Buddha’s Reluctant Disciple

I am definitely not a Buddhist but I love Buddha! I love that oh so very long ago young man swept by a passion to help all people to endure or possibly drop life’s sufferings.

Raised in absolute luxury with every desire anticipated and fulfilled when confronted with mankind’s sometimes painful reality he stripped off his clothes, starved and denied his body, followed wandering holy men living on a few grains of rice thrown into his begging bowl by passersby. He searched every possible way to alleviate sorrow and struggling. Years of negation ended when he observed a man tuning his stringed instrument…a loosely tied string produced a woeful, wobbly sound but when pulled too tight it screeched as though in pain.

Enlightenment followed and the Middle Way was born. He had stretched himself on the fulcrum of experience only to discover that the fulcrum itself was the answer. The central balanced point between “not enough” and too much” was where peace and freedom lay. Moving beyond self-perpetuating desire into a calm, unchanging mindfulness was his path to Nirvana.

Beautiful, powerful, but not for me! It worked for Siddhartha and millions in the centuries since…but not for me!

It isn’t as though I haven’t tried, I hate ‘not enough’ and ‘too much’ could be scary.  Early on I took my begging bowl and wandered through books and philosophies, organized religions, mystical faiths, and ‘new age ideas’.  I was lucky to find a slightly wicked guru who laughed at me and said, I paraphrase, “look within for answers, be just who you are and think for yourself!”

I pulled that musical string so tight it broke…so I decided to sing! My own song, my own words. ‘Not enough’ became a goad, ‘Too much’ became an explosion of new thoughts and feelings….like the wrong end of the teeter-totter that throws you up and off the fulcrum into a flight into the unknown.

Oh, Buddha, didn’t you see that it was your passion, your struggle, your  willingness to try it all, that brought fulfillment and wisdom?

 I choose to live in ‘too much’ where joy and discovery, excitement and discovery spark and redeem the ‘everyday?” Peace will come and the serene ‘nothingness’ will happen soon enough but until then “Fie, on your balance, your Middle way, and although I may fail many times I will strive to be brave enough, strong enough to search and grab onto every ‘too much” that comes my way!

       Hors d'oevres are great...
                 BUT NOW IT IS TIME FOR THE            
                              MAIN COURSE

                                                           My Oyster

   my book...my fourth child (took a lot longer to     produce than the first three)...a "labour of love."

It truly was an adventure, reliving all those lovely, crazy, sad, thrilling, happy memories...crying sometimes, laughing out loud, hugging myself with delight the way the words tumbled over themselves racing to get on the page! 

Not the usual "how to, where to," travel book,  I looked for different, out of the way places and even when hitting the tourist hot-spots I experienced them in unique ways.  

I enjoyed it so and I hope you will too.  Here are just a few quick trips to whet your appetite:
     
[1953 London]  ..."Are you Marilyn Holdsworth?"  A gorgeous, tall , blond young man in a tuxedo is speaking to me.  I feel like Cinderella. I had booked a tour, "A Night in London" at home before we left and was explecting the usual toutist bus to lumber into Picadilly Circus.  Instead here comes a luxurious limosine replete with Prince Charming.  Eric is our guide and escort for the evening which includes stops  at Hemicky's Wine Bar, Collins Music Hall where we see old-timey vaudiville and a nude tableaux, Nag's Head Pub and a visit to the Stork Room Club where Eric dances in turn with Marilyn McBride and me, walking us back to our hotel at 3:00am. These English sure know how to give a tour!

[1988 India] Morning is just beginning as we catch our train to Poona and the Ashram.  The overcrowded car is filled with smiling coach mates offering to share their breakfast bits. I, smiling also, answer pointing, gesturing...I really don't know what they are saying...I hope I am making sense. Actually, it doesn't seem to matter.
Giving in, letting go I giggle and clap my hands when everyone else does, absurdly happy to be just where and when I am...on my way to Osho and enlightenment!

[2011 York] York is an ancient, venerable city, established by the Romans, politically important through the ages since, somber...

    BUT NOT TODAY....

Today, York is a carnival The massive Bootham Bar is our gate to the side shows, ancient displays in murky glass shop windows, underground rides through Viking Land, and the twisting alleys called Snickleways that take us from here to who knows where...the Shambles horror street, Clifford's Tower, pubs tempting with their lucious smells, the Midway, a pedestrian mall in the center of town filled with people enjoying themselves, calling out to one another.Wrapped around , holding it all together is the carousel Wall.

There is so much more...but enough for now.  I hope you like what I shared. Be aware, however, that there were 'rough' spots and I will be telling you about them too.  

Thanks for listening!            






   


     .

  

      .

my oyster coming soon

                               Surprised by Joy

When I heard that phrase a moment or so ago the day wobbled a bit. 

Awareness catching me off guard, I was in truth, surprised by joy.  Not

like C. Lewis’s religious conversion nor Wordsworth’s tipover into grief, 

just a simple flash of knowing. Yes, knowing. In the midst of an ordinary

day doing ordinary things, feeding the dog I think, a flash of joy 

unattached to anything -- by itself, pure, sweet, ephemeral.  No trumpets

 fanfare  no fainting like some medieval saint I simply leaned against the

 table top for balance and placed the dog’s breakfast  on the floor where

 she could gobble it up, experiencing her joy.

The moment lengthened, stretched along a path of sunlight on the 

kitchen floor and faded slowly into a warmth I felt in my fingertips.

Living in the moment, that kingpin of Eastern thought I presumed to

understand, to search for and very occasionally achieve had suddenly

found me! I believe now that that is the way it does happen.

Understanding, searching for, achieving are words for actions that

 preclude an object or a place, a thing with a name.  Joy comes out of a

 moment like the “crack” of Jim Talone’s baseball bat, a feeling so far 

above the physical experience that let it happen.

Maybe it is a gift we give ourselves. Happiness, pleasure come from

achievement or awareness but joy splits our lives for a moment and lets

 the light stream in, cosseting, warming, not blinding but letting us SEE.

.                         

The Book of 90

A primer:

     First of all, of course, you have to get here. I’ve spent a lot of time and literally thousands of words chronicling that endeavor in the last few years. What a full, rich, adventurous journey it has been but a journey it is and so has a beginning and an end. In the beginning we stumble, stagger and flop about learning how to be, to handle what we call life. It comes without a primer so we write it as we go along. Unfortunately there is no Spell Check and some of us, find punctuation to be a thorny path.

     For those of us who do make it here, shouldn’t we be able to take charge a bit, as experts in the field? This time, couldn’t we write the instructions ahead of time, the How-tos?  Shouldn’t we?

                      I think I will.

1.      Have fun with it.

     “Next year, in six months, in a month and a half, next June 21^st I will be 90 years old!” 

  “No, I can’t believe it! I wouldn’t have thought – you don’t look it – wow,” turning to the next person in line, “Did you hear, look at her, she’s going to be 90!”

     It’s fun to shake up the Weight Watchers line, to come up with my overworked response, “People say I should ask for a recount!” Chuckle, chuckle.

       It is easier over the phone, “Next year, in six months, June 21^st ----       “Oh no. can’t be – you sound so young, so __”, and we are off again.

     I‘m embarrassed, yes, but we have to play the humor card when it comes, there’s not a lot of them of late, the deck is slimmer now.

2.     Show off.

This can be a perk.  People expect a certain amount of slippage in one at ninety:

Memory.  “I can’t remember, when was that, what do you mean, I don’t know which way to go.“  Brushing aside a momentary lapse or two, I can dazzle anyone with the really large supply of trivia I’ve collected over the years.  I even wow my children occasionally with some erudite bit of ‘knowing’.

Word finding difficulty.  Hem and haw a little, that’s natural at any age, but try a diversionary tactic, look across the room expectantly, “Oh, there’s Dottie – oops, sorry, she’s gone,” this as they turn their heads to see an old friend, “maybe it wasn’t her, anyway. Now, what were we talking about?” By this time you have recalled the word or if not, no problem, they have probably forgotten too.

 Tricks of the trade, tricks of the trade.  

      

3.     Be physical

This is more difficult, however, if you are lucky, like me there’s still a lot you can do. Skip quickly over those activities that no longer seem so easy, natural, like sprinting quickly, gracefully, up and down stairs. Show them instead how you can still sit cross-legged on the floor! Okay, at this point you can’t get up without help, but for a minute they are in awe. 

4.     Be eccentric

It goes without saying that having reached this lofty goal we are certainly entitled to be ourselves, unique, silly, noisy, messy free of constraints. Not as a protest, not a negative freedom, a positive, glowing acceptance of every used-to-be hidden aspect of our selves.  Surprise yourself with how bold, how scary and out of the box you can be!

Shock people? Disillusion some? Can’t be helped. No longer what they think or hope we are -- content with what we’ve learned, happy for the tattered bits and pieces of life we’ve carried with us. Let’s hear it for 90!

5.     Pontificate

Ah, this is the glory of being 90.  You can be the Sage, the giver of wisdom, the Pontificator. No one can argue, they haven’t been here yet!  A few of your age-compatriots will poke you in the ribs, sneak a knowing laugh and play the game with you! You deserve a little adulation, a few ooooooo’s and ahhhhhhh’s. You’ve worked hard to get where you are, put up with the pseudo-patience of people who whisper behind your back, “She’s really slipping, can’t remember, getting feeble….”.

Make grand pronouncements, tell how it is, revel in the age brings wisdom  game. 

This brings us back to the beginning --- Have fun with it!

6.     Celebrate

Make a great cake out of your favorite memories, big enough to hold all 90 candles. Ice it with the splendid years of being you, cut yourself a slice, a big one, taste it, lick your fingers to get every last sweet morsel.  There’s still more to come but, just now at this lovely pivot point; review, remember, treasure and enjoy.

A Primer should always have a summary and perhaps suggestions for “what comes next.”

Life

 Live it always to the fullest --- then just throw it away. It was a hoot, a roller coaster ride on a summer night, a long, lovely moment that you held in your hand, a drama, a comedy, a cliff-hanger that did not disappoint. There was always something else, down the road, around the corner. You’ve lived it, you’ve loved it -- now let it go…

        Empty,

       empty,

       empty…

so when it’s time to go the autumn breeze will just blow you away,

a leaf, crisp and full of color to lie in sweet surrender  on the cooling grass.

O Danny Boy

                                   O Danny Boy

Okay! OKAY,   I’m pushing,     leave me ALONE!     I’m busy,    I’m pushing       ooooooooh!        HERE WE GO AGAIN!

It’s a boy!

Hot, wet, someone lays him on my stomach just within reach of my fingertips -- my son, my sweet baby boy.

“I told you, I knew all along.”

Grinning, exhausted, I’m remembering that long ride to the Delivery Room on the stretcher. The nurse, noticing my pink slippers commenting, “You’re looking for a girl.’

“No, it’s a boy, I know!” I’d been making him, nurturing him, trying to get comfortable with him for nine whole months, don’t you think I would know?”

Flat on my back, feet still up in the stirrups, laughing and weeping all at once, beside myself with joy. The doctor turns to the nurse, “She’s awake! Call downstairs to the waiting room. Let her talk to her husband.” They’re not used to wide awake, natural-childbirth mothers.

Phone up to my ear, Ray’s worried ”Yes -- ?”

“Oh, Danny Boy…the pipes, the pipes are calling….”

Later, downstairs in my room, washed, in a warm clean hospital gown,  tucked up in bed I relaxed after all that hard work, but also HUNGRY! Kitchen closed, it’s after 10:00, poor Ray goes out and gets me the most unforgettable, delicious coffee milk shake ever made!

September 21, 1962. Passaic General Hospital, Passaic New Jersey where my first two children were born. Actually, I was born there too!

It is fifty-five years later and my tiny Danny Boy is a man. Like everyone his life has had excitement, sorrow, disappointments, dreams found and lost, a divorce, a precious daughter, success and failure --

But I write about him as he is NOW, today, living in the moment, because that is exactly what he is doing -- and doing it so well. He is walking, hiking the Appalachian Trail, 10, 12, even 17 miles a day. 280 miles in just 27 days, over rough, rocky ground, up thousands of feet to one mountain-top after another, slipping, sliding down again clutching his hiking poles for dear life in rain, even snow in Georgia in April!

When he takes a ‘zero day’ in one of the small towns close on the Trail to rest and stock up on food he calls me and we talk for an hour. His voice is so strong, excited. 

Today, he is recounting a horrendous trek over the last of the Smokey Mountains a day ago. There were hurricane force winds, snow pellets scoring his face, unsure footing. Almost desparate when his trail buddy grabbed his shoulder, shouting against the roar of the wind, “Man, we are fuckin’ ALIVE!”

“Church -- hell,” Dan tells me, “God lives in the mountain storms!”

Totally alive in that moment, that freezing, bitter, painful, moment -- every part of him stretched almost beyond measure -- gloriously aware of what being alive is all about!

He talks, too, of the quieter moments. “Mom, when I get to the shelter at the end of a day it’s good to meet up with other hikers, some I’ve met before, others are new, it changes a lot, but what I really like best is the walking alone --  mile after mile, my head’s down watching where to make the next careful step. I have stuff to eat tucked in every pocket so I don’t have to stop. I probably eat every hour that way. Sometimes I do stop when there’s an awesome view across the mountains. You know, mom, it is really like meditating. My mind is empty, happy just to be, I’m not regretting the past, I’m not thinking about the future, worrying, planning  -- I’m just resting, aware of the moment. It feels good. Maybe when I get back I’ll write a book, ‘The Appalachian Trail, Modern Man’s Path to Enlightment’ .”

Did I forget to mention that within the last five years Dan (‘boy’ no longer) has had two heart attacks, four stents in that rather important organ? If I did it’s because he does not identify himself that way. He has not talked to me about the journey from the way-things-were-to-now those rather abrupt occasions caused. I have watched him from mother-distance deal with and accept reality. Deciding to stop living a put-off existence he recently resigned from the job he had held for 27 years, gave up his treasured apartment, put just a few things in a 5 X 5 storage unit, came east from Seattle and in one happy moment decided to put – forgive that hackneyed phrase – mind, body and spirit smack-dab in a total experience on the Appalachian Trail

He is learning, that the only time any of us are alive is this moment, the past is mind-memory, tomorrow does not exist yet. Most of us live in a series of empty, tomorrow will be great, I’ll do something then, wasn’t that fun yesterday, where should we go on vacation next year  and the oh so potential gift of actually doing, experiencing now slides, unnoticed by.

Challenged every day, tricky right ankle, blister at the base of his thumb from clutching those poles, favoring his left knee, face forward, munching on a candy bar -- totally alive, Dan, my Danny Boy, lives in each moment forever.

“ -- from glen to glen and down the mountain side ……”

I have paid my dues

I’ve Paid My Dues

What a thought!

In 2 months and 3 days I shall be 90. I’ve been a little conflicted about that.  I have always liked the beginning of each decade, 40, 50, 60 -- because there is a good feeling of ten years ahead. I could almost see them stretching out, blooming, filled with living! Knowing, of course, there might be sadness, grief, fear but right there at the zero, top of the slide, the possibilities for growth and joy were always endless. They are there at all the turnings, 3s, 7s, 9s, on the age staircase but, for me, the naughts were always the most magical. 

Suddenly, here in my living room, drinking a small bare-bones side car, there was only ¾ of an ounce of brandy left, the thought came, all of whole, not in pieces, fully formed – I have paid my dues! 

Perhaps not ten this time but regardless of how many years ahead, I know I have done the best I could. After a lifetime of thinking I really didn’t measure up, I should have done more of this or less of that,  I could everyday have been a better person, kinder, more loving, less self-centered I suddenly know none of that is true.  I have done only what I am capable of and done it well.  Good or bad I have always stretched to fill the limits of what I am.

I took on living, made a promise with my first breath that grateful for the gift I would live it to the full. Years ago when I was young I wrote “out of the seed of my becoming I grew in my own image.” I’ve always wondered about that, why did I say that at the beginning of my life, what did I mean, why did it float through all my years just at the edge of knowing? Now I see that that is what happens with all of us, aware or unaware, we grow and fulfill the innate promise of who we are.

So grateful for the promise, free of judgement, accepting, honoring what was possible, drinking my side car ---  I HAVE PAID MY DUES.