Image courtesy Laure Ferlita
It’s been nearly a week since the unthinkable events at
Pulse in Orlando, just an hour and a half from where I live. It feels pointless
to write about happiness—let alone simple pleasures and everyday adventures—when
we face one unthinkable tragedy after another—shootings, natural disasters,
armed conflict, suffering on a scale we can’t imagine and feel helpless to
alleviate.
No one is a stranger to suffering. Just as we are united in
our desire to live happy lives, we are also united in suffering. Each one of us
hides some kind of wound inside. We all know how it feels to hurt, feel
helpless, rage against the universe, or try to find meaning in the face of
senselessness. We should not turn suffering and pain into anger and hate,
though that sometimes feels impossible. What should we do instead?
“You take it all in. You let the pain of the world touch you and you turn it into compassion.”*
In the aftermath of the Pulse shooting, people and
organizations are turning pain into compassion. For example:
The Tampa Bay Rays have dedicated tonight’s game to the
victims of the Orlando shooting, and are donating the proceeds to the Pulse Victims
Fund. The game sold out (something that doesn’t often happen).
The Go Fund Me account for the victims set a record,
collecting more than 4 million dollars.
And more personally and poignantly, here’s Laure Ferlita’s
way of coping. She wrote: “Here's my idea—I intend to pay kindness
forward 49 times for each of the lives lost. Then I'll pay kindness
forward 53 more times for each of those injured. That's 102 acts of
kindness paid—deliberately—into a world that seems to have tilted ever so
slightly off its axis.” (Click here to read the entire post. Click here if you’d
like learn the names of those who lost their lives.)
Yes, there is evil in this world. But there is also good.
There is kindness and love, and we can decide to be on the side of
kindness and love by our words and our actions. Decide to turn pain into
compassion. Decide.
*The sixteenth Gyalwa Karmapa, quoted in When Things Fall Apart, by Pema Chodron.
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Introduction by Ted Kooser: Descriptive poetry depends for its effects in part upon the
vividness of details. Here the Virginia poet, Claudia Emerson, describes the
type of old building all of us have seen but may not have stopped to look at
carefully. And thoughtfully.
Stable
One rusty horseshoe hangs on a nail
above the door, still losing its luck,
and a work-collar swings, an empty
old noose. The silence waits, wild to be
broken by hoofbeat and heavy
harness slap, will founder but remain;
while, outside, above the stable,
eight, nine, now ten buzzards swing low
in lazy loops, a loose black warp
of patience, bearing the blank sky
like a pall of wind on mourning
wings. But the bones of this place are
long picked clean. Only the hayrake's
ribs still rise from the rampant grasses.
Poem copyright © 1997 by Claudia Emerson Andrews, a 2005
Witter Bynner Fellow of the Library of Congress. Reprinted from “Pharoah,
Pharoah,” (1997) by permission of the author, whose newest book, “Late Wife,”
will appear this fall; both collections are published by Louisiana State
University’s Southern Messenger Poets. This weekly column is supported by The
Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress and the Department of English at the
University of Nebraska, Lincoln. The column does not accept unsolicited poetry.
Tell me something. When was the last time you made a list of
fun things to do…and actually did them? Don’t look now, but it’s already
June (how?!)—the Friday night of summer, as Laura Vanderkam says. Now’s
your chance. Time to plan some simple pleasures and everyday adventures to make
the hot, sweaty months pass more happily. I did this last year (click here to
read 2015’s list), with mixed success. Take Tank to the beach? Check. Go to a Rays
game? Yup. Make frozen pops, spend a day by the pool, or watch the sunset at
the beach?
Nope.
Lucky for me, I get a do-over. Summer has already barged its
way into central Florida (complete with a tropical storm, thank you very much),
so I’m trying again. Here’s my list for the summer of 2016:
- Have a pedicure (thanks to my friend Mary for the gift certificate to a local salon).
- Add some new tunes to my music library.
- Go to the movies with my Broadway season ticket buddies (we don’t have another show until October).
- Make homemade ice cream.
- Practice
riding Tank bridleless, while it’s hot and he’s
mellowlazy.
- Go on at least one field trip with Laure Ferlita. Maybe here or here. Hmm...I see a food theme developing...
- Create a new summer reading list—and start reading from it.
- Finish filling at least one sketchbook. I have two that are nearly full.
- Plan a trip to visit my family in California.
- Buy meals from Dinner Done so I don’t have to cook so much.
Sure, I’ll be working on my writing business, painting my
bathroom, cleaning out the fridge…but I’m also planning some serious fun. I
hope you will, too.
What’s on your bucket list this summer?
“‘Kindness’ covers all of my political beliefs. No need to
spell them out. I believe that if, at the end, according to our abilities, we
have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make
ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others
less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We
must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our
problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try. I didn’t always know this
and am happy I lived long enough
to find it out.”
to find it out.”
—Roger Ebert
At first, I was going to title this post “Happy Little
Things: Harvest,” and write about the simple pleasure of gardening. But as I
put words on paper, my thoughts took me in an entirely different direction.
This week’s “harvest” from my garden, if you can call it
that, was three yellow pear tomatoes and two stunted carrots. So much effort
for so little result, yet still, I keep at it. Kinda reminds me of my writing career (if you can call it
that). I’m putting a lot of effort into it, but I’m not harvesting much in the
way of finished pieces or paying clients, and I’m frustrated. But I also know
that you cannot always be harvesting. Just as in gardening, in writing, in
other creative endeavors—even in life itself, there must be times of planting,
feeding, nurturing, even lying fallow.
While I desperately want and need to produce fruit, I can’t
discount my need for the nourishment of instruction, time to allow ideas to
sprout and grow in my head, and time to simply do nothing. I’ve seen the
effects of neglect on my garden—nearly my entire crop of winter lettuce grew
without thinning, watering and weeding, with predictably inedible results.
In my garden, I’m in the groove now, checking it every day,
watering, weeding, and feeding as needed. I’ve got tons of lemons on my Meyer
lemon tree, plenty of blossoms and green tomatoes still on my plants, and a few
more carrots that might have a chance to grow into something edible. I have
green onions and herbs ready when I need them. I’m also working on tending my
creativity with the same attention and care. I believe if I keep putting in the
time and effort, the harvest will come. And when it does, it will taste
all the sweeter for the effort I’ve put in.
How do you nourish your creativity?
The sad little harvest |
Introduction by Ted Kooser: I’ve always been
fascinated by miniatures of all kinds, the little glass animals I played with
as a boy, electric trains, dollhouses, and I think it’s because I can feel that
I’m in complete control. Everything is right in its place, and I’m the one who
put it there. Here’s a poem by Kay Mullen, who lives in Washington, about the
art of bonsai.
Bonsai at the Potter’s Stall
Under fluorescent light,
aligned on a bench
and table top, oranges
the size of marbles dangle
from trees with glossy
leaves. White trumpets
bloom in tiny clay pots.
Under a firethorn’s twisted
limbs, a three inch monk
holds a cup from which
he appears to drink
the interior life. The potter
prizes his bonsai children
who will never grow up,
never leave home.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry
Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also
supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln.
Poem copyright ©2006 by Kay Mullen, and reprinted from her most recent book of
poetry, “A Long Remembering: Return to Vietnam,” FootHills Publishing, 2006, by
permission of Kay Mullen and the publisher. Introduction copyright ©2011 by The
Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United
States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from
2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.
Photo courtesy windyschneider |
After two weeks of reno chaos, I’m finally able to leave my
house for more than the absolute essentials. Yesterday I indulged in the simple
pleasure of my favorite local yoga class—Yoga for Stress Relief.
In this class, we use props such as bolsters, blocks and
blankets, to help us hold restorative poses without straining and tiring our
muscles. We let the props support and cradle us, allowing us to go deeper, hold
longer, and really relax into the poses. Yesterday, as I have so many times
before, even as I settled into a pose, I could feel my muscles clenched and
tense, holding on even when they didn’t need to. I had to consciously relax
them into the support beneath me. I could almost hear my body sigh with relief
as the instructor led us through the day’s sequence and I began to let go of my
tension.
It occurs to me that I do the same thing in other parts of
my life. Even when support and help is available, I don’t ask for it. If
someone offers to help, I don’t always accept it. I don’t use the resources
available to me, just like I don’t relax and let the props do their job in yoga
class.
Why?
Well, let’s see: independence (not to say stubbornness),
fear of being a bother or a burden, a bit of control-freakishness, and a dash
of the two-year-old’s, “I can do it myself!” Oh, yes, those are good
reasons.
Even in our more strenuous classes, our yoga instructors
remind us there’s nothing wrong with using props to make our poses more
effective. Every body is different and requires different support to work its
best. We are to listen to our bodies and give them what they need, both on and
off the mat. It’s a lesson I’m slowly learning.
Aside from the obvious physical and mental benefits, the
message of the Yoga for Stress Relief class is: “Rest now. You don’t have to do
it all by yourself.” A good message for us all, and not just while we’re on the
mat.
So the next time you need me, you’ll find me in savasana,
supported by a folded blanket under my head, a bolster beneath my knees, and an
eye pillow draped over my eyes.
Rest now.