An Early Thank You

Some time ago, I was reading my friend Susan’s blog in which she had written eloquently on the subject of gift giving. (Visit The Grand Duchy of Susania to read said post.) The part that stuck with me most was this:

A perfect gift is more than a tangible Thing; it’s also the implication that the Giver truly knows your heart, and made a real effort to bring you joy.

From an existential point of view, the implication is that giving gifts makes us feel known, cared for, and ultimately less alone.

Before the season of shopping and gift giving hits us fully, I want to say an early thank you to friends and family, for knowing my heart, for the all the many ways you demonstrate that, and for the real efforts we make to bring one another joy.

Wind Through Windows

For years now I’ve lived in old houses or buildings with warped window frames, through which the wind whistles and howls. My first apartment was like that. Chunks and splinters tore from old wood sills; we taped up garbage bags with duct tape, too young and too broke to care about aesthetics.

In the place I’ve lived for five years now, the wind is often loud, especially in storms. The sound made it impossible to close the windows tightly and still sleep, so in winter, I found a balance between wind and cold, leaving enough space so the wind would not screech me awake as often, more blankets on the bed against the cold that came in too. I thought no more about it.

This year, the Photographer brought foam strips for the undersides of the windows, which can now shut tightly.

It is odd, suddenly, to sleep in that warm, silent space.

Brain & Nerves

I saw the Body Worlds exhibit at the local Science Museum. The exhibit is pretty famous by now, actual human bodies, plastinated and taken apart, displayed as art/science in a way that makes us immediately cognizant of our ultimate mortality but also of the incredible, transcendent beauty of the human body. The piece that stuck with me the most was an intact nervous system, brain at the top, nerves branching out underneath, the full height of a human being.

In our culture, we believe that thinking and feeling are separate things. We believe (or hope) that thought is dominant. Looking at the naked collection of brain and nerves in the museum, it was impossible not to remember that thought/feeling is an integrated, whole-body event. We are essentially meaning-making machines, bundles of nerves and brain, moving through the world, experiencing and expressing, experiencing and expressing.

It makes ”thought” seem, at best, a paltry half-story. It reminds me not to be satisfied with anything less than genuine awareness of the full, embodied experience of being in this world.

Lakshmi

The story about the little girl in India with multiple arms, legs and organs who will soon undergo a lengthy and rare operation might have completely escaped my attention had I not noticed her name: Lakshmi, after the Hindu goddess with four arms. Lakshmi the goddess represents wealth, love and beauty. I instantly loved this girl’s parents for their genius in giving her such a name.

Religious & mythological lore abounds with accounts of remarkable births; the deity child born into the world is typically deformed or otherwise remarkable, usually in a problematic way. There is the story of the half-boy, who comes into the world weeping, the Greek god Hephaestous, whose deformity caused his mother to reject him, the numerous stories of heros and saviors whose birth is so problematic they are orphaned or abandoned at the earliest age. Joseph Campbell once described a lecture by a Buddhist teacher who told the story of how the Buddha came into the world. As a baby, the Buddha pointed one hand up, one hand down and said, “Worlds above, worlds below; no one in the world like me.” The teacher noted that people tend think this is remarkable for a newborn baby. “But what does any baby say when he enters the world and cries?” the teacher asked. “He says: Worlds above, worlds below; no one in the world like me!”

I love that little Lakshmi’s parents could look at their deformed child and see in her the goddess entering the world.