Clouds

How much more our beliefs, attitudes, and perceptions dictate our emotions, but weather can really get people down. A gray day can drag our mood down, or sunshine can lift our spirits.

Photo taken by my sister-in-law, Cindy Basham.

Having spent the past few winters in sunny Southwest Florida, I marvel at how easily folks there get blessed by sunshine all winter long. Michigan winters are notoriously gray. It may be more the lack of sunshine that affects folks even more than the cold or snow.

My musings on weather and moods, and a writing prompt photo inspired three differently styled poems. Enjoy "Three Variations on Clouds Hanging Overhead" I wrote in February 2014.

 

Clouds hang overhead, hijacking the horizon as far as the naked eye can see. The reflection of these clouds in the still waters below creates the illusion of clouds being everywhere. How like problems, these pesky clouds. Feeling low, mental clouds seem to span the distance from past to present to future—dimming the light of possibility almost to the point of nonexistence.

Carrying sufficient moisture to dampen all but the heartiest of souls, problem clouds of troubled memories choke out the azure blue of present life. “Why did you do THAT? What makes you believe YOU are worthy of love? See, we knew you would fail.”

Toxic habits of shame slide into the human body unnoticed: slinking past adoration, forgoing appreciation, and leaving behind a massive, putrid, vapor of regret spread wider than the contrails obediently following behind jet planes carrying people hither and yon.

Father Sky opens wide to clouds. Billowy blankets of white on a sunny day, and even stormy fists of green and black and gray. Lakes smooth the way, providing a willing vessel for these clouds’ illusions to rest a while. The nature of our nature is to embrace all that is passing away and coming to be.

Coming to be free from shame. The sun will shine again.

Coming to be free from self-doubt. The clouds will not always be out.

Coming to be free from the shackles of prisons made of what ifs or buts…

Rising above all illusions, reflecting only colors. Colors born of water drawn up from the face of our beloved Mother Earth as infant particles of dust.

From dust we come; and to dust we return.

Clouds fill the sky, but need not bring tear to eye.

Someday, you will look back on all this and laugh.

Why wait?

Haiku

Clouds over Lake Champlain

Will these clouds drench us with rain?

Even while the sun shines

Let clouds fill the sky

Only once—without the why

Let them drift on by

Smile, and feel relief

Why give freely to a thief?

Illusions steal joy

And the last one:

Sitting by the lake, looking out over the placid water, I could see only clouds. The sky was filled with grey clouds tinged with white cottony edges. Looking down, looking up, glancing left and glancing right—as far as I could see: clouds.

Perusing the scene before me, it popped into my mind how much life’s problems are just like these clouds. The emotion of a current challenge can reflect onto the surface of those smooth areas of our life robbing us of creativity and inspiration and joy!

Looking only at what has or might go wrong is like seeing those clouds reflected in the water and letting the illusion convince us that the situation is hopeless or we are a failure or unworthy of well-being.

Once you take on as the vital truth of you, the nature of nature, you can watch emotions’ clouds drift across the sky knowing that they too shall pass. This is the nature of true freedom: “Only one life, ‘twill soon be past. Only what’s done for Christ will last.”

A Skillful Goodbye

Japanese Zen masters sometimes know when they are going to die.

Once master Hofaku called his monks together and said: "This last week my energy has been draining - no cause for worry. It is just that death is near."

A monk asked: "You are about to die! What does it mean? We will go on living. And what does that mean?"

"They are both the way of things," the master replied.
"But how can I understand two such different states?"
Hofaku answered: "When it rains it pours," and then calmly died.

She has been my friend, student, colleague, mentor, and soul mate. My heart is overflowing with the blessings of having her in my community and in my life. Today is the last day at her current work, and she is moving to another state.

How do we survive the loss? What supports adjusting to the changes? Is it possible we can experience a skillful goodbye?

I remember well meeting with a young couple after she had decided to stop all treatment and to consciously die. We created her Celebration of Life ceremony (she crossed every “T” dotted every “I”). The deeper work, however, revolved around how to consciously let go of life as they had known it, and to welcome the next chapter. 

We sat in her hospital room, just the three of us. I asked them to close their eyes and to begin exploring what it was like to feel their connection without relying on their physical senses of sight and sound and touch. “Imagine you are able to slip your consciousness out of your body, float to a meeting place in the middle of the room, and enjoy being together without skin on.” They were familiar with animal spirits, having been actively involved with a Native American Shaman.

Holding that space, breathing with them, and choosing to be willing to feel my own quivering heart. How would I be handling things if I were the mom of a six-year old son letting go of my physical life? It is one thing to have all of the ideas, another to be experiencing the lessons real time. She was so brave. They both were. Even without yet knowing the rest of the story…. (See http://scs-matters.com/?s=Hawk&submit.x=0&submit.y=0)

Today, I witness other friends facing serious medical challenges that may result in early death. In my mind’s eye, I sit in a quiet room with each of them, holding that tender space of learning we are more than these physical bodies. Even now, my heart quivers again. 

May we live each moment so fully we have no fear of the future nor regret of the past. 

May we remember who we really are. May we each learn the art of a skillful goodbye.

Writing and Sharing

Recently, I have been blessed to share some of my writing in a variety of settings, including in my writers' group, at an open mic event, and within an assisted living facility. I am amazed at what happens inside you as a writer through your writing (and sharing) process.

For one thing, sharing your writing feels like inviting someone into your home, and hearing someone share is being invited. Some writing feels like sitting in PJs, it can be so intimate. The emotions evoked span the emotional spectrum: happy, sad, glad, or mad.

This week, belly laughs galore from Debra Fewell sharing the revenge of the crawdads. Dan England's words about a betrayed love still fill the air. Chris Michaels' touched us all deeply by reading her memoir of her beloved husband's death from pneumonia, following his decline from Alzheimer’s Disease.

It truly is an honor and a privilege to witness the insides of another human being. 

Nostalgia by Debra Basham

My mother-in-law learned to drive a car later in life than anyone else I know, but following my father-in-law’s stroke, it was an absolute necessity; so learn to drive she did. It was either that or wait a couple of years for their youngest to turn sixteen.

Going from having someone take care of you to having to take care of someone is not all fun and games. It would be years later that we all went into family therapy to deal with the stress. No one expected things to go on as long as they did, and my husband and I certainly would not have predicted that in our early twenties we would have the opportunity to be raising a troubled teen. Agreeing to open our home to one child essentially closed off the door to another. Years went by, and by the time my brother-in-law moved out, we were not interested in starting over with the baby phase.

I tell our daughter she is an only because we could not improve on perfection. She knows the rest of the story, but it feels so good to have someone recognize you are perfect just the way you are.

My mom had the ability to do that for every one of her grandchildren. She would make each one's favorite food: lasagna, fried chicken, barbeque—and all for the same meal. She would also make three pans of cinnamon rolls so everyone who preferred it could have the one from the center.

Mom worked hard. It was not until after my dad died and she moved into an apartment at the senior living complex that she had a proper bedroom closet. We sometimes forget how quickly things have changed so much. Growing up, we had a party line. Kids today would think that is something entirely different than what it was. We only answered the phone when it rang one long and one short, and if we picked up and the neighbor was still talking, we hung up just loudly enough she might get the hint, finish her call, and hang up, but not so loudly she could know we were trying to ask her to do so.

Privacy was just not the same. When I grew up, we shared bedrooms, and we shared beds. Sometimes our whole family was in one, lying in the dark listening to the radio...

It is true, we did not have much in the way of worldly wealth, but we certainly knew the importance of being generous with what we had. There was always enough to set an extra place at the table. My folks raised pigs once, but my two sisters and I named them after the people we bought the piglets from and after my dad had those pigs butchered, we refused to eat Tom and Fran!

We did not think of our lives as hard, life was just what it was. And I am not saying you know it for sure, but I have often though, looking back, I could just about understand what drove my dad to drink….

I’m so very thankful he had gone into sobriety about the time I got married at the tender young age of 16. We could probably say we had all been blessed because my dad's grandchildren only knew him sober.