Balance Between Giving and Receiving

In this season of giving, I’m aware more strongly than ever, of giving’s counterpoint ~~ receiving. When we’re expressing love and care to another, unless it’s truly desired, our giving may not be helpful, in fact, it could be a downright source of distress. I was in the home of an elderly couple recently and asked how they were doing. One answered, “Not so good, I had a meltdown.” When I asked what happened, she reached over and placed a Starbucks bag on the table in front of us. She proceeded to pull out two ginormous coffee mugs with little knitted sweaters (koozies) on each. I couldn't contain myself and busted out laughing--they looked like two square headless people wearing knitted tube tops. 

The couple laughed along with me, saying, “These are so stinking heavy! With coffee in there, we can hardly lift them, even with two hands! By the time we put the little sweaters on—our beverage heat would go out the huge openings and be stone cold!” I added to the absurdity, "And, if you're like me and you dribble, the sweater is ruined!" Next, they told the story of receiving a coffee machine with all kinds of bells and whistles which was so confusing, they couldn’t get it to work and put it away for another day. Then, came two electric blankets, which they attempted to pass to me. “Christmas is so overwhelming!" was their conclusion. "We’re trying to downsize and in come all these gifts we just don’t need.” 

Of course, these gifts were given because the couple are dearly loved, we didn't miss that greatest gift. Who is being served when we give what is not needed, or wanted? 

After decompressing a bit, the three of us ticked down a project list: picking up deliveries from the front porch, putting the above gifts into a Goodwill pile!, breaking down cardboard boxes and taking them out to recyclables, considering a cycle for changing sheets on the bed, preparing the table for lunch, meeting the delivery driver and setting up the vittles. When I went to leave, the couple said, “This is what we needed today, you made life easier, thank you.” The smile on their faces, ease in their expressions and hugs were my greatest gifts that day. 

As I got in the car and drove home, I had received a true teaching that I continued to ponder on the drive. Reciprocity comes from genuine connection, knowing one another and not holding back, and doing our best to listen with our whole bodies and minds. What if I asked myself--what opportunity for giving is showing up right now? It may not be anything physical or monetary. Perhaps listening ears are one of the greatest gifts I can give. I had received a joy, indescribable, and returned to me.   

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

 

Stepping Inside (The Circle)

This weekend, I had the good fortune of working alongside a most compassionate nurse in the ICU where I work as an American Sign Language Medical Interpreter. I’ve written about the stability and presence of this remarkable nurse in a previous blog article. When I entered ICU, we greeted each other and touched base. He looked fresh and alert, his shift having just started. 

As we turned towards the patient, my knowledge added to the mix. I had known the patient for over 30 years and knew preferences and idiosyncrasies such as: the dominant signing arm upon bending to communicate, will occlude IV fluids, memory loss impacts tolerance for uncomfortable tubes, opening the window a crack to let in “cool, refreshing Lake Tahoe air,” is a personal prescription for healing, etc. Walking into the patient’s room was like taking on my “second skin.” I voiced the distress clearly etched on the patient’s features and signs as the care team listened attentively, asked questions and administered life stabilizing care. Respiratory came in and hooked up a suction wand. She asked, “I don’t know if this is appropriate, but with patient’s cognition, the wand will be forgotten. Do you mind reminding and encouraging?” I took a moment to check in with myself—how fully do I make contact with my patient’s experience? There was no resistance to this added role outside my professional parameters, no conflict, so I answered, “Yes. I sure can.” 

Foundation One of the Eight Foundations of Caregiving by Jonathan Prescott is described as, The Balance Between Self and Other. Do we consciously touch into the experience of those receiving our care or do we remain on the outside of their experiences? Exactly when is the point of contact? Every moment of care is a decision point. If we jump in with both feet, we leave behind our resources and our wisdom. To say it as directly as possible—we abandon ourselves in the care equation. However, if we consciously make a decision to touch in, allow the experience of the other person to penetrate our understanding, then we, who have a stable mind and compassionate heart, can be a wise and skillful foundation.

Just as importantly, there are times when rooting ourselves in our own resources is beneficial. Take for instance a painful procedure done only with local anesthesia, which happened this weekend in the ICU. If I touch my patient’s experience too viscerally, jumping two feet in, I will not be an effective interpreter passed out on the floor! It’s a constant dance, an interplay of myself and others. We are one and…we are also two. 

Caregiving Contemplation: This week as you meet people experiencing suffering, can you become aware of the point of contact? When and what is being asked of you? It may not be as direct as the question asked of me, it may be in a vacant expression, a movement, or your own fatigue sapping your strength. As you meet people experiencing happiness, can you be aware of  the point of contact? What draws you in? Every moment is an opportunity to decide, to connect with the joy and pain in ourselves and in our care circles. What is the balance as we ride the scale of wise compassionate care, self and other?  

As the Leaf, So am I

I'm sitting at my writing table window, watching the wind whip clean the Pine branches. Dead, brown pine straw lets go of the trees and flutters to the ground. Everywhere, three-pronged offerings spin down and are received by the earth without any fuss. It's Autumn, after all, it's the cycle of change. I don't always feel the season sloughing off with ease. Many years I have held onto summer as long as possible, but this Autumn, I'm genuinely experiencing letting go. 

Friday, I was invited to participate in feeding our local marginalized community. I showed up at the gathering hall, hoping to sit with people, eat dinner, listen, and get to know folks. The serving team supported my goal one hundred percent, yet something inside kept me busily at a distance. I arrived early and fell into the role of dutifully helping here and helping there. I noticed when I was "serving," taking the plate to a guest, offering water, and asking what was needed, I felt comfortable, friendly, and genuinely connected. Serving was my comfort zone. 

Twice I sat down and engaged with people and was entirely rewarded, not by what I gave but by what I received. Eventually, I met two Jamaican men and asked what brought them to Tahoe. One of the men gently smiled, explaining that the Jamaican dollar had devalued over the years to the point that it was barely worth anything ($100 Jamaican dollars are worth 63 US cents). Socialist Democracy had taken over his country. I knew none of this and listened with rapt attention as he explained his plan to work in the USA and get his life back. He said in a lilting voice, "I'm a man of peace, I don't do violence. Someone told me to come to Lake Tahoe, CA, so here I am. It's beautiful and the people are so nice." He oozed warm-hearted gratitude. 

The other person I sat with was a bedraggled, wild-eyed man who I had met years ago at the Mental Health Department. He bombastically strolled in, sat down, shoveled in his food, and then dramatically pushed his finished plates across the table for the approaching server to gather. He was told to settle down. Genuinely wishing to reconnect, I sat down with this man and another older fellow who quietly sat beside him. He watched all the commotion and didn't move away as the others at his table had. Before I could wonder what to say, I was asked rocket-fire questions: Do you live in Tahoe? How long? How old are you? Do you have children? When did you graduate? Then...introductions followed. The carbonated atmosphere calmed as we told stories and shared desserts. 

At night's end, after cleaning up, the friend who invited me asked if I got what I wanted from the evening. Yes, I answered, and then shared my strong pull towards serving and productivity, not wanting to appear as being a slacker by the team and...the great joy of finally making deeper connections. My friend reiterated her support to just sit, eat, and be with the guests. The team members close by nodded in agreement, "It's what they need most." 

It's what I need most. Is service a shield I wear, or perhaps a cape I tie on before I fly in to save the day? What might happen if I simply show up and let the winds blow me here, blow me there? I know I am ultimately supported 100%, by my practice, by the ground of who I am--the ancestors, my good heart, love, compassion--those things AT MY SERVICE that are inexhaustible. 

May our letting go of the season be gentle, full, and thorough. May we not fight change but trust where it's leading us. Letting go, may we meet our neighbors with nothing to fix and everything to learn.

  

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

…find out what it means to me….

An opportunity to pilot a street chaplaincy program in my hometown has arisen. I recently visited with someone I consider an expert in the arena of street living—a loved one who struggles with homelessness and substance abuse. I asked him, “What’s your advice for me?” This is what he said:

RESPECT — no matter where someone is on their journey, they deserve respect. When I’ve been at my lowest— dirty, garbage bags full of belongings, I’m looked at differently. When I go to Franklin and Marshall College campus, carrying my backpack, in context, I’m treated like everyone else. I’m not bothered, I’m left alone. Yet, when I’m at my worst, someone who smiled at me the day before looks at me differently. When someone is at their lowest, isn’t this when they need respect the most?

BE CAREFUL – if someone doesn’t want to talk, leave them alone. People are capable of doing anything when they’re desperate. Don’t push it, give people space. You never know the full extent of what a person is going through.

It all boils down to respect.

*~*~^’^~**~*~^*~*~^~*~*~*~^
This beautiful conversation reminded me of our basic humanity and goodness—we all deeply yearn for respect, safety, and dignity. These are universal desires and when extended to another, they connect us in the hardest of circumstances. How many times do our perceptions color what is actually before us? Labels such as addict, recovery, homeless, affluent, and many others, inform our responses. In an age of recognizing and celebrating differences, is basic shared goodness forgotten? Is it possible to simply SEE? Shared humanity and longing are the root of my loved one’s advice based on his personal experience. May all beings everywhere know their worth, and see it reflected back to them. May we be clear mirrors for one another.      

* If you and your family are impacted by substance abuse, homelessness or mental health challenges, please consider reaching out for community support both face-to-face and online at InnerConstellation.com

Trump’s Assassination Attempt

I’m just going to say it plain and say it straight. The attempt on former President Trump was not such a shocker to me given the rising political discord. Without a stop-break, discord will grow. What’s the real shocker to me are the public responses I’m reading on social media. Where is the decency, where is the compassionate heart for everyone affected by last night’s events? 

I was given a very clear mirror of my own limited heart this morning when, during a call with a community of meditators, I mentioned engaging with the current news. A few people didn’t know what I was referring to, so I mentioned the injury to Trump, another person in critical condition, and the loss of one life. Another person added, like a clear mirror—“and the shooter.” I thanked him, seeing how unconsciously I had dismissed the sniper’s life. After the call, I sat with my dismissal of the one who perpetrated the violence. It was completely unconscious. Why was the sniper left out of my compassionate response? The night before, watching the unfolding events, I had felt a great sadness for the sniper, but most deeply for his family. How might it feel to have one of your own commit an act of violence, did the family feel a sense of responsibility? I can certainly relate. I’ve experienced members of my family who have actually become menacing to society and were incarcerated. I have felt great accountability. Why had I dismissed the sniper’s life? 

For me, “dismissed,” is a key action. How could I have “dismissed,” another as not worthy of my compassion?  One of my first honest questions when viewing the event was, “how many people were struck?” And then, “Who would do this?” All on stage were literally sitting ducks, how terrifying. Next, my mind went to the secret service agents, especially the young woman who continually put her full body in front of Trump’s heart, again and again, until he was in relative safety. There was a doctor on stage who immediately began tending victims. These heroes operated from a place of preserving life and negating a threat to life. 

I’ve identified three key components for myself and I’m mindfully practicing with them this week during the chaos that will certainly ensue: identify when I close down in my body, tend to myself, and open my heart.

I know what dismissal and closed off feels like in my body, I know how to breathe and recognize, breathe and open. In/out until I can engage my heart. What and who am I dismissing? Who is outside of my love and attention? Can I soften those hard lines? 

I’m committed to not having a part in promoting more discord, but in transforming the tragic events of Saturday night. May all impacted by our country’s discord be shocked awake, may we put all resistance aside and embrace the universal right for all people to be free, safe and happy. 

Fourth of July

I’m sitting in the garden on the Fourth of July, beneath an old and mighty Pine tree. Flowers have been watered, garden lettuce is wet and smiling, there’s even a little frog tucked into the crease of the patio chair cushion beside me. All is right in the Independence Day Tahoe world as I smell the grills firing up in anticipation of a community BBQ in about half an hour. I don’t anticipate finishing this vignette before the parade comes alive on my street, kiddos on tricked out bikes and dogs and people decorated in reds, whites and blues, but I wish to get a start. You see, I don’t want to be pulled away, distracted by the long weekend, disconnected from a reality that I see appearing again and again in my life—that of interdependence.

Interdependence began last week in the hospital where I work, when I happened across a precious moment in time. I had walked into the ICU to put away a piece of equipment. The ICU is in the shape  of a rectangle with nursing station in the center and sides of the rectangle, made of see-through glass walls, so each room’s occupants can be monitored at a glance. The door I  entered was directly beside a row of rooms, where within was a very frail, old man, lying supine, eyes closed. Draped over his body was an American flag, whose top corner had just left the hand of a male nurse, having finished pulling the flag across the body.

I stopped in my tracks, took in the sight as the nurse stood at bedside, head bowed and unmoving. Goosebumps covered my whole body, as I, too, dropped into the sacred moment— a gift of honor—the final act of care. No one else was in the room, no family, no other personnel just the veteran and his nurse, connected through happenstance, both living lives of service. It was deeply moving. 

As if this was not enough to demonstrate interdependence, that evening I went to a graduation where a man spoke about a veteran who had died that day. He had been the last surviving D-Day veteran in our town. I wondered—could this have been the man draped with the flag?

(I pause at this dramatic moment to stroll in the parade and eat July 4^th lunch with the neighbors!)

I’m back, once more in the writing nook, beneath the Pine, belly full, heart even fuller in celebration’s wake. I understand, honor and cherish our country’s history, the men and women who died fighting for freedom, Veterans of War covered beneath the red, white and blue and…the reality of interdependence is also alongside freedom. As if the hospital and graduation were not enough to confirm interdependence, guess who I saw at the community BBQ—the nurse who draped the flag! Yes, no lie, (my husband and the nurse are my witnesses!) Whoever is sending the messages, I get it!  

No single act, not a single one, goes without ripples. Every thought, word, action, has a reaction and the ripples go out and go out and touch lives. We are intricately connected, woven in more ways than can be imagined. Countless times throughout the day, we are given glimpses of our interdependence. Is there recognition? Is there someone with eyes to see?  I am you. You are me. My freedom is your freedom. We are profoundly connected with all things, we are interwoven. We are interdependent, a cause for celebration!
 

We Thirst, so We Dug A Well

I’m sitting on a meditation Zoom call, in the garden. A brilliant blue Steller's Jay lands in the empty granite pond and cocks it’s head like they do, looking for water. Turning off my laptop camera, I get up to fetch the hose. I’m moved to tears. A few days ago, a dear loved one slid into homelessness, and my heart is blown open. What is this human tendency to only fully enter another’s suffering when it hits home? I’m very attuned, in this moment, to all those who may struggle to find food, water, safety and shelter. As a child I remember wondering, why does my father’s suffering affect me so deeply, but the suffering of a random man at the grocery store does not? 

Immediacy opens the heart and may it not close, may it never close. The same can be said about joy, I suppose. When someone we love dearly is given a tremendous fortune, say they buy a house or have a baby—we’re overjoyed for them, when it’s a complete stranger, not so much. Our joys, our sorrows, come back to the I: preferences, desires, me and mine. What if the whole world is ours? What if? 

Because it is. This is what I’m realizing. The only way I can be so wide, spacious and free is with the support of my spiritual practice and my community. Everyone deserves such support—the Steller's Jay, my dear beloved ones, the stranger in the grocery store. We all need friends on the path of life, looking out for one another. May we remember:

The whole world is ours, from the smallest grass to the wide blue sky. If we see a joy, may we rejoice. If we see someone thirsting, may we get up and dig a well.

The practice of mindfulness is the clear lens through which I see. Only when I stop and look with eyes that are awake and undisturbed, can I see what is beyond me. Perhaps, even see that life is never just about me and mine. The whole world belongs to me. As my loved one stumbles through his pain and sorrow, he is like a domino, touching here, touching there. May Bodhisattvas near and far help stop the momentum, see him as the whole world—the smallest grass to the wide blue sky. As a community, may we feel the thirst, and help dig a well.