Gun Control. May Peace Be with You.

     The Second Amendment of the Constitution of the United States
     A well regulated militia, being necessary to  the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.
     Guns.  Personally, I do not use them.  My resource of self-defense is a quick wit.  Of concern for my safety, some ask, "Aren't you afraid of being alone out in the streets of downtown.  To those who express concern, my sister says, "I don't worry about Patty.  I worry about the people who encounter Patty on the streets."
     Guns.  I do not use them.  Yet....many people do.
     Foraging for food.  Hunting for animals.  Protecting oneself.  Protecting one's home.
     How do we aim--how do we control--guns to hit their target.  Food.  Animals.  Oneself.  One's home.
     Training--target practice.  Daily hunting limits.  Gun locks.
How do we control the numbers--the amount of ammunition purchased, the rounds of ammunition used?  Can we engage law enforcement personnel?  Can we capture enforcement/conservation officers?  Can we embrace the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives?  Can we open our ears to hear the Director of Homeland Security?
     Decibels.  How many?  Ammunition.  How many rounds?
     What do we need?  When will we act?
     Peace.  May the peace of Christ be with you.  Peace.  Love.  Faith. Hope, and Love, and the greatest of these is Love.

Compassion. Read. Consider. Sign. Live.

The Charter for Compassion

The principle of compassion lies at the heart of all religious, ethical and spiritual traditions, calling us always to treat all others as we wish to be treated ourselves. Compassion impels us to work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of our fellow creatures, to dethrone ourselves from the centre of our world and put another there, and to honour the inviolable sanctity of every single human being, treating everybody, without exception, with absolute justice, equity and respect.

It is also necessary in both public and private life to refrain consistently and empathically from inflicting pain. To act or speak violently out of spite, chauvinism, or self-interest, to impoverish, exploit or deny basic rights to anybody, and to incite hatred by denigrating others—even our enemies—is a denial of our common humanity. We acknowledge that we have failed to live compassionately and that some have even increased the sum of human misery in the name of religion.

We therefore call upon all men and women ~ to restore compassion to the centre of morality and religion ~ to return to the ancient principle that any interpretation of scripture that breeds violence, hatred or disdain is illegitimate ~ to ensure that youth are given accurate and respectful information about other traditions, religions and cultures ~ to encourage a positive appreciation of cultural and religious diversity ~ to cultivate an informed empathy with the suffering of all human beings—even those regarded as enemies.

We urgently need to make compassion a clear, luminous and dynamic force in our polarized world. Rooted in a principled determination to transcend selfishness, compassion can break down political, dogmatic, ideological and religious boundaries. Born of our deep interdependence, compassion is essential to human relationships and to a fulfilled humanity. It is the path to enlightenment, and indispensable to the creation of a just economy and a peaceful global community.

I encourage you.  Please affirm with your name.  Embrace commitments of compassion the charter offers.  Commit to your own.  Share.  Live with, by, and for compassion.

Zoomer Chronicles: Safety's Anger

     This morning, Zoomer met fraternal twins--Safety's Anger, and Anger's Safety.  Mirror images of one another, they are born of the same root.  Danger.  Fear.
     A return to swimming was my dear ankle's hope.  Pool maintenance.  Facility remodeling.
     A return to swimming was not to be.  Not this day.  Ankle's hope was dashed--dashed far short of 50 yards.
     An elevator.  Button pushed.  A short wait.  Doors opened. Zoomer wheeled in--turned around.  Facing forward.  Third floor's button pushed.  Ankle's Hope salivating.  Slow and crotchety though she was known to be, today, this elevator went nowhere fast.
     Door Open's button pushed.  As an accordion opens, so too the doors.  Yet, just as with a fast, bad polka, an accordion closes, so too did the doors.  Though Zoomer is learning to dance, the polka is not her step.
     Though armed with her cell phone--a Jitterbug, I kid you not--my ankle's hope kicked back at me.  Angry. With the weight of a bowling ball on her, my ankle's hope was to kick off her burden.  One more time, she implored me.  Third floor button, one more time.  Once again, Zoomer, my ankle's hope, and I went nowhere fast.
    Though Jitterbug tried to call to Ankle's Hope, she would hear none of it.  Take me home, Zoomer.  Take me home.
    Safety's anger. She prevailed.  Safety's Anger drove Zoomer and I out of Harm's Way.
    Though Ankle's Hope kicked high, she fell flat into Zoomer's lap.  No harm.  Just anger.  Frustration.  Door Open's button hit.  Zoomer and I sped forward.  To Safety, we arrived.
    No sign.  Out of Order.  No sign.
    Anger's safety.  Though Safety's Anger had spoken--rescued--now it was for Anger's Safety to speak.
To quiet solitude, find your way.  Let Anger rest, let Safety's Advocate cry forth in due time.
    Impatience overruled quiet solitude.   A simple report. "Your elevator is out of order."  
    "The elevator repairman has been called.  They should be out sometime today."
    Safety's Anger yet satisfied, though Logic told her she should be.
      "You are new to this world, there were many signs not posted before you.  Many signs will not be posted in years yet to come."
     Yet,"Where is the Out of Order sign--Safety's Warning?" was all this impatient soul could ask.

Hope...Understanding...

My child seeks hope.
My child seeks understanding.

For a lifetime,
I have sought hope
Hope of understanding
Understanding much.

My child sought understanding.
What is cerebral palsy?
What is epilepsy?
My child sought understanding.

My child sought understanding.
How do I stop the teasing?
If you give me just the right words,
I know I can stop the teasing.
My child sought hope.

My child seeks understanding.
What can I say?
What can I do?
Give me the magic words.
My child seeks hope.

My child seeks understanding.
This was given for some reason.

Don't tell me to ignore this.
Don't tell me I must ignore a part of myself.
Don't tell me to sacrifice myself.
Is that really the secret to understanding?
I do not understand.


Is the price of your love
That other people must be wrong?
Is the cost of my love that other people are wrong?  


This day, may we love  freely.
In our diversity, may we all be worthy.

Betty Ford

     Oh, gosh.  Betty Ford died today.
     My heart skipped a beat--sank--upon reading that former First Lady Betty Ford died today at the age of 93.  She served in office--as the First Lady--when I was a teenager.  Several years after my grandmother died of breast cancer--at a time when breast cancer ravaged the spirits of women, whose tissues it invaded--Betty Ford gave voice to the disease.
     Betty Ford was not an abrasive woman.  She abided by the expectations of her generation. She lived the realities of a demanding political life--the wife of a long-time U.S. Representative.  She raised four children.  She did not do so begrudgingly.  She was not seeking a career beyond her young family.  Her public career--her sphere of influence--would be broadened beyond what could have been imagined by anyone, thanks to the Ford family entry into the nation's history.
     Yet, at the same time, Betty Ford was hardly a spineless wallflower.  In the best sense of the word, Betty Ford was an opportunist--a graceful opportunist.  She took her life experiences--her personal challenges--and transformed them into sources of help from which others so challenged could find practical help, and personal strength.  Just as Betty Ford was the face of a country learning how to articulate what Gloria Steinem, and others advocated--women's rights.  Betty Ford was comfortable giving voice to uncomfortable social realities of our time together--marijuana, addiction, premarital sex, and abortion, among others.  Betty Ford gave a face--literally--to putt
     Obituaries, and memorials offered for individuals, who have died recently--Betty Ford, can seem maudlin.  Yet, maudlinness survives only when we fail to ignite in our spirits the essence of Betty Ford in our own lives.  How did we know her? When did we meet her?  Did Betty Ford give voice to values--issues--of import to us?  Did Betty Ford teach us anything about ourselves--about our world?

Employing Yourself

     Today, unemployment--finding work--touched me. Not me, Patty Thorsen, but, rather, someone I know was thrown by the bureaucracy of unemployment benefits--how they are administered.
     I feel somewhere on the continuum with Guilty at one end, Gratitude in the middle, and Insensitivity at the other end.  How can I possibly offer the support, and encouragement a friend deserves?
     My guilt? I am not faced with the challenge--the stress--of finding, and keeping a job.  The unemployment statistics.  Job creation.
     Gratitude?  My pace is mine to set.  I am free from the expectations of others--arbitrarily-established benchmarks of performance.  Swimming is mine to lap up.  I awaken to no alarms--my bladder takes care of that.
     Insensitive?  Yes.  I fear I am insensitive to the challenges--psychological challenges--of pursuing and applying for work that is below one's gifts--below one's potential.
     I hear the self-destruction that, in the long run, well may erode the faith, and hope necessary to make the most of one's gifts.  Self-destruction found in job hunting is masked by outrage at the system, outrage at the plight that individuals without any resources necessary to find a job.
     Never would I have imagined that I would forget the years of unfulfilling work, the frustration of being underestimated.  Yet, nearly two years have passed since I made an unexpected exit from the full-time work world--an exit after 24 years.  Occasionally I dream that I am trying to get back to work, yet, I never make it.  In the dream, I wonder, "What is wrong with this situation?"
     I know that finding a job is not easy.  I understand that seeking job opportunities that are beneath one's gifts, and potential is a painful compromise--a compromise of conscience.
     I do understand that persevering those trying times is paying off now.  A stable income...not excessive, but, stable, and secure.  Retirement.  Pension.
     I know that I wanted no part of what I am saying now, when I was working full-time.  For that reason, I question the integrity of my prayer.  Yet, my desire that friends, and family, who are in this situation, invest themselves fully in creating their new lives.
    My prayer for anyone who finds themselves underemployed?
    May you pour the anger, hostility, outrage, and frustration into an earthen vessel that you store out of your sight--separate from the human being, who must be employed.
    May you relinquish the burden of civic responsibility, and advocacy for others with fewer resources while you heal your wounded self.
    Civic responsibility, and advocacy will re-form itself within your spirit, when you emerge from the chapter of unemployment, or underemployment.  Have faith.
    May you define compromise.
    May you make necessary compromises.
    May you continue the pursuit of a more fulfilling life--a fulfillment of your potential.
    May you give no one the satisfaction of knowing that you are the person they may imagine--a person of lesser potential.
     You are better than that.  You are worthy of the challenge.  You can and will surmount the challenge.
     Employ your gifts.  Present them to the world with humility, grace, and determination.

Hope...Fragile Hope...

What's wrong? she writes in a note.
The running leg's a pipe dream.
She slips the note back.
So was walking....
Don't look so far ahead....
Looking ahead is what's been giving me hope.  I've wanted to believe we'll be able to gather twenty thousand dollars.  I've wanted to believe that I'll run again.
But hope now feels so fragile.  Too fragile to touch.
                 The Running Dream by Wendelin Van Draanen, p. 203.

     My aspiration is not running.  It never was.  I am not a 50-year-old trying to run back to a past job.  A younger body perhaps--a body that propelled me out of my cocoon.  I have been told that expecting to have my wheelchair in my home within a week is realistic.  Odd.  Three months ago, I wanted no part of such a future.
     Yet, I listen to my body.  My ankle is inflamed with deafening screams, "Do something NOW.  I can't carry you.  You are breaking me." 
     I look at my body--my stomach is bigger than it should be.  I know why.  I know what I need--laps in a pool, a buoyed spirit.  Yet, my body cries out.  She demands my attention.
     "Listen.  Rest.  Do not break me."
      Looking ahead.  Hoping.  Yet, what is it that I am running to do.  Swimming.  Yes.  What else?
     But hope now feels so fragile.  Too fragile to touch.