"We need pain to alert us for what needs attention. We have been treating it as some kind of enemy to our cheerfulness."
First Nobel Truth: suffering. If you want to be enlightened, face suffering. ~ Joanna Macy
Sunday, January 28, 2018
embrace suffering
life has not forgotten you (or me)
So you must not be frightened if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen; if a restiveness, like light and cloudshadows, passes over your hands and over all you do. You must think that something is happening with you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall. Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any miseries, or any depressions? For after all, you do not know what work these conditions are doing inside you.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
man's search for meaning
"When a man finds that its his destiny to suffer, he will have to eagerly accept his suffering as his task; his single and unique task. He will have to acknowledge the fact that even in suffering he is unique and alone in the universe. No one can relieve him of his suffering or suffer in his place. His unique opportunity lies in the way in which he bears his burden."
--Viktor Frankl "Man's Search for Meaning"
Tuesday, January 02, 2018
I miss my dad
My dad had a twinkle in his eye most of the time. The twinkle only left when he was angry, which he was not often in relation to his kids. Dad adored all his kids. He spoiled all of us to the best of his ability.
I miss my kid, sure, but this, my first attempt (a not very successful one, imho) at having a holiday season, I missed my dad. I miss being adored by him, even when I had nothing going on to elicit his adoration. I miss how much he loved all his kids.
A favorite story about my dad. . .
When my sister was an infant, born when I was 14, I took care of her more waking hours than either of our parents. Mom was already doing her best to leave the marriage and her children by working a part time job which paid her college tuition, taking college credits. She only minded my sister and toddler baby brother when I was at school and mom took off as soon as I was on child and dinner shopping prep duty. She used me like an indentured servant and yeah, I sometimes feel that anger cropping up like a little vomit sneaking up my throat and then subsiding.
Dad came home at an unexpected time. I had been getting ready to feed my baby small baby sister. She was maybe four or five months old. I was going to feed her a jar of baby stew, baby food stew, so maybe she was sixteen or seventeen months. My sister was a very late talker so I mix up her age. She was not talking but baby sis did not really talk until age four or five.
And, and I share this with chagrin, I was just going to feed my dearly loved baby sister, who I had longed and prayed for all of my fourteen years until she was born and survived infantcy, a room temperature jar of baby food. Dad came in, saw me grab that jar of baby food, saw me head to the high chair with my sister in it, saw I was not going to heat it up.
Gruffly dad said "Would you like to eat cold beef stew?" Of course baby food beef stew was all goopy. Then dad said "give her to me" and he held her, cooed to her, while he got out a saucepan, filled it with water, slowly simmer the water to gently eat up that baby food stew. And then fed her.
As he fed her he gently chided me, and also called out to my bros who were supposed to help with the baby but never did. Dad was always working two jobs in those days so he didn't know much about who did what and, in 1967, baby feeding and diaper changing was girl work.
I never fed my sister baby food that should be served warm ever again without heating it up. It took only a few minutes in a pan of heating water, as dad had shown me. I forgive myself because I was a kid myself, with school work, neverending housework, other children to ten (Tom and Dave, toddlers when sis was a baby), endless diapers.
I so loved seeing my dad's tenderness towards my sister Margaret. I so loved Margaret. I so love them both now one alive, one lost to me.
I miss my kid, sure, but this, my first attempt (a not very successful one, imho) at having a holiday season, I missed my dad. I miss being adored by him, even when I had nothing going on to elicit his adoration. I miss how much he loved all his kids.
A favorite story about my dad. . .
When my sister was an infant, born when I was 14, I took care of her more waking hours than either of our parents. Mom was already doing her best to leave the marriage and her children by working a part time job which paid her college tuition, taking college credits. She only minded my sister and toddler baby brother when I was at school and mom took off as soon as I was on child and dinner shopping prep duty. She used me like an indentured servant and yeah, I sometimes feel that anger cropping up like a little vomit sneaking up my throat and then subsiding.
Dad came home at an unexpected time. I had been getting ready to feed my baby small baby sister. She was maybe four or five months old. I was going to feed her a jar of baby stew, baby food stew, so maybe she was sixteen or seventeen months. My sister was a very late talker so I mix up her age. She was not talking but baby sis did not really talk until age four or five.
And, and I share this with chagrin, I was just going to feed my dearly loved baby sister, who I had longed and prayed for all of my fourteen years until she was born and survived infantcy, a room temperature jar of baby food. Dad came in, saw me grab that jar of baby food, saw me head to the high chair with my sister in it, saw I was not going to heat it up.
Gruffly dad said "Would you like to eat cold beef stew?" Of course baby food beef stew was all goopy. Then dad said "give her to me" and he held her, cooed to her, while he got out a saucepan, filled it with water, slowly simmer the water to gently eat up that baby food stew. And then fed her.
As he fed her he gently chided me, and also called out to my bros who were supposed to help with the baby but never did. Dad was always working two jobs in those days so he didn't know much about who did what and, in 1967, baby feeding and diaper changing was girl work.
I never fed my sister baby food that should be served warm ever again without heating it up. It took only a few minutes in a pan of heating water, as dad had shown me. I forgive myself because I was a kid myself, with school work, neverending housework, other children to ten (Tom and Dave, toddlers when sis was a baby), endless diapers.
I so loved seeing my dad's tenderness towards my sister Margaret. I so loved Margaret. I so love them both now one alive, one lost to me.
