A Shot in the Ass and A Blowing of the Mind

I wrote a while back that I dreamed about zeros. I choose to believe that these were good dreams. Possibly my Creator sneaking something into my all too cynical mind. I dunno. But our good news of Easter '07 is that Subaruwoman is pregnant. We are very early on in this process, but she is surely pregnant. I guess we are 3 weeks into this journey and so by May 2nd we should have something that resembles a tadpole. Perhaps, if he is a boy we'll call him Tad. To say we are excited is to say the sun is cozy warm. To help this pregnancy stick I'm having to give my wife a shot in the ass at 9:30 each evening. Don't call at 9:30pm, please. I don't know if to feel more sorry for myself or Subaruwoman. She takes it well. I'm running out of space on this 3" x 3" square on the north end of my wife's buttocks. I guess I'm doing well myself. I act strong so Subaruwoman will feel confident about standing behind her with a syringe in my hand. There has been but a small bit of blood and Subaruwoman is pleased with my nursely efforts. There are certain things you don't sign up for when you get married. From what I see at the hospital, there will be more to come. "I take you to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to suffer the monthly disappointment of infertility, to give you 9 weeks of progesterone shots, . . . I could get depressing and go straight to stuff like promising to change your depends BUT NOT TODAY FOLKS. I gotta concentrate on painting a nursery.

Easter Sunday and What Matters

I teach this Sunday School class for people who have not been able to find a Sunday School class that suits them. Many are too liberal for the average curriculum-driven Sunday School class. Some are new to their faith and confused. Some are divorced and don't fit in the Singles class or back in their old class. It makes for an interesting mix. The rules in the class basically are: all questions are acceptable, all thoughts are respected, there is no pressure to make it to the class every Sunday, and silence is cool, too. So, on Easter Sunday we discussed as you might imagine, Christ's Resurrection. We discussed the recent news of Jesus' bones possibly being found, how all the Gospels, even the synoptic Gospels all tell the story differently. Were there two women or three women at the tomb, the stone rolled away before they got there or afterward, physical resurrection of spiritual? There seemed to be a consensus that all these debates were a little silly. Easter is a matter of the heart and not the head. You try to wrap your head around it, you lose. The Easter story is way out there relatively speaking. The class confessed or admitted their many doubts about how it all shook out that day. They also talked about how this story is embedded within them not just as a memory of a story taught to them when they were young, but how it is a part of them like the nose on their face, part of their disposition you could say. They have a Christian ethic that even if they don't live it out everyday, is a part of their daily decision making. More importantly the resurrection story gives them hope when they feel so overcome by the violence and the suffering within an without them and keeps them looking forward to a day when hate's stronghold is broken and people live in a peaceable kingdom. How did Jesus arise from the dead? Who experienced it? I'm not sure I care, really. Can't anyone even prove it happened. The answer wouldn't change a thing in the way I lived or how I loved. Peace to you. May Love be resurrected in you daily.

Oh, and I've got some wild Easter news to share, but that's for another day.

Poking cats . . .

Not something I recommend . . .poking cats that is. I mentioned my younger bro when I blogged about East of Eden. He was the one that turned me on to the novel. He complained that I had referred to him but not provided a link. So here it is: http://memphistories.blogspot.com. If he hasn't posted recently it is because he is grieving the loss of Charlie the Cat. He came home and it was looking catatonic. HAH! Get it. CATatonic! Sorry not something to joke about. I had a cat die. It's not fun. In my defense, however, I never poked it with a coat hanger to test its level of deadness. Possibly Charlie and Bean are getting together in heaven, Richard.

Scrap Positive Thinking

I've been visiting a family at the hospital. The father of this kind family is dying of a blood-related cancer. I think a lot of this family though I have only known them for a short time. They were doing well coping with the new diagnosis. They knew it would be difficult. The patient renewed his faith and in talking with him was amazed at his ability to speak of what his illness has taught him. It was as if he had an awakening of some sort. They are Catholic and his faith has been a major factor in aiding his coping with his illness.
Then a lay person from their church visited and told them to 'keep a positive attitude" and then reinforced that this positive attitude would in some way reverse the horrible physical and mental pain this gentleman was suffering.
The family bought it some what though I think the patient's wife was cautious. Then a friend read an article in the Dallas Morning News. It was titled, The Tyranny of Positive Thinking. Love the title. You can read it at this link: http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/fea/columnists/mjacobs/stories/DN-nh_jacobsessay_0403liv.ART.State.Edition1.212556c.html

The article had a great piece of art to illustrate the message of the article. I printed a copy of the DMN web page and rushed it down the hall to the patient's wife. I used the artwork to illustrate what positive thinking will do when it eventually becomes a burden. I pointed out the tears that were, instead of flowing down the cheeks of this face, being swallowed only to pool up in the throat. We have all felt that pooling effect at one time or another as we try to choke back our sorrow so that we may have a positive attitude. The grieving spouse got it immediately. She related quickly and thanked me. She said, "Yes, this is it. This is the way I've been feeling."
And then I wondered, where in the heck did Christians adopt this ridiculous idea that positive thinking has this much power? I find myself getting angrier and angrier over this foolishness that exists nowhere in the Bible. Good Friday was yesterday. If Jesus would have only thought more positively! Ugghh! Jesus said, "Father, Why have you forsaken me?" not, "If I could only keep my chin up . . ."
The Sunday School class I teach watched Jesus Christ Superstar this past Sunday. I was surprised few had seen it. When Jesus asked God if there was any other way out and then finally says something like, "You better make it quick before I change my mind!", one viewer said, "Wow, I knew Jesus might have questioned but I've never thought of his doubt going that deep." Could have, in my humble opinion. Positive thinking. It's the craze nowadays. Don't buy into it. It will be like eating cheeze wiz in a can. It'll taste good for a while, you'll become lazy and out of shape, then it won't taste so good anymore, but you'll be too close to dead to care.

Recommending a recommender

If you have noticed, I have recommended a couple of things in this blog--a book and a beer to be exact. There will be more of that. There is a website that I go to often for recommendations on just about anything. The site, http://www.headbutler.com/, is full of good stuff. Jesse, the author of this blog, knows his stuff. I first found him when he was a political blogger on http://www.beliefnet.com/. I sought him out when I was in a bind and needed to locate some additional last minute wedding anniversary gifts. My wife is a foodie and thankfully, Jesse and his wife are too. They appreciate good books, good food, and good drink. The London Cafe cookbook was one of the better recommendations, but the all time winner was a book called, Life is Meals by James and Kay Salter. I haven't even read the book because I'm not a foodie. I'm an eatie. Hey, it works out well. Anyway, I do know the book is structured like a devotional by giving you a reading for each day of the year. Subaruwoman ignored the style of the book and read the entire thing in about two weeks. She claims she couldn't help herself. Each reading gives you great food and drink facts. Did you know Queen Elizabeth I drank beer and wine with her breakfast because the water in the 16th century could very well kill ya? It was popular to float a piece of bread on the top of your wine to improve the taste and nourishment value. That is why we give "toasts" today!(p.91) Whodathunkit? You'll also discover good info on all things in life considered fine. If you are a foodie, go get this book and pay Jesse a visit at Headbutler. Be sure to checkout his cookbook recommendations. As an eatie, I can promise you you'll be pleased.

Labyrinth in Dallas?

This is a short story that Subaruman wrote back in 2005. I submitted it to a writing contest on the Labyrinth Society website, http://www.labyrinthsociety.org/ . Check 'em out if you want to know more about Labyrinths. If I may toot my own horn, it did win a couple hundred bucks as the Grand Prize winning entry.

Out of Place

What a perfectly strange place for a labyrinth, among the sick and the dying. I’ve always pictured them at retreat centers far deep into the forest maybe in North Carolina or better yet among the mysterious green hills of Ireland, but not in Dallas, Texas. She is awkward; stuck in the middle of a massive healthcare complex surrounded by stale high-rise medical offices and patient rooms. The Eastern Redbuds scattered about the labyrinth and the trickling waterfall almost make you feel as if you’re not in Downtown Dallas-- that you’re not here to see a brother who is receiving his final dose of chemotherapy, or that you’re not here exhausted from spending each day with your spouse of 45 years who, in all likelihood, will never leave this hospital.
It is strange to me that the architects of this particular labyrinth attempted to recreate a calming space for retreat. The tension of what the designers had in mind and the deep sorrow I feel makes me chuckle silently. Did they really think that any of us here could truly escape? Within this space, the reality always overwhelms the serenity the labyrinth offers. Still, I will walk the labyrinth today because I can make no sense of my reason for taking the first or the last step inside this space. All the ailing ones, their families, and the hospital staff curiously looking down from their glassed-in perches intensify this feeling. Their confused looks tell me they see no reason in my walking either. And therein lies the conundrum. Labyrinths do much good when they are “out-of-place.” They are wonderful additions to retreat centers and churches but they are badly needed where concrete is the main element and where anxiety hangs in the air like a morning fog.
I take a deep breath and consume the unseasonably cold air. It is overcast and windy. No one is walking the stones with me. Those who are present are sitting on benches that face the path. They don’t seem curious at all. They carry heavy loads and have come here seeking silence and an opportunity to pray to a God they are not sure really exists. “Their pain is not your pain,” I learned in my training. Easier said than done I have learned since. Today I walk just to walk—to concentrate on my steps—the sounds my feet make on the rough rocks. I follow the path to center myself not only so I can go care for these many people tomorrow. I follow the path slowly to the center and back out again so I, if only for a moment, can lay aside reason and doubt. I will know that pain and suffering is not all encompassing. There is still a world outside this hospital and outside of me that simply and magnificently . . . is. The sparrows fly briskly from limb to limb and know no difference between play and foraging for food. They are unaware of my grief and the heavier anticipated loss that inflict so many others that surround this labyrinth.
Ah, I see someone has joined me on this unending path. She staggers for a moment as if she doesn’t know at what speed or direction to begin her brief journey. “Good for her,” I think. Good for her that she is walking. Good for her that she has read no books or essays on the healing elements of the labyrinth. I’m sure she has yet to put meaning to her steps. Good for her. I wonder, “Is she as glad as I am that there are no religious symbols in this space?” I don’t walk today to add to my faith. I don’t walk today as religious practice. I walk to reconnect with my spirit that asks for nothing. She passes me on the path to my left. Both our feet drag the stone. I become conscious of my own heavy load I carry so I begin to lift my feet and really feel my ankle bone roll my foot from outside heel to inside toe and again. How often I walk flat-footed around this hospital with stale air in my lungs. I breathe in and out and walk as my feet and legs were created to walk.
We pass again and I notice her feet are no longer dragging. She still looks down; head covered from the cool wind by her lime green fleece hood, hair billowing down on both sides of her solemn face hiding all but her nose from the little sunlight the clouds have given reprieve. Her hospital gown sneaks out beneath her jacket, her plastic I.D. band hanging loosely on her bruised and dangling arms.
I reach the center where I always seem to pause and think of St. Isaac the Syrian’s counsel, “Dive down into your self, and there you will find the steps by which you might ascend.” I move on and again notice the other walker. Should I even be noticing? “Remember,” I say to myself, “you have come to walk to get away from the storms that whirl inside those patient’s rooms. Leave your pastoral identity behind. . . just for a moment.” But she stops and shifts her feet as if she might turn around and go back the way she came. She lifts her head for a moment and faces the sky with intent and begins again her walk.
It strikes me that possibly we are walking the labyrinth for different reasons. I entered to escape reason and doubt and symbols. She entered, perhaps quite by accident, to embrace her reality however laiden with saddness and worry it might be. She may be searching for symbols to give meaning to her pain. Or maybe she longs for reason to rescue her from her feeling of helplessness. Perhaps when we both leave this inward/outward path we will both arrive at a similar place. We will be able to walk back into that Cancer Center. She will face her doctor and her illness with a new hope and that rediscovered knowledge that there is much beauty in this world within and without her. I will also have a fresh look on the pain I encounter through my helping others. I’ll think of the redbuds, the sparrows, and the dead stones that scraped the leather souls of my shoes. There is an other world. One that is beyond what I encounter so deeply on a daily basis. One that is bigger but not beyond our senses.
As always, I walk the outward journey faster than the inward journey. Even when I attempt to slow my pace, I feel as if I’m being flung out of the labyrinth. Like an unstable far away moon that can no longer maitain its orbit, I’m spunout as if I’d slowly tethered myself to its center only to be released at a quicker pace. I feel my heart rate increase and a new energy swelling within my once heavy body.
I complete my outward path. I desire to turn around and look back at the other walker, even to offer her some of my ‘wisdom.’ Has she stopped and walked off deaming this excersise unneccasary or has she dropped to her knees to beg God to change her stark yet blurred reality? Instead I walk down the donor-etched brick steps and enter the revolving door of the Cancer Center. I’ll let the labyrith help her. She helped me, surely unaware, bring new meaning to my labyrith walk. I will leave her to complete her journey if she completes it at all. She has for a breif moment focused through her barely porus grief on following this path that is not there to challenge her to figure out God’s will, or struggle with its elusiveness, or even dare her to conquer her illness. The labyrinth is not even there for her to complete. She has been courageous enough to jouney inward and then outward though both paths can be difficult, full of as many thorns as opening buds. She has left the lovely cirlcle of the healthy and joined the fringes of the ill—those displaced figures looking to regain their wholeness. Possibly she’ll reconnect, not necessarily with the healthy masses, but with her innerspirit that is unscathed by disease and is outside of this temporal world and dense with beauty. She surely has been given enough trinkets, advice, and trite words. At this moment, thank God, she has no guided meditation, no mentor, no instruction booklet. Still, she walks. Good for her.

Full recommendation for Full Sail Beer

I heard someone say a while back to never trust a minister that can't turn a bottle up every now and again. You can trust me.

You see, Subaruwoman is a good person. I never have to beg or convince her to buy me beer at the local grocery store. This week she walked in with a bag of groceries. One bag contained a 6-pack of Full Sail Beer. She said, Ya ever tried this one? She knows I like trying new ale with my favorite being the Belgian varieties. Here is the Full Sail website: http://www.fullsailbrewing.com/default.cfm

Full Sail was recently rated one of the top 200 breweries in the world! I sampled the Amber. Mmmm, good. This beer is sweet and malty, but that short description doesn't do it justice. Try one. Hell, it's beer, man. A potpourri (yea, I said it) of flavors, lead by the sweetness, will satisfy your en vie for the good life. Bottoms up, sailor.

EAST OF EDEN

My little bro gave Subaruwoman the John Steinbeck novel, "East of Eden," for Christmas a few years ago. At the time it was not on my list of books to read. Watching her read each page closely and hearing her gasp and awe, I decided I had to read this oldie. I'm sure I had been told to read this in my college years but I probably read the Cliff Notes instead so I could spend my time doing anything but read a novel. There are a few reasons that I enjoyed this novel. First, they really don't write novels like that any more. It was good without having to be too dramatic or throw in shock value to keep the readers attention. Secondly, it has one of the most evil characters I've encountered in a novel. She didn't hack anybody up and eat them--not Hannibal kind of evil. But evil like a politician might be evil--conniving and confidently so. Lastly and the main reason I enjoyed this novel is because Steinbeck was on to Family Systems Theory long before anybody else. He understood family dynamics and what happens when one family member receives all the attention due to some deficit and how secrets eventually creep up from the gutter of our lives and infest and sometimes destroy people. Good stuff. Beware, small portions of the novel are a bit politically incorrect. Nevertheless, I do recommend when you complete the latest greatest book that made Oprah's Book List, you pick up an oldie like East of Eden, dust it off and give yourself some time to read it in big chunks. Hope you likie likie.