Where Do You Get Your Light?

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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?

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.