thisihumblyspeak

I am a fortunate woman, and I consider my good fortune not as an indication of personal merit or entitlement, but as an obligation to recognize the needs of others. I am also a happy woman,  but unfortunately, seldom is happiness communicated. It is usually what is wrong with the world that is often recited and despair seems to have the upper hand over hope.  

I am convinced that it is important to announce that  I am happy, even though such an announcement is not as dramatic as the woes of despair and anguish. So,  I write… reflections on the inanimate, with thoughts and emotions that show an ideology of ethics and a content heart; a leaning toward the invisible power in a world that today relies on the visible. My thoughts are no different than yours. They stem from that place in my heart where instinctively, the certainty of the Golden Rule, the importance of love and giving, experiencing the moment, God, family, and the value of life are all felt through life‘s lessons. And in order for me to make this life more enjoyable, I feel I must stick to my principles, and hope that my readers will relate to some of these feeling and thoughts and the simple joy I derive from faith that I have in Deity.

 You see, I love life, and I usually enjoy living my life in the present regardless of the complex difficulties that surround it. I know that the present paints a grim picture. Young graduates are unemployed, very often shattering their impatient goals, while older people are reaching retirement and being forced to live on very little. Adults who work are spending longer hours away from home in an attempt to support their families, with little time left to dream. More and more families are being stricken with the untimely departures of their loved ones. The ugly side of human nature is often in the news. There are genocides, terrorism, religious wars, economic crises, poverty, depression, unhappiness,  discontent among all. Even nature appears to have taken an angry turn toward destruction with tornadoes, earthquakes, and tsunamis. So what am I doing here writing about things that seem irrelevant and are remote from the challenges of the present?  All these things are as much a part of my world as they are yours. These life challenges seem to bring with them an uncertainty and doubt, and a movement against traditional religion with an “anger“  against God.  Judgements and tempers flare.  Both anti-God groups and religious groups attempt to impose their beliefs. Debates go on proving or disproving the existence of God,  and no-one is convinced of either side.

 For me, religion is not about believing “things”, it is about behaving differently. The only way I know the sacred, God, the Divine, is through experience. It is not intellect.You cannot debate what touches your heart, what you feel and what you experience. For instance, you may hear certain music that takes you into a different world down memory lane…you feel the nostalgia or the ecstasy in the memory it unfolds. You cannot debate that feeling. Another example; you see your child, eyes twinkling looking at you with a beaming smile ready to kick that soccer ball and saying “look at me daddy” and you are immeasurably and profoundly  touched to the point of appetite suppressing gut  tingling satisfaction. How can you debate that? Or, your eyes drift across a crowded room to meet your lover’s gaze and you are transported into shared  euphoria. There’s no debate there either. Now I’m sure you can explain to me that scientifically, these responses are chemical reactions in the human brain, or you can give me a social or psychological explanation as to why they touch my heart, but what would it matter? I know what I know. I know what I feel. And I experience the Divine in the same way as I experience memory, music and love. In a heart-centered, instinctive way, definitely not an intellectual way.   As Benjamin Franklin said,  “The way to see faith is to shut  the eye of reason.” I am convinced that there is a God deposited in each of us…and that our souls reflect our deeds in the hereafter.  I cannot prove to you that there is a life hereafter, but neither can I disprove it.  I can tell you this.  I know what I feel. I know what I know. I am a happy woman.

Sometimes, I lose my real sense of direction in life. Sometimes, the hats I wear and my tendency to respond positively to requests cause me to become distracted and shift from my true compass, the one that says I care about all things for they are bigger than myself. Sometimes, my compass sways. Today, it did just that.

I was rushed. I was driving between “obligations” and errands.
“Why do I have to comply all the time?” I blurted in frustration.  “I have my own life. I want to be free.”
“You are free,” whispered Soul.
“No, I’m not,” I retorted.  “I have to answer to you all the time.” I felt Soul flinch ever so slightly. She was taken aback by my out-of-character brashness.
She asked, “What do you want?”
“I want to be free to do whatever I want, if ever I want and whenever I want.”
“What’s stopping you?” she said over my shoulder.
“You. You’re stopping me. You’re holding me back,” I blurted before she had the chance to drown the thought.
“And how am I holding you back?” She was getting defensive. “Haven’t I always said ‘do whatever you want… the opportunities are endless?'” She reminded me, and with a silly grin, she recited an old nursery rhyme from childhood. “Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, doctor, dentist, actor, lawyer, rich man, poor man, beggar man, but NO thief,” Soul laughed.
“Seriously,” I said. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about guilt. I’m talking about feeling obligated that I have to comply to make YOU happy.” I lowered my voice and in a barely audible whisper I muttered, “I don’t want to let you down.”

I felt the naked intensity of Soul’s love rise inside me, and as tears welled in my eyes, I pulled over to the side of the road.
“Listen,” she said, her voice soft yet firm; a pleasing tone that suited her soft gray hair. “Your freedom to be whoever and however you want to be…good, bad, caring, uncaring, friendly, distant, cheerful, grumpy, joyful, resentful is a choice you make, free of all coercion. That is your inalienable right. If you are uncomfortable in your behavior, then find your compass, your authentic truth and live it. I do not dictate your choices. They are yours alone,” she repeated.  She paused,  then added, “I have no doubt that within you is also the capacity to reach for the best.”
“Yeah, but sometimes, just sometimes, I disconnect from my authenticity, and before I can act quickly on my root thought, guilt and discomfort move in because I know  you won’t approve.” I was still struggling with my conflicting emotions.
“Guilt is not a bad thing,” said Soul. “Guilt is a learned response. It is the scale that measures your conscience against what you’ve been taught as ‘should’ or ‘should not’ do. If used as just that, guilt is a good thing. But more importantly, there is no ‘should’ or ‘should not’. There is only your freedom to choose.” Soul pierced deeper.  “If you choose to, you can ignore me. You can change the course of your being as you desire. It is your choice, not chance that determines who you are, and remember,” Soul said,  “I am who I am through you and your choices.”

“I know that,” I sighed.

“Don’t be so glum about it!” exclaimed Soul.  “You’re the one who philosophized  that we should value most our freedom, but not at the expense of our intrinsic values and morals. You said, ‘No God given right comes without an obligation to take responsibility for what we individually do.’”

“That was then,” I said with a slight of the hand, trying to push aside the truth to the words. Too often, when I expressed my passion to experience life and to live it carefree, Soul would quote me my past teachings and bring me back to face my authenticity to do what I knew in my heart to be right.  Truth set in. Soul, the gentle witness to my behavior…I nurture her with my best thoughts (and sometimes my worst)… and she guides me through my life and code of conduct.  Our dialogues serve to remind me that she is my scale of conscience, my compass, my authentic power.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Soul broke the silence.
“Yup!” I started the car.  “Let’s see… which ‘obligation’ first?”
“Your choice, you decide,” said Soul.
“You know you’re preachy,” I muttered under my breath. Then, with a regained sense of direction, I proclaimed, “I love this freedom of mine!”
“So do I,” whispered Soul. “So do I.”

 (For all the women in honor of International Women’s Day) 

It was a beautiful March morning and I was touching base with Deegeen Dzila again.

“I’m glad you’re visiting,” she said. She sounded unusually alert.

I poured my coffee.

“Talk to me. What’s new?” she asked, commanding, but with the curiosity of a child.

“Well, it’s International Women’s month,” I gleamed with pride. Deegeen Dzila, an educated woman herself, had encouraged independent thinking of women from as far back as I could remember. She had raised the bar for many a young girl of her generation to stand for the right to be equally educated. Women had come a long way from our grandmothers’ and mothers’ worlds of holding tight to their chests the anger of submission and inequality. In my chest was great pride for the women who had achieved substantial gains in the field of law, business, medicine, behavioral sciences, politics, engineering, the corporate world and other areas of professionalism that were traditionally thought to be man’s domain. The Women’s Movements of early years and Feminists of the 70’s had paved the way to the plethora of choices that became ours as a direct consequence of our liberation, externally as well as internally.

“Women worked hard and with great personal sacrifice,” I said, “to give the modern woman the opportunities and powers that we now enjoy in….”

“It’s not about getting power,” interrupted Deegeen Dzila. “It’s about how best to effectively use the power that we have.” Silence suddenly dominated the room. It echoed as I set down my coffee cup. She took a deep breath before she continued. “When you come right down to it, our God given power born of millions of years of evolution to carry the maternal mission and nurturing grace of making a home and raising children is our most crucial dominion. It is a woman’s reality; a sacred mission.”

I felt crushed. Was Deegeen Dzila telling me that after all these years of individual and collective plights of women to prove that we could work as well as men and think as well as men was not to be celebrated as an achievement of our God given right? I understand that in the beginning of our plight, we devalued the feminine, denying ourselves our own unique characteristics so that we could be free to behave like men. Words like “maternal” and “nurturing” were considered feminine and therefore weak. We became tough as nails. If men could make business their bottom line, so could we. Our verve to be out in the world where important things were happening overpowered our traditional stay-at-home and somewhat “meaningless” existence. Housewives became homemakers who became domestic engineers. We became powerful externally as well as internally.

“You mean, our God given mission is to be at home raising children?” I asked somewhat defensive.

“No. Women need to be “out in the world” if that’s where they choose to be, but not at the expense of losing sight of our sacred mission to tend to the home and children. Maternal instincts and motherhood are not just for the privileged few. That mission is God given. It belongs to all women. They are the keepers of the balance of humanity, the conscience of nations, the flame and primal homemakers that light the hearth of homes. We are put in charge of raising the future generations. Can man be more powerful than that?” she asked.

At this point, I realized that Deegeen Dzila was not negating the work of my generation and the women of my college years who rose to protect equal rights. She was reminding me that the power of a woman’s ability to fiercely protect her young ones just, as every female advanced mammalian species does to survive, is nonpareil. Who better than a woman will fight for the welfare of a child, or any child? And if we used our powers gained “out in the world” collectively, we could insist that the children of the world no longer bear hunger; that the millions be given a basic education; that punishment for child trafficking be seriously enacted; that the brutalization of children be addressed; the list is endless. Yes, we are the homemakers of the world, the mothers of the children of the world, and the greatest power that lies within us is the ability to protect the primacy of our sacred mission and guard it with pride, making the welfare of our children our bottom line.

“Women are the powerful gender.” She insisted. “We just have to remember to awaken our womanhood.”

For years, for what seems like forever in my life, I’ve known Deegeen Dzila. In her younger days, Deegeen Dzila knew pretty much everything. She was a fighter for pacifism and human rights among her own with weapons of the heart and soul…weapons like confidence, audacity, sheer gumption and faith that led to victory. Now, in her older years, she has made peace with humankind, allowing for weaknesses, but her intolerance of that which causes pain to any child can be seen in anguished contortion on her face at the sound of a child’s cry. It was not until my later years that I realized how richly indulged I was to have her in my life for all the wisdom and “know how” that she has shown.

I went to visit Deegeen Dzila the other day. She was resting in her favorite chair humming an aria tune from an opera. I could tell she was forgetting again. I recognized the look in her eyes as she kept repeating the tune in search of the words to the song. “It’s not important,” she said after a while. “The words aren’t important…it’s the melody that creates the mood that makes the song anyway.” She was trying to skit around her forgetfulness. She looked vulnerable. All the hard edges of a tenacious youth had softened, but her voice was still earnest and commanding. She leaned over as though to reveal a secret. “Love is all that remains,” she said. “Nothing else really matters.”
She lowered her voice, almost apologetic. “I forget faces. I forget people and their roles in my life. I forget words and I forget names. Places I’ve been and things that I’ve seen all seem to disappear,” she continued. “Sometimes, I don’t even belong …not just to this world, but even to myself, I don’t belong.”
“That’s not true,” I blurted. She ignored me.
“I don’t know much these days,” she continued, “but I do know what’s inside,” she said as she placed her graceful hand over her heart and thumped a few beats.”It’s love… etched in my bones. Love. It’s…stronger…” She was searching for the right words. “It’s stronger than the individual, the self. It is what flows like molten lava from the core of my being into my heart and through my veins. This feeling is larger than any need to be right. It’s all encompassing. There is no explanation. It’s simply there. It tells me I’ve been loved, but more than that,” she said as she looked me in the eye, “more than that, it tells me that I feel love. That’s something I won’t forget…I can’t forget. ” She stopped for a moment as if to catch her breath, then, with the same tenacity she added. “It’s really not that complicated, my dear. Truth is, love is and has always been the key element in life.”
Deegeen Dzila’s words began to sink in. She wasn’t just reciting something that had been said and quoted in books from the begining of time. She was describing and clinging on to the only thing that she was sure of never losing… the emotion of love. I sank deeper into thought. Love is ubiquitous in different forms. But how well had I understood these terms of love conceptually? Romantic as I am, I had already passed that stage of often mistaking love as generally being just romantic. I could not ignore the majesty of the feeling experienced through a tender mother’s touch, a fatherly concern or a sisterly/brotherly affection, or a passionate lover’s kiss. The story of my life…as a child, coming of age, wandering adult, falling “in love,” settling, parenting, testing my commitments and recognizing my mortality… unfolded through love. Whether is was security love, friendship love, romantic love or unconditional love, it was these ‘loves’ that had been the motivating forces in all that I did.
In other words, the experience of love, omnipresent, is a matter of survival. As infants, we need to be held and touched and swaddled in the arms of parents or caretakers in order to survive. This need for love continues throughout our lives. We experience it satiated through puppy love, infatuation, obsessive love, self-love, brotherly love, conditional love, tough love, paternal love, patriotism, eros, romantic love, Divine love. We require regular doses of it, through touch, physical contact, companionship, friendship, care and affection, in order to feel good, to feel like we belong in this world.

Deegeen Dzila coughed as she moved to find a more comfortable position in her chair. She took my hand in hers and I felt the intense warmth of her delicate hands. “Love is everything,” she repeated. “It is the ultimate in selflessness of mind, body and soul.”
At that moment, time and space disappeared. Deegeen Dzila had drawn me into her realm.
“But what happens to the love when mind and body don’t function?” I dared to ask, having caught her in such a lucid moment.
“That’s why you take care of your soul,” she replied. “Love lives in your soul.”

The timer on my outdoor lights was off. The lights came on too early in the afternoon and with the longer days of spring and summer, they needed to be set forward. Today, I did just that.

As I punched the numbers to move the clock forward, I thought what if I really could move my personal clock and skip a day or two, or even better, rewind my life by a day or two or three? Or what if I stopped the clock of my life at this perfect moment? I started to consider the options.
If I stopped the clock now, the day belonged to me. The beauty of the blue sky was mine. The sun with its first shower of light glimmering through the branches of the olive tree was mine. The sparrows nesting above my front door. All the birds in the trees. Even the neighbor’s cat stretched out on the front porch was mine. It was such an exhilarating moment. I considered stopping the world right there and making today go on forever. But, I love life. How would I know what I’d be missing tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that if today was forever?

Next, I considered the option of rewinding my life. Certainly, the course of my life would be different if given the chance to apply all that I know now, to my life the way it was then. As tempting as it was, if I couldn’t do things perfectly the first time around, would I be able to do it right the second time? Or would I need a third time and a fourth? The more I thought about it, the more I rejected the idea. I am not one for perfection when it comes to the process of life. It’s not my style. After all, I’m the one who refused to go to my wedding rehearsal because “life is not a written script,” I said. As tempted as I was at the thought of being able to “right” the “wrongs” of some of the things that I did, and as much as I may want to get a chance to “right” the “wrongs”, everything that has happened in my life from events to people brings me to the place where I am right now. The events and choices I have made are woven together into a tapestry of intricate pattern that is my life. Assuming my life is a tapestry from start to finish, then like all stitchery, I have a wrong and a right side. If I turn the tapestry of my life thus far over to the “wrong” side, to the back where all the knots and adjoining threads are hidden, I see the beauty of redemption…a gradual decline of mixed up and messier threads as the tapestry of my life progresses over the years. The design on the back side (considered the “wrong” side) is slowly becoming less messy. And perhaps over time, the beauty of those random pieces of thread that work together will resemble the unique pieces of stitchery that, unless looked under extreme scrutiny, appear the same on the back as they do on the front. Nothing less than beautiful!

I finally got the clock right on the outdoor lights. I walked under the sparrows’ nest and through my front door and entered into real time. Today, like everyday is a new day. It is a day to do things right, make good choices and decide wisely. It is a day to live with joy. Everyday, without turning back time, I have the opportunity to clean my slate and make it count.

The next 24 hours was mine.