Home – Part I

In The Moment, , , , , ,

It’s been a long time since I’ve sat at the keyboard, or with my art projects for that matter. The captured moment above marks a place in time. It is a window into things to come. The sort of moment where everything seems to shift in a split second, even as it truly all takes shape over days and months.

One sunny morning, in my tiny house in Jeffersonville Vermont, I walked upon this tender moment seeing my “son” and “daughter” carefree on our couch. Mathias MacGregor, that would be the dog, lounged peacefully in his bed on the side of the couch where I read very early before work. This was his spot after I was done. This was our routine. For nine years. He passed in 2019, one year before Covid.

Azriel Marley, that would be the cat, sat behind him, considering whether she should playfully pounce or just walk by to kiss his head before stretching at the other end of the couch. This, too, was our routine. She passed in 2020, a year to the day after her brother.

Mathias had been my husband Roderick’s companion until he passed in 2010. Letting him go was heart wrenching. He was my last and only connection to Roderick. It turned my world upside down. Or maybe inside out is more like it. Marley and I uplifted each other. She became sick when Covid hit. A mere coincidence, but bad timing nonetheless. Malaise became more serious. No vet would see her until it was too late. I said goodbye, for her sake, with rage and sorrow in my heart beyond what I had ever experienced.

Life goes on. This feels like such and easy and stupid cliché now.

Fast forward three short years. I was finally getting acclimated to living without my three soulmates, reading by myself early mornings in the bright sunlight that flooded our couch. Settling into my peaceful routine. Then, July 11.

The weather warnings had been clear. Flooding. Serious flooding, on the horizon. It rained and rained. Same scenario some years earlier, when the water rose to within 20 feet of the back of my house. I was ready then. Mathias’ harness by the door, along with a special cat carrier backpack. But we never had to leave. This time was different.

The water rose above the far end of the street by 5 am. Instinct nudged me to take off to a friend’s place, higher up. We had arranged this the day before, just in case. By 6:30 I received a text and photo from my neighbor showing my front door under three feet of water.

To be continued…

Deliberate Kindness

In The Moment, , ,

“Set aside personal interest and act for the common good.”

This phrase, one of many provocative thoughts from the various texts I have read through the years, has occupied my mind more than others.

“Set aside personal interest?”

That’s the problem right there. For most of our lives, we learn to fend for ourselves, to build careers, to attain a secure and cozy lifestyle, to build savings accounts that will sustain us in old age. All of this is self-centered. And, in truth, all of it is necessary. We must take care of ourselves.

Self-preservation is a deeply rooted and essential survival instinct, but our education model expands it into a far-reaching and often distorted fabric. It expands it to something outside of ourselves, something that isolates us in the midst of community and neighbors, instead of weaving it into a huge, warm blanket to share. Outside of tragedies and shared trauma, our survival instinct is mostly connected to some ideal outcome or future.

An image comes to mind: We stand in a crowd, at a community picnic, and though we honestly try to mingle, our gaze reaches above the sea of faces to some distant horizon. We savor the moment, yet our inner eye is turned to the future.

In addition to this, we often define “common good” as something we embrace on the side, when immediate responsibilities (both real and perceived) allow; when there is time, money or an emergency. Very few of us master the art of placing common good at the center of our lives. Those who do stand out in the crowd. They see as far as the horizon and beyond, yet they are fully present, radiant, human and humane. Perhaps even fearless.

How do we set aside personal interest on a daily basis in a world that would have us so dedicated to personal success and safety; so tied to the next paycheck; so concerned with ensuring our own comfort and longevity; so afraid of sickness, death and, perhaps worst of all, real and imagined enemies?

Maybe we only attain this in small increments, whenever we are willing to take risks on behalf of others. Obviously, we cannot all quit our jobs to go work for some charitable organization, but we can certainly make room for more charitable intentions in all that we do.

Then, the guiding question becomes: “How do I make my work and my life an act of charity?”

The answer is far from simple. It requires we become a bit more creative and a lot less competitive.

The task is enormous and overwhelming. However, it would seem there is one small, easy thing we can do that may very well provide the tipping point: Become kindhearted, in every moment.

Ours is an aggressive lifestyle. We chase after time, money, success, recognition; even leisure. What would it mean to seek all of this with a deliberately kinder heart?

We’d be standing in a crowd, at that community picnic, suddenly losing interest in the distant horizon and shifting our gaze back to distinct faces… and suddenly being able to listen. Funny thing is, after a while, all faces might turn to the horizon after all, gazing in the same direction, in unison. And we’d be sharing the experience of a much different horizon then.

We all dream of grand vacations, perhaps on a distant beach, listening to nothing but the waves and seagulls. We long for silence, not realizing that it is not merely the outside noise we wish to lose, but our own inner dialogue.

Maybe true, restful silence is this: To truly listen for the first time. Then, we are on the same wavelength. Of the same mind. Of the same kind. Of kindness. All of us bear a message, in spite of ourselves. Deliberate kindness is the tuning fork.