"Greater Love Hath No Man"

Easter is a special day. It celebrates the purist love known to man, the love of one human choosing to die for another. I know there's debate about whether the story of Jesus rising from the dead is true, but there is no debate that I can find about whether Jesus chose to die for us, in fact, there's much historical evidence to support this, so Jesus' choice is what I want to focus on in today's Easter blog.

Stories in books and movies celebrate the person who chooses to die for family, friends, or strangers. Why do we celebrate this? Because we all wish we would do the same thing, but we know deep down inside that we probably won't. Self-preservation is strong in most of us, but self-preservation is not held up as the human ideal; rather, it is often represented as cowardice, and we scorn the person who grabs the life preserver out of another's hands.

Jesus said, "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." (John 15:13) and "Love your neighbor as yourself." (Mark 12:31). But the important point isn't that Jesus said the words, it is that he lived them. He did lay down his life for us, not knowing for sure that he would rise from the dead, and he loved us, his neighbors, more than he loved himself.

I find it telling that Jesus did not ask us to do as he did and love our neighbors more than ourselves. Perhaps it is because he knew that that is too much to ask from us; perhaps Jesus knew we would have a difficult enough time loving our neighbors at all, so asking us to love them as much as ourselves was the task he presented us with, what he wanted us to strive for, because he knew it was the one we could achieve.

Long ago, perhaps forty years ago or so, a friend and I were discussing Jesus' words and whether they had any value if Jesus was not, in fact, the son of God. I'll never forget my friends words, "Sure they do because how Jesus taught us to live is the best way to live. The world doesn't run well at all when people put themselves before others." Ah, a light bulb moment.

And so simple too. If we were all willing to die for one another, and we were to love others, friend or foe, acquaintance or stranger, similar or wildly different, as much as we love ourselves, the world would be, quite simply, a heaven on earth because no one would strive to be more than, to have more than another.

And maybe that's what Jesus was telling us before he died for us. The secret to making our world a heaven is in our own actions.  We act like Jesus, and we create a good world for everyone. We scorn his words, and we get the world we have today--war, poverty, greed, inequality, ugliness, despair, and hopelessness. 

Easter reminds us of our potential. It's not too late to change our ways; the choice is always ours. We just have to make the choice.

Happy Easter,

Kate

Be Open and Rob Silence of Its Power

      Long ago and far away, though it seems like only yesterday, my mom wrapped herself in a cocoon of silence. My dad viciously beat her regularly, but she refused to tell her mother or her sister about it. Most nights from the time I was nine years old, I would lie in my bed, locked in my bedroom, listening to the pattern of abuse, hearing the swearing, hearing the flesh being whacked with a fist or open hand, hearing the insults, hearing my mother crying.

     One particularly bad night occurred around the time of my 8^th grade graduation. My parents had gone out to dinner to celebrate their 15^th anniversary. For some reason, probably because he was drunk, my dad had forgotten to lock my bedroom door. When the beating was in full swing, I went into my parent’s bedroom and saw my dad in his underwear, kicking my mom into the wall. I shouted at him to stop, but he told me my mother deserved it, and he spewed out vile, ugly words. Again, I shouted at him, and this time I threatened to call the police. He sneered at me and told me his "brother cops" would never do anything to him, which, sadly, in the days of the early 1960’s was probably true.

     My heart broke to see my tiny, nearly naked mom, huddled in a corner of her bedroom, curled into a ball in order to protect herself as well as absorb the beating better. I walked toward her and bent to pick her up. She looked so broken. My dad shouted obscenities and stormed out of the bedroom.

     The next morning when I got up to go to school, I saw my dad sleeping in the chair in the living room. He woke up when I passed his chair. I ignored him. He asked why I didn’t say “Good morning” to him, and I said that I had no respect for him anymore because he was a bully who beat my mom. As usual, he called me insulting names, but I stayed silent.

     When I got home from school, I discovered that my mother could barely walk. She was wearing pajamas and a robe, though it was very hot that June day, and we had no air conditioning. I pleaded with her to tell her mom, my grandma, about what dad had done to her. She told me that I didn’t understand, that my dad had apologized, that she loved my dad. I was disgusted and told her if that was love, then I hoped to never love anyone.

     The next day was my 8th grade graduation. My mom could not attend the ceremony, as she could still barely walk. My dad told everyone that she had the flu. When we got home, I pleaded with my mom to go into the living room and show everyone her bruises. I told her that I’d help her walk. She refused. I threatened to tell the whole family and bring them into her bedroom because it was the only way to stop dad from beating her. I turned to leave her bedroom. My mom got out of her bed, and with tottering steps came toward me. She touched my arm and told me she loved me and was sorry to miss my graduation. Then, she told me that if I told anyone in the family what had happened that she would tell them I was lying.

       I was shocked!

     I spent the rest of the evening in a surreal fog of bizarre comments about how everyone hoped my mom’s flu would be over soon. I will never forget the triumphant smile that my dad bestowed upon me. The bully knew he had me beat. He knew that I couldn’t bear the thought that my grandparents might think I was a liar (though how they would think that if they were staring at my mom's bruises, I have no idea). To this day, I feel shame that I did not speak up, that I was a coward.

     Fast forward five years, and I am startled awake at six in the morning by a strange sound. It was a gunshot. My mother had finally freed herself of her brute of a husband by ending her life.

     I decided, then and there, to break my silence, and I told everyone about the years my dad beat my mom. No one believed me. My dad told everyone that I was a liar and had started using drugs. This would have been funny if I could have made anyone believe me. I had never used anything stronger than aspirin! I was lectured by the police, who investigated my mother’s death; I was lectured by neighbors; I was lectured by family; but the most heart-breaking moment was after the funeral when my beloved paternal grandpa cupped my face in his hands and, with tears in his eyes, pleaded with me to stop using drugs and stop lying about my dad. Alice down her rabbit hole never felt crazier than I did at that moment.

     Soon after the funeral, I moved away to live with friends. Before my mother died, I had been my dad’s backup punching bag. After my mother’s death, I had been promoted to primary punching bag. I had not protected my mom, but I was determined to protect myself, and the only way to do that was to leave. If only my mom could have, would have left...

     I deeply regret my silence on the day of my 8^th grade graduation, but regret is meaningless unless it translates into action. Consequently, I have spent my ensuing years talking openly about everything. Some might suggest that I am too open, but I don’t know if you can be too open. I know first hand that silence can kill, and, at the very least, silence causes unnecessary misery, and I am determined to lessen some of that misery.

     But being open isn't easy. Sometimes it hurts; sometimes it results in ridicule or misunderstanding; sometimes it is lonely. Being open requires the conviction that the risks of being open are worth taking in order to reveal the truth hidden by silence. 

     To that end, I am willing to talk openly with anyone. Talking frees you from the prison of silence, and talking results in change and understanding. After all, if people don’t know you need help, how can they help you? If they don’t know you are in pain, how can they comfort you? Being open is freeing. Being open is lifesaving. Being open leads you from the darkness to the light. And most importantly, being open robs silence of its destructive power.

     In loving memory of my mom, who died, smothered by silence, 43 years ago this March.

Take care,

Kate 

"By naming and framing our stories in words, we can face the truths of our lives in little steps which allows growth to take place organically, without devastating crises." Gabriele Rico

    

The Comfort of Constants

Every winter, I welcome Orion back into the night sky. I wave at him when nights are clear and blow him a kiss. His presence comforts me and puts life into perspective. Whether good things are happening or bad, Orion shows up faithfully each November when I turn the clocks back, and strides across the night sky until I turn the clocks forward.

My guess is that each of you has something outside your sphere of influence that is reliable and comforts you too. For some, it's the moon; for others, it's the waves. Usually it's in nature because nature seems the most immutable.

But other constants comfort us too. As a child in urgent need of escaping a nightmare home life, libraries became my constant source of comfort. No matter what was going on at home, I could find a new adventure story or mystery or biography or play or poem to help me make it through the days and nights, and even more than that, these stories showed me new worlds and new ideas and gave me something to look forward to and to hope for. The overflowing library shelves offered me, as a young girl and teen, dreams of a different life, a better life than the one I was currently inhabiting. The gems that a library contains, books, became so precious to me that I've built my own personal library full of thousands of books. Every room in my home has books,  and my bed is surrounded by bookshelves. No matter what my mood--light-hearted, pensive, or sad--there's a book to match. And on sleepless nights, the books surrounding me provide soothing balms to the desperation of insomnia.

Some constants do more than comfort us; some remind us of cherished memories. When my children were young and we lived atop a mountain, when the sky was clear and the moon full, we would dance in the moon shadows in our orchard. To this day, when I happen upon a moon shadow under trees, I'm instantly transported to those magical moments of delight and joy, and I can feel my children's small hands in mine and hear their laughter.

Perhaps the most powerful comforting constants of all, at least for me, are Christmas Eve and Easter. They are the two days each year that represent our hope that mankind can achieve it's highest potential of living together in love. Whether you believe that God and Jesus exist or don't believe, it's irrelevant to the topic because the story of Jesus' love and sacrifice for us, true or not, is the point. That a love like that exists in our collective unconscious and in our imagination shows that we are all hoping for, waiting for, and wanting that love to become our reality. So, when the hope of Christmas Eve becomes a Christmas day bringing a surfeit of store bought gifts, and the hope of Easter's sunrise becomes a hunt for plastic eggs, we hide our disappoint and remind ourselves that there is always next year's Christmas Eve and next year's Easter, and we feel a renewed, reassuring hope that the deep, abiding, universal, unconditional love we long for might then, finally, become reality.

Sigh, it's almost time to wave good-bye to Orion for another year. I will miss him, but I am comforted by knowing that regardless of whatever good or bad happens to me or to the world this year, Orion will stride across my night's sky again when it's time to turn the clocks back again in the fall. Orion, books, moon shadows, Christmas Eve, and Easter, these are some of my constant comforts, what are some of yours?

Take care,

Kate

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Celebrating Gabriele

Gabriele Rico is a delight, pure and simple. To know her is to have your world brightened; to be her friend is to be loved. She is one of the kindest, sweetest, funniest, fiercest, most earnest, most loving, devoted, intellectually curious individuals I have ever known. Gabriele is fighting cancer again, and whether she beats this foe or succumbs to its relentless tentacles, she has won the larger war because her relentless will to fight and her incomparable grace in the face of unspeakable pain and sorrow has vanquished the fear of death and has taught us the importance of living and dying on our own terms.

I first met Gabriele Rico in the late 1970's. She taught a class that I took. She also taught clustering to anyone and everyone who was interested. It was her creation and was a new and exciting way to tap into our brains and free so much of what was hidden there. She encouraged us to go forth and teach clustering too, and soon it swept the nation. Now, clustering is taught as a viable alternative (and to my thinking, a preferable alternative) to outlining. I teach clustering in every class I teach, and I tell all my students about Gabriele and how clustering began.

When I was a graduate student, Gabriele and I became friends, and she worked with me on ways to possibly help those with extremely low IQ's communicate via their right brains, most especially with music. We also talked about our childhoods and marriages.

After my children were born, and I was away from academia, I lost touch with Gabriele. Then, when my daughter went to college, the same college I attended, I saw Gabriele was teaching Children's Literature, and I encouraged my daughter to take her class too. She did, and it was really cool knowing that both of us had had the same professor twenty or so years apart, and that the Gabriele my daughter described was the same Gabriele I had known and loved.

When my daughter graduated from college, Gabriele was the speaker, so I was able to go up and talk with her and catch up. Her irrepressible enthusiasm wrapped about me like a comfy, beloved sweater that I'd lost and just found again. She proudly told me of the special photo she'd had taken for her husband--she just beamed. I was in awe. If only we could all have Gabriele's joie de vivre! Then, she took me around to introduce me to professors I did not know and excitedly told them all that I had homeschooled my daughter from K-12. My daughter and I remember the look of horror on a couple of the faces, who looked like they want to take back her degree, but Gabriele was all enthusiastic support, which made me feel like I'd done something grand indeed.

Five more years went by, and in 2011, I was honored to speak at a tribute for my friend Nils Peterson. I mentioned Nils' first cluster, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Gabriele in the audience, laughing. What a great moment--it's as if we'd come full circle in a way. We talked at the dinner, and we have stayed in touch by email since that time. She is a star in my firmament.

Gabriele may live to be 100 or she may not live to see 76, but during the 75 years that Gabriele has lived on this earth so far, she has mattered a great deal to many individuals, she has made a difference in how we see the world, and she has made the world a better place in many big and small ways. And Gabriele still matters, still makes a difference, still makes the world a better place during each day she graces the world with her presence. As evidenced by her daughter's blog "Walking Papers," Gabriele soothes, comforts, and loves those around her with every glance, every touch, and every word. Gabriele is a class act if ever there was one, and I am blessed to be her friend.


Gabriele and her daughters a couple of days ago. Photo borrowed from Suzanne's blog "Walking Papers."

Take care,

Kate

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Meandering Musings on Love

"Love makes the world go round;" "Love is all there is;" "All you need is love;" "Love actually;" "Love is a many-splendored thing;" "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways;" "Love, love, love;" we are bombarded by love wherever we look, and we long for it as we long for nothing else. But what is this thing we call love--this thing that poets, singers, philosophers, theologians, and comedians can never adequately or completely describe? I've been pondering this question lo these sixty-one years, and I've come up with some ideas based upon observation, discussion, and personal experience.

Here are some of my whimsical, random thoughts on love. Feel free to disagree with any or all, but if you do disagree, please respond below and share your views with me, as my understanding of love is a work in progress. Thanks much.

Basically, love is when you care more for another individual than you care for yourself. If that caring is not the foundation of your relationship, then what you are experiencing is not love; it is something else--infatuation, lust, possessiveness, power, pity, obligation, responsibility--but it is not love. And this holds true for every type of love--family, friend, lover, spouse, neighbor, pets, mankind, and God.

In addition, I believe that respect is paramount in a loving relationship. When you respect someone, you do NOT try to change that person or impose your belief system upon him/her. You don't think you "own" the person; you aren't possessive; you aren't insecure; you don't play games; you don't issue ultimatums. Rather, without guile or expectation, you encourage, understand, accept, promote, support, have patience, and believe in the person you love. And in a genuinely loving relationship, this respect goes both ways.

A HUGE thing to keep in mind is that true love makes your world bigger, never smaller. If someone wants to take you from your family or friends, run! If someone does not want you to try new things or change jobs or encourage your interests, run! If someone asks you to give up something you love, run. Always remember, love makes your world bigger, so stay away from people who want to make your life smaller.

You only get one trip through life, so you want to share the journey with those who will laugh, sing, dance, eat, drink, and be merry with you, as well as with those who will cry with you, hug you when there's nothing else to do because the pain is too great, tell you when you are being an idiot, help you without your asking, and listen for the umpteenth time without complaint because you just have to share something again. If you're lucky, you will have some family, friends, and lovers who will be in both camps. Pets are always in both camps.

Love is about blending lives and staying separate at the same time. I can't think of any clearer way to say this.

Compromise is necessary sometimes, but, overall, I think taking turns is better. There's something a bit flat about compromising. However, when you take turns and share one another's interests, you grow in understanding toward your loved ones, and sometimes you discover that you enjoy something you have never contemplated before. 

Don't apologize for your loved ones. You do not want people to apologize for you, so don't apologize for them. Remember, your loved ones are not a reflection of you but are individuals whom you love. There is a BIG distinction.

Love requires trust and honesty. A little lie here, a little lie there, and when you least expect it, the dam holding the trust in your relationship breaks, and you can never get it back, even if you decide to stay together. So, stick with the truth.

Sometimes, you think you love someone, but you discover that you are only in love, and the feeling is fading. This realization often happens when the "in love," exclusive, "magical" world the two of you have created bumps into the inclusive, real, everyday world, and one of you realizes that it is time to break-up. No one likes to break-up because we tend to think of it as a failure. This is the wrong way to think. Instead, each person should recognize that neither person was a bad person (unless the individual actually was bad in some way, but that's a different matter for another blog post); rather, one of you has realized that you are not best for each other for the long haul. That is a good, positive thing to realize, so celebrate the love you experienced, wish each other well, and go forth to love again. Of course, it would be lovely if both people realized the end of a relationship at the same time, but, sadly, that is seldom the situation. So, be kind to one another.

As an instructor of college age young people, I get to see lots of young lovers, and I like to share the following with my students. If someone says, "You are my whole world," run away as fast as you can. Being someone's whole world is a terrible burden to place on someone, and it is smothering. Plus, the person expressing that sentiment seems a bit lacking, don't you agree? Has the person lived in a vacuum his/her whole life? Better to say, "I love you more than anyone in the world" or something similar.

And I cannot stress this enough. If you are lovers of any age and think you want to get married or live together, spend a month without sex, no canoodling or cuddling of any kind. No naps together, no sleeping together. You may kiss hello and good-bye at each meeting, and that's it physically for one month. While you abstain from the physical aspects of your relationship, spend your time talking and doing things together. Take a class. Volunteer at a soup kitchen. Visit the elderly. Babysit. Put yourself in lots of different situations so that you can see if you are compatible in other areas of life. If you are truly compatible, you will NEVER run out of things to talk about.

I can appreciate that you may think my above suggestion is a bit "out there," but I can assure you that there will be times when the physical isn't possible for any number of reasons, so if the physical is the sole foundation of your love, then your love is on a shaky foundation indeed.  

This is not to say that the physical isn't important--it is, but it is only a part of the whole of a loving relationship. I can honestly say that while I delighted in making love, kissing, hugging, and cuddling, what I miss most is not the physical, but the shared laughter and the shorthand language of those who love one another. I would give all my teeth, and gladly wear dentures, just to exchange meaningful glances again with my husband. Likewise, while I'd love to hug my "mom" again, I'd much rather hear her call me, "Honey" and have her sit talking with me again at the kitchen table.

So, there you have it--my meandering musings on love. As I stated above, my understanding is a work in progress, and I look forward to understanding more about love in the years ahead.

Take care,

Kate

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