Happiness

I saw a short film once called "Happiness" a woman of around sixty who works at a condom-testing lab envies her boss's shoes. She goes to a store that sells boxes of happiness, buys one, but never opens it. She returns the happiness and uses her money to buy the shoes, instead. She ends up back at work with sore feet from her new shoes. Her boss is wearing a new pair of shoes that catch the worker's eye. Cute film. Does our constant envy and pursuit of material things prevent us from opening a box that could be our true happiness? Is that what we're doomed to do? Or, is the happiness in the pursuit of whatever it is we fancy, so we have to endlessly envy and pursue just to be happy. Simply opening a box can't ever be enough for us. Or, would the characteristics of a person who is willing to buy and open a box of happiness be the characteristics that allow a person to be happy? The rest of us are indecisive, envious, and materialistic, our own obstacles to happiness. I don't know whether searching or settling is the key? Maybe settling into our seeking nature might work. I tend to get unhappy if I have nothing to work toward, but then once I reach a goal, I need to set another one. The happiness is in the doing. It makes me most unhappy to be too exhausted to be able to set another goal, but then I guess I need to be happy in the tween times. A bit of settling is good for the soul. I want to buy the shoes and the box of happiness, to take out and open in between shoe purchases. I am voracious. Maybe that's my obstacle.

Maybe Death is the Ultimate Joke

After I got thinking of my poor friend and my nursing school experience, I realized I had to write something a bit lighter this time. I thought about how I was petrified to give birth each time. I thought the pain would be unbearable, give me a heart attack, or I'd somehow do it wrong and harm the baby. Those were all possibilities, I suppose. Maybe not the me doing it wrong thing, although I have seen doctors yelling at women giving birth on TV, and in my experience, there really is no way not to push once the baby crowns. That's why doctors love the epidurals, you can wait for them all night. Not so sure that's good for the baby, though. Anyway, I noticed that the only thing that made giving birth scary for me was my own fear. The third time, I listened to subliminal cd's that told me there was nothing to fear and that I could do it, and it went quite well. It was like...that was what I was afraid of? I found out I was actually pretty good with pain when I wasn't afraid of it.

Cutting to the chase now.....relating birth and death, as they were meant to be related. Hopefully, the only bad part of death is the fear, and in some unfortunate cases, the disease leading up to it. We'll finish dying and be like.....that was what I was afraid of my whole life? Joke's on me, I guess. Of course, the tragedy would be a life based on the fear of death. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.

You Understand

I met a man once who immediately knew I would understand him. He wanted to die, and he hoped I could help him. He probably realized I was in no position to grant his wish, but by understanding him, perhaps I helped. I was in nursing school. He was on dialysis, and just wanted to stop, to let it go. He had had a pop-fib bi-pass that got infected, and his leg looked like a piece of raw meat. He had an open wound from his inner thigh to the middle of his calf. I took him to hydrotherapy and watched him shake in unbearable pain as the salt water bubbled into his wound. I felt physically ill the whole day, simply from witnessing his torture. I wanted to give him strong pain killers or something, but if I recall, his kidneys couldn't handle it. No comfort in sight for him, other than death. As dialysis grew nearer, he begged me not to take him. "You understand. I'm old. I'm not going to get better. My family tells me I will, but I know I won't. I just don't want the dialysis anymore. You understand." I nodded. "I understand. I don't think they'll let you refuse, though." He probably saw it in my face....how I wanted to put him in a wheelchair and take him to his favorite spot to die... a beautiful beach, his favorite park at sunset. I would play his favorite album, or make sure he could hear the call of his favorite bird. Who wants to spend the end of their life in excruciating pain, hooked up to dialysis in a sterile hospital?

His family argued with him, "Dad, you're going to get better. You need your dialysis." I hope they were right, but had a bad feeling they were wrong. They would have to deal with knowing they let their father be in pain in his final days. The hospital must have made a bundle on him. I don't think they cared if he ever got out or got better. As my shift went on, he got closer to needing dialysis, and went a bit insane from the toxins that built up. He had a hallucination and kept handing me something. I had to keep him from wrapping his sheets around his face and neck. The movements his hands made simulated tying a rope, then he'd hand me something, and put the sheets tightly around his face. Had he wanted me to take the other end of a noose for him? I'll never know, but I do know he wouldn't have even needed a noose. And I would have made it more painless than that. At the end of the day, they took him to dialysis and I went home. I got out of nursing as soon as I could. I wonder what happened to my poor old friend. If he survived and was able to do anything at all that he loved, they were right, I guess. If he didn't, he and I were right. I'll never know how he knew I understood him. Is there something in my face, my eyes, my demeanor? What was it that he saw or sensed about me? Perhaps he'll get to tell me one day. We'll have a good chuckle together on the beach at sunset with owls flying all around. For now, my friend...I love you, and I'm sorry.

Funny Soul

Of course, I can't be serious all the time. I think humor is considered worldly, but I think spirituality has a great sense of humor. Most of the time, when I read something considered deep or spiritual, it isn't funny. If I become very good at this, I will achieve humor in the topic of the soul. Unfortunately, I am not that good yet. Perhaps I'm used to dark humor and crude humor. Does anyone teach spiritual humor? Buddha probably does. The title of a sort of Buddhist book I read was Being Nobody, Going Nowhere. I found that funny. My Mom found it disturbing. Or was the book Taoist. All religions run together if you read enough about them. The joke on us could be that they're all the same. I believe in everything, to some degree. In doing so, I alienate myself from most religions. It has been the same for me with friendships from time to time. People like you better if you choose their group or doctrine. It makes them feel secure, and gives them a sense of who you are. If they can't pin you down, it bothers them. Yet, you aren't pinned down, so you're more free. Maybe they resent your freedom, then. But by excluding yourself with too much tolerance, you deny yourself the freedoms that come from the security of a group. I strive to be more loving and understanding of everyone, and they shun me for it. That's kind of funny. By believing in everything, I have no definitive religion.

So, Why is this Pesky Body So Damned Needy?

In the quest to live life to the fullest by doing what I'm meant to do, why do I get so tired? The physical limitations of my body always stump me. Sometimes, I have no idea what it needs. I try different things with diet, exercise, and sleep to no avail. If I'm using my body to do what I'm meant to do, shouldn't I turn into a superhuman who has no physical needs? Even superman had his kryptonite. Why did they write that into the story? The weaknesses are obviously supposed to tell us something. Jesus knew he could not save them all when performing miracles on earth. The body was a limitation for him, too. An omnipotent, omniscient, benevolent being chose to be limited for a human lifetime. It's that valuable to be here, to learn from this. Sometimes my brain is so foggy from fatigue, I feel like I'm missing the whole point. Other times, I can go into the over-tired euphoria where I find the complete answer, then forget it in the morning. Oh..forgot to mention that a couple of my children didn't sleep through the night regularly until they were two. Four years without a single full night's sleep do things to the brain. Motherhood is a worthy cause, but everyone knows that..everyone has a mother at some point. Though, some choose not to be mothers, they usually come up with their worthy cause that leaves them sleepless. (note to self...look up circadian meditation, the thing Sidney Bristow's Mom told her to do in place of sleep on "Alias") We're all on a quest for something to make us superhuman, so we can be less hindered by our mortal bodies. If we could just live longer, sleep less, prevent aging, then we could be more like God or the source of creation or unified spirit. We'd get more done and be more powerful. When e see someone with a perceived physical superiority, we gravitate to them so we might learn how to achieve it. The body can be impressive. We're even more impressed when someone does something through sheer will, using a seemingly inferior body to achieve it. Maybe we're all supposed to learn how to do that to our bodies with our souls. If we could all live each moment with that much determination, what could we do together? Of course, trying too hard tends to cause burnout...the kryptonite of the highly motivated.

That whole body thing again....

So, I sort of get why I have to have a body. It's an experience of being an animal. As much as I would like to run out into public screaming "I am not an animal!" like the Elephant Man, I know I am. We all are. To deny our nature would be foolish. More foolish would it be to deny our spiritual nature, since, alas the body must die. Maybe I figure, if I don't get too attached to my body, dying won't be much of a loss. It's a defense mechanism to try to be purely spiritual. Just achieve spiritual immortality, get to heaven, and the body won't matter. Sounds simple enough, but I think existing as an animal is supposed to teach me something. I loved being pregnant and giving birth. What's more physical than that? And, a soul without a body couldn't eat chocolate, get a runner's high, or have sex. It couldn't even hug someone or wipe away a child's tears. I love being able to pet my dogs, watch movies, listen to music, go to concerts, and write this. I want to go back to school, or somehow learn to make films and write screenplays. Ah, it's the limitations of animalhood. So many things to do, so little time and energy. In my case, so little innate talent. I wanted to be a musician and actress when I was little. I tried to learn the guitar...I was not very good. I tried to write some songs...they never came to me. People say we usually settle for a mate. It's much harder to settle for ourselves. Yet, it seems ungrateful to not enjoy the simple, tiny bit of talent we have. I always felt the worst life would be one of a person with severe cerebral palsy, to be completely trapped in a body that can't be controlled by your brain. In my year of nursing school, I had a patient with cerebral palsy who was only a few years older than me. I talked to him all morning while feeding him breakfast. He was my captive audience for that day. I wonder if he wanted me to leave him alone, or if anybody ever just talked to him like that. I made some stupid jokes, and have no idea if he found them funny. It would have been awful for him if he really liked me, though, because he couldn't communicate it or ever contact me again. What if I was his soul mate, and his body wouldn't allow me to really know him? I think I understand him, somehow, in the way I feel separate from other people much of the time. My failed attempts at creativity are like a short circuit in my brain that won't allow me to share my spirit with the world. But in my case, it's probably my own fault. I'm not so uncreative that I couldn't have cultivated something as a talent. I probably have a self-esteem handicap, but I allow it to win. His handicap is a losing battle. He doesn't have a choice.

CHOOSE TO BE AN ANIMAL TO THE FULLEST SO YOUR SOUL CAN GET THROUGH!!!!

Why is My Soul in My Body?

I'm not kidding...really. Why, oh why is my soul stuck in this body? I think this is the same question as what am I meant to do with my life, in a way. For now, I am corporal, earthbound, living in a "meat suit" as they refer to it on the show "Supernatural". I don't feel very connected to this body, other than the fact that I rely on it for the only kind of survival I have known. As I grew up, it seemed wrong to me that when I look at someone, and when they look at me, we don't see something that reflects our souls. I could meet a beautiful person with an ugly soul or an ugly person with a beautiful soul. How many friendships have we missed out on because of ill-matched bodies and souls? What do people see when they look at me? I try my best to see the good inside of them. When there's bad, I often feel pained to take a closer look. It's even worse when I thought I saw good, but realize I was deceived. I would never want to put out that sort of energy. Better to pleasantly surprise them with good than to leave them unsatisfied. Trying to please everyone will always leave you displeased. One man's food is another man's poison. One poisoned soul is another man's food, in some circles. Glad I have no circle, but a circle is something we all want sometimes. Am I out of all circles, having been wrongly judged for my looks or because I refuse to judge? Do I not fit or do I refuse to be a part, possibly for lack of knowing which part I am? Does my soul change?

The Soul Afraid of Dying....

Death... Could the fear of dying prevent you from learning to live? I don't want to admit to that little self-destructive fear. Who would? Death can make you cling so much to life that you literally squeeze the life out of it. Protecting your soul too much leads to never letting it breathe, especially creatively. I have become the soul afraid of dying that never learned to live. That little line from The Rose pops into my head from time to time, as a tiny warning from within. How do I save myself? I only have a short time here. I don't know how short that time will be, and I never feel like I'm doing everything I"m meant to do. I've waited for a message from God, and I probably missed it while desperately living every moment like it could be my last. Oddly enough, one would have to be relaxed to really live every moment to its fullest. So, I do yoga now. It helps. Then, I wonder why the physical seems to help the spiritual......a topic for next time.

What's inside me trying to get out?

I recently began seeing a chiropractor/homeopath who told me, more or less, that there's something trying to get out of me. Hmmm....I'm not pregnant. Hopefully, I don't have any alien invaders or parasites in there. Not that I could be sure. After much reflection, all I could think of is that my soul has something to say, or do, or be. Saying, doing, and being encompassing all soul-ular activity. Evolving, perhaps? Metamorphosizing, yes!! My inner butterfly must be ready. A new take on butterflies in the stomach, perhaps. It happens to my daughter a lot. (note to self: I'll have to get her a blog.) Since, I have very little creative talent, but desire to create something wonderful, I am starting with the pen, er keyboard as my media. I hope somebody out there, like me, has a longing in the soul for metamorphosis and can enjoy reading my soul's ramblings. Back to the physical world for now. Alas, so little time for my soul.