"I breathe in, I breathe out"

As I digested the horror of the Paris attacks with the rest of the world, my reaction was steeped in the thought, "Oh, shit.  Here we go with the violent retaliation, the "anything goes" spying, the easy doorway of acceptance for new policies that will create a stronger military world order."  And that chain of thought made me a little desperate to see countering perspectives, to see messages about unity, about being the peace we wish to see in the world, about retaliation just turning the next violent cycle.

And I had to dig deep, but I found this really lovely letter: Alexis' Letter about Peace.  It was heartening for me, reflective of my own sense that the work that's needed for peace is work for all of us, in our own hearts, in our own breath - in and out.

And then, I stumbled on this article: Gary Johnson-Isis, Refugees, Syria, Terror, and was a little more heartened to find a politician saying some things I feel myself, some things that make sense to me in relation to all this.  In 2012, my hope for Gary to get some traction and actually win the presidential election exploded, but I was let down.   I feel like gathering some hope again.

I, too, am 100%, a pacifist.

I know it's not a popular point of view, and in times like the present, pacifism gets such criticism as being weak, uncaring, and cooperating with evil.  But to me, that could not be further from the truth.  I'm all for being strong, for caring deeply, for trying to help, and for fervently disagreeing and opposing terrible acts of violence.  I'm even for self-defense as well, if one's not using a ridiculously broad definition of defense.

I just think it can be much simpler, if we slow down, breathe in and breathe out, and stop letting fear call the shots.

I say: send food, send education, send love; welcome children, welcome those who are suffering, welcome a new way forward; stop with the weapons, stop with the divisive hatred, stop with the messages written in blood.

Each Moment's Choice

I.

"It's so good to see you!" I say as I hug her, my voice wavering as I collect myself from the shock of how different she looks.  She's so thin, her face so sunken, and her teeth must still be in that cup on her nightstand.  She never walked around without them, but now, she doesn't seem to care at all how she looks.

She pushes me back.  "Do you have a car here?"

"Yeah, sure Grandmom.  I have a car, that's how I got here."

"Get me out of here."  She whispers with her head down.  Her gaze pierces me.  She angrily stares me down, and I feel this sharp closing in, like a tightening straight jacket on my entire body gripping tighter and tighter.  What the hell do I say?  Where could I take her?  I don't even live around here anymore, and my mom certainly doesn't want me to take her back there. Grandmom would just start in on her about how my mom should have her live there, not here.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.  I look around.  The TV set is louder than is comfortable, tuned in to some daytime drama.  A few wheelchairs parked in front, the people in them with distant stares, faces not even turned to look at the TV.  A few workers are gathered over near a desk, one with a scowl and hand on her hip, the other having a similar distant stare to the people in the wheelchairs, like it's just their bodies present in the scene, nothing else.  And as I'm taking it all in, I focus in on this weird smell, some blended scent of bleach, plastic, and human waste - deeply unpleasant when you really pay attention to it.

It sucks here.  No wonder she wants to get out.

I turn my face back to hers, mouth still open with no words coming out.

"Let's go!" she says, conspiratorially.  She lowers her voice, "now."  She pierces me again with that stare.

II.

"I can't, Grandmom."

I pause, hoping that this intensity in her will settle, so I can spend that quality time with her that I'd been planning during the drive over.

"Well, then get the fuck out of here."  She turns and starts walking toward a hallway out of this rec room where we've been standing.

"Grandmom, wait," I start to walk after here and gently place my arm on her shoulder.  "I came here to see you.  I miss you.  I want to spend time with you.  Can't we just sit down and talk?"

She briefly turns and looks into my eyes with a fire blazing.  "There's nothing to say if you don't want to help me.  Get out of here."

"I don't want to leave.  I want to spend time with you," I say to her back as she starts walking at an oddly fast pace for a 99 year old woman.  "Please, Grandma, wait."

She doesn't.  She keeps on, and I follow.

I follow her into her room, but she barely looks at me.  Her anger dissolves into despair, and then into an absence.  I keep trying to engage her, to tell her about my family, to ask her about her life, but she doesn't say a word.  Her eyes barely open, her face not turned toward me at all.

Eventually, I give up and walk to my car.  I get in it and drive away from what will turn out to be the last time that I see my grandmother.

II.a.

"Ah, ok, I guess.  Are you allowed to leave?"

She apparently only hears "ok" because she starts down the hallway that I'd just come down, walking so fast that I have to skip a few times just to catch up with her.  As we get closer to the door, a man approaches.

"Where are you going?" he asks with an authority in his tone that causes a fear grip on my rib cage.

My grandma ignores him and reaches for the door handle.  He grabs her aggressively by the shoulders.

Without even thinking, I push one of his hands off her shoulder.

"We're just talking a little walk, ok?  She wants some fresh air."

"Well, then you need to sign her out," he says starting to close the door in front of my grandma.  My grandma uses a little of her superhuman force and pulls against his hand to get the door open again.  He looks surprised.

"Sir, we'll just be right out here.  Can you just make a note that she's outside with her granddaughter, and we'll be back soon.  Thanks."

I help Grandmom push the door all the way open.  She gets her hunched over little body out the door, and I follow, with the man pursing his lips and watching from the vestibule.  My grandmother makes her way down that front walkway headed straight for the parking lot.

I chase after her. "Grandma, slow down.  That guy is going to grab you and make you go back in there if you don't slow down."

Her speed decreases slightly, but she doesn't turn her head up from the walkway and says, "which one is your car?"

"Grandma, he doesn't want us to leave.  We're just supposed to be walking around, getting fresh air."

"Where's you're car!!"

"It's  there!" I blurt, pointing at my mom's gold SUV.  The two of us take off running for the car, as I pull out the keys and unlock the doors.  As I help her up and into the front seat, I see the guard start running out the front door.

This Dukes of Hazard type excitement starts coursing through my veins as I practically leap over the front of the vehicle and throw my body into the front seat.  The guy is just reaching us when I get the car started and throw it in reverse.  His fist hits the car, just as I'm far enough out of the spot to put it in drive and hit the gas.  The huge car, so much bigger than I'm used to, shakes a bit as it starts to pick up some speed.  Noticing not a single car in the parking lot or the road ahead, I screech my way out into the street.

As I round the corner, I see the guy in my side mirror, arms down at his side, not walking, just staring at the car with this pissed off look.  My grandmother looks out the window at him.  It feels like he thinks his intimidating look is all that's needed to lure her back there.

I laugh, thinking he really has no idea how my feisty grandma works.  The harder she is pushed by someone, the harder she pushes back.  She's always been that way, and in this moment, I really appreciate that about her.

She lets out this cackle and smiles for the first time since I'd arrived.

Now that the chase is over, I notice my pumping heart beat, sweat, fast breathing.  I pull in a deep breath, and let it out with a huge sigh.

"Whoa, Grandma!  Not what I was expecting at all!"

She laughs again and settles back into her seat, not saying a thing.

....

An Experiment

Feeling like a caterpillar lately, while consuming its body weight many times over.  Thankfully, I'm not actually subsisting on leaves and watching my body blow up to many times its original size, but still, I am feeling that bloated caterpillar sensation.

I'm overwhelmed by near constant consumption of information.  There's all the different kinds of information I've been bringing in my whole life, just basically all the stuff that life itself imparts.  But now included in all that living is an onslaught of texts, emails, and Facebook posts.  Plus there's that deeply seductive bottomless pit of information: the Internet.  My curiosities are instantly satiated, any idea researched into a plan, and any bored moment transformed into a fully entertained one.

Even though I really do like these ways that technology makes it easier to communicate and share, the thing is that I'm starting to notice less and less time to make my curiosities, ideas and open moments into creative actions.  I spend more time pinning recipes on my Pinterest board than I do cooking.  I'm taking screenshots of watercolor paintings I love instead of dusting off the brushes and playing with some paint myself.  I'm reading other peoples' quotes and thoughts far more than I'm writing down any of my own.

And so, I've decided to try a little experiment in the hopes of bring the inflow of information and creative outflow into a better balance.  I've deleted my Facebook account.

I have a habit of turning to Facebook to fill an empty moment, just a quick scroll through to see if anything catches my interest.  Sometimes it's for a few second, sometimes for several minutes, but sometimes I'm spit out of the black hole with blurry eyes and that cracked out feeling of having no idea how long I was gone.

I'm not anti-Facebook or pledging to stay off forever because for the most part, I really do enjoy it and see its value in my life.  I'm just noticing that this habit I've got is drying up a healthy boredom that used to lead me to some interesting places which I don't frequent as much anymore.

And so, the experiment starts now.  This caterpillar is heading into hibernation of sorts, curling up into my own chrysalis to see what happens next.


Update 1: One week into my little experiment, and I'm liking the shift.  A busy week at work has made me replace the Facebook checking habit with a work email checking habit. But still, I feel something starting to clear out a little.  It's like the part of my mind that chews on drama, that thinks about what's happening out there and tries to feel out how I fit in it, that's the part of my mental process that feels like it's getting less air time. And it's nice.  This waning feels in harmony with the leaves falling off the trees, the woods thinning closer to transparency, and the darkness falling earlier in the day.

It kind-of feels like when I was a kid - going in a closet and closing the door to make it really dark in there, dark enough so the glow-in-the-dark details on my new pair of sneakers would show.  In this little metaphor, I feel like I'm in slow-motion, pulling that door closed.


Update 2: Week 2, and today I had the first surge of feeling like I wanted to get back on Facebook.  With yesterday's tragic events in Paris, I wanted to log on and feel connected with the world community in the mourning and horror.  I wanted to see people's posts and feel that momentary communion from our common feelings coming together in similar posts, in likes, in comments.

And there was also a strong interest in what other people were thinking, where their minds went after learning about the attack.  Did the people I follow on Facebook agree with a need for swift and strong retaliation;  Or was there maybe someone else that felt like me?

And then, I became so grateful not to be on Facebook right now.

More and more in recent years, I realize that I'm a high octane pacifist, a "militant pacifist," as Einstein put it.  I don't really have nice manners or a soft tone; I'm not some sugary-sweet type that just wants everyone to get along.  Rather, I vehemently disagree with the idea that the way to fight violence is with more violence.

Whether we call it an air strike or a terrorist attack, aren't they both sweeping violent actions taken in order to send a message?  And doesn't the person on the receiving side of that message always hear something quite different than what was intended?  Violence is the most ineffective tool for communication, and yet we, just like them, turn to it again and again to really get our message across.

I pray that the more enlightened parties in these violent conversations rise up to be the change we need in the world.  To be the Peace we need.

To end my Facebook experiment update, the events in Paris highlighted to me a real beauty of social media - the safety check-ins, the way that grieving people around the world can unite in solidarity by logging in and sharing a few clicks, words, and pictures.  It's so lovely in the face of such darkness, and I miss being a part of it today.  And yet, I know that my big mouth often lands me in a debate when I try to share my perspective about things like this, so just maybe the most connected and loving place for me today is not on Facebook.  Peace and love to all those impacted by the events in Paris, and May Peace Prevail on Earth.


Update 3: It's three weeks in, and a real shift has taken hold.  At first, checking my work email on my phone replaced the FB habit, but this week I took the next step: deleting my work email from my phone.  I don't really need it to do my job, but it'd become a way to keep a little part of myself at work much more than I needed to be.

So now, my phone and I aren't nearly as connected; the phone is just this practical device for necessary communications, instead of a little vacuum of attention and time.

And my relationship with news changed a bit this week.  I've never been a big consumer of the news.  There's so much spin, manipulation, and fear peddling in the information coming through the mainstream channels, and I've noticed how much it impacts my mood and general feelings of well-being.  I used to force myself to sift through and try to stay informed, but at some point, I just let myself off the hook.

But FB was a channel I left open that kept me moderately engaged in the cycles of information spinning through the population.  Since that channel has been shut down, while I happen to be quite interested in what happened in Paris and the response, I've been searching the news, targeting exactly what I'd like to know.  And it's been interesting.  I've found different information than I used to encounter, and I feel like I'm getting information more targeted to what I'd like to know, instead of spinning into an overwhelming abyss.

All in all, I'm loving this experiment right now.  Any addictive withdrawal is complete, and new things do seem to be popping.


Last Update: Well, my little experiment has been over for a while now, so time for a conclusion.  Honestly, it's nice being back.  I really do like the ideas, images, and interactions that FB brings into my life, but I'm also aware of how easy it is for the balance to get completely thrown off, for it all to become a barrage of useless garbage or negativity. Moving forward, I think it's likely that I'll spring back and forth, on and off, always mindful of whether FB is a positive or negative influence on my current state of mind.

My blanket answer to any legal question

When people ask me a legal question, I always end up saying the same kinds of things, whether a problem is civil or criminal, already a legal case or one that may come about.  It seems that I'm either highly unoriginal or I see the same core themes at the heart of navigating any legal issue that might arise.

Either way, here it is, my one-size-fits-all legal advice:

1. Keep your mouth shut

Except to ask questions.  And then listen closely to answers, and carefully consider any information before sharing anything with anyone.  Only give information when you've fully considered what you will say and how it will work for and against you. And only speak if it's true; lies will come back to bite you in the ass.

Besides the ways what you say can work against you, talking too much will fill your head with too much conflicting garbage.  Too much talking about the situation can make you fuzzy and unclear because 1) you'll keep your own mind on the hamster wheel of replaying it again and again, and 2) you'll solicit other people's opinions, advice, memories.  It will very likely confuse you, so limit your venting and advice-seeking.

2. Do not expect the justice system to give you a fair result

Civil - Even if a situation is unfair or you can get everyone you know to agree it was wrong, it may not be against the law and/or you may not be able to prove it with evidence that's allowed in court.  Don't assume because what happened was wrong that going to court will get you what you think is fair.

Criminal - Our criminal justice system is hurting, really hurting.  Mass incarceration is a reality and it's sad, and as much as we all want to believe only guilty and dangerous people are behind bars, it isn't true.  Take any criminal case very seriously and ALWAYS remember point 1.

3. Do not hand over your life and your case to your lawyer

When getting a lawyer, don't assume that the ones you pay the most money will be the best.  The pricey lawyer might be great, but they might not be.  Ask for recommendations, keep your options open, and building a relationship with whatever lawyer you get is key.

Your lawyer is there to advise you and I suggest you listen closely to that advice, but cooperate and stay involved.  Read your paperwork; you may not understand it all, but you will understand some.  Fact sections in briefs and filings will be easier to read.  See the story that each side is telling, and let your lawyer know if things aren't right.  Know deadlines and court dates, show up and be in touch with your lawyer ahead of these dates.

This is your life, and your lawyer has lots more cases than just yours.  No one knows the stakes as well as you, so don't hand over all your power.  Stay involved.

4. Do not expect a legal case to address your emotional turmoil 

Although the legal system is designed to address unfairness and injustice, don't expect that all the anger, sadness, pain, and mistrust you feel as a result of being screwed over will magically disappear if you win a case.  Even if you win, the pain will still be there.  Think of a divorce, one spouse out for blood because of all that happened; even if that spouse wins, gets everything sought and more, the wounds will still be there, maybe more so because the hope that they would be gone upon winning is no longer there.  Work within yourself, with a therapist, with other healing professionals to deal with the emotional turmoil, and don't expect or even want the legal system to heal that pain for you.

Most likely, a journey through the legal system will just create more emotional things to work through, and keep this in mind if you have a choice about starting, continuing, or ending your legal battle.

5. End any legal battle as quickly as possible

My biggest and most often used piece of advice is to end any legal battle as quickly as possible.  If you can avoid going to court, do.  If you can settle, do.  Litigation is emotionally-draining, time-consuming, and expensive; if you have a choice about it, be sure it's worth it.


Disclaimer:
I'm sure some lawyers would strongly disagree with my overall perspective against litigation, so take this advice knowing that I greatly value peace of mind, more than money, being right, or saving face.

Am I Part of the Cure, or Am I Part of the Disease?

Years ago, these lyrics from a Cold Play song stopped me.

I was driving alone when the song came on the radio.  As I heard it and let those lyrics seep in, I immediately knew my answer, and it devastated me.

It wasn't that I was some ugly and violent part of society's disease.  I wasn't trying to hurt anyone.  But in a split second, I saw that being part of the disease could be much more passive.  I was well-meaning cog in so many wheels of dysfunction. My job felt like dysfunction, my relationships were dysfunction, the growing separation between my insides and my outside: total dysfunction.  Even though I so desperately wanted to be part of the cure, I stopped being able to fool myself into believing that I actually was.

In the decade or so since, my life has changed drastically, and for the better.

Then this past week, I was driving along and that same Cold Play song came on the radio.  And those same lyrics poked at me, drawing out the answer for this point in my life.

And all I got was silence, blankness, neutrality.  I had this sense that I'm neither disease or cure.  I could feel a sense that blindly cooperating with dysfunction was no longer my MO, but at the same time, I didn't feel any great sense of myself as part of the cure.

And that really opened a question for me: What does being part of the cure even mean?

Obvious examples came to mind: Malala, Maggie Doyne, Greg Mortenson.  People whose lives presented them with a choice, and the choice they made became an unfolding of goodness and love, a path of inspiration for others.  People who seem to be living a sense of Dharma in the highest degree are the ones that come so quickly to mind when I think of what being the cure means.

But what would being part of the cure look like in my ordinary little life? I can't see one of those big decisive moments when I could have chosen some path of healing or service.  And even those special moments when I did have a crossroads and chose fully with my heart, they were quiet moments, powerful in a way that was just significant to me, maybe a couple of other people.  Can I really consider that being part of the cure?

Way back when those lyrics first rocked me out of my comfort zone, I had a fantasy that writing would be my way to be part of the cure.  I could write positive waves into the world around me; I could inspire, or enlighten, or just add something unique and good into the mix of things.

But, as the years have passed, I've noticed the goodness I feel in writing gets pinched or corrupted if I think at all about what it would mean to anyone else.  When I'm writing for any sort-of result or reaction, the whole process becomes a mess of egoic dysfunction, no sense of cure-making at all.

And I keep feeling a crazy little secret hiding in all of this: the attempt at cure-making is no cure at all.  The rhythms of my life seem to show this one over and over.  "Don't try so hard, just be... just Be."

But is this enough?  When I look around and see so many things that break my heart, is it enough to just be, to just live my beautiful and blessed life, to enjoy it and love as best I can?

For now, this seems my only choice, and no denying that it's a great choice.  And even so, I feel a sense that the question isn't over, that it might never be over.