Humankindness — by Lucky

I first ran across the word that titles this Slow Lane piece when I was doing my doctoral research into community. For over 20 years I have been captivated by it. Coined by an anthropologist, the word was his attempt to give expression to the way some people treated other people, not just people of the same village, tribe, or language group, but people of all sorts. This behavior and attitude fascinated me, as does the double meaning of this word. Now I have a vivid experience to go with the concept and I want to explore this phenomenon more.

I think I have liked the word “humankindness” because it captures something that has been difficult to express; that is, the connection that exists between us. The word has two meanings that express different sides of the same precious coin. Humankindness describes the similarity that exists between us because we are all of the class of mammals called humans. In that way we are all of one kind. It also refers to the way that others are held, with kindness, as we ourselves would like to be treated. The word humankindness addresses simultaneous attributes of what binds us to one another.

Some indigenous people evidently had the wisdom of noticing that all humans had something in common and therefore were respectable, worthy of kind regard. This simultaneous recognition and regard seems to be missing from our modern world. Recently, however, I came to the realization that this form of connection wasn’t a product of on-going physical togetherness, but of wisdom. People can, and do, come to this awareness, not because of the niceness of their families, friends and loved ones, but because they have grown wise.

Not long ago I was involved in a circle of people who began spontaneously to express their sense of community with each other. They had come to confront the dilemma of our times, the threat we humans pose for each other, the planet and Life as we know it. Confronted, as they were, by a vivid recognition of our limited ways, and the question about the kind of consciousness needed in these difficult times, wisdom began to emerge.

They didn’t talk about the need for community instead, they began to express their experience of community. A part of this group’s response to the horrible mess our kind has created was to feel how kindred they were. Humankindness emerged as way of responding together. Unknowingly this group began to access a kind of collective wisdom that isn’t easily conveyed. A hardship, the difficult, maybe un-survivable dilemma we are responsible for, evoked out of the group feelings of togetherness. The wisdom of combining, of sharing, of learning together, of facing the imposssible in unison, began to manifest.

Wisdom comes in many forms. It often surprises us. Collective wisdom, especially in these times, is indeed surprising. But, we are capable (as the anthropologist proved) of recognizing it, of being part of manifesting it, of turning to one another and growing a collective awareness. Humankindness because it is built on upon a biological similarity transcends religion, class, color, psychology, ideology, age, Culture, gender, or education. Humankindness because it is an attitude of regard isn’t dependent upon outside circumstances, but upon inside development. Strangely, a dilemma,of big enough proportions, awakens it. Outside circumstance in’t the sole arbiter of fate. Because this is so, humankindness can be extended.

I have come to believe that humankindness is a logical way point on the journey toward wholeness. Loving oneself is synonomous with loving the other. The mystery of all being is part of The Great Mystery. There is a fundamental Unity but it expresses itself through diversity. The profusion of nature is a reflection of the profusion of Life in which we ourselves are spawned.

The mess we have created could, if we let it, bring us together. That is what I experienced as we all suffered with each other. Facing the dilemma together, in each other’s presence, drew forth from us a fresh recognition of what we have in common. It hurt to notice what abides in us. Wisdom sometimes is the juice that gets squeezed out of us. Its there, but needs a little pressure to become available. Humankindness is the recognition that the squeeze is always on. Just being human, existing, could be enough.

Exemplifying by Lucky

Wisdom can appear anytime, in the most surprising ways, so you have to be ready and looking for it. Luckily, I have been. So, I recognized it right away. Someone gave voice to one of the greatest and most common dilemmas of getting older. He actually was addressing something else, but I heard him, in my distracted selective way, and suddenly realized that he was naming, in a short form, the first level of solution to the dilemma of passing along important awareness. One of the main motivators that elders seem to have in common, and are often stymied by, is how to pass on the hard-earned wisdom that has come to them through living? He said, “exemplifying.” I heard it, and failing to embody it, I want to amplify.

I became so happy during a meeting of elders, when I realized that I was amongst people who were self-possessed. They made it; they had become themselves. I was so delighted. Suddenly, I realized that a lifetime’s pursuit of self could actually come to fruition. In later life people could be who they always wanted to be. This thought thrilled me. Even today it seems like the best news about elderhood that is still widely unknown. People can become themselves! Real freedom is achievable, and it can happen, and more often does, amongst those who have more life experience. This seems like such a hopeful development.

My discoveries, and my happiness, went even further during that meeting. I soon came to realize that the most subversive thing, we as elders could do to change things, was be ourselves. I was overjoyed to think that the change I wanted to promote could happen if I merely was myself. Wow! What a thought! A lifetime of learning — about who I was and how to be me — could now be turned toward change. I practically burst from the sense of how fitting, and elegant, this development is. I have been smiling and more hopeful since.

Well, to show how realization can often take time to unfold, I didn’t get until recently that this meant something important about how best to pass along knowledge. I have been fretting, like many older people, about how to give what I have gained back to my people, family, friends, and especially the young. Now, like never before I know. Exemplify! Live like your life depends upon it. Be true to self! People will notice. They may or may not have the courage to show up in their own lives, but they will notice, and think it possible, desirable even, and will probably be changed, just as I was, by the realization that one could be free.

Exemplify, by showing up, by being different, by having your own take on things, by being true to yourself. This idea seems so sensible, simple and yet radical. I have long known Life didn’t care what I knew, it only cared about who I am, but I didn’t see how this is similarly true of my fellow human kind. Now, I do.  For too long I have been stymied by the insult I have taken because my life experience was so hard to translate to others.

I taught, I counseled, I learned about communication techniques, I did everything I could think of to convince others I knew something, and all along, all I was demonstrating was my ignorance. I was proselytizing, not as blatantly as some missionaries, but never-the-less intent upon converting others to my reality.

It is no wonder I fail so much. People, because they are attached to their own realities (as they should be) have too much good sense than to be persuaded to my reality. If I have anything real and useful to convey then operating myself well is the best way to do so. Then people are free to notice, and they don’t feel any pressure (from me) to conform to anybody’s reality but their own. By focusing on being myself, I give my fellow man, adequate respect for their otherness (and the necessary freedom to be themselves).

The greatest gift I have to give anyone is best given when I don’t try to give it away. How about that for a paradox? No wonder I have not really been a good elder (maybe that’s why I consider myself a baby elder). I’ve tried a host of wrong ways to pass along hard-earned wisdom, I’m learning the best way to make any kind of life-experience available to others is through embodying it, not talking about it. I teach best when I am not teaching, but just trying to be myself.

How many years will it take for this simple lesson to sink in? This is one of those things that is easier said than done. I have to keep my eyes on myself, and stay within my own skin, and I have to trust that others will pick up just what is useful to them. It is hard for me to show up everywhere I am in my life. Maybe I can do it more, and better, if I realize just how much is at stake, and who I want to touch. Exemplifying asks more of me than I’m used too, but it asks for what is best for everyone.

It is strange and wonderful to come back around to realizing I am a gift that is best given to others by being true to myself. What a wonder!? So, it seems, are you! You are my example, if you keep your eyes on your ball. I am your example, if I keep my eyes on my ball. I know that the ‘ifs’ in those sentences are big words, but they are not impossible ones. Exemplify is a word for the big, it represents an amazing thing, the likelihood that we really can help each other by helping ourselves.

Only A Child — Lucky

I was raised in a Christian (Catholic) home, but it didn’t take. I don’t know what I am. All I know is that I escaped from parochial school, catechism, and the best evil eyes of several priests and nuns with my own spirituality in tact. Today I would say I’m a Mysterian. I’ve been shaped by lots of influences from the world’s spiritual traditions, but I am enamored most by the Mystery that seems to reside behind them all. In the final analysis, I think I belong to the religion of no religion, a tradition that grew up with the human potential movement. Oh, but the Mystery awes me!

The Christmas season doesn’t do much for me. I’m turned off by its crass commercialism. The lights, trees, jolly fat man, songs and pageantry seem to me to be a poor expression of our sense of togetherness. I haven’t really celebrated Christmas in years. That doesn’t make me a Scrooge, or a pagan, or a Zombie. I am just thankful for the winter, and I have a continued hope for a real reflective period of silence.

I didn’t leave my marriage with any of the Christmas ornaments. I guess the stroke, and what seemed like near death, combined to make Christmas seem kind of irrelevant. I even gave my crèche to my daughter. I thought I had gone beyond Christmas. The underworld doesn’t have bright lights, and good cheer is extremely rare. I languished there a long time, nearer to death than to life, and was shaped into someone who appreciates Life, and the changes it brings.

I survived; I even have a new life now. But the experience of being held on the threshold, which I experienced more like a precipice, remains with me, and informs all I do.  My sense of the spiritual is much darker than most. I am still enamored of Mystery, but I have a solid dose of reverence for how this “larger something” can move in ways that are dark and unfathomable. I have reason to be grateful, and my gratitude is tempered by a sense of how fleeting and vulnerable everything is.

So imagine my surprise when I realized that I had three Christmas ornaments. They were the Magi. For several Christmasses now they have watched over my living room, colored my holiday solitude, and drawn me deeper into the Christmas story. I discovered, to my surprise, there was an aspect of the Christmas story, following a star in the darkness, which I could relate too. I imagined myself a wise man caught-up in a deep intuition, following a strange light in the darkness. My light was within, but I had to follow it just the same.

I have been on a long journey. I’ve been following a internal phenomenon I can’t name. I don’t know the how of such things, but the journey seems to be unfolding me. As long as I’ve wandered, alone, I’ve been compelled to keep going. It has seemed to me a twisted journey, a trip thru the dark lands, a lonely vigil at the bedside of a dying man, a delusion that was unfolding me in ways I could not understand.

The wise men give me solace. They reintroduced me to a part of the mystery of Christmas, a part of all real pilgrimages, which I have forgotten. It isn’t enough to be on a journey. There must be some times of arrival. The Magi came to the birth of a child. The journey had led them to something surprisingly ordinary. Only a child! At the end of the journey, there is a new beginning.

This year I’ve been looking at the Christmas story anew, not just from the travels and travails of the Magi, perhaps because I have a new life, perhaps because Mystery compels me too, perhaps because I’ve come far enough to really get what the journey has been about. Only a child! I know the Christian trip is about this being baby Jesus, the savior of mankind, but for me this infant represents something different, equally miraculous, but differently saving.

At some point in the journey, I am compelled to stop and pay homage to what has been born in me. The journey has become something. Something new has come into the world! I don’t know what this new being is yet, I can feel it is full of potential, potential that as it gets realized, makes me someone who is capable of saving my self and being useful to the world. The child I stumbled across on my journey is me, an unknown mysterious me, the light of my future, the beginning of a new life. I am the gift I always wanted.

Only a child — a miracle dressed up so ordinarily. Only a child — a beginning at the end. Only a child — some newness within that signals a new life. Only a child — a vulnerability dependent upon wise attention. The story of Christmas has changed me. The story of Christmas is not about a divine birth happening 2000 years ago, it is about the birth of hope within and now.

May you find what waits to be born in you this year!

Occupy — by Lucky

I’ve been watching with hope, amazement and a measure of curiosity this thing called the Occupy movement. No one, it seems, really knows what is happening. As Dylan sang in, “The Times They Are A Changing,” “ the wheel is still in spin.” I don’t have the magic that might be required to capture the meaning of this timely movement, but I do have the desire, and the audacity, to give this moment words.

Occupy seems to be a new, refreshing phenomenon. The focus upon economic justice, the non-heirarchical way of operating, and the radically democratic impulse, all seems to give hope to those who would speak truth to power. I sense a social movement away from the rut of the past. I also am aware that what I see are just the outside manifestations of a movement, that Occupy has an inside dimension. It is this, the inner aspect of Occupy, which I want to explore.

I have heard, and seen, placards which say, “Occupy the Heart!,” or, “Occupy Your Self!,” and I wonder at these words, these sentiments. What could it be, that joins these ideas with a demand for economic and social justice? What is coming to the fore, in this time of instability, uncertainty and economic hardship? I sense that the 1%, that is suspected of having too much of everything, doesn’t have much heart, or self. What gives? What is really at play?

I can’t claim to know.  I can only ponder. Like everyone else, I add my voice to those calling for a new social compact, a new more humane arrangement, one that makes room for genuine caring. This caring, it seems to me, starts within, and that is why I’m paying so much attention to the inner landscape of the Occupy movement. You see, if I’m going to be associated with picketing, with any kind of movement, then I want it to promote actual change, and I live with the prejudice that real change occurs from the inside out.

What does it mean to occupy your self? What does it take to free your self, enough to be involved in freeing someone else? Speaking as a psychologist, this question is relevant to this moment, if there is going to be any kind of historical change. Speaking as an active observer of culture I’m looking for more depth rather than a quick fix. The refusal to bow to the media, and those others who pressure for a simple message, is reassuring.

 “Occupy Your Self,” that sounds right, but what does it mean?

I don’t know what it means to you, or anyone else, but to me, it means something about being comfortable in your own skin. There are a lot of dimensions to that comfort. There is the refusal to use another (in any capacity). There is the tendency to make others responsible for your well-being. And, on a more positive note, there is a capacity to responsibly place the self vulnerably in the hands of another.

Capitalism isn’t just exploitation of the masses. It is also capitalizing on our own internal resources (including development). I have found that the tendency to be outer-directed, and to use others (capitalize on them), is related to exploitation of the self, to an anti-democratic desire for power.

For me, “Occupy the Self” means placing an encampment within. It means staying put, not being run-off by the authorities, the beneficiaries of a self-imposed system that is corrupt. It is the effort to know fully, to get educated about, the tyranny perpetrated inside. It is having general assemblies and letting minority voices be heard. It means demonstrating, by drawing attention to, the practices that diminish humanity. Occupying the self seems like a prerequisite to true justice. Such a form of occupation seems like a rare, and welcome, form of activism.

The democratic impulse, it seems to me, is an expression of the self. We are only as free as “we the people” can tolerate. That means, like the oxygen mask that appears in a crisis on a plane, it has to be fixed on one’s self, before anyone else can be helped. Re-ordering economic reality means re-aligning our values, it means re-dreaming the American dream. I think this is a deeply personal process that really requires a re-defining of the self. For this to happen it would be helpful if we had a Self-September, or something, that was as news worthy as Black Friday.

Who is consuming everything? It’s too easy, although it’s mostly true, to say it is Americans. Really, it is everyone who participates in the wrong-headed idea that the source of freedom, fulfillment and salvation, is out there somewhere. Occupy means thinking locally, and in this case, so locally as to look and act within your own skin. Occupy, if that is true, represents something fundamentally radical, something so old that it has come around again,  “Know Thyself.” That is all, in the final analysis, that any of us truly does occupy.

Childhood's End by Lucky

There was a book I read when I was a teenager. I went through a bunch of science fiction stories in my desire to escape from the world I was slowly coming to know.  This book scared and delighted me. Looking back on it, as is my elderly want, I see it a little differently. At the time I was horrified that adulthood, assuming the real powers that Life had endowed us with, meant the destruction of our home planet. The book was named Childhood’s End (by Isaac Asimov), and even today it is making me think.

I think we have come to the time where, as a species, our childhood is ending. In the book, the planet Earth was destroyed by teenage exuberance. Human children had inherited, in an evolutionary leap, mental powers that they could not contain. In a spasm of discovery, they destroyed their beginning place. In the book this wasn’t that traumatic because it was clear that this destruction was just part of these children discovering they were made to inhabit the Cosmos. Today, I am less certain this is a good thing. Is it possible we could grow up, as a species, without destroying everything we’ve been?

I don’t know about you, but this question haunts me. I can’t say that I feel optimistic. I don’t rule the possibility out. I count on Mother Nature having something up her sleeve. I know, from my time amongst the elders, that we, as a species, can be changed. The right kind of hardship could alter us, could grow us up. I live with a certain amount of dreadful hope. I look forward to what I think will be too difficult to imagine. I don’t expect to survive. I want to, not to pass my genes on, but because I would like to be part of a world where I felt us pulling together, counting on each other, caring about the miracle we’re part of.

I think that time could be now, but it isn’t.  So, I live in a world where I feel an impending something, there is a storm cloud on the horizon, a shock-wave coming, a last moment of daylight, a gathering of the hopeful. I teeter on this moment of uncertainty. I am sometimes happy, sometimes sad, and always expectant. I want so desperately to see a way forward. What I see instead is many people coming forward with solutions. I’m skeptical, although I want to believe.

Teetering is a hardship. Maybe recognizing what we have wrought will bring us to our senses. Maybe the danger we pose to each other, to ourselves, will shake us. Do things have to get worse before they get better? Aren’t things bad enough now? I’d like to think it is possible to wise up under the present circumstances. I suppose that is part of why I want to hang out with elders. Certainly, my life has been enriched, by rubbing shoulders with those who have suffered and grown. But, we (elders) are still so unknown, and our kind remains so undeveloped. The last one billion of us were only born in the last 12 years.

I don’t know what to think. I want to, but I can’t shut off my mind. I know many have. I envy them sometimes, but I know my heart really depends upon my keeping my ear to the ground.

I can feel that there is an earthquake coming! The terrible thing is, that despite all my awareness, despite the loved ones I cling to, despite the efforts of others that care, I sense that none of us is really prepared. I console myself with thoughts of initiation, social metamorphosis, a general awakening, but I don’t see it happening yet. The Occupy movement seems to offer some hope, but hope for what, economic equity in a time of economic chaos, social justice in the face of massive social distrust.

Change, it is here, impacting everyone. Do we have to destroy this world to grow into another one? I don’t know. There is that much I can hope about, what I don’t know. Surprise! That is what is left to believe in, to prepare for, to be transformed by. That, and knowing, that this, is the time of childhood’s end.

I have also added a link. I don’t usually recommend websites but I have long felt that we (society) needed a vision of a future worth having and this short film points in that direction, Check it out http://www.ted.com/talks/nic_marks_the_happy_planet_index.html?utm_source=newsletter_weekly_2010-08-31&utm_campaign=newsletter_weekly&utm_medium=email

Apoptosis by Lucky

I awoke early in the morning thinking about apoptosis. There is some precedent for me waking up early. I’ve had the repeated experience of waking up early on Friday mornings with a kind of incredible mental clarity. I seem to know things. I’ve awoken thinking about people, relationships, groups, ideas and the world. I have what I have come to call a kind of truth sense, I know things, things I wouldn’t have guessed I knew, things about how I should act, things I wasn’t aware I was thinking about. This morning it was apoptosis.

I am somewhat familiar with the word: it stands for voluntary cell death. I don’t know how it came to me. What made that word, which was not in my conscious thoughts, suddenly come into my awakening mind? I don’t know. This exegesis is not about that strange occurrence, it is about the mystery of apoptosis, and what it’s appearance brought into my life.

Let’s start with a true story. I had an accident last month (9/15). I lost control of my car and drove into a tree. I totaled my car, hurt my passenger (not too seriously, Thank God!), and scared myself. Since then I have been wrestling with the idea that my driving career is over. I don’t want to face this possibility, but I cannot be sure that I can keep anyone (myself included) safe on the road.

For about a month I’ve been without a car, and researching the possibility that I could avoid the termination of my driving career by acquiring an electric street vehicle. I found a vehicle (a street legal souped up golf cart with a top speed of 25 mph), someone who would customize it for me (and my wheelchair), someone who would even store it over the winter, so I could qualify for a federal tax break, and convince my community to put in a few charging stations. My mind went to work, and found a viable driving option that would allow me to maximize my freedom. I was pleased, imagining a locally expanding orbit, compensating for the inaccessible world I was coming to.

Then I awoke thinking about apoptosis. I knew apoptosis was an evolutionary breakthrough, the voluntary death of some cells enabling multi-celled beings to grow new and more capable. Death led to new life. I wasn’t sure what this thought was doing in my mind, or how it got there, but I noticed something unexpected: I was ready to give up driving!

Apoptosis, I later learned is the voluntary, “programmed” cell death that lets larger organisms survive and evolve. I discovered, to my chagrin, that I was willing to let this capacity (driving) go for the sake of not feeling anxious that some other part of life was going to be put in jeopardy. I realized, that if I could let this imagined freedom die, I, and the rest of life, would be free of one more possible threat. My beloved community would be a safer place to be part of.

This was just the beginning of how apoptosis is affecting me. I have been concerned about death, harboring some fear that this unknown transition would be painful, debilitating, and the end of the road. In my depths I’ve been fretting about how my fear of death has been shaping how I show up in life. Then I began to think about how apoptosis represents the awareness that cells have. Life for the larger organism, to which they are a part, their larger self (if you please), is aided by their voluntary death. I began to think of death as a part of a larger life-form.

I don’t know about how you deal with your personal death, but for me, the idea that my death might be part of life, that my death could be a service to the larger whole, is changing everything. I am not a suicide bomber seeking some kind of paradisiacal solution to end all problems, instead I am willing to live, and surely to die, for the sake of helping Life find a way to go on. I find re-assurance in the sense I have; that this life is not mine, it is Life’s, and that my death insures that Life has what It needs to keep going, and to keep evolving.

Apoptosis —“ voluntary programmed cell death that gives a larger, more complex organism, the capacity to grow and evolve.” That seems to me to be an excellent description of human death. Life benefits, it goes on, and confers upon all of us, who’s passing enables It, a little taste of being as eternal as It is. Ripening, like I think I have been doing, especially in these latter years, seems to be a way of becoming as richly endowed with the complex stuff of Life, so that with my passing something of this life goes on.

I also like the feeling I have that comes with apoptosis being somehow in my mind. I seem to be more connected than I realize. Apparently, probably like everyone else, I know more than I think I know. That now makes sense to me, I am connected, a part of a larger organism, that knows things, I can only marvel at, and sometimes be informed by.

A Pee Break by Lucky

I have been witnessing a miracle, something simultaneously ordinary and wondrous. I don’t know if I can capture what is so special about this occurrence with words, perhaps you have to be there, but I’m going to try, because we all deserve to know such a thing remains possible no matter how poor, sick and hopeless any of us might get. I know I benefit every time I just feel what I know — because I have been exposed to this occurrence. And to think — I might have thought something else — had I had only the image in my head to go with. I hope I can express it well enough so that you know what I mean.

I have a friend, Charmoon, who has an advanced case of MS, multiple sclerosis. This disease is a progressive condition, which has taken away Charmoon’s ability to move his own limbs, and will eventually take away his life. He lives with 24-hour caretakers, whom he relies completely on.  You would think he would be greatly depressed about his situation, but he isn’t. This isn’t the miracle, though it could be. I’ll get into what touches me so, later, after I’ve described circumstances most of us would fear.

This is a man who cannot move under his own power. He lives totally at the discretion of others. He eats, goes to bed, to the bathroom, answers the phone, has relationships and maintains his own small business, with the help of others. Some he pays (a small amount), and some he doesn’t. His work now primarily involves keeping this edifice of human helpers stable enough to ensure his survival. He is deeply on his own, struggling for his survival, while he is gratefully surrounded. Other able-bodied humans, prone to the distractions of their own complicated human lives, are his body. He lives marginally, constantly on the brink, he knows it, and seldom lets on.

Charmoon is living a kind of nightmarish life. He is living at the behest of some great mystery, and he is alive by virtue of the flawed hearts that keep him somehow going. Yet, he is also living gratefully. While this story isn’t about him, the miracle I am touched by, involves him, and the vulnerability of his life. With luck, it will touch you in some way similar to how it touches me.

Occasionally, Charmoon has to do— what we all have to do — pee. This sometimes happens when I am visiting with him. Then, because he needs help peeing, and I am there to witness what happens between his caretaker and him, I experience something so poignant and ordinary that it sometimes makes me cry tears that are a combination of joy and grief. The miracle takes place somewhere in the interaction of two men, who are old friends, and are now sharing their affection for each other in this extraordinary and most basic of ways.

A window opens, as Tryman, Charmoon’s old friend, prepares Charmoon, and holds the plastic pee bottle to his friend’s penis. Something along with the urine flows. It moves between them. Ostensibly, one man is caring of another. But, with these two, something more is taking place. The miracle of this moment is the open hearts, the caring that is going back and forth, the tenderness that is passing between them.

One man isn’t merely caring for another. That would be touching! Rather, what is happening here, is that both men are feeling their mortality, their shared vulnerability, their long-time mutual regard, and opening to each other. The caretaker is receiving care. The caretaken is giving, as well as receiving. Love, for each other, for this extraordinary and so basic life, for the Mystery that makes it all happen, goes back and forth. In that movement, for a brief time, each of us is woven together into a palpable something we cannot name as simply as unity, but we know we have shared something.

The peeing stops, but the flow doesn’t. Tryman covers Charmoon again, a few words are exchanged, maybe the familiarity of male humor returns, and the moment passes. But something indelible remains. Words can’t capture it, the sure camaraderie of friendship returns, but somehow, mixed in with it all, invisible as our breaths, there is something we each know joins us, though we cannot ever believe ourselves capable of swimming in that great expanse.

The ordinary resumes. The on-going and fatiguing scramble for some kind of survival goes on. Charmoon rests, or talks to another potential caregiver, or plans who he needs to make it through another day. There is no time to acknowledge the ineffable that just happened. There are too many hurdles to surmount.

We’ve wondered together whether we are somehow blessed. Being disabled, and having to rely on others the way we do, taking little for granted, we are so screwed up that we get to notice these little moments, when the world becomes something else, a place where love and resonance sometimes are evident. This realization is a great joy, which almost seems to make hell a blessed place.

Try to remember this little miracle — is this hell/heaven/or both?

All I know is that despite our differences, we are all alike, having to break to pee.