But...if my life was perfect....
I would not:
Be sensitive
Be compassionate
Be understanding of other people--of the world around me
Be flexible in how I approach and accomplish physical tasks
Be flexible in how I view the diversity of people, beliefs, and cultures
Be awe-struck by beauty around me
Be wonder-filled about life within and around me--life distant from me
Be appreciative of basic human capacities--thinking, and walking, to name a few
Be attentive to how words are used--how I use words
Be attentive to how my words and actions affect other people I know and do not know
Be blessed with a sense of humor
Be determined to live my life fully
Be passionate about pursuing my interests
Be interested in learning every day--each moment--of my life
Be willing to apologize when I had offended someone else, or stolen someone's dignity
Be dedicated to fulfilling my human potential, and encouraging others to do so
Be open to the notion that this list is not complete
Be baptized...be willing to seek an ongoing living of baptism
If My Life Were Perfect, I Would Not Be Human.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
If My Life Was Perfect...
I have struggled to advise a family member as to how to fulfill their unique human potential. Knowing the position of respect bestowed on me has given me a sense of responsibility. Only following the Boston Marathon Bombings have I been given an inkling as to how to fulfill my responsibility.
My family member lacks the sense of how to fulfill his adult responsibilities--fulfill his human potential. Ascribing responsibilities on other intimates how they have failed their responsibiltiies to my family member has clouded his willingness to look at his own human potential--the gift he has been given by God--by his belief in God. I know that belief exists in him. I do not know the form of belief.
My belief--the form of my belief--calls me to offer something.
From an unlikely source--the Boston Marathon Bombings suspect--I understand one way--one something--I may offer.
Optimist--idealist--that I am, recent years have taught me, "life is not perfect." Self-pity is not the sum of that equation in my life. So where does that leave me--how does that affect my offering to my family member.
A List. An Itemized--A Humbling List.
If My Life Was Perfect...
I Would Not:
Need to wear my ankle foot orthotic--my brace on my right leg
Need to walk long distances with a cane
Need to use a wheelchair
Need to take medication to control my intentional tremors
Need to take anticonvulsants to control my seizures
Need to grab the right handrail with my left hand when walking up or down a flight of stairs
I Would Not Fear:
Outstretching my left hand--lose the use of my left and right hand by:
Opening doorknobs
Carrying heavy bags of groceries
Carrying heavy loads of laundry
My capacity to stand up from the ground
People Would:
Think my handwriting was beautiful
My family member lacks the sense of how to fulfill his adult responsibilities--fulfill his human potential. Ascribing responsibilities on other intimates how they have failed their responsibiltiies to my family member has clouded his willingness to look at his own human potential--the gift he has been given by God--by his belief in God. I know that belief exists in him. I do not know the form of belief.
My belief--the form of my belief--calls me to offer something.
From an unlikely source--the Boston Marathon Bombings suspect--I understand one way--one something--I may offer.
Optimist--idealist--that I am, recent years have taught me, "life is not perfect." Self-pity is not the sum of that equation in my life. So where does that leave me--how does that affect my offering to my family member.
A List. An Itemized--A Humbling List.
If My Life Was Perfect...
I Would Not:
Need to wear my ankle foot orthotic--my brace on my right leg
Need to walk long distances with a cane
Need to use a wheelchair
Need to take medication to control my intentional tremors
Need to take anticonvulsants to control my seizures
Need to grab the right handrail with my left hand when walking up or down a flight of stairs
I Would Not Fear:
Outstretching my left hand--lose the use of my left and right hand by:
Opening doorknobs
Carrying heavy bags of groceries
Carrying heavy loads of laundry
My capacity to stand up from the ground
People Would:
Think my handwriting was beautiful
Intentional Failings. Human Potential.
Be it Mom's "focus on the positive, and ignore on the negative" mantra, strengthened by my necessary modification of that mantra, "focus on the positive and learn from the negative," not since my junior high school cry, "Mom, don't you know I can't do that!" have I allowed myself to itemize "the negative" and use that low "bank [of capabilities] balance" deter me from investing my life in what I could do. In fact, many times, truth be told, use of "the negative" as a justification for not acting or doing a given task leads me to cry out in opposition.
The Boston Marathon Bombings suspect has led me to revisit my mantra, "Focus on the positive and learn from the negative."
We have not heard from the the Boston Marathon bombings suspect regarding his motivations and intent. I have not addressed--I cannot--my questions, or feelings with him. Only in prayers seeking understanding have I done so.
I believe he might describe some failing in his upbringing that led him to his actions. Failings in his perceptions of given aspects of his upbringing. Economic situation. Family dynamic. Social interactions in the community. Experiences and influences of formative years--of current worldview, have overridden any belief in his power to learn from his experiences and influences, and dedicate himself to others not experiencing the same situation.
Two caveats. First, the actions--the intents--of the individuals or groups credited with causing the negative experiences and influences must be separated from the individuals or groups credited so credited.
Second, condemning other human beings for any action overlooks a fundamental reality. We are all human beings created with enduring frailty. As hard as we may try, we cannot escape the fact we fail our potential.
Our enduring human frailty is not an excuse, or a justification for acting with intentional failing--from intentional failings. Intentional failings that rise to the threshold of criminality must be treated as such.
We must strive to achieve to our human potential--forever and in all ways. Failing to do so is the ultimate intentional failing we may commit with our lives.
The Boston Marathon Bombings suspect has led me to revisit my mantra, "Focus on the positive and learn from the negative."
We have not heard from the the Boston Marathon bombings suspect regarding his motivations and intent. I have not addressed--I cannot--my questions, or feelings with him. Only in prayers seeking understanding have I done so.
I believe he might describe some failing in his upbringing that led him to his actions. Failings in his perceptions of given aspects of his upbringing. Economic situation. Family dynamic. Social interactions in the community. Experiences and influences of formative years--of current worldview, have overridden any belief in his power to learn from his experiences and influences, and dedicate himself to others not experiencing the same situation.
Two caveats. First, the actions--the intents--of the individuals or groups credited with causing the negative experiences and influences must be separated from the individuals or groups credited so credited.
Second, condemning other human beings for any action overlooks a fundamental reality. We are all human beings created with enduring frailty. As hard as we may try, we cannot escape the fact we fail our potential.
Our enduring human frailty is not an excuse, or a justification for acting with intentional failing--from intentional failings. Intentional failings that rise to the threshold of criminality must be treated as such.
We must strive to achieve to our human potential--forever and in all ways. Failing to do so is the ultimate intentional failing we may commit with our lives.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Language of War. Language of Peace.
Little riles me. Underestimation of my employment worth, potential and economic contribution. Personal confrontation necessary to meet my personal needs--perceived on my part. Rhetoric. Political confrontation. I work to dissipate such feelings before I succumb to the temptation of nervous obsession. I strive to be at peace with myself--with the world. Do not be mistaken. I am passionate. I am animated. But...I choose the issues, and people in whom I will invest and share my passion.
War and peace are at the core of my passions. I work against war, and strive for peace.
War. Military action. The position of conflict--be it liberal or conservative--matters none. The means do not justify the ends.
War. War monger. Enemy. Hawk. Play book. War games. Show of strength. Win. Lose. War.
War of words. Rhetoric. Negotiation. Mediation. Compromise. Treaty. Peace.
Peace. Pacifist. Ally. Dove. Diplomacy. Tact. Pacifist. Conscientious objector. Pacifist. Peace.
Words matter. Civil society matters. Reconciliation matters.
Diversity of thought, beliefs, culture, and ways of living need not be the price we pay in order to nurture a civil society.
Yet, time and time again we find ourselves at the precipice--we find ourselves willing to jeopardize the peace we claim as our national aspiration. Within my lifetime--since April 1960--we have succumb to single words.
Vietnam. Iran. Iraq. Afghanistan. The Taliban. Saddam Hussein. Moammar Gahadafi. Al Qaeda.
I am too young to remember World War II. Korea preceded my conception.
However, I have witnessed the lingering effects of World War II and the Korean War. In 1972, I was 12. I took extreme statements literally--the hallmark of a young mind with a narrow prism through which I saw and understood the world.
In 1972, I visited Dachau--the first World War II concentration camp opened in Germany. More precisely, I visited the grounds of Dachau. I sheltered myself behind the safety of our car.
Mom and Dad told me that the concentration camp had gas chambers in which many--countless--human beings had been killed. I understood that it was important to visit Dachau, to see it. But, I thought that I would view physical remains--bodies rotted by time, but, kept in place to be viewed such that that piece of history would never be replicated.
I knew that I did not have the inner strength to go into the Dachau Concentration Camp. I waited outside while Mom and Dad spent time inside.
That was World War II--my narrow prism into a human atrocity.
Korea.
The prism through which I view Korea--the war that preceded my conception--was slightly broader, not much, but slightly broader.
My dad. A forward observer in the Army. A man entrenched--literally entrenched--in the most destructive human action imaginable. My dad. A man who used his love of photography to document his experience, so that he would remember it clearly--so that he would not glorify the human destruction he had witnessed. It took me many years to understand that. I could not reconcile those pictures with the advocate for peace I knew.
Korea.
My mom. A young housewife--a homeowner--a woman left to wonder whether she would ever see her husband again. My mom. Not yet a mother. My mom. A witness to the other side of war--left alone to continue her life in limbo wondering what the future would bring. A witness to the forgotten side of war. Just as many men, who were war veterans, did not want to talk of that time of their lives, she too did not want to return to that time.
Vietnam. Seven years older than I, my brother came too close to being a part of that war. Conscientious objector status. That was his saving grace from his draft number--30. Draft number 30, and posters in our kitchen with monthly tallies of the men killed in Vietnam--men on all sides of the war. That was my witness to Vietnam.
2013. North Korea.
I pray we may change the language of war we speak. Words matter. Lives matter.
War. War monger. Enemy. Hawk. Play book. War games. Show of strength. Win. Lose. War. War of words. Rhetoric. Negotiation. Mediation. Compromise. Treaty. Peace.
Peace. Pacifist. Ally. Dove. Diplomacy. Tact. Pacifist. Conscientious objector. Pacifist. Peace.
Words matter. Civil society matters. Reconciliation matters.
May the Peace of Christ be with you. May the Peace of Chris be with us all.
War and peace are at the core of my passions. I work against war, and strive for peace.
War. Military action. The position of conflict--be it liberal or conservative--matters none. The means do not justify the ends.
War. War monger. Enemy. Hawk. Play book. War games. Show of strength. Win. Lose. War.
War of words. Rhetoric. Negotiation. Mediation. Compromise. Treaty. Peace.
Peace. Pacifist. Ally. Dove. Diplomacy. Tact. Pacifist. Conscientious objector. Pacifist. Peace.
Words matter. Civil society matters. Reconciliation matters.
Diversity of thought, beliefs, culture, and ways of living need not be the price we pay in order to nurture a civil society.
Yet, time and time again we find ourselves at the precipice--we find ourselves willing to jeopardize the peace we claim as our national aspiration. Within my lifetime--since April 1960--we have succumb to single words.
Vietnam. Iran. Iraq. Afghanistan. The Taliban. Saddam Hussein. Moammar Gahadafi. Al Qaeda.
I am too young to remember World War II. Korea preceded my conception.
However, I have witnessed the lingering effects of World War II and the Korean War. In 1972, I was 12. I took extreme statements literally--the hallmark of a young mind with a narrow prism through which I saw and understood the world.
In 1972, I visited Dachau--the first World War II concentration camp opened in Germany. More precisely, I visited the grounds of Dachau. I sheltered myself behind the safety of our car.
Mom and Dad told me that the concentration camp had gas chambers in which many--countless--human beings had been killed. I understood that it was important to visit Dachau, to see it. But, I thought that I would view physical remains--bodies rotted by time, but, kept in place to be viewed such that that piece of history would never be replicated.
I knew that I did not have the inner strength to go into the Dachau Concentration Camp. I waited outside while Mom and Dad spent time inside.
That was World War II--my narrow prism into a human atrocity.
Korea.
The prism through which I view Korea--the war that preceded my conception--was slightly broader, not much, but slightly broader.
My dad. A forward observer in the Army. A man entrenched--literally entrenched--in the most destructive human action imaginable. My dad. A man who used his love of photography to document his experience, so that he would remember it clearly--so that he would not glorify the human destruction he had witnessed. It took me many years to understand that. I could not reconcile those pictures with the advocate for peace I knew.
Korea.
My mom. A young housewife--a homeowner--a woman left to wonder whether she would ever see her husband again. My mom. Not yet a mother. My mom. A witness to the other side of war--left alone to continue her life in limbo wondering what the future would bring. A witness to the forgotten side of war. Just as many men, who were war veterans, did not want to talk of that time of their lives, she too did not want to return to that time.
Vietnam. Seven years older than I, my brother came too close to being a part of that war. Conscientious objector status. That was his saving grace from his draft number--30. Draft number 30, and posters in our kitchen with monthly tallies of the men killed in Vietnam--men on all sides of the war. That was my witness to Vietnam.
2013. North Korea.
I pray we may change the language of war we speak. Words matter. Lives matter.
War. War monger. Enemy. Hawk. Play book. War games. Show of strength. Win. Lose. War. War of words. Rhetoric. Negotiation. Mediation. Compromise. Treaty. Peace.
Peace. Pacifist. Ally. Dove. Diplomacy. Tact. Pacifist. Conscientious objector. Pacifist. Peace.
Words matter. Civil society matters. Reconciliation matters.
May the Peace of Christ be with you. May the Peace of Chris be with us all.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
The System's Face. Me. The System's Face.
2009 found me at my stamina's end. In alphabetical order, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, osteoarthritis converged with the aging process. My get-up-and-go got up and went. A sharp mind and 49 years under my belt--I was left to build a new life.
A lifelong follower of the news, diagnosed anxiety left me stressed beyond the days' news to bear. Though "a bleeding heart liberal" by common parlance, no longer could I listen to defenders of the system--the safety net for those unable to work any more than I could tolerate, I cannot tolerate those with no time for--no understanding of--why any "system" might need to exist.
I paid into "The System" for more than 25 years. I paid into Social Security. I paid into private long-term disability insurance--not so that I might cash in some day. I "paid in"--I invested in--because, as much as I believe "all men [and women] are created equal," it is with no cynicism that I say, "life is not equal."
Not everyone lives with an equal inventory of life's parts. Bodily. Economic. Social. More I am sure. Life is not Perfect. For whatever reason--however it manifests itself--each life is not on the same level with the same resources--the same needs.
Yet, each life is precious. The System is the Net to protect those lives. Not for pity. Not for poster children to yield tears from others, raise funds, or intimidate others into different beliefs. Such defiles the very preciousness it claims to magnify.
In 2009, I was brought to the front door knocking at "The System," with need. No begging. No laziness. No nefarious intent to abuse--to cheat--The System. I came to the front door of "The System" with need and guilt--Guilt with a capital "G," that I was not living up to the Ethic I was raised to uphold--the Work Ethic. No bravado, just the conviction that I had to contribute to society--to the community in which I live.
Nearly four years later, I continue to redefine "Work Ethic" means within my body's limits.
I am learning a new vocabulary. New roles. New activities. New balances.
Volunteer. Catholic. Reflect. Write. Blog. Neither lazy nor cheat flows through my bloodstream. Yet, Guilt persists--"intellectually" unjustified guilt--guilt that I personify the very stereotype I abhor.
47% helped no one. Not just as you might think. 47% as proclaimed by conservatives, and decried by liberals--helps no one. Highlighting--not worshipping, but highlighting--how victim is not the essence of "The System's Face"--those who must knock at The System's Front Door-- is essential.
If the lazy, cheating, victim stereotype were in fact true, as some conservatives genuinely may believe, then, conservatives need to articulate how to live within inescapable boundaries imposed by the body.
If conservatives believe that The System--the safety net it provides is not needed--then, talk about how to work within the limits of the body.
Bleeding heart liberal though I may be, I do not hold liberals free of responsibility. Liberals pound their chests with pride proclaiming the virtues of the Safety Net. Hold your horses.
Clear your throats. Speak with clarity not with political banter volleying useless debate back into the court of conservatives who decry The System--the conservatives who decry The Safety Net.
I am The System's Face. Look at me. Defense of your positions--volleying of the political football--does nothing to tell me, and you, how to live fully within the limits of my body--the limits of your body.
I am The System's Face. Look at me. I have needs--undeniable needs.
You are The System's Face. Look at yourself.
You are not immune from need--be it physical, economic, or social. Though today may not be your day of need, such inevitable may come to be. Do not hide from its possibility.
The System's Face. Do not Deface me.
Conservatives dig deep into the Spiritual Wellspring from which you proclaim your value.
Tell me. If I am not to be suspended from an eternal fall by the Safety's Net, then, tell me. How am I to live? How are others, whose bodies are similarly compromised to live? Don't speak of Survival of the Fittest.
The System's Face. Do not Deface me.
Liberals. Draw from your Thinker's Tank from which you Talk.
Tell me. Can you still your political bravado of The System--The Safety Net--in confrontation with conservatives who decry it? Liberals. Can you help me--help others--in the Safety Net--the System's Face to redefine how to live within the Safety's Net?
Conservatives. Liberals. Can you tell me?
Are you willing to work together to redefine the life--the fruit we may bear--in the Safety's Net?
Conservatives. Liberals. Can you tell me?
Are You willing to change the Pronouns by which you Think--the Pronouns by which you Speak?
Liberals. Conservatives. Can you tell me?
Will You speak not of They? Will You work together to redefine the life--the fruit We may bear--in the Safety's Net?
A lifelong follower of the news, diagnosed anxiety left me stressed beyond the days' news to bear. Though "a bleeding heart liberal" by common parlance, no longer could I listen to defenders of the system--the safety net for those unable to work any more than I could tolerate, I cannot tolerate those with no time for--no understanding of--why any "system" might need to exist.
I paid into "The System" for more than 25 years. I paid into Social Security. I paid into private long-term disability insurance--not so that I might cash in some day. I "paid in"--I invested in--because, as much as I believe "all men [and women] are created equal," it is with no cynicism that I say, "life is not equal."
Not everyone lives with an equal inventory of life's parts. Bodily. Economic. Social. More I am sure. Life is not Perfect. For whatever reason--however it manifests itself--each life is not on the same level with the same resources--the same needs.
Yet, each life is precious. The System is the Net to protect those lives. Not for pity. Not for poster children to yield tears from others, raise funds, or intimidate others into different beliefs. Such defiles the very preciousness it claims to magnify.
In 2009, I was brought to the front door knocking at "The System," with need. No begging. No laziness. No nefarious intent to abuse--to cheat--The System. I came to the front door of "The System" with need and guilt--Guilt with a capital "G," that I was not living up to the Ethic I was raised to uphold--the Work Ethic. No bravado, just the conviction that I had to contribute to society--to the community in which I live.
Nearly four years later, I continue to redefine "Work Ethic" means within my body's limits.
I am learning a new vocabulary. New roles. New activities. New balances.
Volunteer. Catholic. Reflect. Write. Blog. Neither lazy nor cheat flows through my bloodstream. Yet, Guilt persists--"intellectually" unjustified guilt--guilt that I personify the very stereotype I abhor.
47% helped no one. Not just as you might think. 47% as proclaimed by conservatives, and decried by liberals--helps no one. Highlighting--not worshipping, but highlighting--how victim is not the essence of "The System's Face"--those who must knock at The System's Front Door-- is essential.
If the lazy, cheating, victim stereotype were in fact true, as some conservatives genuinely may believe, then, conservatives need to articulate how to live within inescapable boundaries imposed by the body.
If conservatives believe that The System--the safety net it provides is not needed--then, talk about how to work within the limits of the body.
Bleeding heart liberal though I may be, I do not hold liberals free of responsibility. Liberals pound their chests with pride proclaiming the virtues of the Safety Net. Hold your horses.
Clear your throats. Speak with clarity not with political banter volleying useless debate back into the court of conservatives who decry The System--the conservatives who decry The Safety Net.
I am The System's Face. Look at me. Defense of your positions--volleying of the political football--does nothing to tell me, and you, how to live fully within the limits of my body--the limits of your body.
I am The System's Face. Look at me. I have needs--undeniable needs.
You are The System's Face. Look at yourself.
You are not immune from need--be it physical, economic, or social. Though today may not be your day of need, such inevitable may come to be. Do not hide from its possibility.
The System's Face. Do not Deface me.
Conservatives dig deep into the Spiritual Wellspring from which you proclaim your value.
Tell me. If I am not to be suspended from an eternal fall by the Safety's Net, then, tell me. How am I to live? How are others, whose bodies are similarly compromised to live? Don't speak of Survival of the Fittest.
The System's Face. Do not Deface me.
Liberals. Draw from your Thinker's Tank from which you Talk.
Tell me. Can you still your political bravado of The System--The Safety Net--in confrontation with conservatives who decry it? Liberals. Can you help me--help others--in the Safety Net--the System's Face to redefine how to live within the Safety's Net?
Conservatives. Liberals. Can you tell me?
Are you willing to work together to redefine the life--the fruit we may bear--in the Safety's Net?
Conservatives. Liberals. Can you tell me?
Are You willing to change the Pronouns by which you Think--the Pronouns by which you Speak?
Liberals. Conservatives. Can you tell me?
Will You speak not of They? Will You work together to redefine the life--the fruit We may bear--in the Safety's Net?
My Subconscious View. Me. LTD. SSDI.
Me. Work Ethic. LTD. SSDI. Me.
Work ethic was instilled in me from childhood. By example. By parental instruction. By familial heritage. From 1960 til 2009, Work Ethic was held in high esteem--faithfully unquestioned.
SSDI. Before 2009, initials. Social Security Disability Income. A paragraph in a yearly Social Security Administration statement of credits earned. SSDI.
LTD. Before 2009, initials. Long-Term Disability. A sensible work benefit offering. An insurance policy. A minuscule deduction--$2.72? per paycheck I presume. A remote need that echoed it the possibility of my imagination--a need vague to my view, yet, haunting to my anxiety. An anxiety inexpensive to appease, however remote it seemed. LTD.
SSDI. LTD. I knew no one within the limits of LTD--of SSDI. LTD. SSDI.
LTD. My knowledge of anyone on long-term disability was LTD to no one. LTD.
2009.
A defining moment in my view of the world--in a view of myself.
2009.
SSDI. I knew no one on SSDI. Enlightened though I thought myself to be, I had far different images of who were receiving SSDI. Some of those images haunt me yet today. They do not describe who I am, yet, they define my sense of what I believe I must be in order to receive SSDI.
SSDI. Bedridden. Paralyzed. Confined to a wheelchair. Totally dependent. Unable to meet my activities of daily living independently. Feeding. Bathing. Dressing. SSDI.
Bedridden. Paralyzed. Confined. Incapable. Unable. Incontinent. Dependent.
2013.
Four years have passed since 2009.
2013.
I am redefining what my life within the limits of my body is. Volunteer. Researcher. Swimmer. Friend. Sister. Cousin. Aunt. Daughter. Writer. Catholic activist.
2013.
Yet, four years later, the haunting drumbeat of my Subconscious View tower over me--the haunting drumbeat is deafening. LTD. SSDI.
2009.
Periodically--necessarily--surveyed, the haunting drumbeat is pounded into my spirit. LTD. SSDI.
Surveyed--periodically--necessarily. My personal questionnaire.
2013.
Do I fulfill my misconception--the haunting drumbeat?
OR
Am I moving forward to Redefine My Life within my Body's Limits.
Me. SSDI. LTD. The haunting drumbeat is deafening to my spirit. LTD. SSDI. Me.
Work ethic was instilled in me from childhood. By example. By parental instruction. By familial heritage. From 1960 til 2009, Work Ethic was held in high esteem--faithfully unquestioned.
SSDI. Before 2009, initials. Social Security Disability Income. A paragraph in a yearly Social Security Administration statement of credits earned. SSDI.
LTD. Before 2009, initials. Long-Term Disability. A sensible work benefit offering. An insurance policy. A minuscule deduction--$2.72? per paycheck I presume. A remote need that echoed it the possibility of my imagination--a need vague to my view, yet, haunting to my anxiety. An anxiety inexpensive to appease, however remote it seemed. LTD.
SSDI. LTD. I knew no one within the limits of LTD--of SSDI. LTD. SSDI.
LTD. My knowledge of anyone on long-term disability was LTD to no one. LTD.
2009.
A defining moment in my view of the world--in a view of myself.
2009.
SSDI. I knew no one on SSDI. Enlightened though I thought myself to be, I had far different images of who were receiving SSDI. Some of those images haunt me yet today. They do not describe who I am, yet, they define my sense of what I believe I must be in order to receive SSDI.
SSDI. Bedridden. Paralyzed. Confined to a wheelchair. Totally dependent. Unable to meet my activities of daily living independently. Feeding. Bathing. Dressing. SSDI.
Bedridden. Paralyzed. Confined. Incapable. Unable. Incontinent. Dependent.
2013.
Four years have passed since 2009.
2013.
I am redefining what my life within the limits of my body is. Volunteer. Researcher. Swimmer. Friend. Sister. Cousin. Aunt. Daughter. Writer. Catholic activist.
2013.
Yet, four years later, the haunting drumbeat of my Subconscious View tower over me--the haunting drumbeat is deafening. LTD. SSDI.
2009.
Periodically--necessarily--surveyed, the haunting drumbeat is pounded into my spirit. LTD. SSDI.
Surveyed--periodically--necessarily. My personal questionnaire.
2013.
Do I fulfill my misconception--the haunting drumbeat?
OR
Am I moving forward to Redefine My Life within my Body's Limits.
Me. SSDI. LTD. The haunting drumbeat is deafening to my spirit. LTD. SSDI. Me.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
At Arm's Length--Or--Take to Heart
A fortuitous nightmare awakened me to the installation of Pope Francis I. A moment before me--before my eyes--a moment before the eyes of the world. The moment is now.
Pope Francis I touched me--touched the world--with the Hand of Jesus. He held a baby. He went to a man unable to come to him.
Some spoke of--whispered "the economic"--the Poor, the Weak, the Vulnerable--as others within view safely from an arm's length.
Others speculate whether this is The Moment when administrative mismanagement within the Catholic Church will be cleaned up--whether church management will be made transparent. Management in the Vatican. Management in local dioceses.
Still others ask whether this is The Moment when the Catholic Church will move into the twenty-first century. Will the Catholic Church embrace married priesthood? Women's ordination. Same-sex marriage.
I shall work--continue to work--with those dedicated to Church Transparency. I shall work--I shall continue to work--with those dedicated to moving the Catholic Church in the twenty-first century.
I like others are elated--surprisingly elated. Yet, I pray of This Moment differently.
I pray.
May We embrace This Moment--This Franciscan Moment.
May we embrace not just the economically--the socially--Poor--the physically Weak, and the Visibly Vulnerable.
May we embrace our Inner Poverty, our Unifying Weakness, our Inescapable Vulnerability.
May we not hide under the Guise of Heroism--the Cry of Pity--at those Stronger or Weaker than we see ourselves to be.
Are you--are We--up to the task of embracing this Franciscan Moment?
I pray. May we open our arms to Pope Francis I--to this Franciscan Moment.
Pope Francis I touched me--touched the world--with the Hand of Jesus. He held a baby. He went to a man unable to come to him.
Some spoke of--whispered "the economic"--the Poor, the Weak, the Vulnerable--as others within view safely from an arm's length.
Others speculate whether this is The Moment when administrative mismanagement within the Catholic Church will be cleaned up--whether church management will be made transparent. Management in the Vatican. Management in local dioceses.
Still others ask whether this is The Moment when the Catholic Church will move into the twenty-first century. Will the Catholic Church embrace married priesthood? Women's ordination. Same-sex marriage.
I shall work--continue to work--with those dedicated to Church Transparency. I shall work--I shall continue to work--with those dedicated to moving the Catholic Church in the twenty-first century.
I like others are elated--surprisingly elated. Yet, I pray of This Moment differently.
I pray.
May We embrace This Moment--This Franciscan Moment.
May we embrace not just the economically--the socially--Poor--the physically Weak, and the Visibly Vulnerable.
May we embrace our Inner Poverty, our Unifying Weakness, our Inescapable Vulnerability.
May we not hide under the Guise of Heroism--the Cry of Pity--at those Stronger or Weaker than we see ourselves to be.
Are you--are We--up to the task of embracing this Franciscan Moment?
I pray. May we open our arms to Pope Francis I--to this Franciscan Moment.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)