March 23rd, 2013
Today, finally, we say goodbye to our Dad, Franklin J. Chiles. Wish me luck that I don't stumble, sob uncontrollably, hiccup, or otherwise mar this solemn day.
March 24th, 2103
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| Dad right before he is ordained as a deacon in the Catholic Church |
I started this post yesterday. I did just fine at the funeral. My brothers and sisters who read managed to get through their readings with hardly a hint of a sob. My older brother wrote and delivered a moving eulogy. There were more clergy, including the Bishop, all decked out in gold and red vestments, than I have ever seen gathered in one place.
And the follow-up luncheon went well.
By late afternoon, we all needed naps.
Today is another story. I was fine until my teeth started to hurt. And, suddenly, I felt very, very, very sorry for myself. Very, very, very, very... So I turned my hand of Hand and Foot over to my Mom. (Who can concentrate on cards with a toothache?) And I started home. I called Hub for a ride and when he picked me up - I dissolved. It was a me-sized puddle of pitiful, pain induced tears that crawled into bed. I am not as devastated as all that wailing implies. Sometimes weariness, stress, and pain induce a huge physical need in me to howl. It's like a dam breaking.
My teeth still hurt. I am still sad. But I don't feel so very, very sorry for myself. I had my Dad for a good long time. He loved me all my life and that love is with me still. I'm a lucky woman.
Last week I was a day early, this week I am a day late. Life.
6. Right Effort
Right effort can be seen as a prerequisite for the other principles of the path. Without effort, which is in itself an act of will, nothing can be achieved, whereas misguided effort distracts the mind from its task, and confusion will be the consequence. Mental energy is the force behind right effort; it can occur in either wholesome or unwholesome states. The same type of energy that fuels desire, envy, aggression, and violence can on the other side fuel self-discipline, honesty, benevolence, and kindness. Right effort is detailed in four types of endeavors that rank in ascending order of perfection: 1. to prevent the arising of un-arisen unwholesome states, 2. to abandon unwholesome states that have already arisen, 3. to arouse wholesome states that have not yet arisen, and 4. to maintain and perfect wholesome states already arisen.
So, this entire step concerns the effort to either arouse, abandon, tamp down, or maintain and perfect "wholesome states." What does this mean? This is all in the context of concentration, or the training of our higher consciousness. We may have to meditate to gain a better understanding of how we can achieve right effort.
I am continuing my quest to be a better person by being more mindful of my thoughts, words and deeds. By watching where I step, what I say, and what I put into my mind and body.
After nearly eight months of avoiding most sugars and for the past two months really struggling to avoid sugar in the form of sweets, especially craving ice cream, I ate a huge bowl of ice cream last night. And did I pay for it. My body rejected it in every way possible, first waking me from a deep sleep, and then waking me repeatedly.
I am grateful for this reminder today of what it means to keep to the Steps, and what it means to fall off the path. Last night I fell off. Today, I'm back on track. Today I'm remembering that this body is the only one I have to get me through this precious life. Today my Right Effort is to eat healthy meals and avoid things that are bad for me. To be grateful for all that I have and to avoid self-pity because self-pity leads me to self-punishment.
Do any of you who read this blog share my foibles, I wonder? Ever indulge in ice cream because you wished you had more money to spend on Christmas gifts? Yeah, I forgot to pay my credit card bill and when I got a reminder that it is due before my next paycheck, I realized I'd have to spend the money I set aside for gifts to pay the bill instead. Oh boo hoo. So I ate a huge bowl of ice cream. That'll show me.
Please tell me this has never happened to you. Has it?
I lost my wallet somewhere between King and Market Streets in San Francisco after Game #1 of The World Series. Amidst my husband’s and my mad dash to catch the Bart in front of the legions of people swarming from behind us out of the ballpark; I somehow managed to drop a wallet. That’s a big piece of dirt to re-trace, and an impossible feat, even if I wanted to do it.
The point is moot anyway, because I didn’t even know I lost my wallet until I tried to tip the hotel shuttle guy at the airport the next morning. The realization that I had lost my wallet and that I could be stranded in Oakland without any money or access to money left me dazed and confused. I felt helpless, particularly since my husband had left on an earlier flight, and I wouldn’t be able to board my flight back to LAX from Oakland without my ID.
Without money in my pocket, my lips were parched and I needed something to drink. Without money in my pocket; I was suddenly starving, even though I grabbed some food from the complimentary buffet at the hotel. Without money in my pocket; I felt destitute and alone.
Standing in line, waiting to plea my case to a TSA agent, almost in tears about a lost wallet and the possibility of not being able to board a plane without my ID; I happened to notice the burn victim standing in line next to me. The features on his face were barely decipherable and his arms were marred with scars. When he caught me looking, he smiled at me. I forced my frustration and self-pity back down into the cracks and crevices of my being and smiled right back. I was in awe of him, and only imagined what he’d been through to get to his spot in line on this day. My troubles paled by comparison.
I somehow managed to get through the day. Whoever told you that you couldn’t fly without identification was wrong. TSA pulls you aside and asks you a sea of questions that only you could answer. Once they are assured that you’re not some terrorist disguised as a loser who dropped her wallet after a sporting event; they let you pass on through.
It’s easy to feel sorry for yourself. It’s much harder to be the guy who survived a fire of some kind that left him disfigured. Whenever I start to feel sorry for myself; I ask myself whether or not my problem is as bad as any of that. The answer; I hope and pray, will always be no.
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My Identity Crisis as of 1/1/1900
