What makes you feel good? If you're down, what brings you back up? For me, on the physical plane, sometimes it's just something as simple as waking up on a clear morning when the barometer has risen; being in the sunshine; seeing Mount Rainier; seeing a rainbow. I rarely feel better looking inside my heart, even though the light of God is supposed to be in there somewhere.
Sometimes the ability to make people laugh, or making a connection with someone such as a resident or family member at work helps me. Today I went over to the Pink Wing to talk to the MD who had just been on the Green Wing, to follow up on an order for a resident. He was on the phone with a family member, with the charge nurse sitting next to him. While I waited, I said to her, Smile. Then I realized she looked tired. I decided to give her a back rub, because she is touchy-feely and I knew I would have permission, and she always has a lot of tightness in her back. She really enjoyed it and it passed the time while I waited for the MD to have his attention available. I enjoyed it, too.
I rarely am able to look inside myself to find light, even though Baha'i Writings say God's light is within us. "My lamp is in thee: get thou from it thy radiance."
Here is one of my favorite quotations about how God's light can be reflected within us, especially when we recognize the Manifestation of God for this day [in this day, Baha'u'llah--but for others, Christ or Muhammad or Krishna or Moses or Zoroaster or Buddha, for example.] The quote:
"Neither doth My earth or My heaven contain Me, but the heart of My faithful servant containeth Me." And thou wilt take up thy life in thine hand, and with infinite longing cast it before the new Beloved One.
[The Kicker, i.e. my favorite]: Whensoever the light of the Manifestation of the King of Oneness settleth upon the throne of the heart and soul, His shining becometh visible in every limb and member . . . For thus the Master of the house hath appeared within His home, and all the pillars of the dwelling are ashine with His light. And the action and effect of the light are from the Light-Giver; so it is that all move through Him and arise by His will.
This, to me, is how we can see God in every face, in every heart. To look at them, to see the reflection of the Essence in the mirror of their heart. I usually find it difficult.
Lately I've been paying attention to the physical symptoms I get with anxiety, and it seems that one of the antidotes is patience.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Last Free Day, then . . . work.
I went to my psychotherapy where I am working on Lifespan Integration, still going through my lifespan with the therapist. Even just going through and identifying peak events in my life, especially early life, is very painful and leaves me emotionally vulnerable. Later I took my friend Loyd and drove up to Pike Place Market which I haven't seen for many years. I saw a leather "doctor bag" which I liked but was $100 and rather small.
I'm still daydreaming about one bag packing, which I failed at miserably going to Israel last year for Pilgrimage, dragging around a bag stuffed with a multitude of outfits and things. I have a fantasy [for whenever is my next trip] of carrying, like my friend Bryan, one leather "doctor bag" with a few changes of underwear, a few scarves, and maybe a spare top in case of spills. [Okay, he didn't wear scarves, but I do.]
Saturday I was especially emotionally vulnerable after a harrowing evening of work Friday, went to Northeast Tacoma via a complex detour; I left in a much better mood than I arrived in.
Marine View Drive has a number of industries. One of the roofs has painted, in large capital letters, "BARK." I have recently begun to give in to the irresistible urge to bark when I see this. It makes me happy.
Back to Pike Place Market, we went to a used bookstore downstairs where I found a life history of Patrick O'Brien and a Calvin and Hobbes book I hadn't seen before, with the wonderful title of: Attack of the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snow Goons. How could I resist? In the same store I also drooled over two heavy camel bookends, for a combined price of $90.00 [actually, sneezed, as they were dusty.] I passed. Too much for something to sit on my window sill.
I have decided, once and for all, to stay with "mild" for any future orders of Thai Green Curry. I used to say "two stars out of five," but in this case, who knows what the "5" was? It certainly took care of my sinuses for awhile.
We looked for my car in three parking lots before we found the right one. And then I drove home.
I'm still daydreaming about one bag packing, which I failed at miserably going to Israel last year for Pilgrimage, dragging around a bag stuffed with a multitude of outfits and things. I have a fantasy [for whenever is my next trip] of carrying, like my friend Bryan, one leather "doctor bag" with a few changes of underwear, a few scarves, and maybe a spare top in case of spills. [Okay, he didn't wear scarves, but I do.]
Saturday I was especially emotionally vulnerable after a harrowing evening of work Friday, went to Northeast Tacoma via a complex detour; I left in a much better mood than I arrived in.
Marine View Drive has a number of industries. One of the roofs has painted, in large capital letters, "BARK." I have recently begun to give in to the irresistible urge to bark when I see this. It makes me happy.
Back to Pike Place Market, we went to a used bookstore downstairs where I found a life history of Patrick O'Brien and a Calvin and Hobbes book I hadn't seen before, with the wonderful title of: Attack of the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snow Goons. How could I resist? In the same store I also drooled over two heavy camel bookends, for a combined price of $90.00 [actually, sneezed, as they were dusty.] I passed. Too much for something to sit on my window sill.
I have decided, once and for all, to stay with "mild" for any future orders of Thai Green Curry. I used to say "two stars out of five," but in this case, who knows what the "5" was? It certainly took care of my sinuses for awhile.
We looked for my car in three parking lots before we found the right one. And then I drove home.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Mrs. O'Hunny and Harborview Hell
There is a genre of alert and oriented customer in a skilled nursing facility that can cause more aggravation than ten demented screamers. I've known some who were on dialysis, some with other short-lived ailments, and some have fractures and come to Homeland for rehabilitation. They are almost all female and in their sixties or seventies. Very fussy, with a perception of personal helplessness that would make a three year old blush. Usually, the second your heels cross the threshold on the way out, you hear, "Oh, Honey, could you just . . . " and your heart sinks.
So Mrs. O'Hunny was daytripping in Seattle when one day she did trip, on the curb, and wound up at Harborview Hospital with a broken femur and a series of incisions on her thigh, with staples. Most of the time now, surgeons don't sew you up, they staple you up. [Surgery has gone from the sewing room to Office Max.] The problem is, Mrs. O'Hunny is now at Homeland on the south side of Tacoma, and she was expected to report for a follow up appointment in Harborview with her orthopedic surgeon, and she refused to go.
The noive.
I came to work at 0930 and it was already a done deal. The shuttle ride was canceled, and the surgeon needed to be notified to cancel the appointment. The way I saw things was that any nurse at Homeland could take out staples, the incisions looked great, but naturally the surgeon would want to see her and make sure the bones were knitting up well.
So, why did she cancel? Being alert and oriented [drat the luck] she realized that the Shuttle would pick her up at 0945, the appointment was at 1230, the return ride was scheduled for 1630, which would take her back to Tacoma at 1730. Or so. Eight hours sitting in a wheelchair getting bounced around in shuttle vans. She refused to go through the ordeal.
I called Harborview and talked with a very sweet and pleasant receptionist, gave my name and Homeland's number and a nutshell explanation. The nurse who called me back was not so sweet. She basically implied that allowing a patient to avoid coming to her appointment was putting her in grave danger, and verbally raked me over the coals for collaborating in such a rebellious move. "Would it help," she asked, "if I faxed over to you her discharge summary?" The idea was that this case was in no way routine, that there was some esoteric complication that would endanger the patient's wellbeing if she did not see the surgeon.
I said that if the patient was demented, she would have gone up, suffered, and returned without a hitch, but that unfortunately she had the right to refuse. This nurse could not imagine what was wrong with spending hours on a journey, which, if a healthy person drove, would take about an hour one way. "Is she in some kind of uncontrollable pain? We can put her on a stretcher."
After a few minutes of this impass, I was able to give the nurse the patient's cell number so they could converse directly. I was tired of being in between an unstoppable force and an immovable object. I imagine the solution will be to find a local orthopedic surgeon who agrees to see her.
Later I looked at her discharge summary from Harborview, which was already in the chart. I scanned it up and down trying to find the situation which would label the case as anything but routine, but couldn't find anything. Broken bone: gamma nail repair.
Post Script: Maybe all nurses who don't understand what travel by shuttle is like, need to undergo some training. It would be very simple. Clock in, sit in a wheelchair, get jostled around for eight hours, clock out. Maybe then they would develop some empathy.
So Mrs. O'Hunny was daytripping in Seattle when one day she did trip, on the curb, and wound up at Harborview Hospital with a broken femur and a series of incisions on her thigh, with staples. Most of the time now, surgeons don't sew you up, they staple you up. [Surgery has gone from the sewing room to Office Max.] The problem is, Mrs. O'Hunny is now at Homeland on the south side of Tacoma, and she was expected to report for a follow up appointment in Harborview with her orthopedic surgeon, and she refused to go.
The noive.
I came to work at 0930 and it was already a done deal. The shuttle ride was canceled, and the surgeon needed to be notified to cancel the appointment. The way I saw things was that any nurse at Homeland could take out staples, the incisions looked great, but naturally the surgeon would want to see her and make sure the bones were knitting up well.
So, why did she cancel? Being alert and oriented [drat the luck] she realized that the Shuttle would pick her up at 0945, the appointment was at 1230, the return ride was scheduled for 1630, which would take her back to Tacoma at 1730. Or so. Eight hours sitting in a wheelchair getting bounced around in shuttle vans. She refused to go through the ordeal.
I called Harborview and talked with a very sweet and pleasant receptionist, gave my name and Homeland's number and a nutshell explanation. The nurse who called me back was not so sweet. She basically implied that allowing a patient to avoid coming to her appointment was putting her in grave danger, and verbally raked me over the coals for collaborating in such a rebellious move. "Would it help," she asked, "if I faxed over to you her discharge summary?" The idea was that this case was in no way routine, that there was some esoteric complication that would endanger the patient's wellbeing if she did not see the surgeon.
I said that if the patient was demented, she would have gone up, suffered, and returned without a hitch, but that unfortunately she had the right to refuse. This nurse could not imagine what was wrong with spending hours on a journey, which, if a healthy person drove, would take about an hour one way. "Is she in some kind of uncontrollable pain? We can put her on a stretcher."
After a few minutes of this impass, I was able to give the nurse the patient's cell number so they could converse directly. I was tired of being in between an unstoppable force and an immovable object. I imagine the solution will be to find a local orthopedic surgeon who agrees to see her.
Later I looked at her discharge summary from Harborview, which was already in the chart. I scanned it up and down trying to find the situation which would label the case as anything but routine, but couldn't find anything. Broken bone: gamma nail repair.
Post Script: Maybe all nurses who don't understand what travel by shuttle is like, need to undergo some training. It would be very simple. Clock in, sit in a wheelchair, get jostled around for eight hours, clock out. Maybe then they would develop some empathy.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
What I Pray For
I pray a lot when I have time, am in the mood, am motivated. I don't look at prayer so much as a "give me this or that," more as "help me do/change/improve/let go of" such and such.
A list came from National of local clusters in each corner of the United States where there is a goal to develop the growth of the Baha'is in teaching work to a certain level by April, which is when we celebrate the set of Holy Days associated with the announcement Baha'u'llah made [to the world] of His station as a messenger of God.
I immediately looked at this list and thought, "This is something I can pray for." I believe in the power of prayer. A few months ago I started praying for my husband and shortly his creativity increased tremendously and he began writing poetry and songs at a tremendous rate. Could be a coincidence. I've had dramatic results many times when I felt strongly about some situation where I didn't feel I could affect the outcome: I'd done what I could. When I prayed about it, a little time would pass, then suddenly the situation would be relieved.
It gives me a feeling of power. Not that I have power over any individual in some insidious way, or that the power comes from me. It doesn't. Where I feel a sense of power is that I can choose to pray about something, whatever I want to, and if God agrees, my prayer will have effect.
This is silly but a few weeks ago I was passing a house that's had a For Sale sign out for many months, and I remembered how frustrating it was to sell my last house. So I said a little prayer for the sellers, a little invocation to God, "O Thou Glory of the Most Glorious," which is sometimes used in times of stress or even a moment of joy. I started saying this invocation every time I passed a house for sale, just because I can, just to be nice to someone I don't even know who they are. I feel it's good for me to be remembering God this way as I drive around.
The really silly thing is that I don't feel the same about rentals as I do about sales. So I decided, after some thought, that I didn't want to say the prayer for rentals. But I can't always tell which type of thing, sale or rental, a sign is advertising until I get close to it. So the prayer is already out of my mind/mouth, then I'm thinking, "oh, it's a rental." Then I worry about if, since I'm praying for the sales, am I obligated somehow to pray for the rentals? I have nothing against them, I just don't relate to their difficulties. Am I being selfish? Am I being petty, playing a game with something supposed to be serious, like prayer?
Am I being silly worrying about these issues?
Yes!
A list came from National of local clusters in each corner of the United States where there is a goal to develop the growth of the Baha'is in teaching work to a certain level by April, which is when we celebrate the set of Holy Days associated with the announcement Baha'u'llah made [to the world] of His station as a messenger of God.
I immediately looked at this list and thought, "This is something I can pray for." I believe in the power of prayer. A few months ago I started praying for my husband and shortly his creativity increased tremendously and he began writing poetry and songs at a tremendous rate. Could be a coincidence. I've had dramatic results many times when I felt strongly about some situation where I didn't feel I could affect the outcome: I'd done what I could. When I prayed about it, a little time would pass, then suddenly the situation would be relieved.
It gives me a feeling of power. Not that I have power over any individual in some insidious way, or that the power comes from me. It doesn't. Where I feel a sense of power is that I can choose to pray about something, whatever I want to, and if God agrees, my prayer will have effect.
This is silly but a few weeks ago I was passing a house that's had a For Sale sign out for many months, and I remembered how frustrating it was to sell my last house. So I said a little prayer for the sellers, a little invocation to God, "O Thou Glory of the Most Glorious," which is sometimes used in times of stress or even a moment of joy. I started saying this invocation every time I passed a house for sale, just because I can, just to be nice to someone I don't even know who they are. I feel it's good for me to be remembering God this way as I drive around.
The really silly thing is that I don't feel the same about rentals as I do about sales. So I decided, after some thought, that I didn't want to say the prayer for rentals. But I can't always tell which type of thing, sale or rental, a sign is advertising until I get close to it. So the prayer is already out of my mind/mouth, then I'm thinking, "oh, it's a rental." Then I worry about if, since I'm praying for the sales, am I obligated somehow to pray for the rentals? I have nothing against them, I just don't relate to their difficulties. Am I being selfish? Am I being petty, playing a game with something supposed to be serious, like prayer?
Am I being silly worrying about these issues?
Yes!
Monday, February 15, 2010
Lifespan Integration
I'm preparing to embark on a therapy called "Lifespan Integration" which operates on the theory that traumatic events from a certain age wire the body and mind to respond to stressful events in a patterned, defensive way, usually lacking in confidence. The therapy is supposed to work on a "deep neural level to change patterned responses and outmoded defense strategies."
It's true that there are moments of stress and perceived threat where I don't cognitively decide to react, it just happens automatically. So I'm anticipating changing that.
There's a succinct website: www.LifespanIntegration.com.
It's true that there are moments of stress and perceived threat where I don't cognitively decide to react, it just happens automatically. So I'm anticipating changing that.
There's a succinct website: www.LifespanIntegration.com.
Friday, February 12, 2010
The Culinary Life of Books
I don't always eat when I read, but I usually read when I eat. I also read a lot of library books. So it's no surprise when other eater/readers have been there before me. Sometimes you can tell what the food was, from the leavings, sometimes you can't. It calls for speculation. Cheetoh's are always obvious. Jam and bread, macaroni and cheese, chocolate . . . I find their history fascinating.
I try to be a little neater when I read, and not leave any history behind.
Today I had just made some soup in the pressure cooker when my lawyer called. Later after I returned home, I blended it. When ingredients have a lot of peels and lumpy texture, I prefer to blend the soup.
Valentine Soup
4-5 beet roots, cleaned and quartered
4-5 red potatoes, eyed and quartered
2 large carrots, chopped into sections
chopped onion, about a slice
5-6 garlic cloves, peeled
several shakes of: dill, turmeric, cumin, coriander, a little rosemary and a little cardamom
Place all into pressure cooker with two cups water and cook on high twenty minutes. Let the pressure release naturally by cooling down. Add:
one cup leftover baked squash
one or two cups soy milk
sea salt to taste
Blend in food processor until smooth.
Why can't I ever remember the name of cardamom?
I try to be a little neater when I read, and not leave any history behind.
Today I had just made some soup in the pressure cooker when my lawyer called. Later after I returned home, I blended it. When ingredients have a lot of peels and lumpy texture, I prefer to blend the soup.
Valentine Soup
4-5 beet roots, cleaned and quartered
4-5 red potatoes, eyed and quartered
2 large carrots, chopped into sections
chopped onion, about a slice
5-6 garlic cloves, peeled
several shakes of: dill, turmeric, cumin, coriander, a little rosemary and a little cardamom
Place all into pressure cooker with two cups water and cook on high twenty minutes. Let the pressure release naturally by cooling down. Add:
one cup leftover baked squash
one or two cups soy milk
sea salt to taste
Blend in food processor until smooth.
Why can't I ever remember the name of cardamom?
More Learnings
So my deadline for signing my refinancing loan was today, and I may have missed it. We'll see. I was moping about, had just made some soup in the pressure cooker with potatoes, leeks, beets and carrots when the lawyer's office phoned and said my former son-in-law signed the quit-claim deed. So I met with my wonderful lawyer and signed some forms acknowledging all that, and she emailed and Fed-Exed it to the escrow in Florida, and if they send the forms I can go sign Monday if possible, or Tuesday, taking off from work a couple hours.
Coming through these tests [and when haven't I been in tests in the last five years?] gives a person a fresh perspective. It's a new opportunity for detachment. I realized with joy that I am glad I made the house improvements that I did, even if it goes to someone else tomorrow. The Writings point out that no ownership is permanent, even our bodies, and that tomorrow someone else will own what we have [except, fortunately, our bodies. There has to be some limit to avarice.] If someone else owns this house tomorrow, which, figuratively they will, I will have made it more beautiful.
Really, it was a chance to re-consecrate my house, my livelihood, to God.
So I was thinking as I watched the gulls circle the streets of downtown Tacoma from the thirteenth floor.
Coming through these tests [and when haven't I been in tests in the last five years?] gives a person a fresh perspective. It's a new opportunity for detachment. I realized with joy that I am glad I made the house improvements that I did, even if it goes to someone else tomorrow. The Writings point out that no ownership is permanent, even our bodies, and that tomorrow someone else will own what we have [except, fortunately, our bodies. There has to be some limit to avarice.] If someone else owns this house tomorrow, which, figuratively they will, I will have made it more beautiful.
Really, it was a chance to re-consecrate my house, my livelihood, to God.
So I was thinking as I watched the gulls circle the streets of downtown Tacoma from the thirteenth floor.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
It Ain't Nohow Permanent
In the comic strip Pogo, in the mouth [or maybe it was in the beak] of one of his characters, Walt Kelly comments: "Don't take life so serious, son--it ain't nohow permanent."
I've been failing at my relationships, in the throws of a struggle to save my house by refinancing, feeling extremely stressed at work, and kind of wishing for death, which shows how depressed I am. Buddhism teaches that the cause of suffering is attachment.
In the fall of 2006, my daughter and son-in-law were living with me in my former house, and I was looking at us a happy extended family. So I accepted my son-in-law's help in putting down some money on a down payment and closing costs for a house I could afford the interest-only payments for, but really couldn't afford. Let me count the ways that was dumb. Fast-forward the 31 months my [now former] son-in-law lived in the house without having to make any of the outrageous mortgage payments, and I decided to try to refinance a house for which the two loans are worth about a third to a half more than the estimated resale value of the home.
Eventually the current interest-only mortgage payments will rise to an unaffordable rate and I will be facing foreclosure and I will lose the house. If the house is foreclosed it will trash my credit and I will not be able to purchase a home, only rent one. I have tons of stuff and three cats.
Here is why I would like to stay here, besides the huge cost of moving and the enormous hassle. It has a huge yard abutting other huge yards [instead of looking out on other roofs as in a development]; a wonderful unobstructed view of Mt. Rainier out of my bedroom window; speaking of windows I put in very expensive energy-efficient vinyl windows last year; I redid my bath enclosure in beautiful ceramic tile; the kitchen and dining room floor, once vinyl, are now mahogany hardwood, thanks to moi; and I have great ideas for re-doing the kitchen if I ever get rich. And my stuff and daughter and cats are here.
Former Son-in-law wants his "investment" back, and refuses to sign the quit-claim deed to get off the title and the mortgage, even though I could have sworn he has indicated in the past his motivation to get off the mortgage. So here we are, stuck. Meanwhile I am on my first extension of the refinance offer/process with my bank and time is running out. The good news is that I went to a lawyer, who is friendly and nice and wonderful. Whether her approach to son-in-law is effective or obtains desired results in the short amount of time left, remains to be seen.
I hate waiting to see what happens. Even though I've done what I can, and at this stage things are out of my hands, I hate the suspense. Will I have to say goodbye to my wonderful home? I practice saying goodbye subconsciously a hundred times a day. This is where I need more detachment so I can move on with my life.
Which ain't nohow permanent, anyway.
I've been failing at my relationships, in the throws of a struggle to save my house by refinancing, feeling extremely stressed at work, and kind of wishing for death, which shows how depressed I am. Buddhism teaches that the cause of suffering is attachment.
In the fall of 2006, my daughter and son-in-law were living with me in my former house, and I was looking at us a happy extended family. So I accepted my son-in-law's help in putting down some money on a down payment and closing costs for a house I could afford the interest-only payments for, but really couldn't afford. Let me count the ways that was dumb. Fast-forward the 31 months my [now former] son-in-law lived in the house without having to make any of the outrageous mortgage payments, and I decided to try to refinance a house for which the two loans are worth about a third to a half more than the estimated resale value of the home.
Eventually the current interest-only mortgage payments will rise to an unaffordable rate and I will be facing foreclosure and I will lose the house. If the house is foreclosed it will trash my credit and I will not be able to purchase a home, only rent one. I have tons of stuff and three cats.
Here is why I would like to stay here, besides the huge cost of moving and the enormous hassle. It has a huge yard abutting other huge yards [instead of looking out on other roofs as in a development]; a wonderful unobstructed view of Mt. Rainier out of my bedroom window; speaking of windows I put in very expensive energy-efficient vinyl windows last year; I redid my bath enclosure in beautiful ceramic tile; the kitchen and dining room floor, once vinyl, are now mahogany hardwood, thanks to moi; and I have great ideas for re-doing the kitchen if I ever get rich. And my stuff and daughter and cats are here.
Former Son-in-law wants his "investment" back, and refuses to sign the quit-claim deed to get off the title and the mortgage, even though I could have sworn he has indicated in the past his motivation to get off the mortgage. So here we are, stuck. Meanwhile I am on my first extension of the refinance offer/process with my bank and time is running out. The good news is that I went to a lawyer, who is friendly and nice and wonderful. Whether her approach to son-in-law is effective or obtains desired results in the short amount of time left, remains to be seen.
I hate waiting to see what happens. Even though I've done what I can, and at this stage things are out of my hands, I hate the suspense. Will I have to say goodbye to my wonderful home? I practice saying goodbye subconsciously a hundred times a day. This is where I need more detachment so I can move on with my life.
Which ain't nohow permanent, anyway.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Dead, Part Two
The whole idea that the only reason there's ever any death is because Adam and Eve screwed up, and otherwise we'd be living in Eden still, equates physical life with the whole of reality. I think that's what depresses me about this concept the most. The only meaning to life is just physical existence.
Everything has an inner and an outer reality. The physical world is just a spot, a bus station for the rest of it. To some people, a womb. A place to stay warm and pick up virtues, qualities necessary for the rest of life, an arena in which I'm rather afraid I'll be lost and abandoned, but otherwise not too concerned about.
True reality is spiritual. Eternal. The heart. The soul which reflects, like a mirror, the eternal spirit. A physical body is only necessary on this plane, then it needs to be respectably treated and left somewhere safe, while our thoughts, heart, feelings, intelligence, bright soul moves on.
When I used to go to the Good News Club and they said when we went to heaven we'd be issued a new body, just like the one we have here [they weren't JW's, just ordinary Christian fundamentalists] I was appalled. I was only nine but I already knew I loathed my body, hated it [this is really another story] and if I went to heaven I never wanted to see my body again. I certainly didn't want to spend eternity in my body.
Personally, when it comes to death, all I care about is that I somehow get out of it alive. Oops. Depressed again.
For the Baha'i teachings on life and death, visit the Baha'i website.
Everything has an inner and an outer reality. The physical world is just a spot, a bus station for the rest of it. To some people, a womb. A place to stay warm and pick up virtues, qualities necessary for the rest of life, an arena in which I'm rather afraid I'll be lost and abandoned, but otherwise not too concerned about.
True reality is spiritual. Eternal. The heart. The soul which reflects, like a mirror, the eternal spirit. A physical body is only necessary on this plane, then it needs to be respectably treated and left somewhere safe, while our thoughts, heart, feelings, intelligence, bright soul moves on.
When I used to go to the Good News Club and they said when we went to heaven we'd be issued a new body, just like the one we have here [they weren't JW's, just ordinary Christian fundamentalists] I was appalled. I was only nine but I already knew I loathed my body, hated it [this is really another story] and if I went to heaven I never wanted to see my body again. I certainly didn't want to spend eternity in my body.
Personally, when it comes to death, all I care about is that I somehow get out of it alive. Oops. Depressed again.
For the Baha'i teachings on life and death, visit the Baha'i website.
When You're Dead, You're Dead
I picked up two Jehovah's Witness fliers someone had left behind last night on the med cart [I know who left them there, and who gave them to that individual, and why; but they did abandon them.] I read them last night and this morning. They were about everyone's hot topic: Death.
The whole thrust of these little illuminating leaflets was, "what happens to you when you die?" Interestingly, the writing style in these type of leaflets has perked up a little bit. They use a lot more psychobabble and wait until the nearly the last page to inform you about God's plan for reviving everyone He approves of in the last days. They never got around to telling the reader that we're all sinners, death is what we pay for sin, and the remedy is just to get saved, otherwise we're going to burn in hell . . . oh, wait, hell is for people who believe in an afterlife.
JW's only believe in life, not the afterlife, unless you are one the 144,000 lucky souls who actually get to go to heaven and help out there. So, there is a heaven, but not an afterlife, and all the slots have long since been filled--oddly, kind of a relief to me. So for the rest of us, there's just death. As in, when you're dead you're dead. Similar to agnostics and atheists. This whole theme is just so depressing.
One pamphlet went to great lengths to trace the origin of the supposed superstition that people have immortal souls [apparently from Babylon.] It uses Bible quotes to prove that the word "soul" just means something that's alive. It has photographs of every creature from butterflies to whales, with the caption, "this is a soul." I haven't looked up these particular quotes, but usually the translation they use is so different from mine that the meaning is warped beyond all recognition. So, even if one believes the Bible is essentially the word of God, it's hard to validate their point of view.
The rest of the story is that after Jesus comes back to purge the earth from all its problems and create an earthly paradise, all the people [who are saved, but these pamphlets neglected to mention this] will be physically resurrected and reunited with their loved ones to live in this park-like setting, with ample food and other resources which will have been magically provided for them. The illustration did make it look like a good spot for a picnic, with a park bench and mountains in the background. I guess after that they swarm about ecstatically and just . . . live.
All the people in the illustrations have expressions of joy and excitement on their faces, and all the families were properly matched up: caucasians with caucasians, African-Americans with African-Americans, Asians with Asians. But, according to the pamphlet, there's no racism.
The whole thrust of these little illuminating leaflets was, "what happens to you when you die?" Interestingly, the writing style in these type of leaflets has perked up a little bit. They use a lot more psychobabble and wait until the nearly the last page to inform you about God's plan for reviving everyone He approves of in the last days. They never got around to telling the reader that we're all sinners, death is what we pay for sin, and the remedy is just to get saved, otherwise we're going to burn in hell . . . oh, wait, hell is for people who believe in an afterlife.
JW's only believe in life, not the afterlife, unless you are one the 144,000 lucky souls who actually get to go to heaven and help out there. So, there is a heaven, but not an afterlife, and all the slots have long since been filled--oddly, kind of a relief to me. So for the rest of us, there's just death. As in, when you're dead you're dead. Similar to agnostics and atheists. This whole theme is just so depressing.
One pamphlet went to great lengths to trace the origin of the supposed superstition that people have immortal souls [apparently from Babylon.] It uses Bible quotes to prove that the word "soul" just means something that's alive. It has photographs of every creature from butterflies to whales, with the caption, "this is a soul." I haven't looked up these particular quotes, but usually the translation they use is so different from mine that the meaning is warped beyond all recognition. So, even if one believes the Bible is essentially the word of God, it's hard to validate their point of view.
The rest of the story is that after Jesus comes back to purge the earth from all its problems and create an earthly paradise, all the people [who are saved, but these pamphlets neglected to mention this] will be physically resurrected and reunited with their loved ones to live in this park-like setting, with ample food and other resources which will have been magically provided for them. The illustration did make it look like a good spot for a picnic, with a park bench and mountains in the background. I guess after that they swarm about ecstatically and just . . . live.
All the people in the illustrations have expressions of joy and excitement on their faces, and all the families were properly matched up: caucasians with caucasians, African-Americans with African-Americans, Asians with Asians. But, according to the pamphlet, there's no racism.
Another Update
Sorry for the rare posts. I become so drained by work and other crises that I don't have as much time and creativity as I'd like to have.
I'm trying to refinance my house and a former family member, also on loan and title, is obstructing the process.
Today would be a good day to clean house. I think I've forgotten how. I'm not sure how long it will be my house anyway.
Every day I wake up following a whole foods plant based diet. Every day I go to bed a meat eater. Stress.
I'm trying to refinance my house and a former family member, also on loan and title, is obstructing the process.
Today would be a good day to clean house. I think I've forgotten how. I'm not sure how long it will be my house anyway.
Every day I wake up following a whole foods plant based diet. Every day I go to bed a meat eater. Stress.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Crisis And Victory
Tonight at Homeland I worked an eight hour shift [Sunday] and several nursing assistants had called off work on both the Green and Pink sides, so there were about six CNA's total in the facility. [There are supposed to be 5 on Green Wing and 6 on Pink Wing.] One nurse on Pink Wing stayed to work an extra shift on the floor doing CNA work. One nurse on the Green Wing stayed over doing ice water and vital signs, and one nurse stayed over to help with dinner.
The most organized nurses worked together to plan dinner: the independent eaters were slated to stay and eat in their rooms; the people needing cueing and feeding were all brought to the main dining room. The CNA's stayed on the floor during dinner, serving trays and answering lights. The nurses worked in the main dining room, serving trays, cueing and feeding residents, picking up trays, cleaning people up after dinner. One CNA from days went home, then came back and helped with dinner, doing the tray monitors. One person from Activities and one person from Medical Records helped with dinner.
Our three CNA's on the floor worked their tails off. I was so proud of them. They are all my heroes. Everyone was fed in record time, there were no falls and no medical crises.
One nurse sent out for pizza for everyone; both the charge nurse on Pink Wing and myself on Green Wing posted "Kudo's" for everyone who helped on the bulletin board in the break room.
The most organized nurses worked together to plan dinner: the independent eaters were slated to stay and eat in their rooms; the people needing cueing and feeding were all brought to the main dining room. The CNA's stayed on the floor during dinner, serving trays and answering lights. The nurses worked in the main dining room, serving trays, cueing and feeding residents, picking up trays, cleaning people up after dinner. One CNA from days went home, then came back and helped with dinner, doing the tray monitors. One person from Activities and one person from Medical Records helped with dinner.
Our three CNA's on the floor worked their tails off. I was so proud of them. They are all my heroes. Everyone was fed in record time, there were no falls and no medical crises.
One nurse sent out for pizza for everyone; both the charge nurse on Pink Wing and myself on Green Wing posted "Kudo's" for everyone who helped on the bulletin board in the break room.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
