http://www.campaignforliberty.com/blog/?p=597

Read all of it.

Matt

I’m six foot four inches tall, with broad shoulders, shaved head and a tattoo; but there are millions of people my height, some of those people are broad shouldered, some of that group shave their head and then some of those even have a tattoo; so that isn’t something that sets me apart and makes me special.

I consider myself a Buddhist Christian, but I know others who count themselves the same way, so that isn’t it.  What makes me different from you?  Is it all of the things in my life added together that makes me special?  Is it my job plus my family plus my personality plus my physical attributes plus my history?  Does the sum of those things make me unique?

OK, sure it does, no other person has lived my life.  But how does that make me any different from anyone else on the street?  I don’t think it does.  Not at all.  So I am unique, but not different.  I am special, but not better, perfect but flawed.

I do know that the people in my life, the ones I know well, I find them all wonderful and complete.  There is nothing about them that they cannot fix with meditation and attention to themselves, which is all most of us really need.  My family and friends, they know I love them and that I am thinking about them during the day.  They know that I place them in high esteem in my life, and other that showing them compassion, what more can one human really offer another?

I think we are all the same.  We all want happiness, which is really just the absence of suffering.  We all want that for our loved ones and friends, and the rest of humanity if we give it a moments thought.

I have a feeling most of them will be open to the idea of reiki to begin with. It is a fairly progressive meditation center and as such I am guessing most are aware of chi and how it can and does affect them on a daily basis.

I only recently received my attunement to level II in Reiki, so I am still not the seasoned professional I would rather be, but this is a great opportunity to learn for me. I am hopeful that after a full day of reiki on so many people I will have an epiphany. Kinda like being thrown over and over again in judo, after a few thousand you start to catch on.

I do something a little different in my reiki treatments though; I practice tonglen on the person receiving the reki from me. During tonglen I do a form of meditation whereby I center my focus on the person I am sending the reiki to and consciously imagine reducing the suffering in their life. It is a freeing meditation.

I will write more about tonglen soon.

Matt

Jason has nagged me for a while to make the switch, and I am very glad I did. The widget system is amazing and the themes available in the community or wonderful. I have a lot to learn, but this is great fun.

‘Lost’ might not be the right term, I mean you know where the person is spatially, just not where they are as your friend any more. It is a sad and lonely feeling. Even when you have other people around you, and you value them, losing someone is hard on your soul.

Don’t get me wrong, I have grown away from people in the past too. Just ran out of things to talk about and lost the connection we shared. You join the military, you seek education, you find a deeper religious belief system, all of those change who you are and I understand that. Then there are other times where you know that you and the person are still capable of being friends, but you just aren’t. Those are the sad times.

I personally think the only option is to be compassionate and open to the person, letting them know that you are and always will be there for them when they need you or reach out to you.

Compassion is the only answer to almost all of life’s questions anyway.

Kindness is something that my mother taught us our whole lives, even though we had no idea class was in session. Whether it was helping with homework or talking to us about our life decisions, mom was there, sitting with us on the couch or on our bed, talking us through it all. I knew that as I grew older and began to make decisions that took me further and further afield, she was still there, a phone call away, when I needed her. That gave me tremendous peace of mind.

There were times I am sure my siblings and I thought she was too worrisome or to demanding. Now that I am an adult with a family of my own I see how kind and compassionate my mom was and is still.

There is a reason my kids want to spend every weekend with her. They love the attention she gives them. The time they can spend with her at the kitchen table, painting and making things with pipe cleaners and construction paper. She shows my kids what everyday magic is, every day. My mom is good for me and she is good for my children too.

One quality that is necessary for Buddhahood is compassion for all sentient beings. With out knowing it my mom was teaching me this my entire life. I hope I am lucky enough to have my mom in my life for a long time to come. For me, for my children and for theirs one day as well.

Mom taught me to forgive others by her own actions. There have been times when I know she was wronged, even by those close to her, and she got over it somehow. She taught me to repay kindness by those same actions. She has opened her house time and again for those that need a safe and secure place to sleep and eat. A place to feel welcomed. She is far more compassionate than I am on so many fronts.

I wish everyone had the chance to have a mom like mine.

I was sitting with him now because he is in the hospital. The blue faux leather chair creaked as I tried to get comfortable while he slept there beside me. He’s ill and his mind isn’t doing him justice right now. He knows me, knows the family including my small children, and I am thankful for that. But he can go from speaking to me about the kids and their school to trying to pick a peach from a tree which isn’t there or telling my grandmother she missed the turn-off to number 12.

I wish I knew what number 12 meant to him.

The bed is his passenger seat in the car and where my grandmother was sitting is the driver’s seat. If you insist that there is no car, that we are in the hospital, and he needs to get better he is incensed and tries to get out of bed and to the driver’s seat. That doesn’t help much at all.

I love him so much, and it is very hard to see someone so strong and virile reduced to this feeble state. He needs you to feed him, to wipe his mouth and to help him find a comfortable way to lie on the bed. He is irritable and cranky, and I would be too.

I stood there with him a few nights ago after my grandmother had gone downstairs to the car. I tried to calm him down as the nurses places mitts on his hands. If he’s left alone right now he tries to pull the IV out of his arm, the oxygen and pulse reader off of his finger and to get out of the bed. None of those are good things.

When the nurses came in to get the mitts on he was infuriated with me, told me terrible things and told me to leave and that I need not return. The nurses told me to forget about what he said and that it wasn’t him; I already knew that.

My grandfather is a kind and loving person. The kind of guy that tears up when the little ones are sick and the kind of man who hugs people the first time he meets them. Yes, he is human, and like all of us he too is capable of anger and words said that he later regrets.

While he was reaching for some cantaloupes which he could clearly see in front of his face I wondered what this was like to him. He is seeing people and places from his past. Speaking about Marion Kansas where he lived for 8 months in 1950 when my father was born. Asking us all how much longer until we get to Missouri or back to the house. These things are real to him, even though the television is on and we are all standing around his bed in the ICU.

It made me think of the ‘thought-moments’ that the Buddha spoke about. The knowledge that every thought that enters our mind causes a change in us and a lasting difference in who we are and how we view the world.

I wondered about the thoughts, the memories, that were bubbling up in to my grandfather’s consciousness before me. He was talking about his car for a bit, so worried that a man had it and he needed it back. He told me to make sure I had his car and I knew where it was, that it was safe and secure.

What is the world like to him right now? What is his reality as he has these hallucinations?

My grandfather is a treasure to me. He is full of wisdom and knowledge and kindness. He is a huge part of my life, the lives of my entire family, and the lives of my children. You know, I don’t think he missed a baseball or basketball game my brother played in and he only missed a few of my son’s, when he was ill a few years back. His family is the most important thing to him, we are his treasure.

As our nation ages I wish our culture viewed the aging as the national treasure they are, not as a burden. It is true that this is hard to watch, this is hard to handle. Costly in time and money I know, but can you think of a better purchase? Spending our money on the comfort of our elderly is something we should do with love and kindness, with respect and warmth, not regret and bitterness as so many seem to do.

We might all end up one day in that hospital bed, wondering about the peach tree growing in the room with our family. If I do, I hope my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren gather around me and ask me about my childhood like we are asking about his.

I don’t have much in the coffer, but I have a treasure nonetheless.

This blew me away: http://universe.daylife.com/

And this is my new favorite site: http://www.daylife.com/

I feel awesome
I feel happy
I feel sleepy
I feel crazy

We Feel Fine

The web is so amazing.

I am not sure of the dates, but I know I am aboard an aircraft carrier in the Pacific. The war is over and we are celebrating with every one on the deck. Parties and music and drinking, the mood is amazing and elated.

At one point in my dream I stopped and just watched everyone around me. I know these guys, we’re like brothers now. I know about their home life, their families and their dreams for when they get home. I have flown missions with them day and night, known that I was protected by them as I did the same. It seems surreal, the music coming out over the loud speaker, the happiness and then I stopped myself and wondered if I was dreaming of a past life. That is sobering in a dream, to realize you are dreaming and wonder what it all means.

Then, as I was day-dreaming in my dream, I am handed orders to fly in to a small town and wait for orders.

My dream changes and now I am just about to land my Mustang on a dirt road behind a B-17. As soon as my wheels are down the engine is dead and I coast the plane behind a very large barn. We tarp both of the planes, my Mustang is swallowed by one gray tarp, the B-17 takes as many as we can steal form the barn.

After we had finished the tarping we found work clothes in the barn and traded out our Navy shirts for plain shirts, keeping our own shoes and pants. We walked down the dirt road we had landed on and headed in to the small town. Along the way I realized that there were no electrical wire lines. I don’t know what cities looked like in the 1940s really, but to my eye, that seemed very odd. As we got in to the small town I saw a couple of houses with electric lamps in their windows.

I remember that we are here to get someone out of the town and that we were supposed to fly in, pick them up and then turn around and fly out in one day. I now have the understanding that it is the 1890s and that the plan is gone. The person I was to rendezvous with won’t even be born for another 20 years.

I woke up there this morning, wishing I knew more of the story. Did I ever find the person in the small town? Was I looking for me? Am I the guy in the 1940s and someone in the 1890s? Good questions, no answers.

I am not the type of person who can live on the streets, simply knowing I will have enough food to live and able to find shelter in pine boxes or abandoned cars, but something about Poppa inspires me.

Watch the short video YouTube about Poppa Neutrino that I embedded below. It is from the documentary entitled Random Lunacy.

I don’t know the man, or much about him, but if he is a decent person, kind and loving to his family, friends and the people he meets along his journey, then it seems to me that he is a hero of sorts.

In the NPR story he spoke about the people of Massachusetts town where he built the Atlantic raft. He told about how those people there gave him a diesel generator for the raft and much of the materials to make it seaworthy. Someone who is mean or crazy does not usually generate enough goodwill to find benefactors like that.

With his family in tow he traveled Mexico and the states, busking for money with his band, The Flying Neutrinos. Now the band is ran by his daughter, Ingrid. I actually like her music a lot…

Sometimes it is so hard to keep in mind that we should allow ourselves the right to see ‘everyday magic’, but clearly Poppa has lived his life following that rule.

OK, I just wanted to share, this one was too bizarre and good not to let others know about it.