In trying to meet my demanding one post a month obligation, nothing seemed right because of all that has happened just recently. There was and still is a lot of sadness that needs to be acknowledged before placing all of the injury and loss of life into the context that contains all the other life stopping experiences, whether they were for a moment, for several days or in some ways, for a lifetime. 

A lot has been, presently is, and will be said about what it all means until the fading memory feels, and is treated, more like history. Which swallows up everything in hopes of retaining the facts that will be periodically revived and discussed, even argued over, then put back on the page with or without lessons learned.

These realities are hard to hold unless there is something more. Many would gladly tell me exactly what that something more is, others have a belief or faith that covers all that can't be explained, and some are quite sure there's nothing else going on ...then there are those for which it doesn't matter one way or the other. At times, I'm not sure what group I'm in because along the way I've been in all four. Not all at once mind you. But sometimes, it felt that way. 

These are simplistic groupings, but they serve as a starting point toward seeing others as having the same freedom to make spiritual decisions for themselves.

I just happened to think about a poem I wrote some time ago. It reminded me that I desperately needed some understanding and was surprised from where it came. 

Another Today

There will always another today,

It is where one hopes be free.

Such a place is never far away,

If we only open our eyes to see.

More than time, more than a day,

It is an inner beauty of believing.

It is more than one could ever say,

For it is much more than foreseeing.

Each day you can draw closer,

To accepting your humanness.

Each day you can drift farther,

From assuring your happiness.

A day may bring you loss,

Or it may bring you gain.

But it may all be as dross,

Or as caressing as the rain.

It is only in the awakening moments,

We are able to see beyond the external.

Each time it makes knowing comments,

On all that reflects love from the eternal.

The demands of the world can come,

There may be no place for you to run.

But the total of life is never the sum,

The best is known when the day is done.

In the time given to find where to be,

Let the other world arise from within.

It only takes your opened eyes to see,

There is another today to start again.

A transitory moment of clarity,

A feeling that makes you pause.

These are more than some rarity,

They are both purpose and cause.

Moment to moment, feeling to feeling,

Life is best lived from another place.

For there it is free of toss and reeling,

Almost like a watch that has no face.

It matters less where you are going,

Only that you are aware.

It matters less what you are doing,

Only that you really care.

There are other rules to live by,

There are other ways to fill your day.

There is a path that lifts you high,

There is a peace along the way.

More precious does another today become,

As the years of your life go on their way.

The journey spent in harmony is never done,

For such will continue to the eternal day.

There is a wisdom that must be shown,

For it guides and directs in a better way.

It is the other world that must be known,

Through your awareness of another today.

This, as Robert Frost would say, made all the difference. (And I imagine him politely saying that my poetry needs a little work.) But as helpful and direction changing as that was, I honestly don't have an explanation for the events of the last few days or all the other troubling aspects of human life on the Earth. But I do believe there is one. That doesn't mean that tragic events are okay in the big scheme of things. Or that impinging or denying the rights, freedoms and dignity of others in the name of good or God is okay either. 

Much to the disappointment of many, something more doesn't appear to mean change and healing will happen as we might expect, hope, believe or claim. There doesn't seem to be any guarantees, but I do see a benevolent force at work in the world, sometimes in the smallest ways in the worst of circumstances. And their souls are no different than mine.

Could there be an emerging majority that will begin to codify the wrongs that before have been so conveniently ignored, abused, religiously excused, culturally justified, socially neglected, militantly defended or politically supported?  Perhaps so. Out of a lot of anger and hurt, important common values are upheld, and real change and healing occurs.

To me, the something more is what we are all about everyday. So many things come and go, but some things remain. It seems we should be paying a little more attention to them ...and taking a little more time to be assured that it is yet another today.

REMEMBERING CHILDREN

If I get to remember anything in my old age, I hope I remember children and the fact that they are children. I had a great aunt who understood that we were children and she didn't expect anything further from us. Aunt Alice would spend time with us rather than with the adults. I would want to do the same. 

As a child I was.... well, let's just say rather goofy. I wouldn't have been the one who today can set up your DVD recorder, show you how to use a smart phone, or knows everything that a computer can do. Yet, despite the things I like to really crab about, I was to learn how good I really had it. I've met some very special children along the way. I don't think that even at my worst, I will ever forget them.

One of the first children that I especially remember was a boy who was brought into the ER where I was working as an orderly. He reportedly pulled a dresser over on himself. That alone was suspect but also the mother blatantly lacked emotion as she came back to see him before we took him to the morgue. I wrote about this much later in my life.

William notices that John is starting to wheel the boy down to the morgue. He gets up, goes over to the gurney, stops it, takes down a rail, tucks the top sheet around the boy, and reaches out his hand to get the key from John. He then slowly and gently lifts the boy in his arms and starts to carry him toward the double doors that lead to the morgue.

When those in the back area notice what is happening, they stop what they are doing and watch the unexpected manifestation of deep affection and respect. A palpable holy silence fills the room as William and the boy move further toward the doors. It is more like a religious procession. The reverent gait seems to be in slow motion with one intentional step after another. William pulls the body up closer to him and lovingly holds the boy even closer. The instance is like a thoughtful father carefully carrying his sleeping child to his bed so not to disturb the night’s peaceful rest.

As William backs through the doors with the boy, he bows his head as if to hug him, then, with tears streaming from his face, kisses him on the forehead. Dianne and Laurie look at each other in wonder as to what they are witnessing. John and Cathy continue to watch in tearful awe and concern as the doors close.

After a moment, Cathy turns back to what she needs to do and says to John, “Wait a few minutes, then go to the dock to get the key from him.”

“He’s not coming back?”

“…Not tonight,” Cathy replies, then quickly adds, “Nor any other night.”

As you can easily figure out, it didn't exactly happen like that, but it does contain all the elements. Except in reality, I did go back. 

I later joined the army and did medical work at three different hospitals as the war was winding down. Taking care of those your own age who were so badly hurt and having many die was the normal experience. What I wasn't prepared for was the number of children. 

In the midst of it all, I happened to go on a medcap to a local Catholic orphanage. Some of the children, with a little help, were going to make it okay, some needed more help than we could give them, and some were going to die within a day or two. There were so many special children. My good friend John Suozzi took a lot of photos for which I am quite grateful. For it was there that I met a boy.

I'm not sure why in a room full of children that I stopped by this particular child.

He was an Amerasian or Bui Doi. There's no need to explain that except to say that they were typically left by the door of the orphanage in the middle of the night. What I didn't expect was the connection. He was so alert and bright. I offered him my finger and he took it.

To me, this was extraordinary. It said so much as to what it meant to be human and how all the religious, political, social and scientific understandings and beliefs didn't cover what was going on.

I've had many more experiences like this, enough to wonder why children aren't the beginning point instead of the last concern. Thankfully, I think some of that is changing but in odd ways. Many who are pro life are against banning assault weapons. Many who want gun control also believe in unrestricted abortion. I'm not very impressed with either extreme.

If you support life before birth then you might want to think about what it would take to support life after birth. If you see the violence of overpowered bullets ripping through the bodies of first graders then you might want to think that at some point there is real violence in taking the the life of a baby in the womb. It's not a perfect world, but it can be a better world.

HEALING AGAINST THE DYING

Some seemed to think that the differences in people meant more than what was held in common. It was the easier way to uphold exclusiveness and superiority. Perhaps it was the basis for those who believed they were the center of the universe or those who could conveniently made their own little world to live in which was devoid of fact or scope. Yet, even these folks felt the hurt of a mother on the other side of the world who had just lost a child due to some inane action. Well, some of them did. In jest, I would have wanted to say that the ones that didn't feel others' hurt were called Republicans. But as fun as that might have been, life wasn't that simple.

I, as any farm boy would, had a dog. Don't tell my wife, but he was my first love. I was going through a homosexual phase which apparently I haven't gotten over quite yet. One day, I couldn't find him. I eventually found him mired with mud in the wet spot that was at the end of the lane that led to to the cow pastures. Though still quite young, I knew what this meant. It was another reality of life and farming that I didn't like. Animals got bit by rattlesnakes and did what was in their nature to do to heal. I wanted to take him out of the mud and get the veterinarian but my dad who had just gotten there said that Rusty would have to make it on his own. It was too late for a veterinarian to help him. I stayed with my dog until the mud and his spirit couldn't resist the poison any further. 

When I returned to the barn, my dad went to get a shovel so we could bury Rusty right there. I won't share all the details of this experience but suffice it to say, there were tears involved. The next day, I made a cross from a tree branch and placed it there. I never did ask Rusty if he was a Christian, we didn't talk about things like that much. I just assumed he knew Jesus.

It took awhile to get over feeling the hurt. I passed that spot a lot. The cross didn't last long but the pain did, even after I had another dog. The farm provided more emotional hurts and even some physical and spiritual ones. And it wasn't even that big of a farm to begin with. But it was my first context for learning about healing against the dying. Yes, at that age, I had figured that one all out.

Okay, maybe it took a few additional contexts to get it down pat. Luckily, life was going to provide them for me. And along the way, I saw a lot of folks who were having the same experiences.  As Gilda said, "It's always something." You learn that no matter the hurt, you needed to heal, one way or the other, just to go on. Sometimes a bandage would do but other hurts needed forgiveness and reconciliation. For many things, only time helped. But just when you got used to the never ending reality, you were hurt worse and repeatedly so. Surprise! Surprise! Surprise! 

That was where things started to get complicated for many in various ways. Not knowing what to do. Not wanting to do anything. Not knowing that you needed to do something in the first place. To put it simply, you ended up with a bunch of stuff that manifested itself severely or mildly, immediately or over time, directly or indirectly. But regardless of exactly how it affected you, the dying was moving in and there was no healing to be had. And the periodic unhappiness became permanently horrendous.

I passed this place several times in my wanderings on the plain. I never did know what it was exactly, but I assumed it to be an early multi-use building that was a school, a community center, a grange and perhaps a church. The many excursions to the prairie helped for some reason. A bit of relief was noted. Mindlessly driving around smoking cigarettes and drinking beer wasn't therapy, recommended therapy anyway, but it was where I felt better and had a chance to put some things together. I was strangely attracted to the abandoned homesteads, the miles of openness, the irrigated fields, the harsh dry land dominated by sage and cactus, and the little towns that I came to ever so often.

After awhile, I began to notice more of what there was to see. I got to think about other people in other times. I got to think about the scope or arc that connected them to me. I could see children playing, carriages with anxious horses waiting to take their families home, a wedding, or perhaps a funeral.

Those people and the place that held their lives was enough of an encouragement for me to make a choice. I later found a quote that perfectly expressed that decision.

It was also a new beginning in understanding healing against the dying. I couldn't go on without further relief. Little did I know what all I would yet discover. It was truly like the oft quoted Robert Frost said, "Two roads diverged in a wood and I - I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

Most everyone had a Rusty in their life and for some, many Rusty's. Part of life was the accumulation of hurts, usually many hurts that needed healing. But some hurts were potentially terminal and the only possible help was finding a mud pit that gave your waning spirit some hope and relief. At least  enough to make a decision that you otherwise wouldn't have made. 

I know. You're  saying, "But didn't Rusty die?" Yeah, he did.

LIVING IN A DENOUEMENT

Living in a little house on the prairie of Eastern Colorado is just like the TV show, except maybe browner and windier. Sure we have electricity, air conditioning (even in some tractors), and computers. Otherwise, it's almost the same. We don't have a bratty and spoilt Nellie Olsen, but we're thinking of getting one just to complete the picture. 

For many, the prairie is what you have to go through in order to get to the mountains. Few say, "Boy! I'd really like to live there." Some might wonder what it would be like until the the word hard dominates their imaginings. There's a toughness bore out of the experience of the early pioneers and their families who eventually arrived in the modern day. No matter what state you find the prairie, it's the original No Whining Zone, even if they do.

There's a lot to be said about the prairie but if you don't get it, you just don't get it. So you might not understand being spiritually drawn here. It's not that obvious even to me. But here I is - that's only funny to my mother. I'm living in a land of bleak beauty as my cousin calls it. We more than not have amazing sunrises and sunsets. 

But the rest has to be seen in other ways and sometimes that's not enough. Yet one thing is for sure, this is where I belong. This is where I feel at home. And it might some day be the place that I fit into. I still have a couple years to go before the neighbors begin to believe that I'm actually staying and then there will be another five more years of probation. 

So what's a denouement anyway? I got this definition from a widget on my desktop. 

It makes sense that denouement describes the end of a story, a sports game or a political primary but to me, it also describes that place that I've known so many times before in my spiritual journey. I've also seen it in the journeys of others to one degree or another. 

My usual response at these other junctures was, "Yes! That's it! The end of it all. It's finally understood. All is revealed. So that's how it all fits together now." There's nothing gained by seeking anything further. No other explanation is possible. The weight of uncertainty and doubt is lifted. As difficult as it may be, the answer is unquestioned.

After each temporary denouement, you lose a little more enthusiasm until you get where you say, "Give me a break!" You realize that you're doing more than searching, you're nesting and hiding. The all that ends all. You take on an identity that doesn't fit as good as you would like but you don't say anything because this is where you're supposed to be. 

The next inevitable step is slowly, or rapidly, leaving followed by taking some time to review all the ways you're thankful that it didn't work out and then doing nothing until you decide to give it another try. Some of that is painful, some of it is rather funny but all of it is starting to make some sense.

There's no reason for me to have any confidence in the denouement that I'm now living except to say, it's no one else's. It's a lot easier finding something when 

you know what it is that you are looking for in the first place.

There are many wise sayings, meaningful scripture verses, beautiful songs, and powerful poems but sometimes the you need a simpler understanding.