Debra Basham

Living and Loving

Tag: impermanence

  • What Endures?

    Sunday, March 29, 2020 was the second (and last) day of the Deep Spring Meditation Center virtual retreat with Barbara Brodsky, Aaron, and John Orr. In the afternoon, I went to Galt Nature Preserve for my walking meditation.

    This is the latest/driest I have been here in Southwest Florida. The flora I am familiar with and love, including Sweet Acacia, has almost died back entirely. New (unfamiliar) flora is coming forth.

    I took a short video of the wind singing through the dry palms sounding just like a far-away water fall.

    As I arrived back at my car, hawk flew directly overhead swooping low!

    Juvenile eagle soared with its wide, young wings, just above the horizon, about 300 yards away. This eaglet was born here in the preserve earlier this season, in the nest a short distance from the drive. December seems so very long ago now.

    Yellow police tape surrounds the pavilion as though the deserted picnic tables had recently been the scene of a crime.

    The sun was hot on my skin.

    The thermometer on the instrument panel indicated 87 degrees. All season I had stayed in the house during the heat of the day, protecting myself from the discomfort.

    The past two afternoons while ‘on retreat’ I had walked in the heat.

    Tenderly, I witnessed a pattern in my past of wanting to avoid being uncomfortable. My throat tightened around the thought that perhaps we miss too much….

    I turned the air conditioning off before starting the engine in the stifling hot car which has black interior and was parked in the hot tropical sun.

    I pushed the button to lower the windows and was amazed how refreshing the air felt.

    In his closing comments, John Orr spoke of aging and of the current conditions in our world. He said so much is falling away, but even though there is suffering, we can reflect with gratitude on what has been wonderful and beautiful. We can ask, “What endures?”

    May this humble human remember….

  • Enough!

    Autumn

    Leaves are falling down
    autumn of my life this is
    I must choose to live

    Watching baby breathe
    innocent and fresh new start
    coming from the heart

    Hands wrinkled from work
    burdened by beliefs not mine
    wake before too late

    She is blind but sees
    his deaf ears hear love’s true call
    death’s doorway beckons

    I stand numb yet here
    garden gate gapes wide with pride
    flowers sing welcome

    Rich soil grows wisdom
    rain settles the dust at last
    soon all will be past

    Debra Basham 03-06-2020 (WC 84)

    One month from today we expect to arrive back in Michigan. It would be denial to say the mold saga has not given birth to worry, fear, and concern. Is it gone? I am not just questioning the mold, but referencing also the freedom turning ever-so-surely into curiosity that has momentarily replaced the worry.

    Putting multiple thousands on my credit card, writing checks for more multiple thousands. Grateful access to what we need. Thoughts, too, of those families helped financially by our plight.

    It is said we do not fear death, but we fear dying as the great unknown. Yet, truth-be-told, we have been practicing living with dying since our first breath. We outlived puppies and kitties, and uncles and aunts. Cars and clothes, and friendships. All these no longer are the way they were.

    Fragile at best, this bed of impermanence upon which we rest.

    Mind goes to the blowing of the wind outside the window. Wondering when it is not blowing, where or what wind is.

    Before I was “I,” what was I. And long after, hereafter.

    Suddenly the idea! I can spend all of my earthy accumulations to run a full-page ad in the newspaper telling of the inner journey.

    Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, hardly anyone reads newspapers any more. Trees are relieved. So am I.

    News is depressing. Of course, the really good stuff gets ignored.

    Disaster and doom, debauchery and damage—this is what people read.

    All arises from the conditions. When the conditions are present, wind will arise.

    Death, too, arises—like the sun—when it is time.

    I write an open letter to the tiny house:

    To whom it may concern,

    The problem was more extensive than we anticipated, but we have done what we can. We are optimistic what we have done is enough.

    Love,
    Debra

    My goodness, that is perhaps the words for the ad in the newspaper: WE ARE OPTIMISTIC WHAT WE HAVE DONE IS ENOUGH….

  • Who Are You Dancing With?


    Trust me,
    she knew who she was dancing with
    the entire time.
    She just chose to see the good in everybody.
    I personally do not think she should change
    that about herself.
    It is possible her energy could even bring out
    the best in the devil.
    ~ author unknown

    Each year I look forward to a spiritual ritual for the celebrating of my birthday. It is not for sissies, this incarnational experience.

    It can even be said we are a God Spark. Our true nature is the theme of a recent post, so just trust me about this: We come from God.

    Something is happening that calls for our most profound awareness and commitment: Those most dedicated to love and light are making themselves ill over the conditions in our world.

    In My Pores

    Gratitude seeps in my pores.
    I am thankful for the wooden plaque John made for me for Christmas: Not to spoil the ending, but everything is going to be OK.
    The truth hangs on the wall of our utility room. The most mundane of situations needs the most light to be seen clearly.
    All conditions are impermanent.
    As my fingers dance over the keys on the keyboard Alexa is playing John Denver songs for my listening pleasure: “Sunshine almost always makes me high….” the harmonica calls my soul upward toward the sun.
    Loving individuals unknowingly allow their egos to take over their hearts, losing joy and making themselves sick over the conditions in the world today.
    Perhaps my birthday wish is all humans can rewrite the ending of the Myth of Icarus.
    Son of the creator of the Labyrinth, Icarus was instructed to fly neither too low nor too high. Too close, the sun’s heat would melt his wings of feathers and wax. Too low, the sea’s dampness would clog his wings. Not heeding the warning to avoid the extremes, the former Icarus fell from the sky and drowned in the sea.
    It is said about grief that if one you love dies and you refuse to live, then two have died.
    We must not ignore or deny the conditions we see in the world. We must also not collapse into helplessness or hopelessness.
    Love is our true nature.
    “Love is the light that shines from heart to heart…” John Denver sings on. Is John Denver dead? His music isn’t.
    Are you alive? Does your music live?
    Seventy candles on my cake.
    I think I will make my cake a lemon pie, the juice squeezed from a lemon picked (better to ask forgiveness than permission) from a tree where succulent fruit is left to fall to the ground and rot.
    Let not the light of our eternal love lay wasted by lamenting conditions which are impermanent.

    Gratitude is in our pores.

    All conditions are impermanent…

    Sheilana Massey invited those gathered for meditation for world peace to consider that every expression of the Divine has a right to be. The darkness and the light. The pleasant and the unpleasant. The old and the young.

    As Betty Lue Leiber’s Loving Reminder for January 15, 2020 said, the only mistake we ever make is when we forget to Love.

    I look at the crepey skin on my arms, and the brown spots on my hands. I ponder what the next decade will bring in our world. I choose to let my light shine.

  • Holy Notre-Dame

    WORD FOR THE DAY

    I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly,
    acutely miserable…but through it all
    I still know quite certainly that
    just to be alive is a grand thing.

    Agatha Christie
    Visit Gratefulness.org/

    This week’s news out of Paris was shocking, and of all times to have it be Holy Week for humanity to experience such a devastating loss of such history and magnificence and relevance and beauty. The Cathedral of Notre-Dame destroyed by fire.

    Reminding ourselves of impermanence at times like this, we could/should read all of my blog posts rolled into one message. The message essentially is Agatha Christie’s: Just to be alive is a grand thing.

    We might start with Does the tree still live in your heart? and Tree of Hope.

    Then move back to Hey, Ma Durga. The following quotation is from that:

    “My consciousness has never associated itself with this temporary body. Before I came in this earth, I was the same. As a little girl, I was the same. I grew into womanhood, but I was still the same. When the family In which I had been born made arrangements to have this body married, I was the same… And, in front of you now, I am the same. Ever afterward, though the dance of creation change around me in the hall of eternity, I shall be the same.”

    Nothing—NO THING—lasts forever. We know that, and yet we deal with loss as though it is some sort of personal punishment.

    Yes, it is loss. Yes, it is sad. Yes, it is difficult. Yes, it is painful.

    But we do not have to suffer.

    We suffer because of our subtle judgment, the way we tell the story in our own heart and mind. Today’s Thought for Today from Deep Spring Meditation Center explains that well.

    Deep Spring Center
    Thought for Today

    Subtle judgment is caught up in the story that contracts and says,
    ‘I’m not good at this’ or,
    ‘I should be able to do it better.’

    I might look at it and say,
    ‘I can do it better.’

    That’s not a judgment.

    I know I CAN do it better.

    Can you feel the difference?

    ‘I should be able to do it better.’ Tightness, tension.

    ‘I can do it better,’ is a relaxed and spacious perception.

    ~ Aaron

    I have been dealing with Comcast this week, updating router, cable box, and DVR. It took me five trips to the store, and many hours on the phone to finally get everything working. Right in the middle of all of that frustration (and I was feeling frustrated!), I knew nothing that was happening was eternal.

    Whatever is happening, watch the stories you tell yourself about what is happening.

    Make this a truly HOLY WEEK. Give up suffering….

  • Guidance

    I have come to truly savor watching the TV reality dancing shows. My first (and perhaps still favorite) is So You Think You Can Dance, but I have also come to enjoy Dancing with the Stars and now World of Dance. It is wonderful to see the dance arts gaining recognition as having value. Football players make a ton of money but football does not touch my soul the way dance does. If you are new to seeing dance as an expression of soul, or even if you are in agreement, take a moment to watch this clip of a powerful Mia Michaels piece about addiction, called “Gravity” and danced brilliantly by Kayla and Kupono.

    When I meditate on the word guidance, “dance” at the end of the word lingers in my mind’s eye. I remember reading that doing God’s will is a lot like dancing with the divine.

    We enjoyed a month of joy sharing the past 52 hours with our daughter, Stacey, who came up from Tennessee this weekend. Readers of Yellow Brick Road know I am actively processing the undeniability of our impermanence. (See Still Waters.) Before Stacey arrived, I choked back tears telling her dad, “It feels like time is just rushing by and no matter how much time we might have left with her, most of our time with her is already gone. I don’t want to waste a single moment.”

    I can still smell her in the room here in the tiny house that doubles as my office and the guest room. The fragrance that lingers sounds like laughter. The vision that lights up my heart is seeing her riding along the Van Buren Trail Spur. It is only 2.5 miles, and we drove 50 miles round trip. But catching a glimpse of her helmeted head while watching the Monarch’s dance in the clover running along the trail was worth every mile. Some days it seems as though my chest is not big enough to hold my heart. It physically hurts to feel the complexity of missing, longing, joy, and trust.

    One of the amazing things that happened was around the route she would take back because she was going to Paris Landing, Tennessee, where their sail boat is rather than going back to Smyrna. Since she said she was going 1-94 to 1-57 I had such a strong sense she should go 1-31 to 1-69 instead. Just last evening we asked Linda, who has lived and worked in Illinois, her opinion. Linda agreed 1-31 was probably a better route, and that was the plan. Early this morning Linda sent a text: 31 was closed due to a tanker truck crash and fire. This afternoon it is still closed with the possibility that the southbound lanes might not open up for a couple of days.

    The dance with the divine means we do not often understand the why’s or the when’s or the how’s. We can often see more clearly in hindsight. Say only, Linda would not have known to alert us to the closure if we had not asked her opinion about the route.

    One of the precious moments we shared was attending our former church, where a good friend is now pastor. David was in our youth program while Stacey was growing up, and for many years he spent more time at our house than at his own. Stacey suggested we go; I confirmed he would be speaking; and we went. I sat in my past, seeing how much has changed. Pews have been replaced with flexible sanctuary seating. Walls have come down, large screens replacing hymnals.

    One thing that had not changed: First Sunday of the month communion.

    “Given for you.” Both women who served the bread and cup called me by name.

    It was a tender time.

    “Do this in remembrance.” There certainly is a lot to remember related to that church home and to our daughter, now a member of AARP.

    Suddenly, I hear Lee Ann Womack singing, “I Hope You Dance.” I hope I dance. I hope you dance. I hope we all do. And I hope we don’t ever take one single step for granted.

    I Hope You Dance
    by Lee Ann Womack

    I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
    You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger
    May you never take one single breath for granted
    God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
    I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
    Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
    Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance
    And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
    I hope you dance
    I hope you dance
    I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
    Never settle for the path of least resistance
    Livin’ might mean takin’ chances, but they’re worth takin’
    Lovin’ might be a mistake, but it’s worth makin’
    Don’t let some Hellbent heart leave you bitter
    When you come close to sellin’ out, reconsider
    Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance
    And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
    I hope you dance (Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along)
    I hope you dance
    I hope you dance (Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder)
    I hope you dance (Where those years have gone?)
    I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
    Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
    Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance
    And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
    Dance
    I hope you dance
    I hope you dance (Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along)
    I hope you dance (Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder?)

    Songwriters: Tia Sillers / Mark Sanders
    I Hope You Dance lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group