Debra Basham

Living and Loving

Tag: poem

  • The Best of Bhutan

    “Bhutan’s approach as a Buddhist country,
    a country that values Gross National Happiness,
    is different from a typical technocratic approach.”
    ~ Tenzing Lamsang,
    an investigative journalist and editor of The Bhutanese

    Those who know me well are well aware I rarely read news. Today, I was drawn to read the article about Bhutan’s experience of the pandemic.


    Read the entire article here: How did a tiny, poor nation manage to suffer only one death from the coronavirus?

    While many points in the article moved me near tears, the most uplifting aspect of the article is that it gives my mind a space of hope. I have had many conversations about the need for a new model of leadership in the world.

    Could this tiny country be a demonstration of what is possible?

    Lets look closely at each aspect for what we can learn and apply.

    First, hope that you are lucky and your country’s leaders are thoroughly engaged. Bhutan had trusted, smart, and hands-on direction from its king, whose moral authority carries great weight.

    Second, invest in preparedness…. Bhutan’s health ministry staged a simulation at the country’s international airport. The scenario: a passenger arriving from abroad with a suspected infection caused by a new strain of coronavirus. All these measures reflect what Bitton sees as a dynamic, system-wide self-awareness. “You could call it humility; you could call it curiosity,” he said. “It’s this idea of, wow, we have a lot to learn.”

    Third, act fast and buy time…. Bhutan’s system of community-based primary care had sowed the concept of prevention, and its free universal health care and testing meant that logistics and supply chains were already in place.

    Fourth, draw on existing strengths. (They shifted workers from one segment to another as needed, and provided additional training where necessary.)

    Finally, make it possible for people to actually follow public-health guidance by providing economic and social support to those who need to quarantine or isolate. Nuzzo calls these “wraparound services.”

    First and foremost, we must understand ourselves: when humans are naive to the thought viruses that infect individuals, communities, and species, we are very vulnerable.

    Whatever it might take, it is time for US (ambiguity intentional) to adopt a higher standard of collective being. If you are not familiar with the polyvagal theory of happiness and well-being, please enlighten yourselves. Creativity, productivity, respect, kindness, wisdom — all the virtues of a healthy relating — are needed for us to reach the other shore.

      The Other Shore

      Sitting
      gazing longingly
      across the surface
      of the water at the “other” shore

      Breathing
      releasing contractions
      throughout the body
      all caused by distortions in the mind

      Feeling
      wholly spacious
      emotions rise, fall
      denying nothing and at ease

      Hearing
      birds sing
      birds’ songs dance in the air
      the air, joyful, joins the movement

      Thinking
      memories float
      some pleasant, some not
      illusions seen now for what they are

      Debra Basham
      February 11, 2021

    Note* This poem is about the five aggregates of self: form (or material image, impression) (rupa), sensations (or feelings, received from form) (vedana), perceptions (samjna), mental activity or formations (sankhara), and consciousness (vijnana)

    Note* Check out How to Use the Polyvagal Ladder.

    “No one can put in his best performance unless he feels secure.”
    ~ Dr. William Edwards Deming

    Deming was an American engineer, statistician, professor, author, lecturer, and management consultant.

    Deming undoubtedly would understand the best of Bhutan….

  • Fifty-Fourth Birthday

    Sacred Stories

    She was working on a very deep poem — inspired by her goddaughter’s birthday — with her four poet colleagues/friends on Zoom. She did not share the poem simply because hers was a personal piece not requiring critique, and others had pieces that did. She agreed to send it after the meeting, just for sharing.

    That evening, after substantial insight, she also sent an edited version to the group with a bit of background, adding, “Oddly, the original version had 282 words, the final 228!”

    “How old is your goddaughter?” asked one.

    “Fifty-four.”

    “The difference between 282 and 228 is 54,” her friend wrote back.

    “What made you ask how old she is?”

    “I figured since you had included the number of words in both versions, it must be significant.”

    She quickly looked up the numerology meaning. (54 reduces to 9.)

    Number 9 is the number of Universal love, eternity, faith, Universal Spiritual Laws, the concept of karma, spiritual enlightenment, spiritual awakening, service to humanity, humanitarianism and the humanitarian, lightworking and lightworkers, leading by positive example, philanthropy and the philanthropist, charity.

    Very significant, indeed!

  • Ageless in this Moment

    This week is the anniversary of my mom’s transition. May 20 is also the date Ursel, the former owner of our home, passed, as well as the date Ursel purchased the home 33 years earlier. Both Ursel and my mom had their funeral/celebration of life on May 23. (See the Sacred Story: May 20).

    My mom passed in 2003. That was also Memorial Day weekend. No picnics, no parties, no plans this year.

    I am choosing to find ways to enjoy the moments.

    The leaves have come out this week! Scrumptius spring greens are silouetted against the sky.

    I continue to wear a mask when I go for a bike ride. I do not feel a need for a mask when I am out-of-doors doing activities on my own, but it is an important reminder.

    Yesterday I made some more no-sew masks, as it looks like social-distancing and safe-sheltering is going to be with us for a while longer. Let me know if you want a couple of easy patterns. One is made from a sock, and another is made from a sleeve. Stretchy fabrics are preferred….

    One of my mask-enhancements (inspired by a Dharma friend) is a photo of my smile! It is a black and white printer-quality paper print that I colored with crayons. Quickest teeth-whitening ever! I used clear packing tape to cover both sides and to adhere it to my sock mask.


    Ageless in this Moment Debra Basham May 22, 2020 (WC 250)
    Hiking in the western US for the first time we were
    stepping on rock beneath our feet instead of soil
    nothing seemed familiar except the sun overhead

    A small pool of water caught the sun’s light
    and I kneeled down to take a closer look
    myriad life forms were swimming together

    Precious life-giving water is at a premium here
    nature taking full advantage of resources
    as they present themselves

    This modest puddle is teeming with activity
    but I feel like a voyeur as
    I silently watch closely in awe

    Tiny minnow-like swimmers
    unnamed bugs skating on the water’s smooth surface
    a small lizard lounging

    In the distance I hear others approaching
    I notice a sudden feeling of protectiveness
    hoping those coming along will also be mindful

    A young girl—perhaps six or seven
    wordlessly asks permission to join me
    we peer together into this pool of possibility

    We both have a zillion questions but
    only our eyes give hint to the intellectual activity
    our lips remain still as we keep vigil

    She is motioned to rejoin the others
    reluctantly she leaves our shared perch
    glancing over her shoulder as she obeys

    Many times I’ve abandoned my delight
    when beckoned by some outer call
    wishing I had been able to stay where I was enjoying myself

    I am no longer I but she and all children and adults who can remain ageless in this moment in time and space if we take full advantage of the resources as they present themselves

  • 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….

  • We Are Moved!

    I have had some long days and short nights the past couple of weeks, but we are moved! Here is my poem about all of that I wrote for the last Pine Island Poetry group:

    A Week’s Lifetime
    I. I’ve slept in my bed in this house the last Sunday of my life. The scent of long-past passion still lingers in my nose. The waterbed gave way to a California mattress. The headboard frame with the drawers underneath replaced by a rich Cherry poster bed that stands tall enough I can store the massage table underneath.
    II. This is the last Monday morning I will wake up in this house. Approximately 83,216 Monday mornings I’ve sat here looking east. Thousands of times I’ve watched the shadows grow long, had the sun in my eyes, and marveled at the rain pelting the window.
    III. More than two decades of pulling out of the driveway on Tuesday mornings heading to Still Waters. Sitting in the grapevine rocking chair in front of the sliding glass door looking at the majestic oak tree. Remembering that day I realized one of the women in the library was someone I had carried a deep grudge against, Forgiveness was unnecessary as the truth of how perfectly her role orchestrated divine will in my life set my heart free.
    IV. Working in Kalamazoo on Wednesdays, traveling enough to always keep my makeup bag packed, finding it easier to live out of my overnight bag than to realize some culturally-demanded essential was where I wasn’t. Years of driving into the sun on the way over Wednesday mornings and driving into the sun on the way back Thursday evenings.
    V. So many trips to Tennessee, watching grandkids grow up, remembering moments and milestones and many miles. We always left on Thursdays. Brad is married now, almost a year. Adam is a firefighter. My thoughts were also of Adam as I watched the first responders last Friday morning trying desperately to give my new neighbor one more day or week or month or year. Quite forgetful, she would introduce herself to me every time I stopped in at the new house. “I’m Katey,’ she would say, “I’ve lived here 33 years. It’s the best place I’ve ever lived. You’re going to love it here….” Adam arrived the day we moved in. Granddaughter, Courtney, will be here on Friday.
    VI. Friday night used to be date night. We would have the house all to ourselves. We’d make love in front of the fireplace, dozing off afterwards. I remember once having an ear print on the inside of my thigh. The nostalgia of leaving this house is not just about brick and mortar or years gone by. Moving makes us remember what really matters. We buried Spanky here. So many times I felt the weight of that cat on my chest long after his ashes were way out back.
    VII. Saturday morning Jehovah’s Witness visits, regular until the day John said, “Oh, yes, we are believers. My wife is an interfaith minister….” It’s funny how ritualistic our lives can become. Weeks and years and decades look so much like their predecessors, yet nothing truly remains the same. Next Monday morning I will wake up in my same bed, between my favorite bamboo sheets, having listened to 2002 Land of Forever. While my bed won’t be at 4230 Lincoln, part of my history will be.
    VIII. It’s a new beginning at 1153 West Glenlord Road, Lot 84…
    Debra Basham 7/24/17 (WC 544)

    This week I held baby Iris for the first time, stained and varnished a desktop, made my first risotto, and it absolutely amazes me that I can feel right at home somewhere other than where I felt right at home for the past 40 years. I trust that means this is the next right step….