The Golden Rule

 "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." ~ Luke 6:31

 

The Golden Rule, as often "commonly" stated.  It may seem so "foundational", it is hardly worth mentioning.  Right?  Isn't this one of those basic things we were supposed to learn in kindergarten?  True?  

And yet, there is a reason why it is so fundamental and simple to state.  It is easy to forget, to overlook, and without a doubt, universally, everybody gets it wrong, sometimes.  It is human to fail, but the key is to make the attempt to do better.

That's why foundational values like these are so very important to express.  There's a reason I consider it "foundational".  Remove this "brick" from your foundation, intentionally, and that's when things can topple.

I mentioned the Golden Rule last night, and I've been intending all day to write about it.  It couldn't be more important to understand at this pivotal time in our history (or any time in our history).  It carries every answer, really.  And it would be wise to pay attention.

I was going to list all of the ways The Golden Rule appears throughout the world.  It exists in an astounding number of cultures and spiritual systems.  This Wikipedia page does it far more justice than I can.  Sometimes, it is stated in the negative, advising what not to do.  But one way or another, it is foundational.

Values like these matter, even when we fail, because this is the bridge to a world based on empathy, freedom and mutual respect.  It's a world worth creating.

 

 

Summer flowers photo by Susan Larison Danz

The Elusive Art of Discernment

 “He realized suddenly that it was one thing to see the past occupying the present, but the true test of prescience was to see the past in the future. Things persisted in not being what they seemed.” ~ Frank Herbert, Dune

There is a tendency to believe, I sense, that in ages past, somehow more of us were more discerning than we are today - that in our modern technological and mass media world, there are so many varied ways to be told what to think, perhaps it was easier in the past.  And then you begin to recall actual history, even the most rudimentary pieces most people have heard, and you realize discernment has always been elusive - unless a society values it.  

How to deeply listen, consider and reflect is as vitally important today as it ever was.  If someone is a true communicator who has your best interests at heart, then that person must necessarily actually want you to be discerning, want you to be yourself, want you to reflect on things, freely.  There is also an assumption that a discerning person has already learned something about the most basic of values, starting with something as fundamental as The Golden Rule.

A communicator of information, whatever that information may be, must necessarily respect you as a person who is free to discern.  If someone doesn't want you to be discerning, that person doesn't respect who you are.  And that's of significant assistance in assessing whatever that person is telling you.

There are many beliefs in the world.  There are many obsessions.  There are intricate narratives that may or may not carry any actual truth (or a part of the truth).  There are many situations in which facts are intentionally omitted, as well.  There are those who actually fear discernment because they either know what they are communicating is false or they don't trust or respect you.

To truly progress as a society does not require 100% agreement.  That's an impossible goal.  But it does require the trust that is essentially a part of not only assisting one another in developing discernment, but also respecting and valuing that we are not all the same.  

Truth can and will appear.  It's not all belief.  It's not all opinion.  But to find it and to know it and to identify falsehood is an art we need to aim to practice every day.  Truth is rarely exactly what we think it is.  Truth can surprise us, even astonish us.  And yes, some things are indeed belief.  

The more a society values and encourages deep reflection and discernment, including spiritual discernment (and also respecting that some may choose to reflect upon spiritual things and others may not), the better.

 

Sparkling Waters photo by Susan Larison Danz.  

Remembering to Listen

 "Music is the universal language of mankind." ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

I don't quite understand it, though perhaps I should.  I have started more than one year with Classical music, and then as the year carries on, I listen less.  The same is true for writing, and often for reading.

Yes, of course, it's what happens in the days after January 1.  We return to the habits we choose.  I took a consciously longer walk today in the same place I walked in December.  I felt refreshed and energized.

So why don't we choose these things consistently all year?  Plenty is written about this by February, as predictable as gym parking lots emptying.  

It may be predictable and the typical way of things, but we can make the current January different, and the current year.  This is the January that matters - the one in the moment.  I aim to keep listening (and writing).

 

Winter photo by Susan Larison Danz

Daring to Look

 “And Lot's wife, of course, was told not to look back where all those people and their homes had been. But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human. So she was turned into a pillar of salt. So it goes.” ~ Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

 

We are often told not to "look".  We are told this is "better" and "for our own good."  But we actually do need to look, and we need to do it more often.

My dinner is cooking (again).  The Planets just started on Classical radio.  Once again, that is perfect.  This part, the first part, reminds me of Rome.  Now, there's a place and a time to look back to.  

Rome rose.  And Rome fell.  

Dare we look?

The piece is very discordant in this particular part, highly forceful and dramatic.  

Now it's becoming more mysterious, and more open.  

That's Spirituality.  That's Beauty.

Do we notice it?

We want to better understand how the darkness originates.  It's unhealthy to deny it.

But far too often, there are those who will tell us not to look for the Light.  "It isn't there," they say, "so don't bother."  

But when you look for it, let me tell you, you will find it.  

Dare to look.

 

 

Sunset photo by Susan Larison Danz

The Quiet Voices of a Clamoring Year

 "We have cut the whales off from themselves.  Creatures that communicated for tens of millions of years have now effectively been silenced." ~ Carl Sagan 

 

Some years effectively clamor into our awareness.  2020 was a year like that.  It was not a quiet year.  

When a year like 2020 comes our way, some of us go inwards.  If we choose to continue to nurture our awareness, our voices may appear as if they have silenced themselves.  And perhaps they have.  But not in every way.

I made a conscious decision to be here tonight, even as my dinner is in the oven.  I made a conscious decision to turn off the television that was on while I was cooking.  I turned on Classical Music, instead.  I just missed The Blue Danube, it seems, though they played a more modern rendition afterwards.  

I was reminded even before I turned the radio on that I have often enjoyed the New Year's concert from Vienna.  It is shared live, and so if it was on, it was on in the morning.  I forgot about it completely.  Now it's night.  And yet I wondered.  Was it live this year?  Was it presented at all during the age of Covid?  Would I have wanted to hear it, diminished?  Did they play another year perhaps?  Did they perform it on Zoom?  (I seriously doubt it.)  I could look it up, I suppose.  I don't really need to.

And so it goes with 2020.  

And now it's 2021.

The last time I wrote here, I wrote a rather poignant story.  It was an important story, actually, one that is about trade-offs.  As the year progressed, it became less accepted to talk about such things.  And our awareness of them became more nuanced.  There will be Catch 22's, so-to-speak, that will be examined for years, I sense, if we get that far.

Voices matter.  Some of us went inwards.  It doesn't mean we were "depressed", though some might have felt that way.  We just needed to speak for a time with ourselves, and perhaps with the future.  We didn't necessarily stop writing.   And through that quiet expression of awareness (what some might call "journaling"), we discerned in the moment and found solace.  Even when it felt like we didn't, we did.

That's what 2020 was like for me, after April.

I look at just about every description on my "profiles", the ones I have consciously chosen to share.  In almost every case, I have put "writer" first.  I did not stop being a writer in 2020.  Far from it, actually.  

But now it's 2021, and I am here.

A piece I do not recognize is playing on Classical radio.  It has aspects of discordance.  But still, it carries melody.  My dinner is almost ready.  It took a while to cook.  I will either be back to continue, or I will finish here for now . . . 

(I wonder, before I go to check on it, how many others went inwards last year? And what will the future reveal their voices to say?  Dinner time.)

About 40 minutes later.....Also Sprach Zarahustra (I was thinking Thus, but I looked up the exact title) was playing as I wiped down the kitchen counters.  I thought to myself "That's rather perfect."  It is still playing now.  I need to listen to more Classical music and less "news".  (There isn't really much "news" anymore - it's essentially opinion.)  I wasn't listening to "news" earlier.  A movie was somewhat randomly on (the beginning of The Devil Wore Prada - it's a rather light and interesting movie, in its way, but I turned it off, knowing it).  

Were they truthfully Catch-22's, or trade-offs?  I thought about that at dinner, thinking I was "softening" the idea.  I sense that History will consider them trade-offs, which is what I would have said in April.  

(And in case you are wondering, the previous post I am referring to is this one:  Every Day.)

That was written on April 7 - the last time I wrote here in 2020.  A lot has surely happened in 2020 after that!  And yet plenty of what I wrote about there happened as well.  Some day, we will have the courage to examine all of this more closely, perhaps some of us even today (The music comes to a dramatic crescendo, and then it descends.)

2020 was a year when Spirituality has been vital for many of us, and I hope to speak a lot more about this in 2021.  It is also the year when Spirituality was far too often dismissed.  Perhaps I will write again tomorrow.  Perhaps I will finally read Thus Spoke Zarathrustra on my Kindle one day soon - it's been there for quite a while, unread.

What people seem to think is dead is very much alive - and needs to be.  

Spirituality is vitally important.  

(And now the piece has finished, in precisely perfect timing.  "A chance to shine", the commentator says - I didn't quite catch who was shining, how or when, as I was only partially listening.  Yes, I'd love to believe that is indeed true.  And true of 2021.)

Winter photo by Susan Larison Danz.

Every Day

A Spontaneous Short Story by Susan Larison Danz

In the Time of the Pandemic

It was a bright and sunny morning.  Every day, he visited.  She needed him.  He needed her.  He always carried a rose.

Henry usually showed up early before Geraldine awakened.  He couldn’t care for her anymore at home, and the other options were few, but how this worked was working.  And they could live with it.

It was all so very logical, of course.  And it was working.

Gently, he suggested what she might wear for the day.  The attendants were relieved to have his help.  There was always so much to do, so much to do, and the best of them did their best.  Miriam had greeted Henry with a smile at the desk.  How incredibly beautiful, really, she thought, every day he visited.

He paid for his breakfast, and for his lunch and for his dinner.  He didn’t mind.  The food wasn’t all that bad, and he and Geraldine sat together.  Geraldine was starting to have trouble eating without assistance.  Henry loved to help.  It made him happy to have this purpose.  Sometimes they would go outside in the little courtyard, or enjoy the music in the common room.  They were always together.  It was everything he wanted to do and didn’t mind.  It made it all work.

Next to them at every meal and activity, was a daughter with her mother.  Henry had an awful time remembering names, but it was so sweet to watch the two of them.  Like Henry, she stayed all day, helping her loved one with simple tasks, taking her out in her wheelchair into the sunshine, ensuring her clothes were clean, double checking the soap and the toothpaste and the toilet paper, keeping an eye on the attendants bringing in medicine, and all the rest.  

Every day, it was this way.  Day after day after day after day.  It didn’t matter if it was a weekend.  Every day, this was the way of things.  And it was working.  It wasn't always easy on the more difficult days, but even so, it worked.

Henry happily greeted the other spouses, sons and daughters.  Some came almost every day as well, perhaps for an hour after work or 15 minutes before lunch.  Others arrived on Saturday or Sunday and stayed much longer.  The great-grandchildren laughed in the hallways.

And even when there were challenges, there was a knowing, person to person to person, and there was a feeling of sharing the heavy lifting.

It was particularly sad that some people at the center seemed to have no visitors at all.  But as time passed by, the wives and the husbands and the sons and the daughters reached out to some of them as well.  Over time, there was unspoken friendship - a feeling of family.  And the smiles that used to be so very elusive would appear unexpectedly.


Until.

One day.

Everything changed.


Some people saw it on the news or in their email.  Henry didn’t have a computer.  He had never really needed one.  

He arrived at the center, and outside a giant sign was on display:  NO VISITORS ALLOWED DUE TO COVID-19.  Henry hardly read it, not believing it applied and asked at the desk, a bit confused.  Miriam had expected and dreaded this, and tried her best to hold back her tears. She tried her best.  Not knowing really what to say, she directed him into an office so it could be explained by a “superior”.  The door slammed shut.  She couldn’t hear and really didn’t want to.  Henry wouldn’t understand.  Eventually, he emerged and didn’t stop again at the desk.  He shuffled away, dazed,  too astonished to be angry.  

It was all so very logical, they said.

He thought about her every minute.  What was she doing?  Was she OK?  They had been married 67 years and had rarely been apart. In the days that followed, he tried to call, but Geraldine’s faltering voice grew more distant.  He couldn’t be there to help her, to smile with her, to be with her in the way they’d always been.  It was almost too much for Henry to endure, as the days went on.  Fellow caregivers would try to offer help and empathy one to one another, when they could find a way to talk, but it didn't really ease the pain.

Geraldine had an interior room that had a window looking into the beautiful little courtyard.  How it had cheered them, to watch the birds and the flowers.  They had selected that room specifically, so much better than having a room facing cars and headlights.  The attendants were SO busy.  The best of them tried their best, but there was only so much they could do.  One day, they brought Geraldine to a window where Henry could see.  She stared at him through the faded glass, uncomprehending, aloof and bewildered.  Why wouldn't he come in?

And then a day eventually arrived when something they didn’t want to happen happened anyway.  The virus had somehow appeared inside the center.  It was in other centers as well.  They tried to clean and to clean and to clean and to test and to test.  The residents hated being poked and prodded.  The test was extremely uncomfortable.  Smiles were now invisible.  All the attendants were wearing masks.

It was the logical thing to do, of course.

The phone rang in the morning with the news.  Geraldine was sick.  She was already in the hospital, it had happened so very fast.  Henry wanted to see her at the hospital.  It was incredibly confusing!  What was happening these days???  But he wasn’t allowed in.  He tried to call Miriam at the desk in hopes that she could help him, not knowing where to ask, but he was told she was away, home sick.

Henry didn't really sleep at all that night, but dozed a bit into the morning, and then was startled by the phone.  It was an unfamiliar voice.  Geraldine was dead.  There was no funeral that could happen yet.  Henry didn’t really understand, but his son arrived from San Francisco and attempted to explain.  There would be, but not yet.  Someone called and asked if there was any way the family could accept the idea of cremation.  No.  They couldn’t.  

It had been so very logical, they said.

It was a bright and sunny morning.  Row upon row upon row upon row of rectangular waves of white lined the road, as Henry navigated his aging car.  A veteran, he’d be here too some day.  But Geraldine had arrived here first.

Every day, he visited.  He needed her.  He spoke to her.  He always carried a rose.

Note: This story is a fictional account based on what happens regularly in long term care environments, where dedicated family members are actively engaged in the care of their vulnerable loved ones every day (until the time of the pandemic).  It is a story that repeats itself regularly throughout the United States.  This particular story is based in a relatively functional care environment - not all care centers are like that - it is horrifying to contemplate what might occur in an abusive environment, for example, without visits from family, though such facilities should not technically exist in a more functional world.  

We cannot productively or compassionately address anything health-related in our society without considering seriously the difficult questions related to how psychological well-being has a very real impact on life & death. Just because an idea is "logical" or on the surface "safer" doesn't make it viable, compassionate or wise.  One would hope future societies will plan for a better approach, as difficult as that may be to envision. It may also lead to innovation and change the resources we provide so that seniors in vulnerable situations can more safely and productively remain at home, with enhanced, affordable or subsidized support.  ~ SLD

The Park is Open

 A Spontaneous Short Story by Susan Larison Danz

In the Time of the Pandemic

More to come... 

 

It wasn’t quite summer yet in the mountains.  In fact, it wasn’t quite spring.  Calendars have never dictated the weather in the Rockies.  Even so, it felt much like summer to Summer.  Her mother had named her after a moment in Moraine Park, she’d been told, on a beautiful day she’d met a handsome ranger there.  It had always been about feeling, the name.  Feeling and Beauty.

How surprising in this unusual spring could it be that Summer found herself in the very place that had inspired everything that she was and chose to be.  They were old timers in Estes Park, year round residents.  The town had asked that the Park be closed down, earlier than the rest, because of the virus.  Estes Park, you see, like many small, vacation towns, was filled with elderly residents year-round.  Summer’s parents were no longer on the planet, and in a way, she was relieved. 
This was a spring like no other.

Still, there was freedom.  And a very rare gift.  Summer usually worked at the Visitor’s Center for the National Park Service.  She knew everything about the Park there was to share, and she loved her job.  It was open year-round, though quieter in the winter.  And as much as she missed sharing her intricate knowledge with those passing by, her role now was astonishing.

Through a series of surreal coincidences, Summer found herself this day in Moraine Park.  She was needed there, and she happily accepted.  She knew every bit of its nuances and trails.  She’d worked at that visitor’s center for a time as well and was often on loan, but she rather liked the main center at the Fall River Road entrance.  Her knowledge of the Park started very early, and her father had taught her many subtleties.

She already knew what might unfold right in front of her, though she didn’t quite know how or what to expect.  Humanity was all but gone, you see.  And spring was gradually arriving.  The bull elk would be shedding their antlers soon.  Summer learned at a very young age to respect the elk.  They would show up everywhere, even in Estes Park, particularly in the Fall during their rut, and would astonish visitors without fail every year as they wandered into the roadways.  Elk were always to be given the widest of berths, no matter how tempting it was to approach them, as they could charge a person on a whim.  Wildlife is to be respected.  She told the visitors how, often.  Often they didn’t listen.  But she’d made the attempt, regularly.

The bears were coming out of hibernation soon.  The eagles were quite regularly soaring overhead.  Summer knew and loved the eagles, and what many people didn’t generally realize, is the eagles could know a person in their midst, astonishingly well. They spoke to her, this year more than ever she could recall.  The deer were wandering ever more near.  Soon more birds would arrive.  It was a bit early yet.  

When would the Park reopen?  Nobody knew.  What a glorious thing, truly, despite everything, everything else.  It was as open as ever.

Eagles at play in the Western U.S. (Photo by Susan Larison Danz)