Knife's Edge - Life is Suffering

Today, I am grateful for the Edge. My gratitude alphabet is moving slowly, and I got stuck at E for Edge.

I like to live on that knife edge, where you never really know what's going on, but where you're so keenly aware of the Mysteries that life is always interesting. I get really, really sad sometimes, along with being really, really joyful, and what often keeps me balanced is the thought that "life is suffering". This means that whatever happens, if it's good, is a gift, and if it's not good, well, life is suffering. So you never really expect that things will be excellent, and then when they are, you're pleasantly surprised. 

So, how can we keep the joy in our hearts? And how can we keep our feet from being cut as we dance on the knife's edge?

1. Open your mind. Maybe you're wrong. Maybe you're right. Whatever the case, it's not worth building fences.
2. Keep on loving.
3. Remember, you're always at a crossroads. There is no easy chair you're gonna sink down into.
4. Keep on moving.
5. Be attentive! With all six of your senses. Open up as much as you can, and say yes when it's time.

Stay loving. Keep dancing. Play on the edge. 

COVID19 in-house Day 43: Normal? Who Needs It!

Today's gratitude letter is "y".

I was going to make "y" stand for "Yes!". I was going to write about acceptance. The beautiful messages behind the rainbows and "ça va bien aller". How we need to submit to the reality we are living, gracefully. How the very act of being grateful for what we have is a radical act.

Yes, this is all true.

But what about the "why" of Y? 

This crisis is giving some of us an unprecedented opportunity to ask "why"? Of course, people who are struggling to avoid violence, feed their families, and find shelter do not have the luxury of asking thoughtful questions. Their struggle is real, and it is getting more extreme the longer the pandemic forces them to stay home, or gives their oppressors a chance to exert power over them.

But many of us can, and should, ask why. I don't mean the little "whys". The questions about the details of our lives: the legislations, the rules, the changes, even the source of the virus and why it is happening now, in our lifetime ... these are important questions, to be sure.

Our lives right now are handing us a golden opportunity to ask WHY? What habits have I been living my life by, that I now have an opportunity to examine? What decisions have I made over the years that have left me feeling uncomfortable, and why did I make those decisions? Why have I not done what I considered to be the right thing? Why do I continue to live a life that I do not love and cherish? What is stopping me from changing my life, radically, if I decide that I want to pursue a different path? After all, we have just proven to ourselves, over the past few weeks and months, that we can actually make radical changes in our lives and still be happy, and creative, and productive.

Why would we want to go back to the old normal? Why would we want to get back on to the rat track, the spinning wheel of busyness where we don't see each other very often, we never eat together at home, we don't have time to cook, or clean, or spend time with our children, or sit and think and stare at the sky. 

I'm not talking about deciding to start a whole career change, at fifty, because you're bored. That's the easy way out. I'm talking about the more difficult questions: What does it mean that I have children and how much time to I really want to spend with them? How is it possible for me to live with this romantic partner for our whole lives if I can't stand to be stuck in the house with them for longer than a few weeks? What are my coping strategies and how self-destructive are they?  

What if you find out that you actually love staying home and you want to figure out a way to do so? What if you realize that you always find the most miserable approach to any stressful situation? What if you find out that you don't actually love being around people? What if you know, finally, what you've always wanted to do? And now that your mortality has suddenly become a little closer, you realize that you are just going to do it. 

Or not. You may decide to sit on the knife edge for the duration. Constantly reaching crossroads that you don't know how to navigate. Shooting from the hip, saying things out of turn, making new enemies and friends at the drop of a hat. 

You may decide you have had enough, that as soon as this is over (What is "this"?) you will head out, leave everyone behind, change your name and never come back. 

You may realize that everything you've been doing so far is an illusion; that life is suffering; that you have no use; that the world will continue without you as it always has. 

Think about it: what do you want to do? Shall we return to "normal"? Or shall we try to create something from nothing? 

All questions; no answers. I've never been one to tell people what to do; I was a hands-off midwife, always turning the questions of "what should I do?" back to the person asking, so that she could learn her true path. Because, really, you are the midwife of your own life. I am just here to remind you that NOW is the time that you can grasp on to a new way of being. Our window is only open for a little while. Far too soon, the world will be with us again, with its temptations of consuming and rushing and giving away our freedom. 

What shall we do?

Seek Peace

It is the time of year when a lot of people are thinking about the future: the darkest time of the year, in the northern hemisphere, and the coldest. I, for one, am hoping that in 2020 I can be a better person and I hope my friends and family stay healthy and get joy during this coming year.

I just started my new agenda for 2020. Passion Planner is my favourite agenda: it helps keep me focused, lets me multitask and still be organized, and I can write all my dreams, hopes and ideas in it and keep everything in one place.

Last Passion Planner (was in 2017, I skipped a year and feel I got disorganized), my main goal was to build up my cafe. I wanted to get to a place where I could make a living from it, instead of working for free and watching every penny. I had a secondary goal for 2018, to run a marathon. I achieved both of those goals that year and felt very proud.

This year, I have a few goals for 2020. I have pretty specific goals for my cafe. I want to grow my retreat project, WorkInProgress Retreats. I want to run a marathon in May, and my first trail race in October.

But the goal that I realized was my most important one for the start of this new year was "regain and retain my inner peace". I lost my centre this past year, and I'm not sure why. Partly from overwork, and a sense of fatigue. Partly from feeling like my "good works" - the projects I have put hours and hours of my life into - are such a tiny drop in the ocean ... it's almost not worth it. Partly from my intense sense of disillusion and concern for the political and social climate we live in. Anyway, my centre walked away, and I want to run after it.

One of the most interesting things about getting old in this culture is that there isn't a lot of value placed on having lived on the planet for a long time. In fact, the general feeling I get (apart from the lovely young people who offer me their seats on the metro) is that when you're over 60 you gain a certain stupidity, a certain slowness of mind and dullness of brain.

And, the fact is, my body is changing. So is my mind, and my heart. In fact, I am experience this change as much more radical than several of my previous ones. I slid into pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding and child-raising like a fish into water (well, giving birth was tough...). I felt myself, I was alive and centred in my skin. Adolescence, on the other hand, was awful. I was already shy, I spoke with an accent, my hair was frizzy, I had crooked teeth, and I was smart ... AND two years younger than my classmates. I didn't feel at home in my skin for a long time. Poetry helped, and copious amounts of beer and other mood stabilizers.

Now I feel the same. Where did this frizzy grey hair come from? Why do I look so old in the mirror? How did my body get shorter? My knuckles are bumpy. I have arthritis in my knees.
This is not rational stuff: I know I am incredibly lucky to be as healthy as I am. I run marathons, for God's sake. But it feels like adolescence, all over again. And the difference is, this time I'm older and wiser. And I know how to regain my inner peace, and retain it.

So, a list for the coming year:

run every day, even if it's just a mile with the dog
be master of my devices
do a meditation retreat in 2020
say no if I want to (if it's not a big deal)
be kind
take proper care of myself
turn away from evil and do good
seek peace and pursue it
don't nag the kids
lower expectations
have lots of parties

I'll be letting you know how it goes. In the meantime, stay well everyone, keep joy, be kind, do good.

Where Have You Been?

I was in Greece during the coldest winter for years, working to ameliorate the lives of refugee women, men and their families there. I'm haunted by it. Not so much by the stories, which are monuments to human destruction and human triumphant resilience at the same time. But by the ego-based failure of those who wish to help, to really do anything effective.

I just heard news from Raqqa. The families there have no human choice. Stay and die. Leave and die.

What will we do? What is to be done?

I remembered the stories I heard when I was in the camps in Greece. And this song was going on and on in my mind.

A woman with bomb pieces in her hip.

Families who know they will never see their homes again.

A man who lay bleeding for hours in Aleppo.

A child who was thrown from her father's arms to her uncle's, as her father was dragged back to Turkey.

A child who makes money for the family selling sex ... while her mother takes care of her baby.

A man who walked with his wife, children and his mother across several countries to make a better life, who is angry because he is stuck in northern Greece.

An artist who painted the pictures of terror.

A child with a look of horror who walked around the hotel lobby playing a tin drum.

A predator extorting refugees for money.

A volunteer leader who is cruel and greedy.

Some children in a military camp killing a litter of puppies.

A baby dying of hepatitis.

A young man dying while the doctors were at the gate being questioned for papers.

The boats arriving through the fog and snow.

Boxes and boxes of stuff sitting waiting in warehouses while paperwork gets done and people are cold and underfed.

Couples wanting to make love and condoms tied up in bureaucratic red tape.

A young man in jail in Turkey for no reason.

A family with a newborn with nowhere to live.

And what do you do now, my darling young one?

Crossroads

I remember in grade seven when all the girls were excited about becoming women. I spent grade six in England where the social girl language was probably different, because I don't remember anything being talked about. There must have been some kind of high-pitched squeaks that I didn't recognize, but when I returned to Canada it was palpable. All the cool girls were wearing plastic go-go boots and training bras. I always wondered what the breasts were being trained for, exactly. I tried one and discarded it soon after, relegated to my dresser drawer along with highly scented deodorant, ugly costume jewelry, and pantyhose. We all waited anxiously for our periods to start, and then complained when they did. My body continued to do what bodies do and it grew and formed in most surprising ways. As it happened, I felt my spirit, my character, the definable part of me changing unaccountably. I was not the common-sensical little girl any longer, I was a nonsensical mix of girl, woman, and beast. "And when she was good, she was very, very good, and when she was bad, she was horrid."

The initiation ceremonies of Junior High took me completely by surprise, the couplings and pairings, the whisperings, the poms poms and bottles. I remember a girl asking me "Do you drink?" I looked at her with astonishment - how could a person not drink? Was this another strange attribute of the Blond Westerner?

I turned away from adolescent drama, made my own way through the sex, drugs and rock 'n roll generation, and slowly became accustomed to being a woman. Childbearing and breastfeeding became part of my life, and when my youngest weaned I was sad but content.

Now, all of a sudden, the body is acting up again. I was always rather slim. 52 kilos was how much I weighed. That was part of me, except when I was pregnant (or that time in London when I survived on Guiness and chocolate cookies)... Now, suddenly, my waist has thickened. My hips are wider. The skin all over my body feels softer. Everything is somehow changing, changed. My body feels like it is not mine any more. I am trying hard to accept it. I think I should build up my abs - but I never used to build up my abs! I look at twenty year-olds and wonder - did I ever look like that? I ask my husband if he still loves me.

And I dream of sailing the Atlantic, or cutting loose, leaving the rat race, not doing the dishes....

Life is constant change, constant wonder. I am always at a crossroads. I wonder what I am going to do when I grow up...

Viagra?

I was listening to our national radio the other day in the car. There was a rather lame comedy show that took the place of a mock debate, with canned laughter and all. The debate was supposed to be about the perils of Big Pharma.
With a half an ear on the radio, one eighth of my attention on the road, and the rest of my thoughts on the woman I had just visited, I waited for a laugh - there must be some gags you can get out of the idea of drugs and the common man.
Into my consciousness blurted the voice of a youngish man, explaining the increase in Viagra's popularity over the past few years. In a ham-handed way, he was attempting to turn the problem around, and according to him, the reason why a 65 year old man couldn't get it up was because - oh, when he looks at his wrinkled, saggy, old 65 year old wife, what's there to turn him on?
I quote almost verbatim.
I was shocked. This is national radio! How can he be allowed to present older women, and older men, in such a light? Whoever talks about a long marriage with such disrespect? And how's it anyone's business anyway?
Then I remembered, of course, this is the 21st century. My 9 year old watches hockey games, where men are getting their necks broken by other men (I thought the game was about shooting a puck at a net?), and during the commercial breaks, he learns about Viagra, and imagines it is a pill you take when you are tired of going on walks.
In our drug-happy, Pharma-controlled society, little wonder that women do not expect to give birth without pharmacological pain relief. Men and women cannot maintain a long marriage without Viagra. Children cannot be controlled without Ritalin. For every mild ailment there is a pill. You can take a pill if you are shy, if you are sad, if you are scared.
But why not go through the real emotion? If you look at your old lover's body and see all the scars and lumps that were not there when you met, wouldn't that fill you with love? And if the love isn't Viagra love, so be it.

Birth Conspiracy?

I remember seeing a medical student who was attending his first birth. It was a normal, natural hospital birth. The woman was on the bed, her husband was by her side, I was next to him, there was an intern helping with the delivery, a nurse, the physician in charge, and a young medical student. The baby came out, everyone was happy, the new parents were exhilarated and crying, and then the medical student exclaimed loudly: “Look! Look! Look at its little toes! Look! They’re like real toes. They’re just like real toes!”
The attending physician looked at him and whispered: “Philip, get a grip!”, but I was hoping that that simple amazement and wonder would stay with him throughout his career.
For some people, this story may be full of problems and issues. What do I mean by a “normal, natural hospital birth”? Can a woman have a natural birth in a hospital? I remember hearing from an obstetrician that among some women in our city a “natural” birth was when you didn’t wear much makeup when you gave birth. What is a normal birth? If a hospital has a 90% epidural rate, does that mean getting an epidural is normal?
And certainly, we can’t have trained professionals going gaga over newborn’s toes, can we?

We are living in an age when we are terribly concerned with our health, yet it is an age when human life expectancy is at its highest. We worry and fret endlessly about our children, but have difficulty finding time to spend with them. We are living a life that is far from nature, yet we yearn for the “natural” and the “green”. We are so divorced from our own bodies that a surprising number of pregnant women do not know where their cervix is or how a baby is supposed to come out.
In our world, human life has become so complicated that every simple activity has a huge structure built up around it. This structure is built upon a foundation of information supplied by an army of experts. Simple processes such as eating, healing, making love, giving birth, breastfeeding, caring for children, have all become complicated and institutionalized. When a woman decides she wants to have a child, one of the first things she will encounter is the structure we have built up around birth. She will be met with a mountain of information and much of it will be conflicting.
In the birth world everyone wants to have a little piece of the birth experience. The birth practitioner wants a piece of even the most physical and elemental. Here is an example: It is often very tempting to do a vaginal exam. Why? We want to know what’s going on; if the baby is moving down, if the cervix is opening, where the baby’s head is positioned. What most practitioners will not admit is that this intimate physical connection with a woman is important to them: it is an amazing thing, to feel a baby’s head coming down the birth canal! But how often is it really necessary? Does the laboring woman actually want to have so many exams? How many vaginal exams are done for the sake of the birthing woman, and how many are done for the attendant?
The birth practitioner, or any birth “expert”, also wants a little piece of the bigger picture: we want the woman to have a natural birth, with no epidural and no interventions. Or perhaps we want her to have an epidural so that she can be more comfortable. Or we are convinced that surgery will be less risky. Either way, we want to convince her that we know best. In fact, we do know best: we are more educated, we have seen more births, we have seen more pregnant women and we know what to do.
Or do we?
The Birth Conspiracy is this: It is an understanding, created by all of us, that we cannot function without experts. We cannot give birth without birth experts. We cannot labor without assistance, without classes and checklists. We cannot make our own decisions, or accept consequences for our own actions. It is a way we can avoid responsibility for our lives. Those of us who are experts want and need to control the process. It is very hard to sit on your hands and wait while a woman labors. It is much easier to interfere, to preach, to suggest, and to control.

Interested? You can order your copy of The Birth Conspiracy soon - watch this space!

Se Non Ora Quando

This was the rallying cry for the women of Italy during last week's demonstrations. It means "If Not Now, When! Except I think it sounds so much nicer in Italian.

Se non ora, quando?
 
If you don't breastfeed your newborn, then when will you get that chance again?
If you don't play with your two-year old, just remember, he will never be two again.
If you don't kiss your partner this evening, you will miss that one extra kiss.

If you don't speak up for what you need when you are giving birth, you will lose a world of satisfaction and gain a world of regrets.
The time for change is now.
If you are pregnant, decide what you want for your birth and go for it! Don't let the experts tell you what to do. Remember, the experts are not only the doctors - every nurse, midwife, and lady in the grocery store will be telling you how you should give birth.
If you are a doula, keep your opinions to yourself and let the women speak out! Respect the women giving birth and follow their lead. Change comes slowly and powerfully.

Se non ora, quando!

Egypt

I spent time in Egypt years ago, when I felt free to roam where I wanted. We explored the pathways behind the tourist spots and made some good friends during our stay there. It's hard to believe that it is the children of our (then) young Egyptian friends who are now exulting in the possibility of change in their fascinating country. Egypt has a history of great and powerful regimes, great thinkers, and a physical reality based on extremes of sand and water. Whatever happens, it will resonate worldwide.


Change is always painful, though. We humans like stability and we are, most of us, creatures of habit. I have witnessed the change that happens when a new baby enters the world, and although it is an experience full of joy and exhilaration, and power, and love ... it almost always contains an element of pain, sadness, or regret. Ties are broken, new ones are created.



Whatever happens in a country, revolutions, wars, or a long stretch of peace and prosperity, children are always being born, and women continue to give birth. This physical reality never changes.


How we perceive that reality can change, and what we do with it. Are we to continue to suggest to women that the best way to bring a child into the world is to be drugged, to feel no pain, or to have the baby removed like a diseased organ? Or are we going to take hold of an exuberance, the joy of being alive, and recognize that birth is like life, powerful, transcendent, revolutionary.