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

Happy Holidays...

"Happy Holidays!"

The stranger called out to me as I rode my bike around Lake Hollywood.

"Happy Holidays!"  I called back.

Late December can be a difficult time.  Even for those who don't struggle through the shorter days (and longer nights!), the season can be fraught with uncertainty:  mounting bills, colder weather, a dwindling food supply.  Maybe that's why, across the centuries and throughout the variety of human experiences, cultures and traditions, this time of year has been a time for celebrating.  If we have a party, we'll all feel a little better!  So we have Solstice and Kwanzaa, Hanukkah and Christmas--to name but a few--each rooted in faith and tradition, each an opportunity to celebrate with renewed hope. 

The way we celebrate Christmas today would have been unrecognizable to the man named Jesus of Nazareth.  Wreaths and evergreen trees and holly are symbols from Pagan traditions.  Falling snow would be a strange sight to someone living in the eastern Mediterranean.  Mother Mary didn't spend her time in the kitchen baking springerle or krumkaka.  The Wassail Bowl and the Yule Log are not traditions rooted in the belief that God broke into human history in a unique way in the life of the Galilean Jesus.  Christmas as we know and celebrate it, while wonderful in its own right, is hardly Christian.  

That's why I have trouble getting worked up over someone I don't know wishing me a Happy Holiday.  That stranger has no way of knowing what makes the Holidays HOLY for me any more than I know what makes them HOLY for her.  

And yet, how incredibly holy and hopeful that each of us can wish the other a joyous season without knowing anything more than that we share in being human.

Just like God.

Happy Holy-days to you and yours!

Langsam!

It means slowly.  I used to hear it a lot.  My Grandma would watch me rushing around, and over and over again I'd hear her say: 

"Langsam, langsam!"  "Slow down!"

If you know anything about German culture, you know that Germans aren't famous for being patient.  Punctuality and precision, yes.  Patience?  Not so much.  And even though Southern Germans, like my Grandma, have a reputation for being a bit more laid back, that's only by a standard measured against Northern Germans, not American kids from New Jersey.  Even so, my impatience and regular rushing around were apparently cause enough to elicit my very German grandmother's regular admonition: 

"Don't be so hasty!"

I've always heard that patience is a virtue, but I don't buy it.  Sure, it makes sense to set your mind at ease when confronted with situations that are out of your control.  It doesn't help matters to stomp your feet and snort and grumble when you're on the slow line at Starbucks (I've tried, believe me).  Being patient can help get you home safely on a jammed freeway.  But a virtue?

It seems to me that patience is an excuse.  Too often, when the time to act is NOW, patience is used as a justification for inaction.  Seriously, folks, how long should we wait for justice?  How long should we sit around and hope that someone else takes the bull by the horns?  How long must people languish in poverty and despair?  Until the time is right?  What time would that be?

The time is now.  Patience is no virtue when opportunity is slipping away.  Patience is no virtue when the homeless are dying on the streets.  Patience is no virtue when people are silenced or imprisoned unjustly.  Patience is no virtue when we live in a society where the color of one's skin determines how they are treated.  Patience is no virtue when anyone has to wait for the slowly shifting tides of public option in order to gain equal treatment under the law.

My Grandma was right, ich habe kein Ruhe im Arsch.  I'm not very patient.  I come by it honestly.  Life is short, and people need us, and somewhere in all the self-centered hustle and bustle of our busy world, I can still hear a voice calling....and it's asking, "How long must I wait?"

"This is the day...this is the day!"  Carpe diem.  Seize it. 

Unf*ck....

Wait!  Before you hit delete...before you walk away in a huff, think about it!

It's so clear that people around the world are becoming more and more dissatisfied with the way things are.  In every corner of the globe ordinary people are simply giving up hope.  The messages from Wall Street and K Street and Madison Avenue don't help:  "It's all about ME and my special interests." 

You and I are just left feeling disconnected, hopeless and helpless.

I don't know about you, but sometimes I just want to say "f*ck it!"  Sometimes I just want to give up. 

I saw a t-shirt today.  It said "Unf*ck the world."  I looked at that t-shirt and realized that it is, in a nutshell, the message of Jesus.  Of course, Jesus didn't put it  quite that way--he said things like "Love your neighbor" and "Welcome the stranger" and "Feed my sheep."  But in essence what Jesus was saying was, "Unf*ck the world."  Make it better.  Do what you can.  In the face of insurmountable odds, even if you feel hopeless and helpless, do one thing that makes the world better: send a note, pick up some trash, email your representative, give alms, cook a meal,  hold the door, smile.  Because the only way the tide will turn--the only way the miracle will happen--is if people like you and me, one by one, act as if it's worth the effort.

"If you have done it for the least of them, you have done it for me."  --Jesus of Nazareth

Wonder View

Climbing up into and around the hills of Hollywood, it is, I believe, a well-named street:  Wonderview.

It's well-named because of what you experience when you get to the top: as Wonderview winds around you are treated to panoramic views of this amazing City of the Angels.  From one side, with Hollywood literally at your feet, you can see both East and Westsides, Downtown and Mid-Wilshire and Century City...and on a clear day the Baldwin Hills and the Bay.  Circle around and the San Fernando Valley spreads out in front of you--Universal City and beyond: the Verdugos, the San Gabriels, the Angeles National Forest.  It's a wonderful view.

But on a glorious and clear morning, as I struggle to pedal to the top, another reason the street is well-named comes to mind.  You see, through my grunting and grinding and panting and sweating I start to wonder if the view is really going to be worth the effort it takes to get there.

Life is like that, isn't it?  So often we wonder if it's worth the effort--the grunting and grinding and panting and sweating--when suddenly the view becomes clear and we are treated to a slice of the sublime.  We stop wondering and simply view.

And I suppose the trick is simply this: as we struggle along from day to day, grinding away in a seemingly endless climb, to remember what's coming and just keep going. 

Because the view from the top is wonderful.