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Word
Gems
Personal Statement #16
February 9, 2009
So, here I am. It's 3:50 PM. 1968. Sitting in my high school science class. Minding my own business; and that of a few others, too, of course. Waiting for the bell to ring. Positioned, at the ready, about to burst out of those well-surveyed doors.
"Attention choir members. We're expecting a large crowd tonight, so be sure to arrive at the gym one hour before this evening's performance. Mr. Klipfel needs you to be ready by 7 PM for last minute instructions."
But, what's this! this abrupt message over the intercom! Principal Schweitzer's friendly but droning voice, telling me of... A public choir presentation?! ... tonight?! How could this be? Why didn't anybody tell me? I mean, how can you just spring these things on innocent people like this without notice? I never miss choir class. So how'cum Mr. Klipfel never mentioned this? sigh... I remember this incident very well, and I can see myself, feeling miffed and hard-done-by, at this announcement. Of course, Mr. Klipfel had been preparing the choir, of which I was a member... but, in body only, apparently. He'd been preparing us for this performance for weeks. I'm sure he spoke of little else. sigh...
(1968) Tom Klipfel, Napoleon High Music Director, and the Girls' Chorus
Editor's note: Well, I ask you now, who among us could ever trust a man such as this? one with sordid reputation, guilty of engineering public musical performances, by whim, at a moment's notice [smile].
Awareness... as Life itself Spiritual teachers sometimes distill the entire purpose of our coming to this world as that of growing into a state of greater... awareness! Implicit within this instruction is the view of the universe as one of abundance. There is no shortage or lack of any truly good thing. What we need and require is all about us - if only we had eyes to see. In my writings I have shared some of the process of my own improving sightedness, a gradual unfolding and opening of myself to Reality... an awareness... a process that would allow me to see what happened, and what did not, and what must be done now; all of which is not often a pleasant walk in the park (or, for me, on the prairie). Just today my inner-self served up this image of myself in high school. And as I think of that time, and that particular day, I don't know whether to laugh, cry, or shout... how could I have attended all of those choir classes without knowing of the big public event? And I have to ask myself. How could I have been so out-of-it... so distracted... so disconnected... so lacking in awareness! Because the larger issue here is this: if I was so immersed in my dullness then... what else, what other things, even more important... did I miss out on? Now I'm starting to feel bad.
Why I Write These Articles I have stated that it is my hope that others might benefit by reading of my own struggles to enter into the light of awareness. And I, too, benefit by writing these things, as I clarify my own thoughts. But there is another reason that I write.
That young high school boy was not exactly fully present, fully engaged, in the flow of life... not exactly. Yes, there were reasons for this, as I discuss elsewhere; but my reaction to all of that was my own. I am a human being and, therefore, able to choose a particular reaction to specific events. And I chose the path too easily taken, that of self-isolation, disconnection, and victimhood. There were some who tried to reach me during that time... some who loved me... some whom, in my deepest self, I loved. But I would not respond to them; indeed, would not be able to do so, in any meaningful sense, for decades to come. And so... I write these articles for them... a very small number... sometimes, one. These few who loved me deserve an explanation from me, regarding what I, in my dullness and fears... did... and did not do.
I suspect, before I die, that many will read what I have to say in these Personal Statements - not because I am a "great writer" - but because the questions raised and discussed here are of paramount importance to every thinking person... every person, ready to seek awareness. But even without public distinction, I would write all of these things, if only for the benefit of those few who loved me. One example comes to my mind, one that I always think of, designedly cryptic for our purposes here. During that time, so long ago now, a friend came to me with an announcement, some news of high moment. It could have changed my life. It should have. I regret that it did not. The very fact that it was offered to me constituted an honor for me, that I should have been deemed worthy to receive it. I did nothing. I should have... my deepest-self wanted to respond. Worse, later, when I would see this friend again, I would act as if nothing had transpired, as if what had been given were of no value. In my defense, which is not a defense, I will only say that I, in my blindness, lacked the capacity to respond; even so, I would reap a natural retribution. Unknown to me then, this incident would be a most pivotal point in my life; and the long-term effects, of my insensitivity that day, are ones from which I have not yet recovered. Lack of awareness... has its consequences.
The Grandmother Who Saved Me This article is meant to focus upon my Grandma Becker. It is no poetic expression when I say that she - along with a few others, such as my Grandma Marquart - saved me. What does one say to another to whom one owes the salvation of one's heart and soul? Because without Grandma Becker, my life, very likely, I sense, would have flamed-out; a short meteoric burst of more heat than light; a self-consumed husk of bitterness and anger; one more empty-shell casualty on the scrapheap of what, in darker moments, we might cynically refer to as life. How does one honor a person who saves another? I have this unformed thought, struggling, deep within myself, attempting to summarize all that I received from, all that I owe, Grandma. I will see if I can allow it to come out... my younger cousin will help me right now.
Confessions of Seph Some years ago I was visiting my relatives in Bismarck. I stopped in to see Uncle Joe's son, my cousin, Joey, Jr., a manager at a local car dealership. So, I walk in and I see Joey - he's working with some customers. I can hear them talking. And I am remarking to myself: "This kid has some highly developed people skills." Joey is a genuinely nice person, which helps, but, in addition to that, I detect in him a very high social IQ and a natural way with people. I'm in Joey's office now, and say, "Hey, Seph what's happening?" I haven't seen him in a long while, and it's good to be with this kindred spirit. And I say to Joey: "You know, you are really good with people. I can see why you do well here." Now, Joey could have responded to this small accolade in a number of ways. He could have said, "I'm lucky to have these abilities"; or, he could have said, "Thanks, I've worked hard to develop myself" - all of which would have been true and good responses. But he didn't say any of that. Without even a moment's thought, without even a hint of hesitation, he immediately offers:
Wow! ... now I'm feeling overwhelmed. This is a mystical moment. And we immediately start laughing... without saying a word, each of us knows exactly what is meant... the spiritual force of that "good Grandmother" ... the ripple-effect of her sweet essence, the waves of which, reaching down through time and space, now engulfing us. We have a large extended clan. Grandma and Grandpa had one of those old-fashioned farm families. There were 11 kids - eventually, there would be 51 grandchildren. I was the first. Some of the younger ones would not have known Grandma very well, but among those of us who did, she would be revered, as a veritable family saint. We were sanctified by her presence... baptized by her affection... confirmed in the truth by her good works... all of us were offered a glimpse of a Higher Realm... simply by having known her.
Missing the Awareness Chip Maybe you'll remember the Star Trek movie, Generations, where Data receives his "emotion chip" - at which point he laughs hysterically, much to the consternation of Geordi, as Data begins to understand the punchline of jokes delivered years before.
I was thinking about this today - and how, during those long-ago years, I made my way through life without an "awareness chip." And I now, many years later, stand aghast at myself as I contemplate my interaction with Grandma during those days.
Sigh... how absolutely amazing. Sometimes I think to myself: I wish I could have avoided this-or-that decision back then... but... even if such course correction were to be effected, what good would it do without also becoming more sentient... more conscious... more aware... because a person who doesn't have all of his Christmas tree lights plugged in is really not much good to anyone... not to himself... not even to those whom he loves. Sometimes, the long hard road of experience is the shortest route home; or, as one of my college instructors, Art Mokarow, once said: "Experience is the hardest way to learn; unfortunately, for most of us, it's the only way we'll learn." And it also occurred to me today that the entire life of a grandparent, relative to her grandchild, might be categorized as that of simply waiting for this kid to wake up! ... to wake the hell up ... this glassy-eyed little kid... smiling, yes... pleasant, most times, yes... but so "somewhere else" ... you know, like the doctor testing for blindness, moving her hand, up and down, before the patient's eyes, hoping for a reaction... but without effect. Thankfully, for me, the condition was treatable.
Trading Grandma for Raisin Cookies I remember many times going to her place after school and eating those famous freshly-baked oatmeal-and-raisin cookies of her's ... oh, they were so good, the best! ... "Sorry, can't talk right now, Grandma, gotta run now, besides, got my new comic books, just a little too busy right now, Grandma." Sigh... This is exactly the way it was... waiting for this glassy-eyed kid to wake up! As I retrieve my memories of those days, as I sense her radiant spiritual aura, I suddenly realize that she would sometimes sort of hover over me... in the background... not really daring to come too close... not wanting to pressure me... to smother me with unwanted attention... realizing... that I lacked the capacity for meaningful interaction. There is a phrase in the Old Testament, referring to one of the sons of the patriarch Joseph, stating that this kid was "a little cake not turned" -think of a cookie, baked on one side, but still mushy and gooey on the other. For so long, I was that glassy-eyed little boy, stuffing himself with raisin cookies... but also, Grandma's "little cookie not turned." I wouldn't be "baked through" for quite awhile.
Rudyard Kipling's If At age 19, at NDSU, amidst the strife in my parental home, I would receive from Grandma a card and a note. The card featured Kipling's most inspiring poem, If - her note was one of encouragement to me. She wanted me to know that I had not been rejected by her... maybe some others had, but not she... and she wanted me to know that she was still with me.
(1970) at NDSU... the angry young man. Notice my collage on the wall, a collection of photo-ideas, an early forerunner of Word Gems.
"Your father's mother" In Personal Statement #7 I speak of David, my psychic friend. He has the ability to see and hear soul-entities. I visited him in his home last summer. As I entered his living room, David suddenly announced to me:
Well, that's an interesting bit of coffee-table chit-chat, wouldn't you say? But, what I found most striking about David's comment was my own internal reaction to this... which was, essentially, "Yeah, I know." By this I do not mean to say that I had definite knowledge of Grandma's proximity at that moment. It's just that, in recent years, I've had this growing sense... a growing awareness... that she is involved in my life. In fact, via my other psychic friends, she has often indicated her presence, her love for me, and her association with my activities. I think of Grandma everyday - which realization results both from my affection for her and an increasing awareness of her presence. In my Personal Statement #13 I speak of the "troubadours," those altruistically-minded spirit-guides who work with us, not only to bring out the best in us, but as partners in our humanitarianism. The more I devote myself to service-oriented efforts, the greater Grandma's influence in my spirit becomes... as the poet instructs us, "the troubadour will remain." I have learned that I have other "official" spirit guides charged with the duty of overseeing my development; however, my sense is that Grandma, for me, is like a volunteer teacher's aid to my official guides. She is doing what she has always done, ever since I was a tiny boy... still keeping an eye on me; but now, a little more, increasingly so. She involves herself in my projects, as well.
The Closing of the Human Spirit I marvel at my early photos, my pre-teen time
of life. So many of these shots reflect a young boy of open spirit;
innocence; trust... But my teen years, and thereafter, increasingly so, were marked by a different spirit. By age 19, I had lost that glow of life in my eyes, that carefree expectation of all things working for good. I had become angry. I know, of course, that my experience is not unique. And
I think we would do well to ask the question, how does one
come close to losing one's soul? How does the human soul, made in the image
of God, the repository of all that is good - joy, compassion, trust,
altruism, idealism - all of the wonderful traits that blaze forth
from the beaming eyes of little children... how do we manage to
stifle that glory within? how do we manage to close the open
hand of the soul... and turn it into a
raised fist? Everyone's story is different, but each
story is the same... someone hurts us, we hurt ourselves, with bad
choices, we begin to withdraw... we enter the war-bunker of our
minds, employing all manner of defense mechanism as we attempt to
protect ourselves... we shut ourselves down, cut ourselves off, from
that basic goodness within, which once shone from our eyes... and in
this war-bunker mentality, this defensive posturing, we
also, unthinkingly, cut ourselves off from those who love
us. Why those
who love us? We don't really mean to do that - it's just a
natural consequence of what we are doing to
ourselves. All of this defensiveness, layer upon growing layer of defensiveness, separates us from our deepest feelings, even feelings of love for those closest to us... cuts us off from our true selves... and we begin to lose touch with our own inner goodness. The rejection we suffer by some causes us to believe the propaganda that we are essentially unlovable, and we consequently begin to reject ourselves, a form of self-loathing. All of this angers us deeply, enrages our spirit. And in this attitude of self-condemnation, it becomes difficult to recognize those who would love us. We no longer so readily believe that another would or could love us; and, most tragically of all, sometimes we will pathologically and preemptively reject a lover, or loved one, in our distorted and perceived assessment of their imminent rejection of us! How sad and how tragic!
There is no church doctrine, no hidden Greek word, no sacred incantation, no holy sign to be marked on one's forehead, that could ever heal the rage and self-loathing in my heart. Because in order to be saved... I mean, in any meaningful and real sense... actually healed on the inside, with the fermenting anger now progressively subsiding, and replaced by a sense of wholeness and wellness. There's only one thing that will offer that kind of healing. We are saved by love... even the perception of love. And when we finally believe that another person actually loves us; that someone actually might take delight in our very being, just because we are alive; only then might we allow for the possibility that we might, after all, be worth something... and worth saving. Grandma Becker was one of those who saved me. Later in life, I began to remember her love for me; also, the love I had received from a few others.
And in that perception of love, that remembrance of love, I began a process which would reverse and heal the damage to my heart, which had emotionally crippled me 30 years before. Love from another has healing powers because it is affirmation of our own worth as a human being; as such, it gives us permission to believe in our own basic goodness; it begins to convince us that we just might have a future... and that it is a good one.
My dear Uncle Rocus... village idiot I can see him now... that halting, shuffling gait. He is mumbling to himself... muttering... always muttering. His days are all alike, circumnavigating our small town, dutifully making his stops at various shops. Diligent, he gets an early start, always early... but returns to eat. Uncle Rocus, Grandma's brother, lives in the basement of her house. Always hungry. So hungry. Grandma needs to tell him to leave the table, or he will literally eat everything within reach. Will not stop. The story is told of him... some farm accident in his youth... a fall? a blow to the head? ... never the same again... As I access my buried memories of Uncle, his energies, I notice something about his aura. He is so gentle in spirit. He is a two year-old trapped in a 70 year-old's body. I see him now in one of his favorite past-times. He, unself-consciously, without sense of impropriety, walks up to those in private conversation. He does not have the ability to join in; but I see his childlike curiosity as he intently studies each speaker... like a baby fascinated with the face of his mother... this look of wonderment in his eyes. And now I am feeling bad... for him... as I mentally witness what might happen next... would so often happen next... happened so many times, that, until I woke from my stupor, I thought this was normal... He is now subjected to a verbal hazing. With words, they push him around. Pull his strings. Make him sing-and-dance. They have found his weak spot. He cannot handle teasing - especially about girls. They now abuse him with accusations of some liaison... about his "girlfriend" ... they cast their stones in German... he mutters loudly in German... "is she not your wife?" they goad him, and will not stop... he is so flustered and embarrassed now... you can see him turning red... and these uncivil ones, so very impressed with themselves, now, finally, having found someone less intelligent to badger... he is so disoriented, blustering in German, enraged, like a dog that has been repeatedly poked with a stick... all amidst a chorus of pompous jackass-laughter. I saw this bitter farce re-enacted dozens of times, the same volley of words hurled at him, every time...
The Essence of Awareness I began this discussion by asserting the importance of awareness. It becomes clearer now, I think, that it is a condition of openness of the human spirit... a spirit once bound, and manipulated, by various fears... but now set free, at the touch of, at the confidence inspired by, another's love. Most of us have been blessed with greater abilities than my Uncle Rocus, but virtually every one of us harbors and nurses tender spots in our egos, which, if touched... or even under threat of battery... will cause us to react in neurotic ways. At the very mention of the word "girlfriend," Rocus would fly into disequilibrium, causing him to lose that little equanimity of mind, that little awareness, that he normally possessed. And what about us? We call them "hot buttons" - and even a mention of these will send us into circuit overload... spinning us out of awareness, out of presence of mind, that little we might normally possess! These past days, as I've thought about Uncle for this writing, I've noticed, more often than I'd care to mention, this perverse dynamic in-play within my own spirit. What if we had no ego to assuage? What if we could not be manipulated by fears? could not be made to sing-and-dance at the mention of a word! ... a mere word! ... talk about being someone's puppet on a string! I am reminded just now of something that Bruce Lee once said:
Wholly and quietly alive... for whatever may come! what a wonderful thought! We intuitively sense that someone able to actually do this, must, of necessity, possess a very high degree of spiritual attainment. What if we could be that flexible in our spirits? so totally accepting and non-judgmental - especially of ourselves - so psychologically whole, that no stick-or-stone from another could threaten us! and all of this would mean that nothing could shut down our sense of awareness! What power! what mastery! over one's own spirit! What would it be like to really see! to be so alert, so ready, for whatever might come!
I have stated that I lost a most important opportunity in my early life because of my lack of awareness. Our problem is that our grievances can seem so very real to us... so very large in our minds... yes, we always see the grievance, but we don't see what we're missing out on... and in this process of self-blindness, we can trade a Grandma for cookies; and a dearest beloved in life for less-than-nothing. This is a very large and very important subject. I would like to discuss this with you again. For now, allow me to say, once more, that there is only one thing that might save us in our blindness - and that is the perception of another person loving us, which healing power might begin to coax us from that self-imposed confinement in that war-bunker of our own minds.
Earlier I asked the question, how shall I honor a Grandmother who saved me? I now see there's only one answer... and that is... by giving her what she wants. It is evident to me, that Grandma, since I was a little boy, has always wanted only one thing for me... my own maturity and growth as a good person. We do not live solely for ourselves; or as a result of our efforts alone - there are no Lone Rangers in the universe. Whatever we have, whatever we are, whatever we might yet become, represents the investment of many concerned others... others who love us. And some of them are invisible to us right now. But they know who we are. And while it is true, in one sense, that our own development is just for us, our own personal crown of achievement, no young soul will evolve into an advanced spiritual entity without large numbers of involved others, helping... every step of the way. And, friends, that's literally true... hey... that's why Grandma walked through that door with me!
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