J'accuse!

As I grow a bit longer in the tooth I'm noticing something:  my memory isn't what it used to be.

It's typical, from what I hear.  As time passes, the human brain collects more and more information and so it takes a bit longer to sort through and process all of the data--sometimes things even get lost.

One thing it seems I haven't lost is my ability to swiftly accuse others.

It's only a pair of scissors, frequently used but ALWAYS returned to the same spot.  This time, as I reached for them, they weren't there. 

"Where did you put my scissors?"

The question flew out of my mouth without a moment's hesitation.  I knew beyond any doubt that I ALWAYS put those scissors back in the same place, and now they weren't there.  What other explanation could there be?  Someone else took them.

I must admit, even I was astonished at the speed of my accusation.  I just KNEW, and so I got to stew.  I was annoyed.  I needed my scissors.  I wanted my scissors...and I wanted them to be where I KNEW they should be!  Why would he take them and not put them back?  Where could he have left them?  Why did he need MY special scissors, anyway?

After a somewhat awkward confrontation, a denial of guilt, and a new search, I found the scissors--right where I'd left them.

I'm happy to report that my apology has been accepted.  Now I'm just wondering what other accusations, great and small, I've cast on others while I should have been pointing that finger at the mirror.

(c) Fiechter

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I Was There

The phone call from the Vice-Principal came at the last minute, and with apologies:

"Would you and your parents be able to be at the Senior Awards Ceremony this evening?"  Somehow my name had been left off the invitation list.

I had a hunch I knew what the award would be and I dreaded it.

Sure enough, as I sat biting my nails through the ceremony, watching my classmates receive honors for excellence in a variety of academic pursuits, the time finally arrived and my name was called.  I won:

Perfect Attendance.

That's right!  While my peers were taking home plaques and trophies in Art and English and Science and Math, I won an award for the unthinkable--I showed up every day.  I was presented a plaque over my protests:  "I'm SURE I was absent once in sophomore year!"

How would I ever live it down?  Seriously, High School had been an experience I was ready to forget; this would be the final humiliation, adding insult to injury.  To this day my face reddens when I think about it.

Now that I think about it, though, it's really OK.  In fact, I'm kind of proud of it.  After all, what more can really be expected of any of us than to simply show up and be ourselves?  For a deeply closeted, somewhat chubby, clumsy and red-faced teen it may have been a disaster.  But in the end, to have had the opportunity to live a full life and to have actually shown up for it every day is the greatest reward.

Carpe diem...there will only ever be one today.  Hope to see you there!

Stardust Memories

This week, just as it does every week, Wednesday will come and go.  But for a few, this one will be different.  They'll use this Wednesday to pause and to reflect, to look back and to look ahead...and to consider their place in the grand scheme of things.  Having set aside the revelry of a Fat Tuesday, they will gather with others of a like mind to practice old rituals--you may even see them with black smudges on their foreheads, mishapen and misunderstood.

"Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return."

No matter how you look at it, there's no escaping the inevitable: the party will end and we will all return to the dust from which we were formed.  Whether you are one to believe there's something more or not, the inescapable truth is that life as each of us knows it is coming to an end--sooner than later.  A smudge of ash is a reminder that nothing lasts forever.  We will all die.

But before we allow that sadness to define us, it might be important to consider that the dust from which we are made--the dust to which we will return--is the very same dust that makes up the whole of what is--everything we can see and everything we can't:  Stardust. 

It puts a whole new (star)light on things, doesn't it?  We are made from all that was and all that is and all that will be--which sounds pretty hopeful to me.

Though I dream in vain
In my heart it will remain
My stardust melody
The memory of love's refrain...

Member

Sometimes I sit, waiting to be rescued--by someone with a better idea, someone with a better opportunity, a better job, a better something or other...someone who will notice me and acknowledge my greatness--until it dawns on me that the only person who is going to do that is me.

Tradition tells us that we are all valued and needed--that there is no one part of the body that is greater or more important than another.  Yet how often do we sit quietly waiting, as if the eye will tell the foot when it's time to start walking, or the hand will tell the mouth when it's the right time to speak, or another brain will stop by to rescue us from our ennui.   But that's not how it works, friends, and deep inside we all know it.  That's not how it works in the Body and that's not how it works in the world.  In the Body, each part knows its role and does its task, orchestrated by a subconscious energy that coordinates our efforts and keeps us moving forward.  The mouth knows its job without the foot telling it (though at times that foot inserts itself....but that's another story).  The ear knows when it's time to listen, even if the mouth doesn't always know when to stop.  And those hands really do know the right thing to do, even if, more often than not, we find them in the cookie jar. 

So the next time you're sitting around waiting for instructions or an engraved invitation to action, remember this--you already know what you can be doing: walking with the troubled, offering a hand to those in need, listening with a caring heart, and speaking the truth in love.

There's More

Maybe you read it, too.  Hurtling through space, NASA's Kepler Telescope has sent back images of an ancient solar system; a sun with circling planets similar in many ways to our own.

It's not all that far away, either--only about 117 light years.  Why, that's practically around the corner!  Yet it's not its close proximity to us that is the remarkable thing about this neighboring solar system, but how old it is.  Scientists at the University of Birmingham (England...that's even closer--just across the pond!) are saying somewhere around 11 billion years old.  I thought I was getting old!  In comparison, the Earth is a relative teenager: by the time our Earth was formed, the planets in this newly discovered but far from new solar system were already older than the earth is now (about 4.5 billion years old...give or take).

Whether old or new, near or far, it all reminds me that my own little world is kind of small.  I tend to think and live within my own self-drawn boundaries, a relatively miniscule sphere of influence and activity, as if this is all there is.  That's kind of sad, really.  Because, in reality, there is so much more--much of which--MOST of which has yet to be discovered.

Science is a wonder.  It continues to insist that there is more, and continues to prove it, too.  Religion, on the other hand, more often closes rank on a rule-based world in which all that exists is already well-defined.  No wonder the two often clash, and that's too bad.  Because GOOD religion is not incompatible with science--in fact it seeks to do the very same things that science does: to live in the mystery while searching for greater understanding.  The challenge, for those religiously oriented, is to steer far and wide from any notion that we have it all figured out.  Because as soon as we say "we know it all" a new discovery will remind us that we don't...not even close.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 

When the Dog Bites

It's mostly healed now.  Mostly.

On Christmas Eve, with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head, I went out for an afternoon jog around the neighborhood.  Just up a nearby street, a small dog (with sharp teeth!) ran out to "greet" me with some Christmas cheer.  I limped home, but not after asking the man who'd called out after the dog if the dog had all his shots.  I wasn't particularly interested in getting a case of rabies as a memento of the holidays.

"Not my dog," he said, as he quickly walked into a house.  "Just helping a friend."

Now, you might expect that once he, or perhaps the dog's caretaker, learned that I'd been bitten there would have been some sign of concern for my well-being.  Unfortunately, whatever spirit they were in, it was not one of care or (dare I say it?) remorse.  Not even an "Are you OK?"

Like I said, the dog bite is mostly healed now.  There was no infection, no rabies.  But I have to be honest, there's a little more healing needed.  You see, the lack of concern shown me has left me bitter and angry toward these strangers.  I've thought about ways to get back--maybe calling animal control or putting up warning posters on their street...I even stopped by the police department to see if they could do something.  And while I have a genuine concern that the dog may be a menace to others less hale and hearty than I, at this point my real concern is this:  how do I let it go and forgive?  How do I truly heal?

Maybe you've been bitten a time or two in the past too. Maybe you've walked away from a situation or encounter feeling wounded.  Time has helped heal things, sure, but beneath the surface there's more healing that needs to happen.  What can you do?  Should you just let it gnaw away at you?  Would you feel better if it could somehow be resolved?  Is there something you can do to help heal the wound?  And what if the other parties involved aren't interested?  Then what?

Forgiveness is a tricky thing--it's hard to do alone and hard to live without.  But in the end, if we don't even try, those old wounds will never heal.  And maybe, in the end, it's in the trying--in the reaching out--in the desire--that the real healing happens.

"How many times should I forgive?"

Here's to a 2015 overflowing with healing and hope: less growling and more healing!  If you enjoy reading, pass them on--invite your friends to subscribe to these occasional posts too at www.realacorns.blogspot.com.

(c) Steve Fiechter, 2015

It's (not!) All In My Head

Not long ago I found myself challenged by some circumstances at work.  As I shared what was going on with a friend, I was (wisely!) reminded that there are many things that are out of my control.

"Steve," he said, "just remember, it's not all in your head."

It was good to be reminded that some things happen in due time and at the will of powers beyond my control.  There are limits to my reach.

There are also limits to that philosophy. Some things ARE within my reach and under my control.... things like my attitude and how I react to the situation at hand.

The trick?  It's in knowing myself and knowing the difference.

And maybe that's a good way to start off a new year--with a heightened sense of awareness:  what can I change, and how can I change?

So here's to a new year:

The serenity to accept the things we cannot change...

The courage to change the things we can...

The wisdom to know the difference...

Wishing you a joyful 2015!  If you enjoy reading, feel free to share, and encourage your friends to follow at www.realacorns.blogspot.com.  Thanks!

(c) 2015, Stephen Fiechter