Reflections on Nourishment

After a 24 hour Nourishment Retreat

Her true pleasure lies beyond rage…beyond sadness…beyond the things she can never change.   It requires that she feel her anger, weep her tears, accept what was, what is, let go, and forgive it all.  

This is a continuance of life work.  Important, necessary, sometimes very difficult.  May it be also joyful work.   

Her true pleasure lies in the feel of the air on her skin, nourishing water to drink, to float in, solid ground to walk upon. It travels on paths through the trees, stands on a lake shore, looks down from dizzying heights.   It requires a new kind of bread, fresh veggies, fruit and the newfound delight in food that nourishes and satisfies…it requires indulgence when the body, mind and spirit want to indulge, in dark chocolate and wine.  It requires loving touch,  a re-strengthening of the parts of her that have grown weak. 

Revisit the core.  Re-adjust daily priorities.  Reclaim parts lost, but not forever-so.

Her true pleasure is not to have to work too hard at this, but work on slight adjustments and create the space to embrace and live these pleasures.  These are small movements, really.  More and more doable as the demands from others lessen and as she learns to listen to her yes, her no and to sweet words she whispers to herself: "You do not have to be in charge",  "You can rest now", "I love you just the way you are."

Her true pleasure is in the exchange with other beings who seek pleasure and depth, the wisdom of their bodies and souls;  these are allies for the journey who, in embracing the changes in themselves, whether intentionally or unintentionally, change the atmosphere around them.

I take her true pleasure with me, this weekend.  I leave behind remnants of “can’t do that”…and enter another bend on my own spiral, seeing possibility, knowing something deep inside of me is capable of ever more generosity to myself and that this can only be good for me and for the people around me.

24 Hours on Kelley's Hill.  Thanks to Kelly and Allison and all the circles of women in my life who find nourishment in words shared and conscious community.  

BLR July 14, 2014

Rifles in the Woods

A little over a week ago, my oldest had her wisdom teeth out. The next day, she went on a scavenger hunt all over town and had a blast. (We are tough women in this house when faced with pain and physical adversity. Perhaps not so much existential adversity, but that’s another topic….)

The second day, she went shooting in the woods with her fellow “viper assassins,” as their beloved Tae Kwan Do teacher and mentor likes to call this girl cohort of spectacular teen martial artists—two black belts, four red-black belts approaching that milestone.

The teacher is a Marine, a grizzled martial arts and self-defense expert who mixes his dedicated teaching with standup comedy (a combination that goes over extremely well with the under-18 crowd), a voracious reader, and a flaming political progressive. When he asked me if my daughter could go, I felt it was in part a test of me and my biases, and I have to admit that I quailed a bit, inside, at the thought of sending my child out into the woods with guns.

However, I immediately and pseudo-confidently gave my public permission, and decided I could think it over on my own time. Who knew, maybe her father would veto it?

He did not.

However, in my conversations with several friends, a number of them did. Veto it, I mean. I am firmly against gun ownership and use, despite having grown up in the Midwest with shotguns in the house (I never had the slightest interest in them, and steadfastly refused the occasional duck, pheasant, or deer flesh that landed on our table). But aside from my initial hesitation (largely due to the unexamined safety issues), I didn’t see that learning a little bit about gun use necessarily went against my opposition to private gun ownership.   

One friend, whom I respect deeply, was shocked and expressed the fear “what if she really likes it?”

I have been thinking a lot about this decision, and its implications, and how we make these incremental, sensitive, potentially consequential decisions. Many emotional responses come into play in doing so, without our even being fully conscious of them: fear is a big one—of the unknown, of tangible dangers, of exposure to who-knows-what; unfamiliarity and its evil twin, avoidance of displaying one’s ignorance–I suffer a lot from this, especially in meeting international acquaintances, as I am mortified that my knowledge of so many cultures is woefully superficial; self-consciousness—political, moral, socio-economic (as I made clear, this one conditioned my immediate response in this instance); the list is long. 

However, in my life, I am trying increasingly to allow a desire for new experiences that will stretch me and my loved ones to govern my decision-making.  As I look back on my life, my adventurous choices are the ones I remember best, treasure most deeply, and learned the most from. The moments  (surprisingly, more than a few, in my previous incarnations) where someone asked me to do something because they knew I was a risk-taker, or would be open-minded, or was someone who was up to an adventure, carry a special glow in how I conceive of myself. The moments where I allowed myself to quail, or focused on the inconvenience or difficulty a challenge might present, rather than the possibilities it might offer, are those that I still occasionally struggle to put into perspective.

As for the guns in the woods…. No one was injured. Everyone had a great time. My daughter didn’t think she was up to the kick of the shotgun after the oral surgery, and didn’t try it. She preferred the slim, easily handled .22 and its low recoil.  Followed by the AK. The Glock was attractive but hard to stabilize.                                                                   

 A bold  addition to the metaphorical arsenal of her life experiences, and by extension, mine.

Mary for the Poplar Grove Muse

Living Dead Baby CIRCA January 1968

     A still birth had just occurred. The veterans of many births had hurriedly wheeled a gurney into the delivery room, bumping it against the door. The ill-fated contents of the six-months-pregnant uterus spontaneously aborted. The tiny fetus was wrapped in butcher paper and placed in the dirty utility room for pathology to pick up. Meanwhile, inside the cold, white, sterile delivery room, the doctor delivered the placenta under a bit more control than the ‘bumped door’ fetal technique.

     Nurse Miller, the gray-haired nursing instructor, motioned for Elaine and her fellow student nurse, Sandy, to follow her into the dirty utility room. “I’m sorry we’re not dealing with a live baby, but this dead infant will be worth studying a bit.” Nurse Miller gestured for the two to hurry as she looked up and down the corridors in a furtive manner. “This fetus is a mere 6 months, no good lung development, no hope for viability but let’s see what we can see.” Nurse Miller had quickly materialized in the corner area where specimen bottles, dirty linens, and old instruments awaited cleaning and reprocessing. On the lower shelf was a tiny brown-paper-wrapped parcel. “I ‘m very cautious about whom I would show this to…, but you both are mature, smart nurses, so let’s take a gander at this little creature’s last remains, shall we?”

     Nurse Miller quickly unwrapped the bloody package. Lying in the middle of the plain brown wrapper was a little thing with a face, fingers, toes and a minuscule penis. A tiny chest started to rise and out of the little slit of a mouth, a gurgling sound arose. This little baby hadn’t been suctioned or resuscitated in any way. The extremities were a bad, dusky blue color.  Maybe he weighed as much as a bottle of coke. He could fit in the palm of a man’s hand. “It’s alive,” Elaine whispered. Sandy was fumbling for the tabletop to steady herself as she tried to back away. Sandy gurgled, “Oh my God, this is not right!”

     “Let me go for help. Stay right here!” Nurse Miller commanded. She picked up the tiny package with the breath battling baby and turned towards the door. Just as she moved, the attending physician, the head of the Obstetrical Department of this urban Catholic hospital, walked through the utility doors looking for a place to discard his gloves. With a friendly nod he glanced at the quivering trio. “A little post mortem inspection, Nurse Miller?” He gazed at them over the tops of his glasses with a sly smile.

     “Just in the nick of time, Dr. Anderson, this little guy is breathing and was just wrapped here to die.” The older instructor walked towards him with outstretched arms, the baby lying nude and panting.

“Hold on a minute, put that fetus back where you found it,” he ordered, his smile rapidly disappearing. “That is a non viable little thing. Put it back.”

“Put it back?” Nurse Miller looked confused. Elaine and Sandy huddled in the corner not moving an inch. Unclear where the authority was, in their teacher or this power figure of a medical man.

“That’s barely a six-month gestational fetus. It will not live. The parents are distraught and in pain.” The tall man loomed over Nurse Miller as saliva collected on his lips and his voice boomed, “Telling them they have a child only to incur major, I mean major expenses and have a dead baby within two days, is cruel and unusual punishment for no good reason. Put that poor creature back. Now!” With that he ripped his gloves off and slingshot them into the trash bin, “I'm doing what is best for that fetus and the family.” He abruptly made an about face and stormed out the door, leaving it swinging with a helicopter whirling cadence.

     The threesome stood silent and shocked.  Nurse Miller responded first and quickly, placing the infant back on the brown stained paper, “He’s right, and he’s wrong.  I’m sorry, girls, it’s the real world. He‘s a good man. We caught him unaware, this isn’t his nature.”

     It took Elaine a moment to realize Nurse Miller was apologizing for the Doctor, muting his anger and trying to contain the horror for them. The old nursing instructor started cleaning the floor where placental blood had dripped from the umbilical cord when she had spun around in rescue mode just a moment earlier. “It’s not appropriate to look closer at this child, I‘m truly sorry, you saw this.” Her right eye started twitching. Sandy who always had something to say about anything, stood there with every drop of blood drained from her face. Elaine vowed never to work in maternity.

EPILOGUE: 

Nurse Miller stopped teaching after that year.

Sandy graduated but never passed her boards and worked in a plastic surgeon’s office as an insurance adjuster minimizing all patient contact, infant or otherwise.

Elaine just collected degrees and taught others to do what she couldn’t.

carolefor The Poplar Grove Muse