The similarity of human thought

I was trying to clean up my clutter from the open counter between our kitchen and living room, where all the paperwork and unread mail accumulates. I was about to throw away our church's Lenten "prayers for courage and change" which consists of submissions by church members of prayer requests. But, of course, I had to flip through it just one more time. I was looking to see if I could figure out what my husband turned in. I haven't found his yet, but I found others that I could swear that I wrote. Or if not, they tuned perfectly with my heart. (meaning, they probably weren't written by him, ha!)

It wasn't hard to spot my own submission! It stood out: wordy, with a bit of dramatic flair. It had me written all over it!

When we meet in groups in my church, I am usually reminded of all our differences. I'm more liberal than many (though not all!) our members. Our political views tend to be opposite, though again, there are a number of people who think more like me (this is one thing I love about United Methodism -- that it can attract free thinkers better than probably any other mainstream Christian denomination).

However, there are times that our common humanity is so apparent that the differences all fade away, for a time, and I truly am capable of loving my neighbors, every one of them -- for a moment, anyhow! One such time is during communion at church. I can't express in words the way that communion affects me. It "embodies" the spiritual power of grace. It brings it into the body, which is why it is such a powerful ritual. Any spiritual practice that is disconnected from the body is sadly lacking. When we each eat bread and have a bit of "wine" (grape juice), representing the body and blood of Christ, God truly does become incarnate and the holy presence comes alive.

I look at every other person in the church at such times, and our common bonds -- our joys, our suffering -- are so apparent to me. I see grace shining on every person, and the divinity of every person shines out at that moment, overcoming all human limitations and separation.

Anyhow, here are a few prayers that I could have written, or that I really relate to:

To eat more slowly, and mindfully -- to choose what I eat and how much I eat

Work harder and complain less

To start worrying less about the safety of my family and to have faith that they will be ok

Pray that my wife (spouse) and I have the strength to instill more discipline in our children -- I'll have to ask, this could actually be Dwaine's!

I need courage to not over-commit, prioritize, and say no to some things and some people

This one echoed part of my prayer, which was to stop judging my loved ones:
To be free and not so demanding of those I love. To let things go and just enjoy being with them. Be more like Mary, less like Martha.

This last sentiment sort of contradicts the one about more discipline for the kids. Sigh -- story of my life. Conflicting thoughts, desires, all clamoring for my attention and approval.

An apology for the prior post

Well, I'm having technical difficulty with my blog. I can't ever log in! The system does not recognize the password, and I have to constantly reset it to get here. I know I'm doing something wrong, but don't know what.

I want to make an apology, in the old-fashioned sense of a defense or explanation, for the previous blog post. Let's see here ... while I am a deeply spiritual person and I feel a close, personal and life-saving relationship with my own personal divinity, I am not a particularly religious person. I don't feel bound by the traditions or customs of any particular style of worship, though I do identify myself as a United Methodist and I am a member of the United Methodist Church. I realize that my savior is not your savior. He/she can't be! Even if we both said we were Christians, our relationship with God and Christ is as individual as a fingerprint and simply can't be duplicated. Hence the saying, "God has no grandchildren." Each of us is God's children, and can't transfer that relationship, even to our own children, indirectly. Each of us must experience that relationship (or not) by ourselves, though it often is sparked through the loving action of others.

I believe that God is quite a bit more comfortable with diversity than most people are. Most people want to hang around others of our own type, who think the way we do and hold most of the same beliefs. I've always rebelled against that notion. Of course, I have my own unconscious or semi-conscious biases, a whole bunch of them! I am human, too. But I know that God loves -- adores -- great variety. Look around! There isn't just one type of anything. There's a great abundance of plants and animals, and the same variety holds true for people as well, even as we become more global and more aware of our human commonalities.

Therefore, I delight -- as I truly know that God does -- in the variety of religious traditions that humans have devised over our time on this planet. I don't denigrate any of them, and I don't rank any as more worthy, including my own -- although I don't profess to understand them all. I detest all religious traditions, including within Christianity, that condone violence of any sort, or that repress freedom of thought.

This is why I can't call myself a Christian. That word has so many negative connotations and much negative baggage attached to it, unfortunately. Perhaps this is largely in my mind, but I don't think so.

It bothers me that some of my dearest friends might have difficulty understanding what I was trying to convey in my previous posting, because it was so clothed in religious language.

I believe that holy scriptures are divinely inspired because they can be interpreted on so many levels, by different people in changing circumstances. I invite you to remove the religious aspects from the Bible verses I have quoted and seek to interpret them from the context of your own world view.

My friend Karen emphasizes that the Bible, particularly the parables and other teachings of Jesus, are laden with paradox. He'll say one thing, then say its opposite. So those who take a quick and easy interpretation are almost certainly missing something important. (Notice that I didn't quite say they were "Wrong!!" though I was tempted to)

When Jesus says, "I will make you fishers of men," what does he mean by that? Does it mean to go out and convert as many people as possible to Christianity?

Let me say that I can't be the final authority of what any scripture passages mean ... just as no one else can! I think that practicing any spiritual or religious tradition leads you down the path toward a much keener interest in every human being you meet. I think that touching upon the divine is also a way of touching into our common humanity, and recognizing that we are all part of one group, no matter how different we are in many ways. So the suffering of others suddenly becomes a personal problem. It's no longer neatly removed and happening to "someone else," "somewhere else" because every person is a part of this one great organism that also includes me. (I personally also include all of the living creation as one organism.)

It takes a lifetime of study to make spiritual progress, I believe, in any tradition. The one you follow is your choice, and I respect that choice and offer it to you! I think it is a choice that you should make, and not put off as I have.

Life calls me back. Oh, for a time I could just write, and write, and write. But life is a good and sweet thing, too.

I am a United Methodist!

It's taken me years to be able to make this simple statement with confidence. Today, Rev. Ross preached a simple sermon about how Jesus called his first disciples, the fishermen brothers Simon (Peter) and Andrew, James and John. He said, "Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men." Rev. Ross pointed out that most people forget about the "follow me" and just remember that disciples of Christ are to be fishers of men (people). However, you must first follow Jesus and his example, or nothing else will work! That precedes everything else. And following Jesus is no simple matter.

I had to ask myself, have I been faithfully following Jesus, my Lord and savior? Or have I been quibbling, refusing to "join" any group, insisting on my outsider status for all this time? I've never been a joiner. I much prefer to remain unaffiliated. (There's a funny line in "Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou?" about that.) Yet today, somehow it sank in that the least that Jesus could ask me to do would be to make a firm commitment that I am his follower! What a mistake I've made in failing to commit my whole self to his service. To put it in a coarse but quite descriptive way, time to s*** or get off the pot!

I still have a difficult time calling myself a Christian. There's simply too much baggage around that word for me. However, I am glad to be a United Methodist and a disciple of Jesus Christ. I still greatly admire the Buddha and his teachings, but I won't use that as an excuse any longer, to give less than my absolute all in service of my faith. The faith I was raised with, that is my cultural home base.

I've always been able to see multiple sides of most issues. I can understand and empathize with a variety of viewpoints, though I still stubbornly cling to my own views as the most correct! The problem with seeing around the globe of most problems is that it makes me paralyzed, at times, unable to decide on a single course of action. Life doesn't happen in a linear fashion, so how can I make just a single decision and move forward with it, when there are always so many alternatives?

If I can't even say that I am following Jesus, it is reminiscent of Paul's passage on charity-love. "If I speak with the tongues of angels and have all wisdom, but have not love, I am but a loud gong or a clanging cymbal." Strangely, my mom quoted this passage to me. Mom, who certainly had a difficult and prickly relationship with God! But it struck me what a beautiful passage it was -- it resonated with me, and I heard it first from my mother.

If I seek to help others, but cannot say why or where my intention comes from, the gesture is strangely empty. Then I am just being a nice person, but I don't bring the power of divine compassion with my efforts.

Here's an interpretation of the miracle of the loaves and fishes that speaks so loudly to me. Jesus receives this small -- measly, even -- offering of a few loaves and fishes, far too little to feed the overwhelming crowd that surrounds him, that is so hungry and needy. This is how I feel every day, overwhelmed by all the needs of this world. How can one person make any difference at all in the midst of so much suffering?

Yet -- here is the miracle -- when small gifts are placed into the hands of Jesus, they are transformed! They can help thousands, of thousands. Small gifts. All we have to offer is small gifts, yet they are transformed when they are placed in Jesus's hands, to use as he would have us do.

Jesus, may I give all my gifts to you ... all I have, all I am, to your service.

Happy Easter!

I was looking for a homeopathic, or holistic, or some-such doctor to help me with my acid reflux, and came across this great little article about eating mindfully:

http://stayhealthyandwell.com/the-hunger-level-scale-for-weight-loss/

This isn't just for weight loss, by the way! It's for everybody. Here is an excerpt. Good reminder, just in time for that Easter splurge of a meal! I thought it was quite humorous, too. Who ever starts out to eat to a level 10? Yet I bet every one of us has done it before, and for some it's a bad habit. As Thomas Jefferson said (it's one of his "10 rules" posted in my office), Few people ever repented of eating too little! Especially living here, when you can always have more food later.


The rule of thumb is to start eating at about Level 3 or 4 and stop eating at Level 6 or 7.
The Hunger Level Scale

Level 1 — Famished

Your stomach is completely empty; you’re weak and light-headed.

Level 2 — Starving

You’re uncomfortable and irritable and unable to concentrate.

Level 3 — Uncomfortably hungry

Your stomach is rumbling.

Level 4 — You’re slightly uncomfortable

You’re beginning to feel the signs of hunger and can’t wait to eat.

Level 5 — Neutral and comfortable

You’re more or less satisfied.

Level 6 — Completely satisfied.

You’ve eaten just the right amount of food and are completely comfortable. The key is to stop here.

Level 7 — Satisfied

At this point, you may be feeling a bit too full. If you don’t stop at this level on the hunger scale, you’ll soon feel ill.

Level 8 — Uncomfortably full

You feel bloated and are starting to feel uneasy.

Level 9 — Very uncomfortable and full.

You feel like loosening your clothes.

Level 10 — Completely stuffed and miserable.

You feel nauseated and need to take something for stomach relief. You can’t function, and you want to lie down.

------------
This naturopath has some really simple and doable suggestions for better digestion. Here's one I will definitely try: don't drink a lot of liquids when eating a meal. Her theory is that it dilutes stomach acid and makes it harder for the stomach to digest food. Sounds reasonable to me!

Then, of course, there's the idea of pausing and taking some deep breaths instead of inhaling your food! This is one I need to work on. I am of the stuff-it-in school, always in a hurry, it seems. I like her suggestion of grazing throughout the day, especially since that is my natural style already. She seems to have a chip on her shoulder about dairy and lactose, and possibly also grains -- though it may just be that most Americans eat way too much starchy food, bread, rice, potatoes, etc. and need to cut back.

"Fasting" for Lent

Wow, long time no posts! That ski trip seems like so long ago, another life almost.

I wish I could have kept a journal of my "fasting" for Lent (technical difficulties in blogoland -- I notice the space bar is not always working, so bear with me). I have to qualify the term because I fasted between meals only, M-F only!! That's all I could stand to do, with it being tax season as well. That has been challenge enough. Let's see, the fasting is around 6-7 hours without food two times a day, and I have noticed it quite a bit. 

This year, I finally had a persuasive reason to fast, and I have started to grasp why fasting is so spiritually significant. It's a way to untangle all the cords that tether the mind/spirit to the body. It's just one avenue to tell the body, you're not the boss of me! (Of course, I'm not sure who is the boss around here most of the time.)

As I told my spiritual guide, Cecilia, I wanted to observe some fasting to be in solidarity with the people of Kinshasa, Congo. That country has abundant natural resources which have been misdirected and squandered. Food is imported from other countries at a high price, rather than grown locally, making it unaffordable for the people, so they have a system to survive. They choose which family members, including children, will eat on which days. Each family member eats one day, then fasts one day. This is not a mere exercise or a choice, because they have no choice. Imagine that kind of hunger and want, right now, and it makes our overabundance of food seem a bit sickening.

Cecilia was on the same wavelength. This year, she is fasting for indigenous people who live in remote mountainous areas of Mexico and are experiencing great hardships and deprivation due to a severe drought and harsh winter. 

I think that untethering our souls from our bodies is a crucial step in progress toward, shall we say, enlightenment. Not to be unaware of how the body is feeling, but to be separate from it and allow it to suffer without the spirit also suffering. This would completely transform the approach to all human misery, which is so deeply connected with our physical bond to our body and to one another. "There is an end to suffering," says Buddha.

My latest philosophical epiphany is this: we are our attitudes! Nothing else is important, nothing else in life is even real. The way we approach everything is crucial, and makes all the difference. Our life's work is a continual attitude adjustment. Life is so fleeting, so uncertain, and the dramatic storyline is a distraction from the important work. 

So, to report on the fasting. Since this is me we're talking about, I have eased the way for my own suffering! I don't "eat" but I often enjoy a hot tea latte (complete with milk, i.e., protein, and some sweetener, nice and filling) late in the afternoon, when my body is demanding some attention. 

I wanted to try to describe the many aspects of hunger, having experienced it twice a day now. The hunger I have can't be anything like people who are truly malnourished and starving. It's just a shadow of that ferocity of deprivation. Even so, it is interesting how pervasive the effects can be. I have trouble concentrating (and this worries me because my job requires great concentration). I often get a dull headache in the afternoon. I feel weary. Of course, I have trouble being cheerful. It's quite similar to a car running out of gas! The get up and go, got up and went. 

This is how Austin described hunger, and he's a ravenous teenage boy, so is something of an expert! One year, he had a late lunch period at school and ate after 1 pm (right after math class, one of his most difficult classes) every day. He would describe feeling incredibly hungry midmorning. Then, by the time it got closer to his lunchtime, he told me, "My stomach died and I wasn't hungry anymore." 

I know what he means. By the time I eat lunch, after 1 pm (having eaten breakfast around 6 am), I am not experiencing the usual feelings of hunger and could keep on working, though I feel out of sorts. But I've noticed that my body is adjusting to the new schedule, and it is not so physically demanding as it was at first. 

I can sympathize with people who are trying to lose weight. It's really hard to feel hungry and not eat! Worse, it is easy to overeat when you really are running on empty. That is another challenge. I often come home and stuff myself around 8 pm, then feel uncomfortably bloated. Though, I must admit, I prefer the feeling of being too full to being too hungry! I sprawl into bed about 2 hours later, not having digested my meal.

Let me not end this post with that fulsome image!

My boys are growing up so fast. Austin is due to graduate from high school, and Andrew wants to get his driver's permit and a summer job. (I am bullying Andrew, at this moment, to sign up as a zoo volunteer as a backup plan. It's hard for teens to get summer jobs these days, especially the nondriving ones!)

Our ski adventure

Home ... all of us well, no bones broken, nothing torn that would require surgery! Quite the successful weekend ski getaway, all told. I felt bad for Dwaine, who trekked to the top of the mountain and retrieved lunch, shoes, and other assorted items while the rest of us went skiing. He did get preboarding on Southwest Airlines, though, being less than a week out from surgery when we departed.

I was a ski school dropout. You've heard the song, "Beauty School Dropout?" Yes, I flunked ski school -- the one for those "first experiencing" skiing, no less -- and sent myself to the remedial class the second afternoon, after falling (not quite literally) far behind my so-called "beginner" peers. Here's the story.

I was the one who was late to the party ... by the time I had fussed with all the apparel, gotten both ski boots on, made an extra trip to the bathroom, and ascertained that our older son had given up on the rest of us and gone ahead, Andrew and I were late for ski school. Andrew, being habitually late, was unconcerned by the small detail that our group had left and gone up the mountain already without us. We stood forlornly by the "first experience - ski" sign at the base of the mountain, just the two of us, until a helpful instructor noticed us. He then proceeded to personally escort us to join the group at the midway station, where ski school was starting. He even carried my skis for me! The boys wound up in one group together, while I joined a second group.

I learned that first morning to put on skis, put them on again if they popped off, how to ski one-legged, and finally, how to sort of ski down a very gentle slope without injuring myself or anyone around me. My group was actually a perfect fit for me, consisting as it did of one person who came down with altitude sickness and had to leave, and another person who fell down on her skis whenever she moved. Between those two, the instructor didn't make much progress with the rest of us.

We removed our skis and went to the summit in enclosed gondolas (no barbaric chair lifts for the likes of us) to lunch, and I was promptly separated from the group. No worries, though. I quickly found my lunch waiting with my faithful hubby, Dwaine. PB&J sandwiches I had made the night before, naturally chilled water, and an apple -- the best lunch ever!

It occurred to me at some point that I didn't know where or when my ski group was to gather for the rest of the full-day lesson. Dwaine went off to watch the boys ski while I absorbed the fact that not only was I lost, my shins were being mercilessly squeezed by ski boots that had to have been invented by someone with a sadistic streak. The pain was radiating up my legs, through my whole body, and to my brain till I could think of nothing else. Through the mental fog, a thought finally struck: I'd had enough fun for one day. As much fun, in fact, as I could stand. So I staggered through the snow back to the gondola, dragging all my ski gear with me, and went on the long ride down the mountain, where I got fitted for a better-padded ski boot that they apparently reserved in the back only for people who complained enough.

That was my first day. A good day it was, especially the half-day bit, as we were to return for another full day of similar excitement the following day. The kids fared better than I did, being natural daredevils, and actually bumbled their way down the mountain without either killing and maiming (that I know of) or being killed themselves, and with only about a dozen falls apiece. What a victory! We were all in bed, enjoying the absolute motionlessness and warmth, by 8:30.

The next day was even more promising. It turned out that I had never turned in my ski school ticket the day before. What this meant, a helpful attendant at the rental place explained, was I could go again! Yippee!

This time, I was no longer having my "first experience," so I was bumped up to "beginner." By the way, I was early, not late, for the day two lesson. This time, the group summited right away. We spent the morning learning to stop and turn down a very gentle hill, taking a nice little conveyer-belt ride back up to the top in amongst loads of about 6-year-old kids that were also skiing and snowboarding there. Just my speed! But then, right before lunch, the instructor took us to a terrifying-looking hill and announced that next, we would ski down this slope. There was a cliff on one side, and trees lining the other, plus a steep turn to avoid the cliff. Yikes! I started very tentatively before falling over, just short of the tree (to avoid the cliff side of the hill.) After I got to my feet with assistance, I skidded down a short way before falling again. I have no memory of how I finally got down that hill to the chair lift that we had to ride to get lunch, this time.

After the lunch break, I knew that I was out of my element. I went up to one of the instructors on the mountain and asked -- begged, actually -- to switch to an even more "beginner" group, the one that would have just finished learning to put on their skis in the morning. Of course, since I was paying, regressing was no problem. I went happily to the remedial class and spent the afternoon skiing even more slowly than I had in the morning, on tiring legs. Once again, the instructor capped off the lesson by taking us to the terrifying slope! This time, I managed to -- very slowly -- weave my way down, back and forth, very very slowly. Did I mention how slowly I was going? Somebody walking down the slope in snowshoes would have gotten to the bottom quicker.

I only fell twice, and got up by myself both times. Getting up on my own was truly my greatest accomplishment while skiing!

On day two, the boys went all the way down the hill on a difficult green slope about 6 times. Next time, they want to learn to snowboard! Yes, there will be a next time, sometime. The best part is that Dwaine will get to ski then!

Sorry, we took no pictures while at the summit, (that would have been Dwaine's job, and that explains it). We snapped a few just before we piled in the car with our luggage to drive out of snow back to Denver. Those don't look too convincing. Not only do we not have our ski gear on, Andrew --- in typical fashion -- isn't even wearing a coat. I haven't loaded them to the computer, and it's too much trouble to get them posted here at this moment. Besides, you don't come here for pictures!

Thomas Merton, the contemplative life, and grace

Almost done with "The Seven Storey Mountain." The second half is easier and more interesting for me, when he really gets enraptured by everything about Catholicism and his vocation as a contemplative monk.

He describes grace as well as I've seen it done anywhere. He spoke of the Baroness de Hueck, who worked with the black community in Harlem during World War II. She came to speak at St. Bonaventure College in New York, where he taught. He described her as nondescript, drab, and of course a woman -- meaning that he didn't expect her to inspire much attention or interest! But he said he came in to the hall while she was speaking and immediately became aware of the rapt attention of the audience on what she was saying. It was because of the strong, simple message she carried, and her conviction in her work. In fact, he later watched her ministering to ordained priests, carrying that divine power with her wherever she went.

This was more than an individual alone could ever do. This is where grace comes in, and a person is able to channel the power of the holy spirit, that transforms an individual human being into a channel for doing God's work in this world.

Merton's greatest love was writing, it seems, and he experienced God through his writing. He is still alive to us today because of the body of his work. How amazing for all writers, the immortality given by the written word! (Hopefully, the writing is good, not mediocre! Wouldn't it be simply ghastly to be mediocre for all eternity?)

Some other amazing thoughts from Merton. If we wish to be saints, we pray to be so. God does the rest, the part that we cannot do. We cannot predict the outcome of any action where God is involved.

I've gotten to the part where Merton experiences a complete surrender to the will of God, and is able to rest in it for the first time in his life. This is shortly before he is accepted as a Trappist monk. (They are a silent order except that they also chant and sing.) He realizes that it no longer matters whether he becomes a monk or if he's drafted into the Army, because it is God's will. But before this, he went through tremendous suffering about whether he should be a priest.

Finished reading his book tonight. I need to buy it and reread the Epilogue often. Simply devastating, his brother's young death in WWII. All those young men whose lives have been cut off by war!

Merton is also an Enneagram Type 4. Here's more information on Type 4's if you are interested:

http://www.enneagram.net/type4.html