Blessed Equanimity

Would that we could all be this nonplussed in the face of losing a loved one through death.

Good perspective though.

“Death is nothing at all.

It does not count.

I have only slipped away into the next room.

Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.

I am I, and you are you,

and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.

Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.

Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.

Put no difference into your tone.

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.

Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.

It is the same as it ever was.

There is absolute and unbroken continuity.

What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you, for an interval,

somewhere very near,

just round the corner.

All is well.

Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.

One brief moment and all will be as it was before.

How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

~Henry Scott-Holland, “Death Is Nothing At All”

Beginner’s Heart

Ha! I am all about anti-space.

I insist on filling every minute of every day and every neuron in my brain and every feeling in my body and every square inch of my living and working space with something (anything) to avoid uncomfortable feelings.

So along comes author Jeff Brown (again) and blows the lid off the limitations of the delusion that I live in.

Moving forward becomes hard to impossible.

Nothing is resolved. Only submerged and hidden beneath my surface and the surface of my life.

Waiting.

Am I familiar with the depression that arises from this limited space cramming/emotions stuffing strategy? Duh.

In this exchange, Jeff Brown (JB) and whoever M is (not me) have a conversation about depression and its likeliest causes. This spoke to me.

JB: No, Michael, there is not so much to be depressed about. There is much to FEEL. Depression is frozen feeling. Depression is what happens when we have blocked our emotional fluidity. You can be sad about it, but you don’t need to be depressed. We have repressed so much material that we are no longer energetically mobile. The very reason you hurtle into depression, is because you have not allowed yourself to truly feel the pain of the world. Rise above, rise above, that is your approach. How about go deep down in the trenches, and FEEL it, Michael. Weep for the world. Feel the pain of your human brothers and sisters. Let it pierce you. Let it rip you open. What you find on the other side just may surprise you.

M: Ugh. I can’t. I just can’t. It’s overwhelming.

JB: It’s overwhelming at first, because there is an extreme build-up of unfelt pain. If you release it, new space will be created. A new vista will rise into view. We need to keep the river of feeling moving. Sadness and grief are a fluid and vital experience. You feel it deeply, you cry and cry, and then it lifts. And you come back to what I call a beginner’s heart.

M: You mean beginner’s mind?

JB: No, I mean beginner’s heart… the freshness of appreciation that arises after we truly, madly, deeply feel and liberate our emotional holdings. You can only heal your heart with your heart. To do that we have to open the heart wide enough for its healing elixir to rain down on our pain. Why bury the tears that heal us? Why bury the emotions that fertilize our expansion? Emotional release is a potent way to regain a genuine experience of the moment. Tears are God’s heartshield wipers. They clear the dirt from our heart so we can see the path clearly. Let our quest for spiritual expansion begin with emotional authenticity. Nothing to hide, nowhere to hide it.

After all, enlightenment is not a head trip—it’s a heart trip, gusts of God blowing through the portal of the heart, the aortic love valve merging with the love that courses through the universal vein. If we want to expand our spiritual consciousness, we have to shake our heart tree often. Opening the heart unlocks the heart of the universe, and we see what is always before us. May we be committed to shedding the armor around our heart a little more with every breath…

(~an excerpt from my conversations with ‘Michael’ in Grounded Spirituality. Grounded is now available in bookstores and on Amazon (paperback, kindle, audiobook) at https://www.amazon.com/Grounded…/dp/1988648033/ )

Sometimes, Ya Just Gotta Laugh

These sayings/insults are incredible gems from an era before the English language got boiled down to 4-letter words! I hope you delight in them as much as I have. 😅♥️

1. “He had delusions of adequacy. ” Walter Kerr

2. “He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire.”- Winston Churchill

3. “I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure. – Clarence Darrow

4. “He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary.”-William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)

5. “Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?”- Ernest Hemingway (about William Faulkner)

6. “Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I’ll waste no time reading it.” – Moses Hadas

7. “I didn’t attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it.” – Mark Twain

8. “He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends.” – Oscar Wilde

9. “I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend, if you have one.” -George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill

10. “Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second… if there is one.” – Winston Churchill, in response

11. “I feel so miserable without you; it’s almost like having you here” – Stephen Bishop

12. “He is a self-made man and worships his creator.” – John Bright

13. “I’ve just learned about his illness. Let’s hope it’s nothing trivial.” – Irvin S. Cobb

14. “He is not only dull himself; he is the cause of dullness in others.” – Samuel Johnson

15. “He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up. – Paul Keating

16. “He loves nature in spite of what it did to him.” – Forrest Tucker

17. “Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?” – Mark Twain

18. “His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork.” – Mae West

19. “Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go.” – Oscar Wilde

20. “He uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-posts… for support rather than illumination.” – Andrew Lang (1844-1912)

21. “He has Van Gogh’s ear for music.” – Billy Wilder

22. “I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening. But I’m afraid this wasn’t it.” – Groucho Marx

23. The exchange between Winston Churchill & Lady Astor: She said, “If you were my husband I’d give you poison.” He said, “If you were my wife, I’d drink it.”

24. “He can compress the most words into the smallest idea of any man I know.” – Abraham Lincoln

25. “There’s nothing wrong with you that reincarnation won’t cure.” — Jack E. Leonard

26. “They never open their mouths without subtracting from the sum of human knowledge.” — Thomas Brackett Reed

27. “He inherited some good instincts from his Quaker forebears, but by diligent hard work, he overcame them.” — James Reston (about Richard Nixon)

—Robert L Truesdel

I’ve Been Outed

My deepest, darkest shortcomings have been outed yet again by someone sharper and more insightful than me.

To be fair, I did submit one short story to a competition in the past year.

It did bupkis in the contest but the editor/readers did say good things about my submission. It did encourage me to submit to other contests.

That’s something, I guess.

“I have a young friend who dreams of becoming a novelist, but he never seems to be able to complete his work.

According to him, his job keeps him too busy, and he can never find enough time to write novels, and that’s why he can’t complete work and enter it for writing awards.

But is that the real reason? No! It’s actually that he wants to leave the possibility of “I can do it if I try” open, by not committing to anything.

He doesn’t want to expose his work to criticism, and he certainly doesn’t want to face the reality that he might produce an inferior piece of writing and face rejection.

He wants to live inside that realm of possibilities, where he can say that he could do it if he only had the time, or that he could write if he just had the proper environment, and that he really does have the talent for it.

In another five or ten years, he will probably start using another excuse like “I’m not young anymore” or “I’ve got a family to think about now.”

He should just enter his writing for an award, and if he gets rejected, so be it.

If he did, he might grow, or discover that he should pursue something different.

Either way, he would be able to move on.

That is what changing your current lifestyle is about.

He won’t get anywhere by not submitting anything.”

Ichiro Kishimi

(Book: The Courage to Be Disliked [ad] https://amzn.to/4aAyXmO)

Good ‘Ol Chuck Bukowski

This was too good not to share.

(I lasted exactly two whole weeks on my blog publishing break. More, maybe, on that later. I did promise not to overwhelm you…. )

Looks like poet Charles Bukowski said a few years back what I finally came to believe.

The message certainly bears repeating.

So much truth in this poem: death before death, dead-in-spirit.

Or as I once heard it put: “When you grow old and die, dear, how will you know you’re dead?”

Don’t do that. Don’t be that. Save yourself! Save yourself!

In perpetuity if needs be ….

Nobody can save you but

yourself.

you will be put again and again

into nearly impossible

situations.

they will attempt again and again

through subterfuge, guise and

force

to make you submit, quit and /or die quietly

inside.

nobody can save you but

yourself

and it will be easy enough to fail

so very easily

but don’t, don’t, don’t.

just watch them.

listen to them.

do you want to be like that?

a faceless, mindless, heartless

being?

do you want to experience

death before death?

nobody can save you but

yourself

and you’re worth saving.

it’s a war not easily won

but if anything is worth winning then

this is it.

think about it.

think about saving your self.

your spiritual self.

your gut self.

your singing magical self and

your beautiful self.

save it.

don’t join the dead-in-spirit.

maintain your self

with humor and grace

and finally

if necessary

wager your self as you struggle,

damn the odds, damn

the price.

only you can save your

self.

do it! do it!

then you’ll know exactly what

I am talking about.

Charles Bukowski, “Nobody But You” from Sifting Through the Madness for the Word, the Line, the Way, 2002

The Last Post … Sort Of

Happy anniversary to me.

I started this blog a year ago today. I wasn’t sure then whether I would successfully make it to today or not. Publication wise.

But I did. I published a post every day of varying quality and length for a whole year.

Mission accomplished.

Do you know the haunting musical lament The Last Post? Usually played on a trumpet and followed by two minutes of silence, it is meant to honor those who lost their lives in the Great War.

It is a standard offering at the annual Canadian Remembrance Day services on November 11th across the country. (Known as Veteran’s Day in the US.)

It is a musical thread of continuity that, when we hear it, can snap us back to a particular time or place.

My strongest memory of The Last Post was hearing it played at my father’s funeral in 2005. A couple of his Legion buddies showed up at the service to pay their respects.

When the eulogy and all other elements of the service had been delivered, to close the ceremony, they played The Last Post to send Dad onwards.

The two minute scratchy trumpet solo was played on a handheld cassette tape player held aloft for better hearing by the gathered mourners. It was both moving and comical.

It could have been a scene in a TV series about an old soldier who had lived and died in the countryside among unsophisticated folk who were salt of the earth. And a touch salty, too, if memory serves.

In the end, all that mattered was that Dad’s old buddies showed up to send him off. The low quality of the recording notwithstanding. They showed respect to an old veteran who had done his bit when called upon to do so.

None of us really knows what happens when we die. It is – outside birth itself – life’s biggest mystery. There is no end of speculation about consciousness continuing after we die. Maybe.

I am inclined to think consciousness does continue in some form even though I have no clue what that form might be. Energy doesn’t die only transmogrifies. (Love that word~!)

Reincarnation and its variants are a preferable alternate to the “once and done” end of life theory that so many realists expound and insist upon with just as little evidence for their certainty.

If we don’t really know anyway, what harm is there in believing the more comforting scenario?And then there is that Ouija board session that utterly convinced me there is another side. That is a story for another time however.

I say farewell today in a similar low-key fashion. No big production or insights to share. Just a wistful sense of gratitude and completion in achieving a goal.

I’ve promised to share posts occasionally going forward as and when moved to do so. If a new writing venture develops, I’ll share that news with you, too.

Next week, I am going to a writing retreat. Today and tomorrow, I will rest and see what fills in the space this blog occupied in my life all this year.

Other than that, no concrete plans. Blessedly.

As with most aspects of life, the future is not completely in my control anyway.

I think I’ll just settle in to enjoy the ride wherever it leads.

Thanks for following along.

I’ll likely pop up in your inbox now and then as promised.

We’ll see what happens next

Maggymac out, with much gratitude for the ride and the company.

Plus One Year’s Eve

Well, folks. I made it. This is my 366th post in a row having officially started writing this blog one year ago tomorrow. Happy anniversary to me.

Funny how anniversaries and life just seem to creep up on you. No fanfare or fireworks. Just progression.

I started this blog as a place to gather my thoughts while I committed to writing a book. There has been a book sitting in me for years, or so I’ve been told. I finally wanted to let it out.

So did that book get written? That depends on how you look at it. I wrote enough copy to fill a book certainly. But the technical aspects of book writing were never brought to bear on this project.

A beginning, middle and end to start. No. I chose to share my thoughts and insights into a range of eclectic topics as they arose or came to my attention. In that sense, I honored my own unfolding process and not a publisher’s checklist.

It has been an opportunity to share wisdom I’ve gleaned over the years through the writings of others.

It has been an opportunity to explore and share where I came from and how I healed from it.

It has given me a chance to publicly grieve the loss and raise up some people I admired.

I have a better sense of what matters to me and what I will no longer tolerate. Peace is top item on the list of goals these days. I have turned my back on drama.

This has not been a journal. I’ve done that before. In journals, I shared my deepest fears and insecurities. I bitched and wailed and generally pursued a story line of “woe is me.” This blog was deliberately something other than that.

I distilled the key learnings and strategies that kept me going on my “woe is me” days. I shared what I did to endure and prevail over “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” I worked at learning to forgive myself.

The gap between intellect and emotion can be vast. Such is the process of learning and growth. All of us seem to be slaves to unconscious programming we work our whole lives to understand and overcome.

I have carved out a little niche. An intellectual mini-garden that I can nurture and visit frequently. I don’t yet know what my next steps are. I will write a final post tomorrow just for the symmetry of ending on the same date I started last year.

I will once again this year attend the Getting Away to Write workshop in New Smyrna Beach, Florida next week. A geographic coda to this writing exercise as I started this blog there last year.

I must thank all of you who subscribed and read what I wrote. The comments were usually spot on. Insightful and helpful. The likes were encouraging and kept me motivated. I’ll pop up again from time to time in your inbox like other bloggers.

It’s time now for coffee and morning meditation. Time to ground myself and prepare for the day. It will be deliberately low-key as most of my days are lately. Such a welcome gift.

I love living this way. Forgiving myself as well as forgiving those who trespassed against me. Marinating in the memories of a lifetime and looking back with gratitude. Enjoying the living environment I’ve created whilst living with someone I love who loves me back.

Above all else, I’m certain that my journey – like a billion other journeys taking place in the world out there at this moment – is but a single cell in the vast corpus of life on our planet. Both unique and utterly ordinary.

Whatever is ahead, I plan to enjoy the remainder of the ride to the best of my ability.

Thank you for sharing part of the journey with me.

Winding Down

Two days to go before my one year blog writing anniversary.

Here’s the most important thing I’ve learned this year.

Sayin’ ain’t doin’. I could wax on about why and when and how I learned this but that is a much longer story. It is a story I have already told in this blog in one form or another.

Basically, it means putting your money where your mouth is. It means, in effect, that words aren’t worth much of anything unless they are followed up by meaningful, demonstrated action.

I play freely in the world of words. They are my friends. They are my guides. They have been my saviors. That may sound like hyperbole, but isn’t.

Had I not had words to capture what I was seeing unfold around me and what I was going through and putting those things down on paper, I am not sure what other outlets I might have found.

Well, I actually do know. When I was younger and not writing as much and devoid of self-esteem, I drank like a fish and regularly ran from pillar to post with the childish conviction that the succor I sought was somewhere “out there.”

It wasn’t. I came from a background of madness and learned a lot about madness and acted out madness. Though I didn’t know at the time that that was what it was. Madness is sneaky that way. It looks a lot like other human behaviors if it exists within accepted social parameters.

Didn’t all of us think at one time or another that slamming down a case of beer or a 26 ounce bottle of hooch was prerequisite for having a “good time”?

Didn’t all of us at one time or another really truly believe that we could “save the world” or at least make a significant contribution that would land us in the history books? Okay. Maybe that was only me.

As you skim these blog posts because a title caught your eye, maybe you picked up a perspective you hadn’t thoought about. Or maybe your own thoughts were validated and made you feel less isolated. Or maybe you realized that your life has significance, too, and is worthy of sharing with others.

I have learned that from reading the blog posts of others. Nurse Patty regularly shares anecdotes and frustrations about her profession. Anthony Robert (whom I think is a marketing guru – forgive me if I got that wrong, Tony) regularly shares witty, succinct insights into life.

Climber Margo Talbot tackles and shares a wide range of healing insights on her occasional posts. Always helpful and enlightening. I skim other blogs once I have established a relationship with the author as someone I admire and appreciate.

In all of these words that I produce and others produce, they are a reflection of living and not life itself. Margo can only write about her relationship with ice because she has been out there doing it and is an integral part of the climbing community. Nurse Patty’s perspective and insights come from caring for actual patients.

And me? I wrote a blog post a day for a year [almost] to see if I had what it took to write a blog post a day for a year. I set out to see if I could write a book. And if I were to write a book, what would I write about, I wondered?

Being a writer is about digging deep for honesty, and truth and integrity and facts. But as I‘ve often said, and gratefully have found other authors who agree with me, I write exclusively for myself. Author/columnist Joan Didion explained that she wrote “to find out what I am thinking.”

I do the same.

Yet, today, when this post is finished and published, I will get up from my chair and reenter my life again. The words I’ve written inform my actions and hold me to account. But I am human and far from perfect. Very far. Still, I have claimed my voice and present it as my own.

There is little to no artifice in what I write these days. I did that to make a living for years. Some pieces I produced were truly cringeworthy. But this blog has felt more like having a chat with chums. A little one-sided, I grant you.

But if we got together in person, you’re likely going to hear more of the same. And that’s a good thing. By reading my blog, you can decide in advance if I am a person you deem worthy or someone you want to stay far, far away from. Either choice is valid.

Much like life after you earn a degree or acquire a trade or other marketable skill, you still need to move forward and apply that learning to real life. It is no use talking about how to make the perfect omelette. The proof, they say, is in the pudding. Or, in this case, the omelette.

We cannot pre-think our daily life much less how it will unfold. Inevitably, there will be surprises and challenges and work that needs to be done every day if we’re lucky. Our value system informs what we do and well, or badly, we do it.

We can never really know for sure. In the end, it comes down to how we feel about how we did and are doing. Whether we are meeting our own goals and honoring our values and standards. That is very individualistic.

I am contemplating all of that at the moment. I accomplished a goal I set for myself [well, I will have in two days’ time]. I found out a lot about what I really think and feel about some subjects.

The other learning I will take away from this daily writing exercise is that I got, and get, to determine, “When is enough.” When you achieve that to your own satisfaction, I’d say you’ve done pretty well.

The Constancy of Nature

It is something of a snickering stereotype among the younger generation. As people get older, their energy often turns more deliberately to pursuits in nature.

I figure there are a bunch of reasons for that. It could be the happy result of having vanquished internal demons and accomplished important life goals. So they get to choose to do what they enjoy doing.

Some may see a turn toward nature in later life as a giving up on society and withdrawing from the world. Maybe. But I prefer to see it as a symptom of acquired wisdom.

All of the important lessons we learn in life are internal. Even if there appear to be others involved. They are merely triggers and tests in human form.

So whether your “opponents” are parents or lovers or children or colleagues or random members of your community, they all have something to teach you.

They won’t necessarily teach you lessons you want to learn. But in my experience, that was never really up to me.

I had to keep taking tests until I passed them. I am hard at work studying for the next one that comes up. As long as we live, they never end.

Another reason I think we start to turn toward nature and natural things is the certainty of it. Put seeds in good earth, water them and they will grow. Either to nourish us as in food or to delight us as in the beauty and form of flowers or shade from a towering tree.

My Aunt Anne wanted to die in an apple orchard. I regret that I was too young and didn’t have the power to make that happen for her. She simply wanted to sit amongst the bounty and take it in the fragrance and beauty of the apples.

I get it. I am feeling a similar pull towards nature though my death is not imminent (as far as I know.) I am feeling a need for simplicity and certitude. There are no great acts of nature that most of us can’t prepare for. Even at her most furious, the cycles of nature are fairly predictable.

We don’t know for sure if the seeds will germinate and grow. We anxiously try to control the conditions for growth with various levels of success. We don’t know when death will put an end to our earthly progress.

But we all know the rules.

Farmers had a deep understanding of nature’s cycles and needs. They lived with those rules. As our lives in the twentieth century moved out of the countryside and into the cities, the rules of living started to change.

The rules of nature did not. We live in a world today where the rules are under constant attack. We are trying to live longer. We are trying to hang on to youth and beauty by more and more extreme methods.

Many people today are painfully self-absorbed. They are drifting farther and farther away from the basics of living. And we are paying the price.

So cleaving closer to nature makes sense to me. It checks a lot of boxes for creating happiness.

I like the puttering, the decision-making, the time in the sun and praying for rain. Time in nature gives me a sense of peace, groundedness and a connection to something greater.

That has a whole lot more appeal to me as a way of being than the artifice of navigating tricky social situations, and workplace politics. It always did.

So maybe it is age that brings on a deeper appreciation for all things in nature. But I think it is simpler than that.

We are – if you buy into the biblical description – made from dust and to dust we will return. Which is as about as simple an explanation of the origins of life as I can come up with.

I will leave a more complex analysis of why and how we got here to younger and more nimble intellects. As for me, I’ll plan to head back to the garden with a cup of tea and uncluttered mind.

Gillesheree

Gilles Plante died on March 2, 2024. By choice.

Diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease in 2017, Gilles made his own decision about when and how to leave this planet.

Years earlier, Gilles watched his mother deteriorate and die with Alzheimer’s disease. He wanted to spare himself and his loved ones the same unlovely fate.

So with the assistance of MAID (Medically Assistance in Dying) Nova Scotia, Gilles Plante chose to die at a time and place of his choosing.

Gilles Plante was married for over 30 years to author Sheree Fitch. Sheree called him her Deeply Dimpled Frenchman (having been born and raised in Quebec, Canada).

Sheree Fitch might be a relative unknown in the US unless you have, or ever had, kids. In Canada, she is a superstar.

Stories like Toes in My Nose and Sleeping Dragons All Around enthralled my kids when they were little. Truth be told, those books enthralled their Mom, too.

So when CBC/Radio Canada TV cameraman Gilles met much published children’s author Sheree Fitch, a beautiful love story and life journey began. Their mutual adoration was obvious and enviable to outsiders.

Sheree’s inherent talent and goodness poured out of her pores. Always had done.

Enter Gilles who had – as Sheree once described – the kindest eyes she had ever seen. Their meeting in Halifax, NS derailed Gilles’ ambition for an overseas posting and had him happily step into the role of husband and stepfather to Sheree’s two children.

Gilles eventually landed a foreign posting in Washington, DC for a number of years. When he retired, they headed back to Canada to fulfill another lifelong dream. Gilles and Sheree bought a hobby farm together in River John, Nova Scotia that would become their home base and a local cultural beacon.

Gilles got to pursue his woodworking passion and take care of animals on the farm. Sheree continued to write and create. They became cheerleaders for their newfound community.

So when the River John community school closed, Gilles and Sheree were eager to fill the void. Thus was Mabel Murple’s Dreamery born. A “bookshoppe” by definition but actually so much more.

A gathering place. A recitation hall. A cultural flag happily planted in rural Nova Scotia. And until COVID hit, book lovers and Mabel Murple lovers and Sheree Fitch lovers came by the thousands to visit this “summer season only” literary oasis.

I have been a Sheree fan from a distance for decades. I have watched her succeed in the literary field. I have delighted in her delicious wordplay and command of the English language.

I watched her marriage somewhat wistfully. And I celebrated Sheree and felt her happiness was the just dessert she reaped for the joy and delight she spread about with abandon.

In the wake of COVID, Sheree and Gilles lost their adult son Dustin. Fate can sometimes seem crueler and more intentional to some than others. For no good reason.

Difficult fate came into Sheree’s life once again recently. In the past two weeks, Sheree lost not only Gilles, but her beloved mother, Doe. Too much for any soul to have to bear. Let us hope it is true that God never gives us anything more difficult than we can handle.

In her “Museletter,” Sheree asked for words from friends and acquaintances at this tender time. Her experience is all too relatable and ahead of all of us, if we haven’t yet experienced it.

But in the sweet words of love and appreciation shared about Gilles in his obituary, we are left with what we all might want at our passing. The choice to have made our own decision about where, when and how we elect to leave the earth. And with whom.

To have loved and to have been loved as Gilles and Sheree did each other is a great legacy for anyone to hope for.

In terms of devotion, longevity, productivity, and joyously living every day, Gilles and Sheree set a very high bar indeed.

RIP Gilles Plante and Doe Fitch.

You lived well with much love, given and received.

That’s something we all should hope for.