Tag: gratitude

Books and Freedom

My grandmother was a librarian and schoolteacher. She loved books. My parents also loved reading, and our house had walls covered with bookshelves and books of all kinds. From the time I could read, I visited the local library regularly. It was a wonderful building—an old Victorian house with bay window seats, fireplaces, and rooms filled with books for all ages: children, young adults, and adults. Worlds opened up to me as I read my way through book after book. There was a freedom in that experience, an opportunity to travel to other times, other places. To expand habitual ways of seeing. Books can change your life. It did mine, and it continues to do so.

A well-written book can take you beyond your usual mental meanderings to locations and thoughts heretofore unseen or considered. It awakens the senses and touches the heart. It leaves you breathless with delight or tearful with empathy. It can engender gratitude for a world full of so many unique individuals and experiences. Such books open a door and welcome you inside, freely.

And this freedom is what is now endangered in the U.S. as books deemed a threat to more conservative belief systems are banned in state after state. Classic books such as Alice Walker’s The Color Purple, Toni Morrison’s Beloved, and The Diary of Anne Frank. Even Charlotte’s Web. When the realm of “acceptable” beliefs constricts to one narrow perspective, freedom vanishes. Both children and adults lose the ability to wander the world in wonder and joy through the pages of diverse authors’ books.

Yet hope is not completely lost. It lives in the libraries and independent bookstores across the country that continue to carry and advocate for books that have been banned. When Anne and I moved to a new community in the Boston area recently, we were heartened to see an in-depth informational exhibit at the local library on book banning. An extensive history of banning books in the world was displayed along with book covers, including African American, feminist, and LGBTQ authors. The library encourages patrons to read these books with an open mind in order to experience varied lives and viewpoints. This is what freedom looks like.

Books are the common denominator of basic human rights. So many people have spoken about the importance of reading. Oprah Winfrey says books changed her life when she was growing up; as an adult, she created a book club to offer that experience to other readers. Reading books has inspired countless individuals and given them deeper self-awareness as well as compassion for others.

My own life would have been very different without books and the life possibilities I saw in them (like becoming a writer myself). I traveled the world, in imagination and then in reality, because of experiences I first had through reading. I learned of the challenges and struggles of others through reading about their lives and often hidden historical events. Books not only offer freedom to the mind and body, but they also give the soul freedom to soar. To me, this is the essence of life on Earth.

The Changing, Yet Familiar, Landscape

I was born in Illinois and grew up in a rural area where farms, cornfields, and scattered houses dotted the landscape. My parents built their home on five acres in the countryside, not far from a small town where I subsequently went to school. My daily life was spent mainly outdoors, playing among the trees, fields, orchards, and gardens my dad planted. It was a small paradise, which I still hold in my heart and have gravitated toward in other places and other landscapes over the years.

As an adult, I’ve lived in or near urban areas (mainly Boston and San Francisco). I’ve loved the convenience and ease of living where I could walk everywhere or take public transportation. Neighborhoods with small gardened spaces and trees around the buildings or houses. Corner stores. But it has been the parks and nature sanctuaries where I have spent much of my time. That was the balance for me, a place to live where I could walk as well as visit natural settings. Easy access to buses, trains, and an airport where I could travel to other places in the world. The towns and yards changed over the years, west and east coasts, but each one seemed to fit my life at the time. Even a few years in Florida recently provided an entirely different experience of Nature.

After moving back to the Boston area three years ago, Anne and I began to look for an affordable place to live, in the midst of rising rents. That meant living further away from the city. We eventually found a place we love, but it has meant an adjustment in how we live our daily lives. There are no neighborhoods or corner stores like those we were used to. Instead, an almost rural landscape stretches around the small group of condos where we live: woods, fields, small houses, roads, and occasional shopping plazas. There is a town about a 50-minute walk away with a train to Boston and Cambridge (which I greatly appreciate!). We are grateful for so much here (birds in the trees outside our windows, open skies clearly visible, quiet), but the walkability factor has required us to let go of previous parameters and expectations.

In doing so, suddenly, one morning I was reminded of my own childhood home. We lived in the country, a rural area not that different (except for the cornfields!) from where we live now. School buses took me in town to school. My parents drove to local markets, etc. Trees surrounded our house. Have I come full circle, returning to a distantly familiar landscape, one I have to accustom myself to but that from that perspective becomes newly interesting?

Life is full of surprises and replays and new beginnings that remind us of past experiences. Everything is both old and brand new in our lives. There is nothing on Earth that has not been lived before in some form or another, and yet at the same time every experience feels like a new discovery. We have lived many lives, within this one and among those in the expansive past of the planet. Often that sense of deja vu touches our hearts deeply and opens us to possibility and a fresh outlook on daily life.

That is where I am now. I am living changes, centered in a new present. Simultaneously, I am being reminded of the rich and diverse past I have already lived. In the distance, a train whistle evokes both past and present-moment awareness. Landscapes shift throughout our lifetimes, and within that motion is the purpose of every life: soul expansion and recognition of our commonality in all experiences and all lifetimes. In that, we realize that every moment, every landscape, is a gift of grace.

Life Partners, Life Friendships

My friends Savanna and Katie were together nearly 50 years, until Savanna’s recent passing this summer. One of their daughters created a touching video photo montage of their life together, complete with perfectly chosen music. As I watched it, with alternating tears and smiles, I could feel the depth of their love and the ongoing joy of the life they shared. Such a sweet blessing—for them and for all who knew them. It made me think of so many other friends with decades-long marriages or partnerships. Gay, straight, bi, trans—all relationships based in caring, devotion, laughter, joy, tears, and a mutual appreciation for one another. Anne and I have been together 41 years ourselves. The longer I live, the more I feel the preciousness of these lifelong connections, interlaced with shared memories and experiences.

And this applies to friendships as well. I have friends I’ve known since grade school, high school, college, and work, each of them unique and irreplaceable. In the 1970s, I lived in a household with four other women that holds a special place in my heart. We were feminists active in the Boston women’s movement, several of us in a women’s literature graduate program at Goddard-Cambridge. Out of that came the humorous name we called ourselves: Cranford, based on a 19th century novel by Elizabeth Gaskell about a community of women who lived together without husbands. We shared our lives and all the exciting changes at that time: women’s music, presses, magazines, sports teams, activist groups. We latter-day Cranford sisters have remained friends ever since, the five of us (with our partners) meeting via Zoom recently, in San Francisco, Boston, and Western Massachusetts, coming together across time and space to reconnect with love.

Whether partner or friend, those in our lives mean everything to us. These are the souls we’ve chosen, prebirth, to travel through this life with. There are no coincidences in these arrangements. We came here to be together for however long we’re meant to be, sharing exactly what we’re meant to share. Learning and growing together and separately. That’s why we often feel like we’ve known someone before when we first meet them. Souls can travel together through lifetimes, playing different roles, experiencing different life lessons. Perhaps all of life is one reunion after another within a giant tapestry of being and soul expansion.

Every Christmas Eve, I talk on the phone long-distance with my friend Barb, whom I’ve known since we were 11. Our families spent Christmas Eve together throughout our childhood and adolescent years in Illinois. The golden nugget of those memories has stayed with us all our lives, through moving to different coasts, after the deaths of each of our parents, throughout changes, differences, and similarities. Each December 24, all of it comes together in one phone call in which we remember all the years of knowing and loving each other. We laugh and shed tears, and we renew our connection.

I treasure that phone call and our friendship, just as I treasure each one of my friends and especially dear Anne who has been by my side more than half my life. There is nothing like a life partner or a life friendship. It is one of the greatest gifts life on Earth brings us. May I always hold that deep appreciation and gratitude in my heart.

Transparency

I don’t quite know how to describe how I am feeling recently. There’s a growing space within me, a falling away of the irrelevant or unnecessary, avoidance of the negative or pessimistic. An opening to pure being without motivation or direction. So much seems like distraction to me, useless to my inner self. And that inner presence is what I live for, full immersion in the love and light that arise from my heart and soul. These are transparent in the material world view, lacking physical substance.

Perhaps it is I who lack physical substance now. I am becoming less a physical form and more a soul. The outer world seems so busy to me: news, politics, networking, apps, shopping. My inner world is simpler, quieter. I read Ann Patchett and Mark Nepo, take long walks in parks or nature sanctuaries, meditate, do yoga, awaken early to write in the predawn hours. Day-to-day life arises from that place.

My life has been emptying out for four years now—past and present homes and activities falling away, living through breast cancer, growing older—all of it leaving a wider and wider space within. An emptiness that is full of spirit, which life continuously moves us toward over the years, through various experiences and relationships. We learn ultimately that that is all we are: Spirit. Transparent spirit, radiating light in the physical world.

Sometimes I feel invisible, floating down the street gazing up at the trees, talking to the squirrels and birds. I wonder if people see me or just hear a voice. Yet when I smile, others smile in return. Does the light itself form an image at those moments? I don’t know. Maybe we are all only temporarily visible when we engage with another’s energy. Otherwise, we are just light beings drifting through the world, witnessing transformations. Sound far-fetched? Actually, maybe it’s truer than much of what we currently hear about humankind. At least it’s positive.

The positive is what my inner self gravitates toward. What touches and lifts my heart. Listening to Christian Cooper and Amy Tan talk about the joys of bird-watching and to Panache Desai speak of infinity and inner peace. Reading the poetry of Mary Oliver. Looking up at the blue summer sky and feeling gratitude and happiness. The small details of daily life that fill up a lifetime and taken together bring wisdom and clarity, if seen through the eyes of the soul. The mind can fall into judgment, fear, and sadness. The soul knows only acceptance and peace.

And so I continue, day to day. I am here, but more and more, I am not in one single place. I am everywhere. I am not one person; I am everything I see and experience. I am the stars and galaxies. I am the universe. As are we all. No separation. There is a oneness to life that we only see when we merge with it, when we become transparent. Perhaps this is exactly why we came here to this planet, to this lifetime. To step into separation and visibility and then to vanish again into oneness and pure light, the source of all being.

God Rides the Subway

People in the Western world have been taught that God, or Spirit, is something accessed primarily in a temple, church, or other sacred space. Even though we have heard the phrase “God lives within” most of our lives, we still carry an underlying belief that God is in the heavens or some other dimension. Many are questioning that view today and, from their own personal experiences, find Spirit not only inside but everywhere else. Not having been raised in any particular religion, I found it relatively easy to embrace this latter view when I embarked on spiritual exploration as an adult. Now, when I pause and take a deep breath, I feel that Presence in everyone and everything I see—and such gratitude for the connection.

For instance, yesterday I took the bus and subway into Boston for an eye doctor appointment. I live outside the city so the noise, crowds, and busyness can take some getting used to (even though I worked there for many years before retiring). I had to mentally stop and breathe and then shift my inner gaze in order to center myself in the open awareness that is so much a part of me now. In doing so, as always, God was everywhere I looked.

The homeless people clustered by the library were God, as were the nearby construction workers and the college students rushing by deep in conversation. The mockingbird enthusiastically serenading in the tree I passed was God, along with the pansies on the ground below. God was the slightly inebriated man at the subway stop loudly singing: “You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman.” As was the wild-haired man in faded but colorful running shorts and tank top dancing down the center aisle of the subway car.

And God was the crossing guard riding home on the bus, talking to the driver about her wife and how much she loved her work. Both of them shared stories about job loss and unpaid bills during COVID, as well as gratitude for their lives now. I stood quietly listening near them on the crowded bus and also felt gratitude, glad that such a friendly, inclusive conversation could take place in public in the state where I live. God-ness seemed to fill the entire bus and all the diverse people on it.

Such are the moments that pass quickly through our days, and we may miss them if we don’t pay full attention. It is easy to do—to tune out what seems like noise and shut down to the living spirit all around. I often did it when I commuted to work in Boston daily. Yet now, in recent years, as I grow older and I realize more fully the precious unrepeatability of each person and each moment, I find it easier to pause and remember.

Even if you don’t believe in what has been named “God” or “Spirit,” try opening your eyes and heart wider to the vast variety of the world around you—whatever you see from that space will fill your life with wonder and profound appreciation. The spirit of life is everywhere, even the city subway, and it’s all part of the greater oneness of the universe.