Accumulating and Letting Go

In August of 2011, I had to make the decision of whether or not to place my mother permanently into a skilled nursing facility. It broke my heart to leave her with a few personal items around her in a windowless room. My only comfort was that she would be watched more closely there than on the assisted living floor where she had fallen four times before they realized she was having small strokes and also had a bladder infection.

I honestly expected, as most percentages predicted, that she would go downhill from that point and would not last more than two years. It has been five years now, and she has coped with the challenges of living in and out of a hospital bed. She was moved into a double-bed room where she now overlooks the same garden she used to see from her and my dad’s first apartment. I believe she is more than content, or at least that’s what I think I see when I visit.

After I made that guilt-ridden decision to have her stay permanently in skilled nursing care, I began to empty her studio apartment on the assisted-care floor. I realized, at that time, how much my mom had been quietly and steadily letting go of her life over the years leading up to that move. She had one pot and no pans. Her dishes were enough for four but she had only one coffee mug. Her dresser drawers were barely filled and then only with essentials. I found one purse, one hearing aid, one hand lotion. Her knitting needles were packed away and there was no yarn in any of her usual caches.

Most of her clothes and underwear had her name sewed into them or marked with a marking pen.

Over the course of these last five years, her memories of the past have begun to loosen. Her ability to perform her activities of daily living are diminishing. My mom is reminding me of my youngest granddaughter who will be turning six next week. Bella continues every day to add one more skill or word or concept into her experience so she can grow and cope in this world. Where Bella is assembling her personality, my mom is dis-assembling herself until, perhaps, she can become light enough to float away.

In the Scheme of Things

I am remembering attending a Standing for Mother Earth event two years ago where we were asked to form a circle. Each of us then were instructed to name one word that described what we were grateful for. Many said rain, community, families, friends, God, and the offerings were sincere and beautiful.

I spoke a Lakota word, Tankuskaska. The word does not translate exactly (and may not be spelled correctly either) but it does create in my mind a meaning that presents itself as a whole concept. I was thinking about that circle this morning and my choice of that particular word. “Why in the world did that term at precisely that moment want to be said by me?” I could have said anything, but I chose a naming of something so dear to my heart and my being that I had to say it.

I also wondered briefly this morning if, while I was standing in that circle, I had needed to be different. “Had I needed to call attention to myself?” I wrestled with all my self-judgements, until I came to understand that I simply had to express this term which has layers upon layers of meaning to me.

The intention of this word is to refer to: “All that is, all that has been, and all that ever will be.” For me, it’s a term that is beyond any concept of God or Great Spirit. It reminds me there is a blessing in the present moment, in all the past moments, and in those moments of the future, because they are all happening right now.

It reminds me there is a continuum of what has had to happen to make this moment be what it is and that what is being done in this moment is what will affect that which is to come

It calls to me to understand that when I pay attention, I am part of this moment (and of course even when I don’t). I am part of what has happened and definitely will be part of what will be.

I personally am responsible for what I do right now, what I have done, and what I will do.

And, if, as I am coming to understand, there is no such thing as time, but it is only a construct of the mind, then this term ushers me into the space where all is one, right here, right now, and again now, until it is all a smooth being-ness encompassing all occurrences without judgment.

I am thinking of how I am then required to act so consciously with regards to all things, people, beings, environment, everything in my life. Fortunately, I also believe if I have a miss-step, it can become absorbed in the fabric of all that is. (That is, unless it is a huge miss-step.)

I am so thankful for the understanding that this term brings, its potential, its memories, and its promise. I pray we, or at least this one person, me, can learn to be more inside of it all, to know I don’t have to be invited to be a part of the whole. I only have to remember to invite myself.

Crystal Rainbows

Crystals hang in the middle of every window of my bungalow capturing rays from each angle of our sun as it travels across its seasonal path. Each prism of glass then creates a rainbow, and I love rainbows.

Shutting off the eight-minute snoozer after my IPhone had made its alarming wake-up call this morning, I tried to focus. I have a new plan these days: waking up earlier so I can write morning musings and hopefully fall asleep before midnight.

My effort today was rewarded with a singular eight-inch display of red through violet appearing on my ceiling. I also learned a couple of new things and reinforced an older awareness.

This pencil strip of bright colors glimmered into a fuller slit of light. Nothing breathed in my bedroom as it glowed brighter and brighter. No air seeped around the window frame to disturb the teardrop crystal making it appear to disco dance. What sound I remember now came from the ringing in my ears. I slowed my breath in respect. In the span of seconds, the strip of rainbow lengthened, then moved such a small increment, I didn’t realize it had shifted a hair breath of a pinch of an inch. On either side, two smaller but identical arrays of color became defined.

I watched all three as they faded. With a deep breath, I released gratitude for the spectacle then bumped into a twinge of grief over the loss of this beaming glory.

Thinking about changing my horizontal position to vertical, I noticed a smudge of light to the NW where the rainbow line had been. The memory of this telescopic stretch of light starting with red and moving through its progression of hues made me realize I had never thought about how the leading color is always red. (“Is it really? Always?” I asked myself. “Well, this morning it was,” I answered. “We’ll have to pay more attention every time we see one,” I promised.) If that’s a truth, I thought, how cool is that lesson? Red, the color of fire and the first chakra where we hold the spark of our basic being. The place where we nurture our essence and are called upon to embrace the phrase, “I AM”. Chills crept up my spine and covered my scalp. “A lesson from the Universe,” I thought, “to remember my current challenges: seating myself in my own fire and not let another’s goals or ideas buffet my internal flame.”

The smudge of light brightened, expanded until a grander stripe of rainbow spreading deeper and wider across the pale ceiling. Had I gone into my day, I would have missed an even bigger sight. This one became grander than the first. I heard the words, “Wait for it! Wait for it!” and I did, until the largest expanse of distinctive segments of graduated color emblazoned itself overhead. Like a validation of my thoughts regarding the acceptance and nurturing of self and the passion of being in my life. Letting that passion and self-acceptance lead the way to where next I am headed. Like a promise that says, “There’s more, oh, so much more if you do your work, hang in here, and wait for the culmination of it all.”

Phenomena observed. Point taken. Lesson acknowledged.