Set me like a seal...

“We stumbled on in the darkness, over big stones and through large puddles, along the road leading from the camp. The accompanying guards kept shouting at us and driving us with the butts of their rifles. Anyone with sore feet supported himself on his neighbour’s arm. Hardly a word was spoken; the icy wind did not encourage talk. Hiding his mouth behind his upturned collar, the man marching next to me whispered suddenly “If our wives could see us now! I do hope they are better off in their camps and don’t know what is happening to us.”

That brought thoughts of my own wife to mind. And as we stumbled on for miles, slipping on icy spots, supporting each other time and again, dragging one another up and onward, nothing was said, but we both knew: each of us was thinking of his wife. Occasionally I looked at the sky, where the stars were fading and the pink light of the morning was beginning to spread behind a dark bank of clouds. But my mind clung to my wife’s image, imagining it with an uncanny acuteness. I heard her answering me, saw her smile, her frank and encouraging look. Real or not, her look was then more luminous than the sun which was beginning to rise.

A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth- that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love. I understand how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way – an honourable way- in such a position man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment. For the first time in my life I was able to understand the meaning of the words, “The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory”.

In front of me a man stumbled and those following fell on top of him. The guard rushed over and used his whip on them all. Thus my thoughts were interrupted for a few minutes. But soon my soul found its way back from the prisoners existence to another world, and I resumed talk with my loved one: I asked her questions and she answered; she questioned me in return, and I answered.

“Stop!” We had arrived at our work site. Everybody rushed into the dark hut in the hope of getting a fairly decent tool. Each prisoner got a spade or a pickaxe.

“Can’t you hurry up, you pigs?” Soon we had resumed the previous day’s positions in the ditch. The frozen ground cracked under the point of the pickaxes, and sparks flew. The men were silent, their brains numb.

My mind still clung to the image of my wife. A thought crossed my mind: I didn’t even know if she were still alive. I knew only one thing- which I have learned well by now: Love goes very far beyond the physical person of the beloved. It finds its deepest meaning in his spiritual being, his inner self. Whether or not he is actually present, whether or not he is still alive at all, ceases somehow to be of importance.

I did not know whether my wife was alive, and I had no means of finding out (during all my prison life there was no outgoing or incoming mail); but at that moment it ceased to matter. There was no need for me to know; nothing could touch the strength of my beloved. Had I known then that my wife was dead, I think that I would still have given myself, undisturbed by that knowledge, to the contemplation of her image, and that my mental conversation with her would have been just as vivid and just as satisfying. “Set me like a seal upon thy heart, love is as strong as death”.”

~Viktor E. Frankl “Man’s Search for Meaning”


Image: Artist Scott Church, http://www.churchcreative.com/

The girl from nowhere...

Her hair was golden blonde, wispy and fine, falling across her slender shoulders. Her laugh was genuine and her eyes were brown. From within her came a spirit and love of life that was impossible to ignore and radiated outward, touching me in a profound way. She was of the age when a young girl is budding into a woman. She was the daughter of someone I knew. And for one wonderful weekend I spent time with this amazing young woman, learning about her and sharing some about me.

We hit it off like two long-lost friends, despite our age difference. We spent time talking, as all girls do. We shared our hopes and fears. We spoke of our dreams and planned our respective futures. We walked in the afternoon sun, rode bicycles, explored the garden at her home, and all the while I marveled at her kindness, her compassion, her intelligence, and sense of hope.

When our time was over it was hard to say goodbye. I vowed not to cry. I wanted her to remember our time together with happiness. We had bonded like sisters but I had grown to love her as a mother would love her own child. Saying goodbye was so very hard. Luckily, I did not have to do it. I awoke before I had to let her go.

My shoes and me...

As I often do, I took a very long walk the other day. Autumn mornings are among my favourite times to walk as the sky is a brilliant blue, the air is cool, and a bright sun brings warmth and a promise that the day will be beautiful. As I laced up my hiking shoes I reminded myself how very lucky I am to have endless trails just beyond my back fence. I can choose to walk through the parks and neighbourhoods of my suburban home, or I can make my way down to the bottom of the coulee and walk along the river, or I can go into the forest, sheltered by a canopy of trees, full of the ever-changing wonder of the seasons.

As I laced up my hiking shoes I decided I would make my way down to the river and then into the forest. I was in no rush and felt like a long, long walk. The morning air settled on my bare arms and I wondered briefly if I should return to get a jacket, but I reasoned I would soon warm up. In the shade, I could feel the cool on my skin; it was even a bit tingly and quite refreshing.
When I stepped from the shade into the sunshine, my arms were warmed by first rays of the day.

There are many runners in this city. Some of them are pretty hard-core. They have all the latest in running gear and are very dedicated to their sport. I admire these athletes as training for their half and full marathon goals is not easy. They must not only log the miles, but they must work on their techniques and timing. Some runs are LSD (long slow distance) while others are tempo runs, where the timing is varied with the distance. There are the fartleks, a fun sort of play with running where one runner chases another (or runs against the stopwatch), catching up and then trading who is the next to take off as the leader, a little like being “it” in a game of chase. All of these techniques help them fine tune their bodies so they can successfully complete what has for many become the Holy Grail of running: the full marathon. Having been a former competitive runner myself, I can appreciate all of this.

But I am happy to be me just as I am. Sure, someday I hope to run a half or full marathon, but only if these knees of mine can take it. For now, I simply slip on my shoes and I am out the door. There is no heart rate monitor strapped to my chest with its accompanying wrist watch to record the beat of my heart, only to signal back to me if I have slowed too much to be below my ‘target zone’. I do not wear a personal stereo with a play list of music specially selected at some pre-determined beats per minute to get my heart rate into the target zone, then move to the anaerobic zone, then back out again. It is just my shoes and me.

It is so simple, really. All that is needed is to just go outside and experience all that nature has to offer with all my senses on any given day. I like to feel the hilly terrain as it challenges my leg muscles to use their power to move me up and down the hills. I like to feel the crunch of the gravel path under my feet. Sometimes I like to walk on the prairie itself, through the ankle-high grass, listening to the soft thud as I strike the earth; it is a nice contrast to how my feet sound on the rolling paved trails. I love to hear the sound of the river, the wind in the trees, and the birdsong all around me. These are the sounds that remind me that the earth is alive, with a rhythm and pulse all her own. Best of all is when I walk fast and my heart beats its own rhythm, reminding me that I am alive. A simple walk, begun with just one step out the door, can bring much joy and optimism.

Some good advice...

Just the other day someone gave me some good advice. I had asked for it. While this individual does not know me in real life, she understands my passion for the tarot. Through the tarot she was able to tell me what I most needed to hear: it is time to step outside of my comfort zone if I expect to grow.

For years I have been motoring along, doing what is right, what is expected, answering the ‘corporate call’, and being responsible. In spite of all the ‘good girl’ things I have managed to accomplish, what I am most proud of is my discovery of the passions in my life: poetry, stories, philosophy, art, and science. Magically, all of these things, (and more), are wrapped up in a wonderful package called the tarot. Used for self-exploration and insight, the tarot can offer a glimpse of what is possible, especially if one is willing to consider an alternate ending to the story.

The tarot is filled with pictures which represent archetypes and energies. When we call upon these energies, they can infuse our lives with color and purpose. The energy and power of Earth helps us stay grounded so we have a sense of stability and a place to begin. The energy of Air can bring in a breath of freshness to inspire us with new ideas and dreams as it sweeps out old thoughts and limitations we have outgrown. Sometimes wonderful things can happen when we combine energy. The energies of Fire and Water can combine to make steam, which can be very powerful. It can move us forward with passion and emotion as we use our gifts to create what has been lying dormant in our imagination.

So if you are enjoying your comfort zone, revel in it. If you are feeling it is time to step beyond this place, time to stretch yourself and grow, be prepared for some amazing things to happen. But don’t forget to look back every once in awhile just to admire the view and see how far you have come.

The Cracked Pot...

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which she carried across her neck. One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walks from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream. 'I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house.' The old woman smiled, 'Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side?' 'That's because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them.' 'For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house.'

Each of us has our own unique flaw. But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding. You've just got to take each person for what they are and look for the good in them.

~ A Chinese proverb

Love does that...

All day long a little burro labours, sometimes with heavy loads on her back and sometimes just with worries about things that bother only burros. And worries, as we know, can be more exhausting than physical labour. Once in awhile a kind monk comes to her stable and brings a pear, but more than that, he looks into the burro’s eyes and touches her ears and for a few seconds the burro is free and even seems to laugh, because love does that. Love frees.

Author: Daniel Ladinsky, from “Love Poems from God”, published 2002.

Deviant art...

Late on night, while working in the morgue, as I was finishing up the last autopsy, I heard a groan.

This was the lead sentence for a short story assignment I completed in grade four. Instead of earning me a grade for my work which was completed on time, contained proper sentence structure, punctuation, and spelling, and was an original story idea, it earned me a trip to the principal’s office. I learned that day that he is not really your ‘pal’ as the teachers had told us when we were learning to spell the word principal. He decided that the best course of action for such an outlandish story was a trip to see the school-board psychiatrist. Apparently a young child should not be preoccupied with death. Who among us has not been fascinated by a dead bird found in the cemetery? Of course, when I expressed this I was told that "most kids don’t play in cemeteries”. Well, I did. The entire “inappropriate story” experience with the principal, the psychiatrist, and the horrified teacher was my first introduction to censorship at its finest.

Fast forward to grade seven. In art class we were studying ‘still life’ drawings. Our assignment was to draw a ‘still life’ and the entire class would have their pictures displayed in the glass cabinets in the main hall of the school for Parents Night. My interest in all things macabre had not waned, but I had managed to keep it in check for so many years. However, this assignment was begging for something unique. There are only so many bowls of oranges one can draw.

I set out to draw a still life. I drew a table, using proper perspective, with a flowered cloth draped across and falling artfully to the side, to show I could draw ‘folds’. I drew a vase slightly off center of the table. It was tall, slightly ovoid in shape, with a wide-brimmed mouth. In the vase I drew a variety of limbs. It was perhaps this that got me into trouble. For you see, my limbs were not dead or wooden, from some ancient tree.

My limbs were various arms, hands, legs, and feet. One arm extended up, and, bent at the elbow, the fingers pointed to the flowers on the table. It looked like a broken flower itself. My limbs were not bloody, gory, or otherwise shocking. My limbs were healthy, pink, tan, brown, and yellow. All nationalities of skin color were represented. Fingers and toes were softly splayed like the petals on flowers; the nail beds showed a healthy glow. After all, this was a drawing about life; my limbs were alive. They were just ‘still’ as in ‘not moving’. My limbs were arranged to look like a bouquet of flowers, that ubiquitous form from which I had drawn my inspiration.

Again, my creativity and curiosity earned me a trip to the psychologists office for another ‘assessment’. Mine was the only drawing not included in the show-case in the main hall of the school. Censored yet again, I went underground. I was still fascinated with all things odd. I wanted to push the boundaries and think outside the box. I was curious. I wanted to learn, to experiment, and to try new things. But, it seemed the adults around me were more interested in having me remain in the box. They thought my interests made me somehow ‘deviant’. I saw it as a healthy curiosity for someone who wanted to be a forensic pathologist.