A Blessing For Absence
May you know that absence is full of tender presence
and that nothing is ever lost or forgotten.
May the absences in your life be full of eternal echo
May you sense around you the secret Elsewhere which holds
the presences that have left your life.
May you be generous in your embrace of loss.
May the sore of your grief turn into a well of seamless presence.
May your compassion reach out to the ones we never hear
from and may you have the courage to speak out for the
excluded ones.
May you become the gracious and passionate subject of your own life.
May you not disrespect your mystery through brittle words or false belonging.
May you be embraced by God in whom dawn and twilight
are one and may your longing inhabit its deepest dreams
within the shelter of the Great Belonging.
-John O’Donohue
Eternal Echoes

via Whiskey River

Although, Dart had some symptoms of lethargy before we left,  Dodge had barely started demonstrating a low appetite.  She’d been out hunting in the sunshine and seemed fine.  I thought perhaps she’d eaten a mouse that was moving through her system slowly. Dart had been lethargic (for him), but he was jumping up on the bed with ease and showed no points of pain. His robust purr was in good working order whenever I handled him.  I noted the lump and decided I’d take him to the vet when we returned.  Neither cat seemed critical enough to warrant a pre-trip vet visit. Their feral natures have always made vet visits very stressful.

Fortunately, Pet Emergency Center in Mount Vernon, Washington, is open 24/7 including Sundays. So adding insult to the cat’s miseries, I got them into carriers and off we went.  I knew matters were serious just by how little they fought being placed in the carriers.

Blood work demonstratead immediately that Dodge was in advanced renal failure.  Dr. Jane Reynolds was frank.  “If this were my cat, I wouldn’t treat. The values are extreme. In attempting to get the blood test, it was apparent that her veins are breaking down.”  Euthanasia was the only option. I spent quite a few minutes with Dodge, soothing her and holding her.  It was obvious she was ready. She passed very peacefully with her head in my hands. We’ll never know for sure why she declined so rapidly at the age of 13.  When you allow your cats the freedom of the great outdoors, there are always risks of exposure to many unknowns – some of them toxic.

Dart could not be effectively examined without sedation. The presumption was that the lump was an abscess. His white count was extremely high. Dr. Reynolds suggested we go home and she would call post-surgically.  Unfortunately, the surgery demonstrated the lump was the tip of an extremely large tumor.  With Dart’s white count as high as it was, Dr. Reynolds doubted if he would survive the invasive surgery that would have been necessary to remove the tumor.  Unfortunately, we had no opportunity to say goodbye.  There was no point it bringing him out of anesthetic before euthanizing him as well.  I always worried about Dart’s love of traversing the railroad ties that support our ivy.  Even though most of the creosote was weathered off the tops,  I can’t help but wonder if exposure to those toxins played a role in the development of the tumor. We won’t get more cats until we have an opportunity to replace the ties. Cats are notorious for going where they want to go, not where you want them to go.

There are now two piles of rocks under a large cedar which I can see out the kitchen window.  My wonderful friends now lie in repose where they once frolicked and lived life fully.  My heart is broken, but I’m doing okay.  Part of pet ownership always includes taking the responsibility of not allowing them to suffer.  Losing both in one day is almost too much for the emotions to grasp.  The house is quiet.  I spent quite a bit of time yesterday, clearing cat dishes, bedding, toys and other reminders from the house.  It’ll be some time before we’re ready to start again.  In the meantime, it seems easiest to not be looking at the memories daily.

I am not religious but I have strong non-religious spiritual beliefs. Loss gets no easier, but my confidence in some variety of continuity grows stronger with each passing year.  There may be no guarantees about what happens after death, but certainly suffering is relieved and profound love continues to comfort those of us who must grieve.  I like to think death is the beginning of new adventures, I have strong confidence in the benevolence of that grand and final uncertainty.

Dart

 

Goodbye, my freinds.  Thank you for enriching my life. May your new adventures bring you as much joy as you  brought to me during our brief time together.

Dodge

“Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!” CANON HENRY SCOTT HOLLAND (1847-1918)   

 quotation via The Solitary Walker

“You think you will never forget any of this, you will remember it always just the way it was. But you can’t remember it the way it was. To know it, you have to be living in the presence of it right as it is happening. It can return only by surprise. Speaking of these things tells you that there are no words for them that are equal to them or that can restore them to your mind. And so you have a life that you are living only now, now and now and now, gone before you can speak of it, and you must be thankful for living day by day, moment by moment, in this presence.
But you have a life too that you remember. It stays with you. You have lived a life in the breath and pulse and living light of the present, and your memories of it, remember now, are of a different life in a different world and time. When you remember the past, you are not remembering it as it was. You are remembering it as it is. It is a vision or a dream, present with you in the present, alive with you in the only time you are alive.”
- Wendell Berry

via Whiskey River

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

- Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore

Other lovers of solitude might understand this. I’m quite certain there’s many a hermit out there who did not make a conscious decision to stop or limit contact with the world, but who just wandered off and didn’t wander back.

But, I admit, it really was fairly rude on my part to just drop off the end of the bloggosphere without explanation, and I do apologize to subscribers or other frequent visitors who wondered what happened.

Nothing happened.  I was not eaten by a bear. I just went about my hermit business and stopped communicating.

I think it started with the acquisition of a new computer. The transition from Windows XP to Windows 7 required a lot more time-consuming administrative manipulation than I was happy about. Until that purchase, I was actually almost ready to bite-the-bullet and get myself a smart phone. But the Windows 7 debacle turned me off. I started staying away from my computer (other than for essential business). I started questioning why on earth would I want a smart phone so I could communicate everywhere and all the time.

As I said, I didn’t make a conscious decision to stop surfing & blogging & tweeting, I just let my body make the decision for me. And my body decided to prioritize silence, serenity, peace, reading books, contemplation, meditation in nature, watching fall fall and winter close in - all with a spacious enough routine to easily adjust to nature’s rhythms – every day finding the time to partake of that other grand connectedness that has nothing to do with words and others and the internet.

I’d forgotten how much I love that disconnected connection. It’s so damned peaceful.

Griz and I are fine. We’ve learned a few new tricks – most associated with the truism that the key to healthy aging is good energy management – inward and outward. Our middle-aged cats have perfected this lesson. They spend more time napping and less time outdoors, especially in cold weather. But the length of their naps in no way diminishes the intensity of their playful moments, the lustre of their coats, or the profound depth of their melodious, loving purrs.

Tools-n-Gizmos is perking right along. It might be perking along almost too well for a two-person operation in which both persons would like to define themselves as “semi-retired.” But if Tools-n-Gizmos is any indication, our economy must be improving. People are buying the tooling with which to build things. And Griz and I are still having fun with it; and when you can combine income-generation with laughter, it doesn’t feel that much like work.

But the nicest thing about just being in timeless obscurity is this: it is remarkably angst-free. There’s a spaciousness in this quiet observation point that allows me to watch world events and reflect on them without the need to judge, take sides or necessarily even react. Even though I voted, I was able to watch all that vituperative mid-term election noise without letting it bother me (much). Even the paradigm-shifting Wikileaks-square-off between secrecy and transparency seems more like a profound natural evolution than the frightening Armageddon many try to make it. Without such dualities, how would we recognize non-duality, let alone aspire to it?

Perhaps I’ve become more mystical in my retreat into silence – or not.  I still read just as much fun fiction as philosophical prose. Most recently I entertained myself with Michael Crichton’s bawdy, swashbuckler Pirate Latitudes, then switched just as happily to Alan Watts’ profoundly beautiful (and surprisingly, often comically entertaining) The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who you Truly Are.

It’s that balance thing, you know.  Philosophy should really only evolve from a life of living, not just theorizing.  We learn about life by living it, enjoying it, making mistakes, and surviving the ups and down. We learn to transcend the drudgery of life by redefining drudgery as something else.  Realization may be nothing more than the the simple acknowledgement that the definitions are all up to each of us.

And then there’s mortality – which steps in and slaps you in the face no matter in what happy place you think you’ve landed. We just learned today that my sister’s husband died last evening – suddenly, without warning, with no serious pre-existing condition. After a wonderful, laughter-filled day with his wife of 38 years, a good dinner, and a start of the evening’s home movie, John just quietly slumped into his recliner and slipped away. The EMT’s tried hard, but John left. The gentleness of his departure in no way diminishes the trauma.

I know my sister is a strong, competent woman and she will be fine – eventually. But throughout this no-mascara day of doing what must be done, saying what must be said; the sharp grief of first notices with periodic, spontaneous eyeball leakage; and, because of our loss, absorption in a deep empathy for everyone else’s losses everywhere; I must never forget that some things don’t reside in my treasured haven of timelessness.

Total retreat from the truly human connections is rarely an option. The human connections include time, touch, communication, reporting, and responding. Time is the journey through which we travel together.  The concept of timelessness is a real stretch when the stomach feels hollowed out by the pain of a wounded heart.

Some things, like profound loss, can only be conquered through the passage of time. For those of us who loved John, this will be Day 1 of that particular passage.

Always strive to treat your loved ones as though it is their last day on earth – or your last day on earth.

Smokey the Bear Sutra by Gary Snyder

Once in the Jurassic about 150 million years ago,
the Great Sun Buddha in this corner of the Infinite
Void gave a Discourse to all the assembled elements
and energies: to the standing beings, the walking beings,
the flying beings, and the sitting beings — even grasses,
to the number of thirteen billion, each one born from a
seed, assembled there: a Discourse concerning
Enlightenment on the planet Earth.

“In some future time, there will be a continent called
America. It will have great centers of power called
such as Pyramid Lake, Walden Pond, Mt. Rainier, Big Sur,
Everglades, and so forth; and powerful nerves and channels
such as Columbia River, Mississippi River, and Grand Canyon
The human race in that era will get into troubles all over
its head, and practically wreck everything in spite of
its own strong intelligent Buddha-nature.”

“The twisting strata of the great mountains and the pulsings
of volcanoes are my love burning deep in the earth.
My obstinate compassion is schist and basalt and
granite, to be mountains, to bring down the rain. In that
future American Era I shall enter a new form; to cure
the world of loveless knowledge that seeks with blind hunger:
and mindless rage eating food that will not fill it.”

And he showed himself in his true form of

SMOKEY THE BEAR

A handsome smokey-colored brown bear standing on his hind legs, showing that he is aroused and
watchful.

Bearing in his right paw the Shovel that digs to the truth beneath appearances; cuts the roots of useless
attachments, and flings damp sand on the fires of greed and war;

His left paw in the Mudra of Comradely Display — indicating that all creatures have the full right to live to their limits and that deer, rabbits, chipmunks, snakes, dandelions, and lizards all grow in the realm of the Dharma;

Wearing the blue work overalls symbolic of slaves and laborers, the countless men oppressed by a
civilization that claims to save but often destroys;

Wearing the broad-brimmed hat of the West, symbolic of the forces that guard the Wilderness, which is the Natural State of the Dharma and the True Path of man on earth: all true paths lead through mountains –

With a halo of smoke and flame behind, the forest fires of the kali-yuga, fires caused by the stupidity of
those who think things can be gained and lost whereas in truth all is contained vast and free in the Blue Sky and Green Earth of One Mind;

Round-bellied to show his kind nature and that the great earth has food enough for everyone who loves her and trusts her;

Trampling underfoot wasteful freeways and needless suburbs; smashing the worms of capitalism and
totalitarianism;

Indicating the Task: his followers, becoming free of cars, houses, canned foods, universities, and shoes;
master the Three Mysteries of their own Body, Speech, and Mind; and fearlessly chop down the rotten
trees and prune out the sick limbs of this country America and then burn the leftover trash.

Wrathful but Calm. Austere but Comic. Smokey the Bear will
Illuminate those who would help him; but for those who would hinder or
slander him,

HE WILL PUT THEM OUT.

Thus his great Mantra:

Namah samanta vajranam chanda maharoshana
Sphataya hum traka ham nam

“I DEDICATE MYSELF TO THE UNIVERSAL DIAMOND
BE THIS RAGING FURY DESTROYED”

And he will protect those who love woods and rivers,
Gods and animals, hobos and madmen, prisoners and sick
people, musicians, playful women, and hopeful children:

And if anyone is threatened by advertising, air pollution, television,
or the police, they should chant SMOKEY THE BEAR’S WAR SPELL:

DROWN THEIR BUTTS
CRUSH THEIR BUTTS
DROWN THEIR BUTTS
CRUSH THEIR BUTTS

And SMOKEY THE BEAR will surely appear to put the enemy out
with his vajra-shovel.

Now those who recite this Sutra and then try to put it in practice will accumulate merit as countless as the sands of Arizona and Nevada.

Will help save the planet Earth from total oil slick.

Will enter the age of harmony of man and nature.

Will win the tender love and caresses of men, women, and beasts.

Will always have ripe blackberries to eat and a sunny spot under a pine tree to sit at.

AND IN THE END WILL WIN HIGHEST PERFECT ENLIGHTENMENT.

thus have we heard.

(may be reproduced free forever)

The connection is there for all of us – in any language, on our own or with help, no matter what color our holy book or science journal. Some find the connection through meditation or prayer; some while contemplating a spectacular starlit sky or holding a child; some only after experiencing a dramatic injury or other traumatic event.  The connection exists whether you intentionally seek it or not.  Sometimes the connection serendipitously finds you. The connection exists no matter how you define God, and even if you consider God a fiction.  If we spend our lives squabbling over the semantics and details, we can miss the value of the connection altogether.

In this beautiful TED talk, neuroscientist Jill Bolte Taylor talks about her discoveries as the result of her 1996 stroke:

Click here to view the embedded video.

More information about Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor and her book, Stroke of Insight, is available at DrJillTaylor.com

Special thanks to Larry Glover at Wild Resiliency who reminded me of this TED talk in a beautiful, candid memorial post he wrote after the death of his father: A Father’s Lessons on Living and Dying.

A Word on Statistics

Out of every hundred people,

those who always know better:
fifty-two.

Unsure of every step:
almost all the rest.

Ready to help,
if it doesn’t take long:
forty-nine.

Always good,
because they cannot be otherwise:
four — well, maybe five.

Able to admire without envy:
eighteen.

Led to error
by youth (which passes):
sixty, plus or minus.

Those not to be messed with:
four-and-forty.

Living in constant fear
of someone or something:
seventy-seven.

Capable of happiness:
twenty-some-odd at most.

Harmless alone,
turning savage in crowds:
more than half, for sure.

Cruel
when forced by circumstances:
it’s better not to know,
not even approximately.

Wise in hindsight:
not many more
than wise in foresight.

Getting nothing out of life except things:
thirty
(though I would like to be wrong).

Balled up in pain
and without a flashlight in the dark:
eighty-three, sooner or later.

Those who are just:
quite a few, thirty-five.

But if it takes effort to understand:
three.

Worthy of empathy:
ninety-nine.

Mortal:
one hundred out of one hundred—
a figure that has never varied yet.

-Wislawa Szymborska
(translated from Polish by Joanna Trzeciak)

via Psychologically Speaking

First, forget what time it is for an hour.
Do it regularly every day.
Then forget what day of the week it is,
and do this regularly in company for a week.
Then forget what country you are in,
and practice doing it in company for a week,
and then do them together for a week
with as few breaks as possible.
Follow these by forgetting how to add
or to subtract.
It makes no difference.
You can change them around after a week.
Both will later help you to forget how to count.

Forget how to count,
starting with your own age,
starting with how to count backwards,
starting with even numbers,
with roman numerals,
starting with fractions,
with the old calendar,
going on to the alphabet,
forgetting it all until everything
is continuous and whole again.”
- W. S. Merwin

W. S. Merwin was appointed United States Poet Laureate this year – an act significantly bright enough to counterbalance several of my serious disappointments with the Obama Administration’s other progress thus far.

Click here to view the embedded video.

“In the end the aggressors always destroy themselves, making way for others who know how to cooperate and get along. Life is much less a competitive struggle for survival than a triumph of cooperation and creativity.” – Fritjof Capra

Video: 

Video by: http://vimeo.com/blu
sountrack by ANDREA MARTIGNONI

via rebekahsilverman.com