never speak up too often for the love of all things.
For every living thing or natural place on earth, there is someone
who wants to kill or destroy it;
Therefore, you can never speak up too often for the love of all things.

These families of geese that I watch as I sit beside the pond,
Two pairs, four adults, with their clutches of downy goslings
who are carefully sheltered between the
tall-necked, attendant goose and gander,

There is a hunter who yearns to kill them,
Who feels entitled to his killing of them,
Who would be outraged if you implied he had no right to
gun them down in season.

This pond, set like an opal in the precious ring of earth,
wind sparkling among shaded forests of hemlock and pine,
There is someone waiting to race his motorboat across it,
knifing the soft skin of its silence,
leaking oil into its pearl waters;
develop it, build beaches,
bring in crowds with boomboxes surging across
macadamized parking lots;

Therefore, you can never speak up too often for the love of all things.

By Paul R. Fleischman, M.D. 

Becoming a Boulder Mover!

The story is told of a village in a high valley that had only one road access in and out.  The road was on a steep hilly side of the valley.  At one narrow point in the road, lay a half buried boulder which made passage difficult for both wagon and foot traffic. 

And those that would pass by would curse the boulder for its existence in their comings and goings.   Yet in the hurried busy lives of each, none would do more than give it lip service by complaining of the problems it created for them personally. 

Then early one morning with the rising of the sun, an old man of the village could be seen leaving town, pulling a cart loaded with a shovel, a pick, and other tools.  No one had any idea what he might be doing.  The day passed and as the sun set, the old man returned into town without saying a word to anyone. 

It wasn’t until the next day that word began to spread that the boulder in the road was gone and travel was found to be much easier.  Someone had dug around this large rock and had found a way to push it off to the side of the road.  No easy feat for anyone.  With the hole already filled in, it was hard to even know that a boulder had once occupied that place in the middle of the road.  Everyone appreciated the absence of this obstacle in their lives but with the busy pace of daily living, it was soon forgotten. 

Each day, there are boulders all around us that impede our lives and the lives of those we meet and know.  Boulder Movers selflessly work for the greater good of all and the better good of the one.  And the commitment of such wholesome acts leads to peace within; a most noble goal to have in day to day living.

How does anyone take up the path of a Boulder Mover?  It starts with a right understanding of how to eliminate suffering in our own lives and the lives of those around us.  It is not enough to abstain from committing unwholesome acts that hurt or harm others.  With compassion, we need to see the struggles of others and help when we can.  Right understanding and right thinking leads us to right actions. 

For me it started by recognizing how many Boulder Movers there already are in daily life.  I began to see the kind wordless acts that helped others through their day.  Soon, I realized that many people go to work for more than to just make a buck.  It was their effort at boulder moving for others.  And I was often the beneficiary.  As I picked a pear for my breakfast, I tried to imagine and count how many people it took to make my breakfast possible.  It seems infinite; or at the very least, an expression of the Infinite.

So, when I go to the grocery store and park in a nearby handicap space made possible by some Boulder Mover, I get out and watch for someone who is loading their car and ask if I can return their cart for them.  And as the “bagger” bags our food, I often ask if they have had their “Card Validated”.  Because in my book, they really are special.

I’m OK but You Suck!

Not long ago I was in a used book store looking through the self-help section when I ran across a title that had me laughing out loud.  It was, “I’m OK but You Suck!”.  I think it is a take off from the classic, I’m OK, Your OK.  For me, it speaks to that human weakness of righteous indignation.

Americans like to be righteously indignant.  I like to be righteously indignant.  We go to movies where we can be sympathetic with the hero that has been done wrong and is righteously indignant.  All the Rambo movies start with a guy that is quiet, soft spoken, minding his own business and is wronged.  And then heaven help the town that crosses him because he is coming back to wreck havoc, mayhem and retribution where ever he chooses. 

We have entire TV programs that “review” on-going court cases that point out the outrageous behavior of others and we can then go ballistic in a half dozen directions pointing the blame and holding others at fault in soooo many ways.

I have to be on notice to NOT become attached to such aversions in daily living.  It is easy to get sucked into other people’s misery.  And then I too am miserable.  My peace and happiness then eludes me.

I have been visiting an inmate in prison who is probably in for life.  Of course, there is plenty of drama drama in daily prison life where a pod may house a hundred or more men.  Yet he has found a way to rise above this misery.  When the perception of a wrong is seen or heard, he tells himself or the person he is talking to, “Not My Story.” 

We can have compassion for others travails without getting emotionally caught up.  It is called detached compassion.   This is crucial to be able to purify the mind and end our own suffering and quit spreading the misery to others. 

Now for my “True Confessions” story.  When the Geo Zimmerman/Trayvon Martin story broke, I was incensed.  I read everything I could, which fed my indignation.  I even wrote to the mayor and chief of police.  Looking back, I can see I was miserable and I shared my misery with the people around me.  This negative self feeding closed loop soon spilled into other parts of my life. 

I found I had to see this with greater kindness that soon allowed me to treat my own shortfalls with similar kindness.  I did myself no good thing in choosing to be righteously indignant.  I found I had to develop a balanced mind to make good choices in daily living.  And that meant letting go of judgment.

Bottom line:  I figured out that I am really OK because You really don’t SUCK.

Never Let a Woman in Your Life!

While eating dinner tonight, I realized that Prof. Higgins from My Fair Lady and I have a lot in common.  The lyrics came back to me as I reviewed my day.

I'm an ordinary man,Who desires nothing more than an ordinary chance, to live exactly as he likes, and do precisely what he wants... An average man am I, of no eccentric whim, Who likes to live his life, free of strife, doing whatever he thinks is best, for him, Well... just an ordinary man... BUT, Let a woman in your life and your serenity is through, 

Let me explain.  Recently I have been experiencing a lot of elbow and tendon pain which makes it difficult to put on my shirt and pants.  So I have relied on my dear wife to start my day right with helping me dress.  This has led her to choosing what I wear so that it is also color coordinated.  Hmmm.

Toweling off was also difficult so I let her in on my shower routine.  My life is my own until I step out of the shower and then the “support staff” takes over. 

Now for my error on even a larger scale.  I recently remarked, “Honey, would you help me soap up with that loofah stick for my armpits?” .  It felt like an innocent enough request.  And all went well but the next morning, she was ready to do it again.  Good grief, soap two days in a row.  By day four she had it down to a routine.  And blabbering about how this is what “we” should do every day.  Because, after all, all I have to do is just stand there. 

This is day five and the auto-body wash system is now a tradition in full force.  I stand in the shower with my eyes closed due to the enormous amount of suds on my face and turn slowly as the loofah scrubs me from top to bottom and stem to stern.  Being a woman dedicated to doing thorough work, I wait and stand silently while Dr. Bronner soap etches its way into the very skin and pores of my entire body.   And I am certain that my summer tan is also quickly eroding.  Inexplicably, I am looking whiter or brighter for some not understood reason.

By day five, I smell clean, I mean really clean.  There is no male scent left on me anywhere on my entire body.   I am certain that if I was to get lost in the woods that the search and rescue hounds would not be able to pick up my trail.  Just give them a bar of soap and hope for the best. The natural flora of my body doesn’t stand a chance against this newly adopted family tradition. 

By the time I am dressed and sitting in the front room glowing with cleanliness, I feel like I squeak when reaching for a book.  And the lyrics to Professor Higgins come back to haunt me.

Let a woman in your life, and you're up against a wall, make a plan and you will find,that she has something else in mind, and so rather than do either you do something else that neither likes at all  

Oh never let a woman in your life.

Thanks Honey, you really are special.

Lyrics to I'm an Ordinary Man.

The Bridge Builder

An old man, going a lone highway,
Came at the evening cold and gray
To a chasm vast and deep and wide
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The rapids held no fears for him.
But he turned when safe on the other side
And built a bridge to span the tide.

“Old man,” cried a fellow pilgrim near,
“You’re wasting your time in building here.
Your journey will end with the closing day;
You never again will pass this way.
You have crossed the chasm deep and wide;
Why build you this bridge at even-tide?”

The builder lifted his old gray head.
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There follows after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This stream, which has been as naught to me,
To that fair youth may a pitfall be.
He too must cross in the twilight dim —
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him.”

Being Validated

Laughing in the face of Illness

Smiles and laughter can be disarming.  I recently went to my eighth medical specialist in five months.  This one is a pain specialist.  It is a bit disheartening to repeat again and again my challenges.  They just refer you on.

But this one felt different.  I think it was her smile and laughter as we talked about the story line and how ridiculous it can get to be.  No polarity, no duality, no two sides, just two people as one, laughing and smiling about illness.  My wife and I left the office lighter.  And the medication?  Well, I think it was her smile.

As we got in the car in the parking lot, I noted an older couple also coming out.  The husband was moving ahead to a large red pickup truck.  His wife was pushing a walker for stability.  As he opened her door and I saw how high the seat was, I told my wife, “I wonder how she will ever get in?”  But with a quick turning her back to the seat, he lifted her up and set in  the truck in the blink of an eye. 

  We were amazed at how smoothly this older couple worked together.  My wife rolled the window down and hollered a big “WOW” to the husband.  He came over to the car smiling and remarked.  “I hate to admit this but that is about the only time I get to have my hands on her.”  We all laughed and turned to go home.  Laughter in the face of illness really is the best approach.  And I met some really special people today. 

Getting Blood Out of a Turnip

Recently I returned to a blood draw lab to gift them with a box of chocolates.  That is because I think they are under appreciated.  They are not always people’s favorite person to see.  I imagine them in the back office humming the song from Annie, It’s a Hard Luck Life for Us, just like the orphans girls in the musical.  Being a little “needle-shy”, I can relate to others and I work at appreciating their efforts on my behalf.

Recently I had some blood drawn.  It went from a “long nite in jail” to humorous.  Let me explain.  When we arrived at the lab, the waiting room was full.  But people zipped in and zipped out.  It cleared pretty fast.  Beth (my wife) handed our fistful of orders and they prepared for my draw.  I went to the draw room and saw a string of bar code labels that fell to the floor.  23 vials, 4 more bottles of blood, 2 urinalysis, 1 sputum and the need for two pokes.  One from each arm.  Oh boy.

The MRI from the day before had previously required a contrast medium therefore an IV.  That did not go well.  It required four pokes and re enforcement of techies.  They found one good line so I kept the elastic on it all night to protect it for today.  Wrong.   That collapses it and didn’t help anything. So today was long and slow.  I started in with my practiced breath meditation and finally resorted to silently singing “Give said the little stream.”   Hoping that would aid in the flow of blood.  It took over a half hour.  Soon my tech ask another tech to help her.  That sounded like déjà vu from yesterday.  Hmmm, guess I am a high maintenance client.

Now for the reason why I laughed all the way home.   It was what Beth told me after we left.  She was sitting alone in the waiting room when it began to fill up.  All the chairs are full and no workers are out front and it is dead silent.  People are impatient and must know how quickly this process should move along.   They sensed a gridlock somewhere.  One left the office, one went for a smoke outside and another lady finally spoke up.  “What’s going on?  What is the problem here?”  “Have they gone to lunch?  It is only eleven o’clock?” 

They start counting heads and Beth finally speaks up.  “I am not here for a blood draw.  I am waiting for my husband who is in the back.”  There was a long pregnant silence as everyone processed that information.  Then a client who identified herself as “Debbie” responded, “Then maybe your husband is the problem.”  Again silence.  Beth nods her head in agreement.  Maybe her husband is the problem.  Not a comfortable thing to admit to perfect strangers and to Debbie.

Again, Debbie speaks up.  “I think you should check on your husband.  He may be in trouble and they are not telling you.”  So Beth quickly gets up and goes back to my drawing room.  She sees all the blood samples scattered across the counter that the two tech’s are trying to take out of my right arm and returns to the waiting room to report the 23 vials and 4 bottles of blood they are extracting from both arms.  And Deb, with an air of authority responded,  “That’s ridiculous, no doctor should take that much blood from anyone.”  Another sympathetic soul asked, “Will your husband be able to walk and go home?”  There is then talk amongst the waiting room if they all should now go back and check on me.  Hmmmmm  how thoughtful.

With that, Beth retreated back to the blood-drawing room to wait for me, thinking that was the safest place to be.  By that time, things were nearly complete and Beth quickly shuttles me through the waiting area out to the parking lot before the restless natives could say any more.  Hats off to all the medical staffs everywhere who work to care for us. 

You are Special.