Hug It Out...

This week I was liberated from a situation in my life that was a massive source of stress. Because I was so stressed and tense 99% of the time, it really showed in my face; in fact, not long ago one of my friends told me that she missed the "old me" - she said that I never smiled anymore. That really pissed me off.

One of the things that the "old me" did often was to hug total strangers. You know you've seen them; that person you notice in passing who just looks like they could use a big hug. I don't know if it's because I don't look threatening, or if it's because I just do it before they can react...but not one person has ever pulled away. And rather than look angry or embarrassed, their entire being seems to relax; then they say thank you, and that's my cue to leave. Generally, there's no discussion; no dissection of what had just transpired, as I believe we've communicated in a language that is understood by everyone. We, the recipient and I...we get it.

I LOVE the fact that the young'uns get it, as detailed in this awesome article from MSNBC. I think that Carrie Osbourne, a sixth-grade teacher at Claire Lilienthal Alternative School, says it best. She stated that "hugging was a powerful and positive sign that children are inclined to nurture one another, breaking down barriers. “And it gets to that core that every person wants to feel cared for, regardless of your age or how cool you are or how cool you think you are.”

I believe in the power of touch, and that in that tiny bit of contact lies a whole world of healing. The best part is that in the process, I'm healed and recharged as well. This coming week, I'll be spending an evening with Ammachi, the "hugging saint from India" who will be in LA next week for her yearly visit. You can read more about her here. She is an amazing woman put here for the simplest of reasons, doing work that is almost too complex to break down to an understandable level. And isn't that the way of mystery?

While in the middle of all my icky life-nonsense, I was surrounded by people who hugged me and told me that everything would work out. They were right, it did work out. And you know what? Watch out, because I'm back. Arms open.

We seem to be forgetting something....

Today is Memorial Day...right? The meaning of the day isn't lost on me, but it sure seems to be lost on more than a few people out there. As I recall, it's the day we honor all those who have died in service to our nation, from the Revolutionary War to the present. As much as I love to have another day away from the office, I can't help but think that we're not doing something right when Memorial Day becomes a hotlinks and Budweiser holiday.

I was with my volunteer organization (Soldiers' Angels) this past Saturday at the Highland Games in Orange County, doing what we do...educating the public about civilian troop support efforts and trying to enlist their help. At best, consciousness raising is the most you can hope for. What I found most fascinating was the reaction of the adults I encountered. At each booth we set up at a public event, one entire side of the booth is a dedicated letter writing area. We have note cards and pens (and crayons for the kids, but we'll get to that in a minute), and ask if they'd like to jot down a few words of encouragement to a deployed soldier. We vet them for hate mail at the end of the day; and yes people do write really horrible things and drop them into the box. I suppose they think we won't actually go through and read them. Once cleared, the notes are forwarded to CO's and Chaplains for distribution to those who don't get mail from home. And there are LOTS of them - as I write this there are 470 soldiers who are not hearing from loved ones and are waiting for adoption by one of you. But I digress...

Ah yes, the notes...adults who will stand and rave about what a great job we SA volunteers are doing, actually recoil in horror when we ask them to just write a little note. As if by doing so, they are somehow complicit in a wartime aggression and they don't want to soil their hands. Children on the other hand, become part poet and part Picasso. They have an understanding of missing your parents, of needing to be connected; and because writing to someone has not yet become an obligation, they are totally dialed in to the joy of sending and receiving a letter. Their artwork choked me up, their struggle to make it perfect because they understood that it was important, well... that made me have to take a walk.

So today I ask you to be get in touch with your inner 8 year old. Think about exactly what Memorial Day means. It means that someone will be missing someone today. That not everyone will be knocking back a beer, hovering over the BBQ, and laughing with their friends. Today is the day we want them to know that we acknowledge their loss.

To bring us together in remembrance, Congress officially established the National Moment of Remembrance in 2000. This act of reflection will take place at 3pm today wherever you are. Major League Baseball games will stop, Amtrak trains will blow their whistles, and 6,200 Buglers Across America will play "Taps." I hope you join them - and me - for just a brief moment.

Since we're on the subject of reflective silence and the military; I thought I'd leave you with a quiet and powerful performance by the Marine Corps Silent Drill Team. There's a mournful beauty in what they do that just seems to be kind of appropriate.

Oh..and the number is now up to 477.
Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti

Hello In There

In my nocturnal wanderings, I came across a post on the Craigslist Rants and Raves site from a woman who is clearly psychotic and at the same time, is struggling so hard to maintain her sense of dignity and self. I ended up reading her blog from start to finish. It took me hours.

It reminded me of the time I spent in the Mental Health unit at tho hospital in which I worked, observing the "guests" in preparation for my "PART" instructor certification. "PART" (Professional Assault Response Training) is a system of crisis intervention that stresses deescalation of the event and the maintenance of the rights and dignity of the patient. Very humane and in a way deeply spiritual...but I digress.

There the day was spent with a lovely (and I really mean that) group of people with internal wiring that was somewhat frayed. And yet, in spite of their ragged edges, they were as aware as you and I of their most basic needs...the need to be heard, to be believed and validated, to express their fears in the hopes that someone would notice and maybe help, and most important - their need to feel safe.

My heart breaks for this woman. My heart REALLY breaks for her children. I know what it's like to grow up with a mentally ill parent. It's a special kind of hell you can't ever adequately describe to someone who hasn't experienced it.

The signature on my regular email contains the quote " Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some sort of battle." Reading her blog is a glaring reminder of that. She's not muttering and digging through the trash, she's not urine soaked and sitting on a bus bench shouting at the sky. She's a mom worried about her kids, trying to pay her bills and balance her life...all while wearing a fried egg on her forehead, unaware that we're the only ones who can see it.

Life is Precious

One of my co-workers attends the Sundance Film Festival every year, and every year he comes back raving about a film that most will never see. The trailer from this years selection reduced me to tears. If you think you're tough enough, I strongly suggest that you check it out if it comes your way.

The fact that the past few years have been beyond shitty for me is not news to those who know me. And yet, I wake up every day and put one foot in front of the other. That's what we're supposed to do, right? To do otherwise is just plain cowardice. But even when buried in all the icky stuff, I cannot help but hear the chant that shows up at the end of the trailer. Given how tough times are these days, maybe we should all learn the chant.

Life is hard. Life is short. Life is painful. Life is rich. Life is precious.