The Consolation of Buddhism

Another sunny morning, though not as pretty a blue.  I woke up slowly in a dark room, then sun coming through the pinholes on the blinds.  All around my ribs and back was hurting lying there, where the shingles wraps around my torso, and moving made it hurt more, so the first thing I did was take some oxycontin.  It's 9:30.  Church is at 11:00, means we leave at 10:30.  I thought, maybe we should just go for lunch.  Meet our friends, be out in the air, be around some people.  Tom isn't up yet.

 As I made my coffee I thought, the primary consolation of Buddhism is that this is how things are supposed to be.  You are supposed to decay, fall apart, wear down, and at some point the life force will leave you altogether.

Now, that is a very gray proposition.  I thought of a metaphor to grasp it a little better. 

Suppose you came to life as a painting, a beautiful masterpiece of color and texture and line that was the product of thousands of hands.  You are unveiled, born.  You are perfect, and the world loves you just as you are.

At first you just enjoy being, experiencing your own self and your capabilities.  But before you have mastered living as this creation, you begin to be harmed, scarred and wounded, to have one failure after another.  In art terms, the world has turned to something else, and isn't interested in you anymore. 

You go to your creators about this, and they tell you, Yes, you're supposed to get scarred and wounded.  And you have an allotted lifetime anyway.  Maybe it will be 80 years, maybe one more minute, we're not in charge of that and neither are you.  Then you'll be gone.

If the building doesn't burn down and the sprinkler system doesn't ruin you, you'll get your full allotment of years.  But you will slowly be degrading all that time, coming apart.  Paint dries and flakes off.   A careless mover lets the canvas get ripped on a sharp corner.  It is fixed, but not very well.  The whole thing darkens with age, and people are not interested in it any more, there is no novelty to it, so it is moved to a far gallery where it often stands alone. 

I know what you have to say about that: It isn't right.  Right meaning you don't like it that way.  Right meaning if you were a designer god, you'd have done much better than that.  Maybe.  I'm working on it myself - how to have a living creature that is not organic, not based on carbon atoms.  If I want to keep it two-dimensional, as in the metaphor, maybe I should paint in titanium.  Or silver coated with gold, an older technique.  Gold does not decay, that's why we value it so.  But I don't know how to breathe life into something so that it will be self-animating from then on - perpetual energy - people have been reaching for that one for a long time.

Or I could make it a story.  Design a story that somehow shows the world as it is, but better, a story with a satisfying ending.  Here she began, here she ended just doesn't sound like a very appealing jacket blurb, does it?  So I think I'll wander away from my initial statement that the truth about aging and death is the chief consolation of Buddhism.  No, it's probably the chief wisdom.  For consolation you're going to have to find another writer.  It's easier to fix a picture than a story.  Sometimes soft focus helps.  See?

Not dead yet

Update on personal body and soul -

Yesterday went to my PCP (primary care provider, as we now call family doctors) because a sharp recurring pain in my stomach was frightening me.  This doctor actually knows me, (despite every effort of the medical and insurance professions to make medicine impersonal), so he ordered a urine sample before he even talked to me.  And there it was again, a hidden bladder/kidney infection.  This one was not signalling itself with incontinence.  So I started on Macrobid again last night, and this morning on omeprazel for the stomach.  The shingles are acting like they should, crusting over, and they itch something terrible now, and if I sweat it makes them sting.  We discussed my pain medication.  I haven't been taking enough. 

As for my soul, I immediately felt relieved - the deep depression of this last week is not necessarily bipolar rising up again.  And in fact, the terrible depression in early September was simultaneous with a UTI.  Regular people who don't have mood disorders get depressed with these hidden infections, but a lot of them think they're just old and ready to die; and younger people can keep bulling their way through what they think they have to do, ignoring or drowning their bleakness or blaming it on their spouse.  But if you need any proof that we are one unit, and there is not one part of us separate from the others (like mind separate from bladder, say), this is it, living proof.

I've been so tired this week that I had to miss things that brighten my life - going to choir, coffee with a friend, having Otto over for the afternoon.  So tired that twice I forgot to take off the elastic sleeve I wear for lymphedema, and slept in it - dangerous for the skin.  In my usual I'll Conquer This attitude, I wrote a checklist and posted it in my bathroom,  so I remember to do the things I have to do at bedtime.  That's how tired I was, and waking up still tired.  But this morning I woke up to find I'd slept 11 hours, and my first real thought/sensation was that I didn't feel as bad, and my second was gratitude.

You know, you are not even in charge of your own will to live.  Today the sun is out here in southern Ohio, and every time I look out the window at the blue sky and take a breath, it feels healing.  I had a cupcake for breakfast and played Words with my grandson, whom I love more than my own life by far.  Now that I'm pulling out of that depression I can feel love again.  Even love is a matter of your health and the mix and flow of chemicals in your brain.

Now, that's all for now.  As for what I do in this blog, I just try to share my life, the reality. As for the image above, is God behind the clouds?  In the clouds?  Is God the sun and clouds, and the photographer?

Do atheists exist?

The TED talks are as good a place to begin your study of humankind as any - all these highly motivated people!  Motivated to do what?  Anything from cure blindness in Africa to swim a specific body of water at age 60.  The first you can certainly understand as a purpose in life, though it's going to run you into grave problems of overpopulation and famine.  The second, well, maybe you can see the point, but I can't.  I just never got into Amazing Feats of the Body.  Yet I've seen a world enthralled by a similarly ridiculous contest of minds, chess between a snotty kid named Bobby Fischer and the world champion, Boris Spassky.  This was decades before the personal computer could beat us all at anything.  You wouldn't believe how interested we all were in this, because it had something symbolic to do with the Cold War.  That doesn't exist now, either.  You could say it never did, just an idea.  Poor Bobby - his Wikipedia entry includes a section called "Sudden Obscurity."  No kidding.

Inflicted as I am with shingles (painful) and depression (worse) - and who knows whether they're related or just different neurons colliding in the mix - I found myself watching a TED talk by someone on whether I exist.  I won't name him or post it, because I've found it a bad policy in life for a little tiny bug to make an implacable enemy of a powerful person.  But really . . . it was a tasteless porridge of Buddhism for Toddlers and modern science.  
But this guy got himself a PhD in philosophy and went on to make a career out of talking about this kind of thing and writing books about the rock-bottom-dumb questions of (Western) philosophy, which must surely be as dead as chess by (snail-) mail.  

In that, a nerd sent another nerd a move on a postcard.  A penny postcard.  Nerd2 thought about it and made his move and sent a postcard.  Try to imagine a world that slow.  That was a world in which long distance calls cost a lot of money, and were only made in the event of a death.  But you knew you existed and so did everything else, and it never changed.  Every Sunday night Dinah Shore came out in what seemed to be the same prom dress and sang "See the USA in your Chevrolet . . . " and blew a kiss.  She does not exist anymore, but are you telling me she didn't?  I saw her. 


You, however.  No, according to this TED talk, you don't exist.  I mean, what made you think you did?  The fact that every night of your life you confront the same stubborn stupid oily skin?  Your exact  cowlick?  The food trap between the  molars on your lower left?

No, you're just a bunch of relationships, the way water is just a couple of hydrogen atoms mingling with an oxygen.  So if you thought there was Evian and Yellowstone and the Baltic Sea, there was rain and ice cubes, think again. 


There are opposing theories about existence, such as the belief that we are all ideas in the mind of God.  I rather like that, but if I were an atheist, it would make me nervous.

Joe Paterno's Legacy

Let's be clear about this:  Joe Paterno allowed Jerry Sandusky to keep on molesting children.  How many boys did Sandusky sodomize in the locker rooms, or force and cajole into performing fellatio on him?  How many times?  We don't know.  The number of reports keeps growing.  Every one of those children was profoundly scarred by this. Maybe they don't even know how much.

The most horrifying thing about this is not that Paterno was not appalled - it is that thousands of Penn State students were not appalled. The President of Penn State was not appalled. 

Football is a just a game, not sacred.  It is the opposite of sacred, a ritualized combat in which we know young men get permanent brain damage being sent back into the game with concussions.  Why do women keep buying into this stuff?  This is the violence inherent in testoserone.  Women need to be the tempering force of love that says, You will not do this to my children,

The Best Therapy for Depression

Music and laughter - both good therapies, legal, free, and without those unintended consequences we call "side effects."

I see it's been a week since I posted. I was right, the rash is shingles. So it hasn't been a great week. Even doctors agree that shingles is very painful. You'd think plenty of legal oxycodone sounds great, but opiates have disadvantages; notably, they shut down your GI tract. So not just stomach pain, anorexia and and indigestion, but the kind of constipation that can turn into an impacted bowel if you don't bring a whole arsenal of treatments to bear on it.

And then there's the demotivation of opiates and of illness. Yesterday I tackled the heap by my bed - everything I'd worn all last week, on top of everything I'd worn the four days before the rash presented, a stage called the prodrome, in which I felt sick and weird. And household laundry undone.

When this hit I was optimistically planning a life.  I was (am) doing PT for the broken arm, and had just driven two short drives, getting ready to be independent again. Getting back strength and range of motion in the arm has been slow and very painful, and isn't over.

And yes, Christmas day I got a cold. I wasn't over that really when the shingles hit - no one ever seems to get clear of this cold this year - but I took a leap and joined the church choir. Singing in harmony with others felt challenging and terrific. Then the shingles hit.

So I lost ground in my general fitness program and in PT. All sorts of things around the house are a mess; haven't taken Christmas down. Who cares?

This is not so special.  This is old age. I'm not the luckiest 69-year-old around, but I do live in middle-class America with decent financial stability and good insurance, so maybe this is old age at its best, unless you're the Queen of England's doggie.  I had a transplant last year (and had just begun to feel recovered from that), which means I take immune-suppressives, so it is likely this will take months to pass.

This is that present moment we talk about.  Reality.  Growing old means your parts wear down, regardless of how sunny your disposition. Every one of them.  I find I keep thinking of another song that goes -

Dance if you want to dance, sing if you want to sing.
Nobody ever knows what tomorrow may bring . . .

 Can't find it on YouTube or Googles, but I remember it, don't I?

Meaningful Work

Full moon over Westbrook's

I've known many people who were unhappy because their work was not meaningful - maybe that was more common in the 1960's and 70's.  But I've noticed that most of the work in this world is very indirectly related to reality, like doing the quality control on bearings or heck, underwear elastic.  I myself had jobs I thought were unimportant and meaningless.  One was being secretary to a group of engineers who kept the calenders running at Firestone.  So, Firestone made tires, they are made with calenders, who cared?  Now I see it better - if you can be involved in the making of a good product that's needed, if you can bring a pleasant attitude to that, it's not meaningless just because your own work is very indirect (typing letters).

Full moon, impressionistic rendering

Many people in the low-wage jobs in the fast-food industry resent their jobs and show it.  But at the White Castle we like to frequent, there is a woman at the drive-through window who is convincingly cheerful and glad to help you.  We look forward to seeing her.

This morning I called my doctor's office to get an appointment about this painful rash.  When I told the receptionist I thought I had shingles, she said "Oh, you poor dear."  And you know, I felt a little warmer: somebody knew what it's like.  I believe there are few jobs in which you don't have the opportunity to be kind, helpful, even compassionate.  A friendly face, a smile - these things are meaningful in this suffering world, and probably more important than you think.

A quick personal update

I was awakened by pain this morning that turns out to be from a big patch of blisters on my left side in the back, and some in the front. I had chickenpox severely as a child, that's the virus, and it often strikes as shingles in the immune-suppressed, so I was aware shingles was a possibility.  It sure looks and feels like that.

It is Sunday, of course, but that's better than if it were Friday night, when I usually get sick. I'll see my GP tomorrow and also call the transplant nurse.  They have anti-virals . . .

More painkillers is about the only good news I can see in this. 

In the words of the song, Sometimes I'm up, sometimes I'm down, oh yes Lord.

The Joy of Healing

Remember that - amplify that memory, driving the Civic down through the ravine and around and home.

Immediately had it back, the skill.  Then the pleasure of being able to stop and roll the window down and take the picture I wanted to get of the orange construction fencing down there.  I love the colors orange and bright gold in this weather.

And all this mixed with the realization of pain and dis-ability in that right arm.  Pain behind R shoulder blade, which PT has me exercising now with “pinches”.  Pain up neck - other muscles trying to take the load from the arm.  Still, pain in the biceps and simple limitation.

However, able to reach forward with right hand and turn on the key.  Able to make turns, mostly using the left arm.  So, able to drive.  The trick now is to do it in moderation day by day, not upping the pain level too much or tearing something else.  It is obviously going to be a real exercise, physical therapy.

The backstory:  In early September I fell walking across a room and broke my right (good) arm up near the shoulder.  Six weeks in sling, four more before I felt up to physical therapy, now doing that.  I haven't tried to drive in all that time.  Meanwhile, the shoulder essentially got "frozen," which means PT is about stretching it to gradually break through the lesions that formed.  You do this by taking a pain pill before you go.  The cool thing is that I run into friends at the PT-rehab place (McConnell) - we are all in this together.

One more thing.  Yesterday was a very hard day for me, and this morning I was deeply tired.  But stepping out into the cold (43' Farenheit) was refreshing.  I love the energy of open skies.  And I felt really fond of the little 2000 Civic, bought new, 34,000 miles, it will run forever.

A morning with pain and love

Awakened by pain this morning - overdid it with the right shoulder last night.  It's okay now, and that got me thinking what "living in the moment" really is.  It means, at least in part, that we don't get gripped by our concepts.  For instance, Oh crap, woke up early hurting, this is going to be a lousy day.  Add to that preferences:  Don't want to hurt!  Reality is that you can only do so much about the body you have right now.  Another reality: pain is always moving and changing if you let it.  I put my heating-pad cape on, it helped.  Moving around loosened things up, too.

And here's another thing loosened this morning.  Got notified by my phone that my grandson had played on Words With Friends, from 50 miles away.  It was 8 a.m. and my idea of this morning was to get in the shower about now.  Then stretch and meditate, and so on.  But I love this new additional contact with him.  First thing he did was post me on chat, Tom played a 74 point word last night!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I know, I wrote, pure evil.  Tom can't help being smart sometimes.

In case I momentarily forget, love is what matters, connection matters.  Not goals and schedules.  It's singing in the choir, it's tea with a comfortable friend, it's letting the cat lie on your shoulder for a while if she needs to.

An interesting thing about playing Words with Otto is that it's just fun to play, and I don't care if I win - and in fact, he just won one of our games by a hair (he always wants to play at least two at once).  Now, the other people I play with don't hesitate to beat me by multiple hundreds of points.  That tends to make a person nervous.  No, it doesn't.  My mind, it's my own reaction.  Maybe I should turn it around and say, Let's see if I can get Laurie to beat me by 500 points.  That's what I like, a goal I can reasonably meet.

Post-holiday Blues and Good Camera Karma

All right, let's go here.  Christmas is over.  The holiday season is over, the new year came in, your life is no better, in fact, your credit card debt is larger.  And most of us have that cold that never quite goes away.  And winter has dug in.  So why would you not be b l u e . . . ?

What I mean is this: We have a season, sometimes a month long, of generosity and love, connections and good food.  We abandon our everyday concerns, we cook special things that remind us of our ancestors, we play madly with our new toys (iPads and Kindles this year, I read).  And now . . . we are tired.  Ordinary life is a letdown.  It's natural.  Maybe it's inevitable, though I haven't asked the enlightened people I know (either one of them).

That's what I think.  So instead of thinking you should buck up or something, just enjoy being fully in touch with the reality that life can't always be fun.
~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, yesterday I was photographing the linear pattern of jet trails in the sky over Columbus.  I  haven't figured out how to transfer these as a slide show, so your eyes will have to do the sliding.  I like the accidental effects in the last two pictures.

I Am Not a Brand

I do not have to be New! and Improved!!!
I do not have to have new and improved.
I do not have to be in style.
I do not have to display, preach, or defend my religion.
(And I can hide Facebook posts from people who do.)
I do not have to be important.
I do not have to accomplish anything and, actually, I cannot change the world.
I've been eating this way all my life, and I'm still here.
There is no bonus for doing things the hard way.
There is no penalty for having fun.
Nothing is gained by impressing people.
Life is not that much better if you hang up your clothes.
Work may be a necessity, but it is not a virtue.

Well, you can see I'm in withdrawal.  Yesterday I got in my head to go without the internet until noon.  This wasn't so bad until I found myself in the car waiting while Tom had a brief doctor's appointment.  Phone at hand.  Could have taken photos, as long as I didn't send them, using the internet, but it was cold outside.  Found myself editing my contact list.  If you think about it, that's pathetic.  That's like only eating 13 potato chips and enjoying every one.  And then bragging about it on Facebook (I mean, if you were online).

Anyway, everyone's doing the same resolution this year - not to enjoy our devices so much.  To cut ourselves off from the internet and accomplish something.  To perfect ourselves.  Ah, much better to incline yourself to the deep spiritual understanding that we all are what we are, a whole bunch of pixels made by our genetics and the past and advertising, and folks, we are all right.  Alright. Either way you spell it.

[And I decided I liked this picture best without photo-shopping.  Look at the car windows.  Thus all our dreams and ambitions goes passing by.]

On New Year's Resolutions, Including Mine

I have not been posting much because I've been having fun - maybe too much fun, playing Words With Friends on my new iPad with 4 or 5 people at a time, including my grandson, who likes to play two games at a time.  I tell you, grandmas who don't do the new technology (and I know people who won't even have e-mail) are missing out.  It's made being old and less active much more fun.

But I thought I should post something today, so here is a child's view to think about as you make your resolutions -

(If you friend me on Facebook, I pass along good things like this once in a while, but not too often.)

I called my dear friend Teena today when she didn't show up in church.  We were in meditation groups together all those years ago, about ten years now, I guess, and you form a bond there with people that is warm and lasting.  In fact, this morning two other women came up to me who were in those groups, and who I hadn't seen for years.  There is something terrific about sitting in silence with other people.

Teena says her resolution is "Be open-minded and don't get too attached to anything."  Very Buddhist, I told her. She didn't mind.  She likes to read Buddhist books.

I told her my resolution, arrived at spontaneously a few days ago, is "I'm not going to let this shit get me down."  Can't help it, that was the language of the soul.  And what I meant was this sickness and aging stuff.  It just keeps coming at you, throwing curve balls.  I am already much better with it all than I was, say, 10 years ago, when I practically had a nervous breakdown before my thyroid surgery.  (It is possible to have your vocal cords damaged by the surgery, though unlikely.)  Might as well get used to it, I think now, because aging is inevitable, and this is what it means - things breaking down.  I maintain my current commitment to exercising and doing my various PT exercises, too, for my back, neck, and now right arm.

I hope you don't overwhelm yourself with a whole bunch of self-improvement ideas going into the new year, although we can all vow to be kinder and more generous.  If you must form a healthy new habit, I recommend daily meditation.  It's been good for me in many ways, the best being to have it in place to help you when you're lying awake in a hospital bed.

And of course, no hitting or biting.  Not even doctors, tempting as it might be.