swimming in the dark

Last Friday Ken and I had a date day. We took advantage of a gift card and had lunch at Olive Garden before heading to an early matinee to see Zero Dark Thirty. We found our seats in plenty of time to get a good start on the popcorn, and settled in for the previews of coming attractions.

Generally I anticipate a couple of what I call "shoot 'em up" trailers, and a film heavily dosed with computer generated imagery, with perhaps a drama or comedy or two for balance and good measure. On this occasion, with the exception of a dramatic biography of Jackie Robinson, every trailer previewed stories that included violence, abuses of power, excessive use of weapons, vengeance, and the domination over or destruction of one party at the hand of another.

How can we not draw the inescapable conclusion that we live, and move, and have our being deep in the stench of violence? The darkness of the trailers--and you can interpret my choice of that word in any  number of ways--invited me to look from another angle at the conversation raging about gun violence in our society. What I saw, in a succession of vignettes, was that any means seemed justified to accomplish a desired end, and the end (see the list in the paragraph above) is where the problem lies.

I have no idea how many scripts cross the desks of movie producers, but I suspect that those chosen to reach the screen represent disproportionately the genres from which to choose. There are many good stories waiting to be told and brought to life that would impact and, perhaps, change lives. There is history to be reviewed, music to illuminate our souls, and laughter to carry us away from the anxieties and concerns of our own lives. What we apparently pay good money to see, however, is the dark and tawdry stuff that is best viewed in darkness among the likely presence of strangers. Darkness translates as dollars, and Hollywood appears eager to give us that for which we are so very willing to pay.

We are a culture in trouble, sad and lonely and indulging in feeding the ugly side of our  natures. When what we actually hunger for and need most is light and life, we gravitate toward death. I don't believe this makes us trigger happy. I do think it gives room to the minds of those who might otherwise feel constrained to stretch toward and tap into a well of permission to "go there." We blame the media for sensationalizing the horror and fueling our voyeuristic inclinations. They do so because we lap it up and beg for more. We are all culpable, even if we are not responsible.

Again I am reminded of the words of Shakespeare, penned as the voice of the Prince of Verona lamenting the deaths of Romeo, Juliet, Tibalt, Mercutio and Paris as he cries out, "All are punished!" The word "punished" may catch our attention, but the solution is to be found among "all." Somehow when we clamor for rights--whether for ourselves or for others--we must also speak to its twin, responsibility. Individualism is trumping the collective good over and over again, shredding the very fabric that holds us together as a society and a nation. 

I started this post with this thought in mind: it's no wonder that violence is so prevalent when so much of our world is saturated with darkness. Yes, guns are part of the problem. The greater problem is that we have become so detached from one another--for whatever reason--that we don't value who we are as a whole, blunting our ability to value each. This generalized statement overshadows the good work being done by many to shine light into darkness, to do right for and by others, and there are certainly a multitude of those good souls among us. Our voice, however, lacks strength, and our actions are too often obscured.

In spite of seeing with new eyes the forces at work around us, and lamenting the steepness of the road that leads away from the pit into which we are sliding, I do believe there is hope.  I am grateful that the faith community of my early life taught and reflected the belief that  God's light shines within each and every one of us. Not only does that mean that I am in the presence of the divine at all times because I carry it within me, it means, as well, that I am able to share it at all times and in all places.  As a popular adage circulating these days states: a candle doesn't loose its light when it lights another candle. 

So, light-bearers, let's be about letting light shine through and from us. Better yet, let's keep igniting the light within others so that the collective brilliance of God may overcome the darkness that surrounds us. It is a daily effort, to be sure, but one that helps us find our way, together.

Photo from Zero Dark Thirty chosen with intent. Feel free to ponder it.

hmmmmm

Health * Home * Happiness * Hope * Hearts * Hydrangeas * Hugs * Hilarity * Heritage * Habits * Horses * Heaven * Hospitality * Harmony * Humor * Hostas * Hash browns * Hues * Hope * Hair * Harbors * History * Hobbies * Harvest * Holidays * Humility * Hammocks * Healing *

My thoughts these days are very much focused on my mother, and what her life has suddenly become as a person displaced from her home. Ten days ago a fire in the wing of the retirement community where she lives forced her and 45 others from their apartments. Most of the units escaped damage from the fire itself (which erupted in the roof of the pool area), but all of them were affected by water and some by smoke damage. Mom was lucky that only a few of her belongings were lost, and it is hoped that her antique dining table will be restored.

Gratitude for what was spared is abundant. In the meantime, however, the reconstruction phase of "what happens next" means that she is homeless for the next six months while the apartments affected by efforts to put out the fire have carpets torn out, drywall replaced and repainted, and who knows what else to restore them to liveability. She is fortunate that one of her very best friends lives in this same community and has an apartment with not only an extra bedroom, but a den and storage area. Mom and Sally can manage sharing space and being of assistance to one another. This is wonderful for the present time but it is not a long term solution.

Some have suggested that she head to Melrose, our tree farm in South Carolina. Although there is a furnished cottage there where one could certainly take refuge for a time, it is not the solution either. For one thing there is no insulation. The cottage began as two rooms with adjoining fireplaces, built sometime in the 19th century. Other rooms were added on over time. There is no HVAC system. Though cool temperatures can be countered by the fireplaces and adjunct space heaters there is no relief from the heat and humidity. Ken and I just experienced that firsthand last weekend while we were there. Perhaps more importantly, however, is that my mother's life is in Connecticut, more than 1000 miles away. That life includes regular visits to New York with a subscription to a theater group, and visits with cousins and former colleagues while she is there. It includes her book club, Friends Meeting and responsibilities she has there. It includes her consulting capacity as a retired social work executive, and the multiple committees on which she serves at Seabury, the community where she lives. It includes relationships and interaction with friends she has known most of her life, weekend trips to various places, and the semi-annual visit to Melrose in the spring and fall (to which she drives by herself). Oh, and my brothers are there! This is not your typical 81-year old.

What keeps her local most at the moment is that she had rotator cuff surgery two weeks ago. She is not yet driving and depends on others for transportation to physical therapy and follow-up appointments with the doctor.

In light of all of this, I am abundantly grateful on this "H" day for my home and my health. Home isn't just a roof over my head. It is a refuge and sanctuary where "I" live. It contains furnishings and posessions that reflect who I am, where I've been, and in some regards, where I am going. It is a place that contains my grounding, through my husband, my dogs, talismans of faith, beloved friends and family, and yes, fabric. It is a haven in which I am free to explore, discover, express and be renewed. Norman Rockwell's "Four Freedoms" includes an image of a child being tucked into his bed by his parents, the title of which is Freedom from Fear. Home is that for me, all encompassing. It is also the place where I find strength to hope for what can and may be. Restoration, transformation, healing, peace...

Among the things I have come to understand in life is that we all face challenges, are underminded by disappointments and brokenness, and seek a heart that is content and a life that comes close to resembling something whole. In light of that understanding it is my prayer this day for all of us that hope will undergird what we live this day, and that come what may, our hearts will be lead home.

hopes and dreams

This colorful swirl of a quilt's center is a signpost of hope for me. I have been struggling lately with how to balance the reality of difficult and painful circumstances with the desire to focus on what is positive. I am fully aware of how attitude impacts behavior, and even decisions, and I have had one foot firmly planted on the ground of optimism for many months. That posture has served me well, kept me centered even in the midst of uncertainty and chaos. At the same time I am beginning to feel that the reserves of my strength, though substantial, are being drained to a point that is dangerously low.

As I evaluate how to care for myself I look to the things that restore and replenish me. Why am I not surprised that I am being drawn toward the world of creativity? Through the myriad threads of connectivity that facebook offers I saw a quilt created by a relative of my friend Genie. I was taken with it immediately, and began to search out sources whereby I might create one like it myself. Having tracked the source, I raided a stash of emergency cash to buy a book that details how to make this quilt, and others like it. The pattern and its creation are more difficult than the quilts I have made in the past, and I don't think I am yet up to taking on doing one of my own, but I now have the means to do so when that moment comes. In the meantime there are smaller projects that will serve as a vehicle through which my spirit can plunge into the creative process. Through those my experience tells me that the tears in my soul will begin to knit together toward healing, and strength will begin to accumulate once again in the vault that is my being.

The image here, then, serves two purposes. One is that is represents creative effort, a known balm to my hurting soul. The other is that the spiral, as shown here, has light at the center radiating out. That is where I find my hope. No matter how dark the days have become in the past, at the center there has always been light. It is that light, with its power to radiate out through the darkness, that holds me steady and serves to ground me in the spirit of peace and wholeness. Even when the best of days dissolve into tears of confusion or fold under the weight of burdens, the light holds fast, and hope, like the phoenix, rises from the ruin.

I will bide my time with the spiral quilt. As I do so, however, I will move toward its future reality by warming up with other creative efforts. As a portion of St. Patrick's Breastplate proclaims:

I arise today
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of wind,
Depth of sea,
Stability of earth,
Firmness of rock.