Lessons Learned from Lyra

Today is Saturday. Guess what happened today? Nothing. Nada. Zilch. This is about how long my entry would be if I wrote about that. So, instead, I'm sharing one of my favorite columns with you. I hope you enjoy it.

Published January 27, 2007, in the Stillwater Newspress, Stillwater, Oklahoma

LESSONS LEARNED FROM LYRA

Kay Thompson, Editorialist

I have a 4-year-old. Lyra is, by birth, my granddaughter, but we adopted her when she was a baby, so I think of her as my daughter. I do my best to teach her, but recently have noticed I’m learning as much from her as she is from me.

We should congratulate ourselves more often. I sang her a little song and, when I finished, she yelled, “Yaaay! “ so I did, too. Then I noticed how good I felt about it. I’m not saying we should yell out loud when we do something we like, but a little internal cheering doesn’t seem amiss. She’ll also congratulate herself by yelling “I DID it!” when she’s done something she considers particularly hard. What would be the harm if we gave a little cheer to ourselves when we did something we considered an accomplishment?

We should be more polite. Lyra is always thanking me. It’s very pleasant to be thanked for doing something like blessing a sneeze, or getting a drink for her. I try to be as polite as she is, which makes the cogs of our particular interactions run smoothly. She even apologizes when she says no to me. “Sorry,” she’ll say gravely, “no go to bed.”

Sing even when you don’t know the song. I overheard Lyra singing a song along with the TV. She didn’t know the words and she didn’t know the tune, but that didn’t slow her down. She sang out loudly and clearly with great enjoyment. Why are we so afraid to enjoy ourselves? I hope she never loses that ability to sing out, unabashed and unafraid.

Say what you feel. When Lyra is mad, she’ll just say it: “I’m MAD!” I can then immediately talk to her about what’s wrong. I don’t have to guess. There’s no question that she’s mad about something. All I have to do is get to the bottom of the problem. We’d be so much better off, as adults, if we could just say, “I’m mad.” or “I’m hurt” instead of waiting for the other person to read our minds.

Take pleasure in small things. I was washing dishes, a chore I don’t really like to do, and Lyra was standing on a stool, watching me. Then she said, with clear pleasure, “Bubbles!” 

And sure enough, there were bubbles on my hands — tiny, iridescent and delightful. I had been so intent on getting my chore done, I hadn’t noticed the wonder that was right in front of my eyes. How much better off we’d be if we noticed the small, but delightful things that life presents to us.

I’m sure I have many more lessons in front of me and feel equally sure I have a good teacher in my daughter. In the meanwhile, I’ll determine to pay better attention. I’d better learn fast, before she becomes a teenager and I don’t know anything at all.

Lyra, age 4.  She was a mischievous imp sometimes.

My Evil Deed

Forgiveness. It's important, I understand, if I ever want to "awaken", "become enlightened", ."reach Nirvana", "get to Heaven" or whatever name you call it by.

For me, forgiving others is a snap. OK, maybe not that easy, but I can reason myself out of grudges. After all, I hurt myself much more than I hurt the object of my anger and doing that makes no sense. I may as well just punch myself in the face whenever I have anger toward a person. I would probably do less harm to myself.

But forgiving myself? That's a thousand times more difficult. You see, I had a beautiful calico cat named Rosie.  We adopted her and her sister, Gilda, the summer of 1994. And, when she was 14 years old, I caused her death. And I knew what I was doing.

My daughter, Lyra, had been battling cancer for a couple of years, and her immune system wasn't in good shape, so we had to be careful. Then, for no reason that I could understand, one of the cats started pooping on the comforter on Lyra's bed. I couldn't figure out which cat was doing it, so I tried to catch her at it.

No luck. I finally decided, though I wasn't absolutely certain, that it had to be Rosie. I spent days calling around, trying to find someone who would adopt her. No one wanted her. The Humane Society didn't take pets from individuals. Finally, the only resource left was the animal control center.

So one afternoon I put her in her carrying case and drove across town to the animal control. I was crying my eyes out.  Finally I'd filled out the paperwork and the worker opened a cage door. I pulled Rosie out of her carrier and put her in the cage. When I let go of her, she turned around and looked at me with bewildered eyes. As if she spoke it out loud, her face asked, "Why are you doing this to me?" It was a look of betrayal and utter heartbreak.

The next morning, I walked past Lyra's room and there, on her comforter, was a pile of fresh poop! I'd blamed the wrong cat. I immediately called animal control and, when the lady answered, I asked her how much it would cost to get my cat back. She ascertained which cat I was talking about. She said, "oh, we don't have her anymore."

I was mystified. Had the Humane Society taken her? I didn't understand, so I said, "What do you mean?"

The woman said, "We put her down early this morning."

How could that be? Rosie hadn't even been there 24 hours. I found out that they'd decided she wasn't adoptable, so they just... killed... her. And it was my fault.

I cried for two days straight. My counselor came around for our session, but all I could do is cry. Lyra would stand by me, looking worried, pat my arm and say, "Don't cry, Mommy!" But I couldn't stop. Taking Rosie to the pound was the most evil thing I ever did. I sacrificed her. I betrayed her love and her trust. It is unforgivable.

My sweet Rosienose. I hope, after I die, I will be able to see you again so I can tell you how sorry I am and how much I love you. Maybe then I might be able to forgive myself.

If self-forgiveness is a prerequisite to reaching this place with its many names, I'll never get there, because there's just no way I can ever forgive myself.

No two calicos are alike, but Rosie looked an awful lot like this cat:

Late for the Sky

(Thanks to Jackson Browne for the title of this entry. I sure wish I could find a copy of the Reneé Magritte painting that was on the cover of this record album. I love Magritte's art. So playful.)

So now I'm sleeping, sometimes during the night for awhile, and sometimes during the day for awhile.  Sometimes both. It happens at random times. I feel like I'm inside a shattered mirror, looking out, trying to make sense of what's going on out there. Is it day? Is it night? Is it still yesterday? Or maybe it's already tomorrow. Who knows?

I've never been good at sticking to schedules, but this is ridiculous.

Despite this empty randomness that is my life, and the lack of promised antibiotics, and the Alice-through-the-looking-glass perspective, I still feel like I'm on the right track, spiritually. A lot of it is observing myself under different circumstances. When I hear that children are being denied food because of this pointless government shutdown or that children with cancer are being denied treatment at government-run research centers, it breaks my heart and I get plenty steamed at the House Republicans, especially the Tea Partiers who put all this in motion. Anger is not good for my well-being. Nor is the frustration I feel about being absolutely helpless to change anything about it.

There are times when this life with all its challenges seem far away, as if I am looking at it from a great distance. From that perspective, floating high above the clouds, none of it touches me. It's restful. Things are so far away, they have nothing to do with me. I always go back. That's a given. I still have things to do here. Also, I'm not ready to give up all the delight I get from learning and seeing what's around the next corner. And, for reasons I don't quite understand, even if I go around the next corner and find something monstrous waiting, I still welcome it, in my heart, because I know it's part of my learning process. Sometimes -- hell, most times -- it causes me some kind of pain, but as I said before, if my body can't deal with it, my spirit will.

I feel one of those sleepy-time episodes coming on.

This is the closest I could find to the album cover of "Late for the Sky." Evidently, Browne's cover artists altered it a bit. That's OK. Both paintings are good.

Sleep well. Be happy.

Strange Journeys

I have an new abcess on my back. I had one, in the same spot, before. This happens, I believe, because I'm constantly lying on my back. It's not as bad as the one I had a few months ago, thank goodness. I'll spare you the gory details of having had that lanced with a scalpel, having liquid expressed from it manually, then having packing stuffed into it with only a squirt of topical anesthetic sprayed on it, a method which failed miserably at numbing the pain. I'll also spare you a graphic explanation of the high-decible inhuman-like screams of pain I emitted, nor of the gasping sobs and the feeling of suffocation they caused.

Someone, a nurse, I think, said that it didn't hurt that much, and that I was just being dramatic. That was not said in my presence, of course. If it had, I believe the jury would have found me innocent on grounds of justifiable homicide.

So this time I was just prescribed antibiotics. That may change if the Wound Care Doctor sees me Friday and decides it needs excising. I wouldn't mind so much if she does that. She's awfully good at numbing the area and she will promise to stop if I tell her to, if it's hurting me. She treats me with respect and understanding. I like her.

I wish I was better at communicating with my guardian spirits. I'd ask them for a few answers, like why the repeating abcesses on my back? I'm well aware of how dangerous a location that is to have an infection, and it's painful. And, of course, I'm always lying on my back, which makes it hurt. So what's the point? I need a little guidance here.

Being in pain has a way of dampening one's mood. I'm not afraid of it, but it really slows down my learning process, not to mention my enthusiasm for life. I know there are people who suffer with much worse chronic pain and I send them vibrations of healing, love, and joy. And peace. Much, much peace.

I feel a need to read, now, about things pertinent to my questions. Occasionally, answers will pop out of the blue, but most of the time I have to search for clues myself. When I find something useful, it's like I hear a tiny "bingo!" In the back of my mind, so I know I'm not totally alone in my quest.

What a strange journey I'm on, which we all are on, on our separate paths. If it's true that we choose our lives before we incarnate, I must have had an awful lot of lessons I wanted to learn. I think maybe I got a little overenthusiastic. Still, i am having fun now that I've begun being conscious of some of the lessons my soul is learning, and I can't wait to see what's coming next. If my body can't handle it, then my spirit will.

I'm so glad your paths and mine have met. Namaste. Happy traveling.

Imaginary Moon

I haven't seen the sun in years. The moon, either. They are figments of my imagination now. Oh, I see sunlight out the window when I can get someone to raise the blinds. To my roommate, it doesn't matter if the blinds are up or down. When they're down, she is in no way confined to this universe. Tonight she saw a boy looking at me. Just for a nanosecond, I saw him. He was cute -- a roundish face with dirty-blonde hair falling across his forehead. Much too young for me though.

I'm not losing my mind. That was just a bit of whimsy I indulged in. Why shouldn't I? I've spent far too much of my life being serious, worrying about the future, fretting about how to pay the bills, and all kinds of grown-up things. As The Doctor said one time, "What's the use of being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes?"

Somehow, when I was in a freshman in college, i figured out that floating on the wind was the right thing to do. Following that philosophy led me into some interesting adventures and not just a little trouble. But I had, and still have, a strong innate sense of responsibility.

So after I found myself on my own with a 10-month-old baby girl, I traded whimsy for responsibility. That was fine with me. I don't know how she survived me, though. I'd never even held a baby before she was born.

What is worse than a woman who has a strong sense of responsibility but nothing and no one to be responsible for? A lost bed-bound, isolated woman with no outlet for those feelings.

So now I need to turn loose again and find all that old whimsy which was such a good and joyful companion when I was younger. Giving into it is so exhilarating. But, so far, I'm like a balloon with a 3-inch string tied to it. 

Maybe the trick is to stop being so afraid to use my imagination. I must. If my body is so restricted, my only other choice, other than giving up altogether, is to let my mind fly.

Is that boy still looking at me? Maybe he and I can take a walk together and gaze at my imaginary moon. That would be peaceful and companionable. And we could create a universe of bubbles.  :-)

Where oh Where...

I'm listening to the government shut-down discussions. What a mess. Twenty years from now I doubt i'll be around to see what the fallout is.

Meanwhile, i have to wonder. Aside from the fact that I have little to no influence over political events, other than voting now and then, which I will definitely do, where is the advantage to worrying myself over it?

I've gotten into several political discussions with friends of opposite persuasion from mine. It would have been more productive for us to repeatedly slam our foreheads together until we both passed out.

Where should I place my goals? Not in politics, that's for sure. That's just an exercise in futility. I  keep up with most of it, but mostly as an observer. There seems to be a lot of insanity in American politics these days, and I don't want to get embroiled in it

I have a lot to learn about being a spirit in a human form. This human form doesn't do a lot, but my brain still works. So I'll concentrate on using that. There's no road to follow, no signposts, no maps. I'm pretty much lost since the road I was on was blocked by a seemingly impassable boulder.

Maybe that was a sign that I should seek out a new road. I might just find what I'm looking for. I want independence. Maybe I will find acceptance, instead. I want to live somewhere that I can rescue a cat. Maybe that place will find me. I want to expand my soul. Maybe being limited, physically, will aid me in doing that.

There's no sitting back waiting for these things to magically appear, though. I will have to be alert, both mentally and spiritually. And I will have to work hard.

Right now, this as far as I've gotten. I'm still confused and lost, not knowing which way to go. That's OK. I'll just float here at my crossroads  awhile, let my intuition fly free, and release my thoughts like dandelion seeds into the wind.

Meanwhile, this looks like a good place to rest and reflect.

Something from Nothing

I learned something important about this situation that recently came up. As Christopher Robin said to Pooh, 

"Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."

Yeah, I fell apart at first. It really felt like a boulder fell out of nowhere that pulverized my plans. But it didn't pulverize ME. After I spent a day feeling lost and sorry for myself, I called Medicare and found out that I am eligible for wheelchair modification.

So I investigated what kinds of modifications are available. I found a company in Denmark that uses aeronautical technology. It's a seat that uses  tiny neoprene pebbles that are vaccuumed into a seat. they mold to a person's body and can be used for people with spinal injuries. I'm  not very good at explaining how it works, so here is its webpage:

http://vakuform-reha.de/en.html

There are a lot of questions about this product. How much does it cost? Would Medicare approve it and considerate it a wheelchair modification? Will it work for me? Is it even availabe in the U. S?. It's a long-shot with many hoops to jump through,  so I'm not letting my hopes get too high. But it could work. Maybe. Anyway, I emailed them yesterday to get more information, so now I just wait. It's a new product, so I'm pretty sure no one here has heard of it.

The point is, I haven't given up.  I'm not crushed. I'm not defeated. What I am, is determined. And, to be honest, I have no clue where all this strength is coming from.

And all this mysterious positivity and hope? It just seems to rise, unbidden, from the depths of my soul. It's as if I can trust that whatever happens, it will be the right thing.

That's where I am right now. There are, of course, ups and downs in this journey. And I'm sure to meet more obstacles. I might even have to choose another pathway. But now, instead of being weighed down by obstacles, I tend to see them as exciting challenges.

And I know I will often be defeated by them.. But my determination will not be. I'm no super hero. I'm likely to break down, temporarily --  give up, cry out of frustration and fear, get discouraged. But there's a light at the core of my existence that somehow stays alight and keeps me going. here is some wisdom and love from lynnie buttercup:

"This is my wish for you: Comfort on difficult days, smiles when sadness intrudes, rainbows to follow the clouds, laughter to kiss yourn lips, sunsets to warm your heart, hugs when spirits sag, beauty for your eyes to see, friendships to brighten your being, faith so that you can believe, confidence for when you doubt, courage to know yourself, patience to accept the truth, Love to complete your life."

Much love from me to you.