Solstice

These are the dark days of winter. Our sunsets occur around 3:30 PM, each day. I become obsessed with light--the actual thing as well as the metaphor of light triumphing over dark, as can be seen by the title of a past post. Here is a glimpse of the low-level of the sun:

The above shot was taken at 2:30 in the afternoon. See why I am craving light? Fortunately, tomorrow is the winter solstice, the date that the Earth begins its tilt back toward summer.

The yearning for light is also metaphoric. It seems, particularly in the past month, that this world has been overwhelmed in shadow. It can be hard to want to be an informed world citizen and not feel some discouragement. 

It takes considerable effort to find those glimmers of light in the dark. They are out there, you just have to be mindful to find them. There is this, which brought some some warmth and comfort. Reminders of the good, the lights among us are a boost when we feel overwhelmed.

This past weekend the husband and I took our hounds for a drive up the river road. We found some beautiful spots. We got out into the sunshine, weak as it was, and reveled in it.

Later that day, I was walking the dogs before dinner. The sun had already set and a slim, fingernail of a crescent moon was hanging in the western sky. It was dark out, yet I became alight with it's beauty. 

Passing

We gave thanks this past holiday for a life well-lived. My father-in-law, Emile, died the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. 

I look at this picture of him, as a young man, and see someone I didn't get to know until the end of his life. Emile and I were quite different personalities. He was structured, rule-following, and not a risk taker. He grew up in extreme poverty, a Franco-American in a state where discrimination against Franco-Americans was rampant at the start of the 20th Century. It was another of those threads of history, when an immigrant group speaking a different language and worshiping a different religion (Catholicism), heated the flames of fear and angst in this country. Despite the fact that they were hard-working, looking for a better life (the American Dream?), their difference ignited that primitive "Us vs. Them" reactivity. It was difficult to be Franco-American and find a good job prior to WWII. 

Like many children of immigrants, Emile was drafted to fight in that world war. He served in the Coast Guard on and LST, facing the horrors of Anzio, Salerno, and Normandy. He survived but was traumatized for much of his life. Trauma showed itself in his obsessive need for routine and structure, meals at certain times, not being willing to explore new routes to destinations, relying on rules to create a sense of safety. He tracked every meal, every carbohydrate, logging it in ledgers and on index cards. It took a toll, but despite that he found good work, gained certification as an engineer, and provided a good life for his family of four. He loved to dance, and he and my mother-in-law spent many Friday's dancing at the local senior dances. He continued this after she died. Simple pleasures were his. 

Anyone who knows me will attest to my inability to follow a structured routine, or to be disciplined and organized in my daily life. I tend to not censor what comes out of my mouth, often to a fault. I can still see Emile shaking his head, perplexed, at the way I live my life. It made me feel self conscious to be around him. I felt I was always stepping on his toes, so-to-speak. I was a bad dance partner. 

However, when he began to show signs of dementia, there was a change. Dementia, which can wreck such havoc, actually seemed to relieve his trauma symptoms, a bit. He often forgot to worry about all the rules over which he had obsessed. He developed quite a sweet tooth, and a love for baked goods, which I was thrilled to bring to him. It allowed us to connect. it felt good to be able to have a new relationship. He'd smile during visits, laughed easily, had a good sense of humor. We'd "hug it out" at the beginning and ending of visits and the warmth was genuine. I felt like I was getting to know the young man in that picture on top of this post. 

Now, I am in no way saying dementia was good. But, there is no question that for Emile, while it brought some frustration (and even that did not seem to really plague him), it also brought him a little peace from his fears and anxieties. 

Death came before dementia erased his ability to know his children, to remember their names, and to remember that he was loved. I am so grateful for that.

Finding the LIght

The sun is out this morning, it is cold, but so beautiful. I needed this light. We all need this clarity of light, right now.

The Russian plane, the Beirut bombings, and the Paris attacks have brought out the best and worst of us. I don't want to talk politics, but I want to talk humanity. Humanity is hurting. 

Thich Nhat Hanh speaks in his book on anger, that the metaphor for anger is that of the arsonist. If an arsonist lights your house on fire (angers you), you have two choices--you can chase the arsonist or you can put the fire out in your house. If you chase the arsonist, your house (you) will burn and be destroyed. Therefore, he reasons, there is really only one good choice. That is, you use your energy to put the fire out, you use your energy to soothe and calm yourself of your fears and anger. 

This father did so for his son:

Yes, that wrenched my Maineiacheart.

I am a lover of neuroscience and neuropsychology. We know from studies in these fields that when we are angry or fearful, the parietal lobe (more commonly called the frontal lobe) of our brain is turned off--it doesn't function. This is the part of the brain that helps us reason logically, review evidence, and make careful decisions based on lots of information. Obviously, in cases of pure survival, it is not useful to have a brain that stops to consider all the possibilities, you just need to react quickly with a fight or flight response. It's the most primitive part of the brain, a holdover from the ancient civilizations whose lives were in danger at any moment.

In the debris cloud of these recent terrorist attacks, we seem to be struggling to not react out of the most primitive part of our brains. Fear and anger trigger that response. There is little thinking happening but lots of reacting. Many are wanting to chase the arsonist. I see it in the "us vs. them" rhetoric. The panicked drumbeat calling for troops, purgings, and refusals to provide refuge to people fleeing from occupation by these same terrorists or fleeing from war zones because maybe a terrorist will be among them.

Who doesn't understand that sentiment. None of us want to see terrorists strike. But, we must be careful to not become them. They want a land that is strict and rigid to certain principals and religions and ethnicities. They celebrate in "us vs. them" thinking. Us vs. them is the ideology that allows them to disconnect from humanity, from decency and ethics. It justifies treating "them"(their victims) barbarically. 

When you think about it, no one kills or harms without being disconnected from their victims. They always see the victim as a "them", undeserving of fair treatment, compassion, empathy, and love.  It seems to me that if we want to prove terrorists wrong, we refuse to disconnect from others. We refuse to engage in us vs. them reactions. 

Humanity is hurting, and it seems the way to fix it is through connection. Let the light from the candles burned in honor and memory remind us that the way to resist a terrorist is to not let them take away our ability to care about and foster humanity. Do not let them blow apart our connections to others. Do not let them extinguish the light.