Batter Up, New Year!

     Once again, a new year comes round. It's a time when looking back and looking forward comes naturally . We review the past twelve months in all kinds of ways. Columnists and tv news shows present their "best of" lists. Some of us are extra good and gather the data to submit taxes  sooner to get that early refund. Others organize photos and other things in real or digital scrapbooks. And a lot of us do the usual resolution dance which, be it about weight, exercise or learning to knit, ends abruptly within a few days or weeks.

     This is the season of the Hot Stove League when true baseball fanatics weigh the trades and injuries and last season's stats with the religious fervor  of ancient Roman priests examining chicken entrails to know the future. Baseball fans contemplating the upcoming season are like the rest of us, hopeful about the year ahead. Last year's players are joined by new ones. Everyone hopes their team will do well and maybe win it all in a blaze of glory. The empty whiteboard of the next twelve months, we hope, will get filled with all good stuff, whatever that may be.

     But take it from an early-on baptized member of Red Sox Nation, hope doesn't always float. Meteoric early won/lost records can reverse in a heartbeat. Stuff happens, predictably. What I can do is enjoy each moment as it comes. Even a ball game with a bad outcome has its moments -- a good hit, a great inning-ending pitching series or a sweet play on the field.

     A favorite baseball game image of mine involves one of my grandsons playing tee-ball with other five year olds. When an opposing player hit a fly ball over a group of them clustered around second base, he and his team mates covered their heads with their gloves and let the ball drop harmlessly among them.

     May your new year be mostly filled with fly balls you catch. And if you need to, cover your head sometimes for the other ones. There's always next time.

Holy Nights and Christmas Blues

     I love Christmas, especially being close to family and friends and kids from all directions. I'm a sucker for Christmas movies, especially the variations on Dickens (thank you, Bill Murray and the makers of SCROOGED!). I enjoy choosing presents for loved ones, and delight in their getting them, though not without a little anxiety on my part to see if I chose well. The December ritual of getting and sending cards is yet another thing that cheers me on these cold gray days.

     I tend to be a positive person, probably annoyingly so to some. Nevertheless, I sometimes get the Christmas blues. The song, "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas," sung bluesy and slow, can bring me to tears. Why? Often I'm not aware of any specific thing bothering me, but at other times I am. It's the gap between what is and what I wish life were, for me and the rest of the world. The last line of "I'll Be Home For Christmas," is "...if only in my dreams," and I think of service men and women and their distant families in this season.

     One of the great persons of the last century was blessed Dorothy Day. Her journey took her from midwest normal family life to radical journalism and activism and finally to conversion and the founding of THE CATHOLIC WORKER newspaper ("a penny a copy") and movement. Dorothy's radical charity and pacifism appealed to the Quaker artist Fritz Eichenberg and he donated some stunning free art to the newspaper (http://sacredartpilgrim.com/collection/view/19).
One of his most powerful images was "The Christ of the Breadlines," in which a haloed Christ, broken and bowed, stands in line with other destitute people waiting for food. Another Eichenberg image was an unusual nativity scene:  all kinds of poor people, kids and adults, just outside the unseen stable of Jesus' birth, drawn by the light from within. Quite an image.

     If I were to imagine an Eichenberg nativity scene for our era, I see figures like kids of all races and immigrant status', homeless veterans, mentally challenged folks, displaced workers from closed factories, bullied gay young people, alcoholics and addicts and their families, despondent people who'd thought of suicide in recent dark nights -- all the broken, grieving and lonely people who look for some kind of light, some kind of hope, some prospect at least of joy ahead.

     I know a New York City firefighter whose own response to the attacks of 9-11 included funding a second child in a major overseas charity he supports. He made some light out of a dark time.

     If it's hard for you to find light in this season, make some. Reach out. Connect. The world could use it. Happy holidays.

WIND CHILL

     It was pretty cold and windy this Northeast morning on the walk I do with my friend Bob. We both used the old runner's trick of putting petroleum jelly on our exposed cheekbones to ward off the wind's bite. And as long as we kept moving briskly, we were fairly warm. Swinging my arms helped also, and at least my inside temperature was pretty comfortable. I said a prayer for all the people who have to work outside all day in this cold.

     The rewards of such a cold walk, I kept telling myself, do outweigh the dread I experience just before going outside to begin it. There's sharing the discomfort which makes it more bearable. I often get to hear (or sometimes tell) a good story. And I get to listen to my own or another's heart a bit through something one of us is passionate about -- from kids and grandkids to politics and so much more.

     There's a smile on both our faces after we're done, inside the house, drinking coffee and eating a pb&j on toast. Two older guys grateful for still being able to move our bodies in challenging conditions, congratulating ourselves just a little for not letting this first cold snap of winter keep us huddled indoors. The warm living room felt pretty sweet after forty-five minutes of the cold wind.

     Many thoughts come up for me. We saw a gorgeous winter morning sunrise sky, all deep blues and magentas splashed across the remnants of the little snowstorm we had yesterday. We were also  blessed to have the clothes and the health to walk comfortably in, and to have that warm house to return to. We're just a few days away from the Winter Solstice, a day our ancient forebears marked as earth holy because it signalled the return of longer days and the promise of spring, sleeping under the cold, but soon to be marching toward warmth again.

     The very sharpness of this cold weather might be, I think, a clearer invitation to feel connection with everything. Feeling the alive energy of a cold morning can be a way of finding something to be grateful for rather than something to fear or only bundle up against.

     Praise cold and its winter gifts.

    

Here Comes Everybody

    Nancy and I spent the other day in Brooklyn. First we went to a Christmas party held at a renovated firehouse in Red Hook that houses a drop in and counseling center for firefighters & their families, other first responders and veterans. The lively crowd of active duty and retired firefighters, families and staff was having a great time.

     We then moved on to a vegetarian restaurant in our old neighborhood of Park Slope. Great lunch and interesting people watching as the Slope is always known for its characters. Think of it as Santa Cruz East.

     Finally we went to Bay Ridge to a big clothing store, Century 21, that has great prices on some really good things. Here's where an excellent day began to touch my spirit even more. In that crowded and item packed store was an array of people from all over the world, all sizes, colors, ethnicities and probably at least twenty different cultures. African, Russian, Arab, Indian, Chinese, Latin American were just some of the folks both on staff at the store and shopping like us. The Brooklyn young people on the store staff were themselves a great mix of these cultures and races. And they couldn't have been warmer, more helpful or more patient with the sometimes frazzled crowd.

     There was a day when that sort of experience would be a sure set-up for me to lose it or, at best, to barely hang on by my fingernails. Crowded places full of determined and impatient people would put me on edge and layers of civility and respect would peel off me in a heartbeat. Not this day.

     This day I was afforded the grace to be grateful and appreciative. One man patiently pushed his disabled partner in her wheelchair all around a crowded set of aisles. Clerks were polite and cheerful even when their customers weren't so much. Lots of folks, including us, spent significant time finding just the right size or color of sweater or shirt to gift someone else. Outside a Bay Ridge volunteer ambulance corps was doing a fundraiser, supported by a radio station remote truck sending the sounds of pop music up and down 86th St.

     If that afternoon of shopping were a microcosm of this country these days, or even of the whole world, there's a lot to celebrate. Don't we all look grand? as my Irish grandmother used to say. Don't we, indeed.

     Here comes everybody.    

    

ENTHUSIASM

     One of our grandsons, 12 years old, is passionate these days about a skill and hobby called fingerboarding. He uses two fingers to maneuver a minature skateboard up and over minature ramps, stairways, half-pipes and the like. He loves to practice moves that are based on actual skateboarding tricks. He'll spend hours and hours at this craft, making very difficult tricks often, but just as often not quite landing it the way he wants to. So he repeats the move until he nails it. His joy in those moments is infectious.

     He is also very generous with this activity he loves. He put together a little board for me, and is very encouraging as I fumble trying to push it around and over the obstacles. His enthusiasm for this and other things he loves is a great quality of his character and personality.

     Enthusiasm in its Greek root actually means possessed or inspired by God. When we're really passionate or enthusiastic about something, when we're into it, time and worry slip away. We're in this moment, right now. And the word enthusiasm suggests we're close to spirit or the deepest of powers in such moments.

     The takeaway for me is the contrast between my grandson's enthusiasm and my flagging zest for life which goes weak or feels like it has disappeared sometimes. On some mornings, I could be the poster child for the old saw of waking up with "Good God, it's morning!" instead of "Good morning, God!"

     My favorite prayer in the world was written by Dag Hammerskold, the late deeply spiritual diplomat and peacemaker. He wrote:
                                   
                                  ".....for everything that has been, thanks!
                                  For everything that will be, yes!"

I can't always bring the same enthusiasm to that prayer each time I say it as my grandson does to his fingerboarding. But just saying that or something similar at any point in the day can head me in the right direction.

     You'll kindly excuse me right now. I have to go practice landing my ollies.


    
    

Giving Thanks?

     Roll out the chesnuts, the warm ones we hold and the verbal ones we speak. It's Thanksgiving Day in the United States, arguably the most American of holidays, and some would add, a cliche factory of enormous output.

     An "attitude of gratitude," recovering folks and others suggest, is a perfect counter balance to cynicism, discouragement and despair. Those last attitudes certainly have plenty of evidence to commend them, especially in times of economic hardship for many, and ongoing poverty and diminished possibilities for many others.

     How, exactly, does it make any sense to be grateful for being unemployed? Being sick? Being away from loved ones on a holiday like so many men and women in the military overseas? Being in a hospital with a gravely ill  child? Does God (or Something) play favorites? What's it all about, Alfie? Even if Alfie had a clue, should he or we be grateful? How?

     Also, if one is uncertain or wavering or downright hostile about to whom (Whom?) one gives thanks, does it make any sense to simply be grateful?

     I think it does. I would list my wife, our children and grandchildren, friends, colleagues, a home, a car, health, breath, work, and the great world of trees, water, woods and oceans all around us. It's certainly feels emotionally positive to call those things and so much more to mind. I feel calmer and feeling grateful  about those things seems to balance out the sorrows, the disappointments and the sometimes terrible things that happen in this imperfect world.

     In my experience, there are gifts in the rubble, positives arising out of the hard times and setbacks. Years ago, at the height of the AIDS epidemic (just before the cocktail of meds gave so many longer life, many still with us, thank God), I worked at a Brooklyn hospital where people with that illness and their caretakers came for support. They taught me that a single meal digested without upchucking was a treasure. That an uninterrupted night's sleep or just an hour of unlabored breathing could be more precious than any gold.

     Yeah, it makes sense to find things to be grateful for, and to find a way to express and feel that. There can be moments of light in the darkness, and wonderful gifts beyond hope that can arise from the saddest of circumstances. You and I would not be who we are without every single bit of our life. And we can certainly give thanks for who we are, perfectly imperfect as we are.

     Happy thanks giving.

    

    

11 Questions - Part 2

     I'm writing this looking out at the wonderful big maple tree that shades part of our deck and one side of our house. This tree is one active nature factory. Its budding and seeding and leafing work goes on year 'round, producing shade,  some great late fall yellow color, and beaucoup leaves that demand attention as they are the last leaves to fall as winter heads toward us. The leaves eventually end up at our recycling center where they get mixed in with other yard debris to make free community mulch for next year.  As I typed that last sentence, about a hundred of the yellow leaves made their way to the ground. Just beautiful, and full of truth about life, loss, change and renewal. Thanks are in order
     We're continuing a two-part discussion on open-ended questions that might evoke some of our deepest principles, values and outlooks, in another word, our spirituality. I've already received some really interesting responses to the first set. Please feel free to add your answers and reactions. I'd love to see if these questions move you. They moved me, and have helped me and others get to that place inside us where spirit and power live.
    
     6. What quality do people admire in you? Do you see the same?
     7.  When you see a sunrise or sunset or a similar beauty in the natural world, what happens inside you?
     8. What does it mean for you to Do the Right Thing?
     9.  Where in your body do trouble and challenge make themselves felt? Can you describe the sensations?
    10.  What sources of guidance, inspiration or consolation have been important to you over the years? And now.....?
    11. What's been the most important event of your life?
    Bonus question: what sayings do you regularly use? (Examples: "It is what it is," "life goes on," "Everything happens for a reason," and "Living well is the best revenge!")

     There's a Sting song, "Love is the Seventh Wave," that resonates for me especially in the tag line, "There is a deeper wave than this," and that's the wave of the title. What if love (or Love) were at the heart of it all? What difference would that make to me? to the world?

     I think what I'm getting at is that my meaning, my spirituality is found inside my life, not outside of it....... I just need to look, ask my own questions, and share other's answers as well as my own.
    
     Life speaks.
    

11 Questions - Part 1

     One of the main reasons I've undertaken this blog is because I'm tired of a lot of the language that traditional religious and spiritual writing uses. Such words often seem tiresome, overused or emptied out of feeling or soul. The words lack heart. I think life's too short for that.
     Fresh language about the deeper things of life is always getting made or spoken, but we're so close, we often miss the depth. For me, one great source of such new language is poetry. Whether your taste runs to Anne Sexton, T.S. Eliot or Amiri Baraka, poets seem to just get it about connection and meaning. They give us some original ways to see and touch and feel our world, inside and out.
     "There lives the dearest freshness deep down things," wrote poet Gerard Manley Hopkins, whom no one could accuse of writing trite words or tiresome images. Our experience of life, deep down, is much more immediate and strong and new(at least to us) to be captured in cliched words or exhausted images.
     My hunch is that a lot of us spend more time picking out just the right greeting card than working to find the words to express or communicate our most important experiences and feelings. By reading this and thinking about such issues, you've already begun to do it differently. Here's a set of questions I've used with people to help them discover at least some elements of their unique spirituality. Have some fun with them!
     1. What song (or novel, biography, play, film, kid's book, piece of art etc.)  has a special  place in your heart? Why?   
     2. Name a few people you admire, inside and outside of family & friends. Say why.
     3. Look at a time you've overcome a difficult event or situation in your life. What got you through? What were the gifts in that hard time?
     4. Do you ever have a sense of gratitude for your life? What are you grateful for?
     5. If there were a novel or film made about your family, what would be the themes?
                                                 To be continued

Morning Walk

     I take a walk at least four mornings a week, sometimes more. I walk at six am for about forty five minutes, and tend to walk fast enough to generate some sweat and heat. Most mornings I walk with my friend, Bob, and we talk. Other mornings I'm alone with my thoughts, what some would say is dangerous company, indeed.
     Walking in the summer I usually get the full-on sunrise and that's a rich time for thinking and appreciating the great world we're given to experience. The light that builds on such mornings on the South Fork of Long Island is famous in art circles; the surrounding ocean and other waters act like reflective mirrors of the sun, making the quality of the air feel rare, even magical. Add the sometimes loud and fierce colors of sunrise and it's a potent sight for artists and appreciators alike.,
     But these days, in the dark, it's different. I wear a runner's reflective vest for safety, and also carry a small, bright flashlight whose light swings as I walk. I pass country fields, an old potato barn, and some newer homes in what used to be potato fields. I walk fast enough to catch the sight of the 6:18 train hurtling across a big farm field, the coaches' interior lights sparkling impressively in the dark morning.
     This morning, right after the train passed and I turned around for home, I was deep in some random thought and got startled by a noise. First thought, deer. Second thought, dog. Neither thought was welcome, and I was, frankly, anxious.
     It turned out to be a neighbor out walking a very small dog in the dark. I laughed and so did the neighbor when I told him what I first thought. "This one," he said, meaning the dog, "would probably lick you to death!"
     I walked on down the road grateful and relieved and a little embarrassed inside at being spooked so easily. As I calmed down, a few things occurred to me. It was nice to meet the neighbor and his dog out walking like I was. Out of the dark came a connection, however brief, that felt welcome. And that thought and feeling led to some gratitude for a body that can move,
and some eyes, ears and skin for taking the morning in. Even when I feel alone, and in the dark, life surprises me.

Costumes & Candy

     Halloween seems to mean two major things to most people -- costumes and candy.
     The costume part probably has many ancient origins. In medieval Europe, All Hallows Eve was a time to scare and keep away the spirits of evil just lurking to get the pious unaware folks. Today, we just love the fun of it. Dressing up as a comically scary, growling pirate, a sexy maid, or a bloody ghoul delights the kid part of us. It's also fun to be temporarily not "ourselves," that image we're so careful to protect. We love to break out and pretend, if only for one night, that we're really different from the person our daily clothes say we are.
     Now, candy, that's the part of Halloween that gets us salivating. Candy sales in October are off the chart. Not just kids, but adults, too, look forward to consuming mass quantities of the stuff. Many a child has probable cause to indict her parents for raiding the candy haul after she went off to bed following Trick or Treating. Shame on us -- I mean them -- no, I did it, too. "Where are all the good ones, like Baby Ruth or Snickers?" they would ask. We'd clam up and keep silently repeating,"never admit, never apologize. "After all, we rationalized, they had so much.
    Many spiritual traditions ask us to look at what we crave. What we desire and how we desire it (sometimes "inordinately" as my Jesuit profs used to suggest) are great markers for our spiritual condition. The Buddha said that desire is the root of all suffering. He probably had in mind the ancient Indian equivalent of a dark chocolate Hershey's Kiss or a Chunky.
     The serious point is that I can be free of a lot of pain and distress if I can check my greed for anything. Wear the world like a loose garment. Hold on to stuff with loose hands. Enjoy, but try not to let anything own me. Savor, of course, but let go of attachment.
     Now, if I could just shake that jones for a dark chocolate Reese's Peanut Butter Cup.

How Are You?

    One of the joys (and burdens) of my work as a counselor is that I get to have conversations with people. "How are you?" can bring out a simple log of mundane activities or a heartfelt, "where do I begin?" that leads deep into that person's and my own listening heart.
    Benedict of Nursia, yes the saint, told his followers in The Rule to "listen with the ears of your heart," a wonderful invitation. How loved do I feel when I get it that someone has really heard me? Very much, obviously. Imagine a world where really being heard was not unusual!
    In a recent conversation with one of Benedict's followers, he recounted the story of an ex-con speaking at a fundraising dinner for two "Dismas Houses," places where released inmates could live and transition back into the community. The man asked the supporters to imagine what it meant to be greeted with a handshake or looked at like a human being and not as a threat or as prey.
    We are starved for close connection in our world. That ex-prisoner is each of us, making our way back from the things that shackle us or keep us separated from the rest of the world or from our own deep selves. To be listened to and really heard is an experience of grace and a glimpse of a world where all can be well.
    Make a difference today. Listen to someone. Or, just as importantly, be listened to. Both things are bread for hungry hearts.

Peanut Butter and Jelly

    I like a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich. On a dense multigrain bread, spread with a natural crunchy peanut (or almond) butter and a good jelly or jam. Always the added kick of tabasco sauce to delight my mouth. I have it with a cup of a coffee, a lemonade or just cold water. If I'm calm enough (a rare thing), I eat the sandwich slowly, savoring the bites. If I'm really awake (even rarer), I gratefully think of the chain of people who contributed to this sandwich, this drink, and the home or work space where I'm enjoying it. Once in a while I even remember to say grace. Oops. Busted.
    Part of the reason for this project is that many people don't find traditional spiritual words or the communities that use them very important. And it seems to me that something may be missing that's worth looking for. Maybe at Christmas or the high holidays we connnect a little with our childhood religious "homes," or when we do the rituals around someone's wedding or funeral. "I'll say a prayer for you," can sound odd or quaint, but touching coming from friends or colleagues. Still,  the religious section in the greeting card aisle keeps shrinking.
    So where do we go? What do we do, if anything, to deal with the big and little things in life which religion once seemed to cover so naturally. Where do we find meaning? Love? Depth? Commemoration? Comfort? Hope?
    I start from where I am. A simple meal like that sandwich connects me to the whole world, the whole universe really. Just letting the chatter in me wind down for a moment allows me to get things like connection or significance, experience them and not just think about them. Going deeper, if my nervous, distracted spirit allows, can help me start to notice things, outside in, inside out. I look. I am aware. I listen for the sounds and for the silences between the sounds. I wonder.....what? Not just wonder about or if, but just wonder, ponder. Wow, that sounds stuffy, but it feels true.
    Here's a good question to open myself: what delights me? Maybe it's the smile of a lover or friend or baby. The antics of a dog desperate for me to pay attention and play. A kid who rolls her eyes at some grownup bit of foolishness of mine. Evening descending over a city or town. A piece of New Orleans jazz or Louisiana zydeco. The taste of a really fresh salad. If I can be delighted by such things, the deeper parts of me don't seem so far away.
    My spirit, that deeper part of me, is alive so long as my heart can soften enough to notice and ponder a little. Eating a good PB&J mindfully is a place to start.
   

Morning Light

                                                           
    I'm writing this in a small guest bedroom in Weston, Vermont. Out the window daylight begins to light up the woods and hills, slowly and deliberately. The house I'm in belongs to a community of
Benedictine monks whose "foundation," as they call it, consists of some land, several buildings, some animals and twelve men gathered to...what? That's a good question. Their ancient rituals of prayer, song and work, their rhythms of talk and silence seem very far from the everyday bustle of of my life. If I didn't hope there was a connection I wouldn't have travelled up to Vermont from the East End of Long Island with nine friends to do a retreat.
    "Retreat" is an odd, but welcome word. Even odder to some people will be the word "spirituality." On my Kindle is the blessed Oxford American Dictionary which defines the root word "spiritual" this way: 1. Of, relating to or affecting the human spirit or soul as opposed to material or physical things. 2. Of or relating to religion or religious belief. Those stuffy definitions don't do it for me. The OAD comes closer with a derivative phrase, "one's spiritual home," a place in which one feels "a profound sense of belonging." Now that seems more like it to me.
    Wherever and whenever and with whomever I feel at home, even if only for a moment, awakens a deep part of me -- call it my heart or spirit. Some things particularly do that for me: grandkids and kids in general; beautiful places like these woods or by water; kayaking on a bay with a fresh wind in my face; sitting reading next to my wife. Also listening to a great blues riff or rock anthem; walking with a friend; dancing; or just looking up at the night sky.
    This blog sets out to discover if there are kindred spirits out there whose own times of deepening, wonder and gratefulness may or (just as likely) may not have much to do with things religious. My hunch is that many of us humans find much in life that feels like home or helps us feel that we belong. Join me, if you care to, in a journey where we look, listen, feel, remember... and perhaps find that renewed sense of belonging on this earth and in this life.
    Up on the mountain a mile or so away, the morning light has brightened the landscape so I can see the dusting of snow last night's storm left. That's a reminder that winter begins early for this part of the world. The ancient lesson in that hard truth is that spring is getting ready to burst again despite the coming cold and much more snow as winter advances. Spring seems far away. But in earth time, that's an eye blink.