The curse of the blessed

There is a young woman at work, let’s called her Blessed Bess. She’s been blessed with intelligence, an engaging personality, a loving husband, a big loving family, and two healthy kids. She has mentioned when describing her life how blessed she feels. Fair enough. Gratitude is a much more attractive attitude than entitlement. Yet, when she talks about being blessed, it sounds more like bragging and lacks any compassion or understanding for people who may not be as “blessed.” For example, when people are talking about feeling low or depressed, she will chirp in, “I’ve been very blessed, I’ve never experienced that.” Or if people are relating the strained and painful family relationships in their lives, she’ll add “oh, that’s too bad. I have a great family. There’s so many of us, on the weekends we just swarm all over each others houses. It’s great.” There’s a slight tone of pity when people speak of their problems, because she just doesn’t understand them because she’s so “blessed.” Can you tell I find her slightly annoying?

A couple of weeks ago, one of her children suffered a seizure. No doubt, it was scary for Bess, and she’s rightfully concerned for her child, but she’s completely falling apart. She’s been unable to come into work since it happened two weeks ago. At first, it was because, as suggested by the doctor that the child should be watched closely. Then she had to take the kid to a series of doctor’s appointments. Now, she says she has to be close to her kid’s school in case she has another seizure and needs to be picked up from school. When you speak to her the formerly cheery, overly confident Bess is now a sleep-deprived, anxious mess.

That’s the problem with being blessed, with being really, really fortunate – when the fall comes, it comes hard. For some reason, she thought she was going to dodge some of the basic sufferings we all have to endure – that everything was going to remain perfect. Because her children had been healthy up to this point, she thought they should always remain healthy. When we have this attachment to how things should be, we are setting ourselves up for suffering. For many of us, things never quite match up to that picture, so we may end up depressed because things didn’t turn out the way we wanted. But, for those who had everything they wanted, they dreamed about, when it starts to reveal its true nature as an illusion, as temporary, it can be shattering.

I’ve always struggled with compassion for people like Bess who brag about their good fortune. And Bess has confused pity for compassion. So, perhaps today’s lesson, boys and girls, is when we can recognize the suffering of others, compassion can grow in our minds. If not, not so much.

The Bridge

I just watched the movie The Bridge tonight about people who choose to commit suicide by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. What a haunting piece of work. In it the filmmakers trained their cameras on the Golden Gate Bridge for a year, and ended up documenting 23 people jumping to their deaths. And while that may sound incredibly morbid, and even irresponsible to some, I thought it was one of the most sympathetic depictions of suicide I’ve ever seen.

Even during my darkest periods of my life when I often thought of suicide, I never attempted it. But, I understand that urge, that need to be free of the pain. That sense that this will never, ever end. That you’re utterly and completely trapped in darkness and there is no hope for escape. That each day is meaningless and that your mere existence is a plague upon your friends and the world. It’s painful to remember.

The film does a good job of documenting the struggles of a few of the people who jumped by talking with their friends and family. These were people who were loved. Yet, that’s either not enough for the depressed person, or they just don’t believe it. Me, I just didn’t believe it. You are so wrapped up in your own pain, that even the fiercest of love cannot penetrate it. So while the jumper may be free from their pain, they have merely passed it on to those who cared about him. A lot of people have little sympathy for suicides for this reason – it feels to them to be a very selfish act, a cruelty towards the people who are left behind, the “easy way out.”

The film came back over and over to this one fellow, Gene, his long black hair flowing in the wind as he seemingly paced back and forth along the bridge, probably desperately weighing his options. While you couldn’t see the expression on his face, by the fact that he just didn’t walk up to the edge and immediately jump as some had done, you could tell he was tormented by his decision. Haunting, just fucking haunting.

I am grateful to all those who have helped me through the years, both professionals and friends, who have helped move away from that kind of darkness, and be able to see that things constantly change, and things are never truly hopeless. I remember when I first heard Buddha’s First Noble Truth – that the nature of samsara was suffering, I was so relieved! I wasn’t crazy. And then the second, third and fourth truths gave me hope that there was a way out of this suffering. And for that I will always be grateful for my teachers and the teachers who came before them and the teachers before them, etc. etc. Thank you, Buddha.

When I was finished watching the movie, I looked up volunteering for a suicide prevention hotline. After a 2 month training period, you have to commit to staffing the hotline 4 nights a week for one year. That’s a big commitment. Two nights a week, sure, no problem. Three? Maybe. But, four starts to become a part-time non-paid job on top of my full-time job. It would be way too much. For now. Maybe someday.

The children are our future

Wow.  That’s all I have to say.  Wow. 

And in case you thought there was cogent thought somewhere in that ramble, let me assure you, there was not.  Here’s the transcript.

Questioner: Recent polls have shown a fifth of Americans can’t locate the U.S. on a world map. Why do you think this is?

Miss Teen South Carolina: I personally believe the U.S. Americans are unable to do so because some people out there in our nation don’t have maps and I believe that our education like such as in South Africa and the Iraq everywhere like such as and I believe they should our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S. or should help South Africa or should help the Iraq and Asian countries so we will be able to build up our future for the children.

Accordion therapy

It’s been a while since I’ve been the mood for anything silly, and nothing has really seemed “fun”. The boyfriend loves the Cotati Accordion Festival. I don’t mind it. It’s a pleasant, low-key day in the park with a wide variety of music, that just so happens to feature accordions. Well, OK. Better than sitting at home depressed. But, what got me actually excited was the Monsters of Accordion show Saturday night at the 21 Grand gallery in Oakland. We saw Jason Webley a few years back at the same venue, and it was a raucous good time. Plus, it was all reminiscent of my funky club going youth seeing punk bands and performance artists.

By the time the show closed with Webley’s standard closing drinking song, the boyfriend and friend were pretty tuckered out. But, I spun, and weaved and sang along with gusto. It felt good. While this wasn’t the show I was at, just substitute Oakland for Barecelona:

On Sunday we went up to the little town of Cotati for their annual Accordion Festival. This year the music felt a little flat – the variation just wasn’t there on the main stage. But, it still was a pleasant way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Meet the O’Ferals

These are the little guys I take care of. Or shall I say, little girls. There are a total of four of them – mama Pretty (the one licking her lips) daughters, Buffy (the buff colored one) and Gonzo (the other one). Not pictured is Tangerine (she’s another story).

I’ve been taking care of this feral family ever since Pretty was a kitten. They have all been trapped, neutered and vaccinated. Taking care of ferals is an interesting exercise in non-attachment. You feed them, you try to provide good conditions for them, and in return they allow you within only a few feet of them before they flee. No snuggles, no purrs, no head butts. Just tolerance. Which is not to say, there isn’t attachment. When one of my girls doesn’t show up for meal time for a couple of days in a row, I start to worry. If it over three days, I start to mourn. And then when they show up again, I’m downright giddy. Ah, the joys of the untrained mind.

Congratulations! You are fully adequate

Nothing like a performance review to make a girl feel pretty and special.

Yesterday, I was summoned into my manager’s office for my mid-year performance review. With the rumor of impending layoffs, I was actually somewhat nervous. I’ve been pretty damn bored for the last few months, and my attitude and performance have suffered for it. Answer the phone? Nah, let it go to voice-mail. Get to work on time? Nah, I’ll just stay a little later . . . or not. Ever since one of my “team” members (where are our matching jerseys? Where is our mascot?) has gotten this almost manic enthusiasm for our project, I’ve stepped to the back since I don’t want to compete with her. Really, dear colleague, our project is not going to save lives, it’s just going to polish our corporate image. Please, gawd, stop acting like we’re curing cancer, HIV and acne. I’m glad you’ve found some meaning in your life by being so damn devoted to the project, really I am. But CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

Sorry . . . On our reviews, we are rated on a scale of 1-5, with 1 meaning you’re this close to being fired and 5 being you’re this close to nirvana/sainthood/top corporate lap dog. They expect the managers to divvy these scores out in a true bell curve. I pity the manager who has a well-performing team of 5 because 2 of them will get truly screwed. If you get a 2 on your review, you are essentially on probation and you are unable to transfer out of the department until you bring your performance up to a 3. Me, I’ve always been a 3 – Fully Adequate. On one review, I was verbally told I was actually a 4, but he had already given out all of his 4s to people who were more senior, so on paper I was a 3.

With some trepidation, I go into my manager’s office. I’ve never had the sense he particularly liked me, so with my current state of mind and performance, I thought I was going to get one of the dreaded 2s. “Congratulations, you got a 3. Here read this and sign.” Whew. When it was all over, I was in his office maybe 5 minutes. No complaints. I’m hoping not to add being without a job to the list of my woes. Let’s hope my fully adequaliciousness takes me off the layoff radar.

Craig’s cat will eat your soul

My new favorite blog is Cute with Chris. Chris is now my internet boyfriend.

Recently, one of his viewers posted this picture:

With all the recent goings on in my life; a dead cat, construction workers swarming outside my home office window, and general sense of who gives a fuck, this makes me laugh.

Picking up the sticks again

For whatever reason, I’ve decided to get out my knitting supplies and yarn stash and take up knitting again. I had 2 bags and a basket full of yarn and unfinished projects. The evening was spent getting all this organized. Unfinished projects in the basket, the yarn stash is its own bag, and a bag with needles and fixings. Unfortunately, I don’t even know if I remember how to knit, but I’m ready once I remember and I figure out something to make.

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I’ve been struggling with second guessing my last few days with Nomie. It makes me sick to my stomach that she suffered in her last hours. Sick. And then later I had a horrible twinge that her death was all my fault. If only I had kept her on her regimen of fluids and antibiotics, maybe she would be alive today. I can’t stay with this thought long because it would be incapacitating to me. As both vets explained, her lab tests showed that she virtually had no kidney function left. The numbers were so abnormal, the lab double-checked them to make sure they were right. She was running on fumes for the last few weeks . . . she had an long, excellent life for a cat. She was well cared for and well loved. Of all my cats, I spoiled her the most. She was my precious girl. And I miss her.

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Had a long conversation with the landlord today re: the construction on the lot above me. He’s had discussions with the developer before, and got some promises re: protecting the privacy and comfort of his tenant. We’ll see. The other neighbors have opposed the development, while my landlord has been cooperative, and has in return, gotten a few guarantees. In a letter they delivered today to the developer, they reminded him of the promises. We’ll see how that goes. In the meantime, I need to talk to the neighbors above the lot and develop an alliance since we’ll be the ears and eyes of what this guy is doing. The minute he does something wrong, I’ll be calling someone at the City and reporting him. He doesn’t have a good reputation around town. A few years back he bought a bunch of substandard lots and planned some mega-houses that simply did not fit in here in the Point. I plan to hold his feet to the fire and make him play nice.

Life goes on

Yeah, if it’s not one thing, it’s another. I think Buddha was right about that whole suffering thing.

Today’s new drama: new construction in the lot above my cute, formerly very private, little cottage. I knew the lot had been purchased a while back, and I knew that they had started developing it, but stopped, probably because the developer ran out of money. With the market the way it is, I figured it was going to sit empty for a very long time. No such luck.

The back property line for my little house is maybe a mere yard away from the back of the house. If they wanted to, they could build almost right on top of this place. So, far it appears they are only clearing the upper part of the lot(s). So far. Developers love me. This is the second place in a row where I have lived next to some open space, and shortly after I move in, it becomes developed. Great. I’m hoping they are putting in a big trophy house, or condos. Please, not apartments. Developers who are desperate to start recouping their investments don’t tend to make the best choices in tenants.

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On Thursday night, a half dozen of my Buddha buds came over for Nomie’s powa and burial. It was really lovely. One of the traits that usually drive me nuts about these folks – their tendency to swarm and get very anal about the proper puja preparations – was welcomed. I had no idea what to do. But, all the obscure preparations were done properly, the shrine looked beautiful, and no one seemed to mind that I was a stinky, sweaty, emotional mess. The ritual itself was beautiful. And made more beautiful by the quiet presence of Nomie’s cat brother, Alaska. Alaska sat quietly on the couch, with his paws folded in and his eyes half closed – the feline meditation posture. In the powa we invoke the Buddha of Compassion, Avalokiteshvara. There he was, sitting on the couch, white in color with four limbs, radiating love and peace.

We then made our way through the jungle-like front yard where the boyfriend had dug a grave for Nomie. Knee deep in mushy pear droppings, I read her eulogy and we said our final good bye.

Even though my comfy chair in the sun-room is one of my favorite places, I can’t go there yet. That is where she spent the last few weeks, where she died in my arms, and where she laid in state.

Damn, I miss her.

Eulogy for Nomie

My dear sweet Nomie –

I want to thank you for being my friend for these last 17 years. You were there for me back when I was a drunk, suicidal mess, through my quest for wholeness, and finally for my journey along the path to enlightenment. You were always there quiet, loyal, never judging and always loving.

When we met you were a wee sickly kitten, more dead than alive. I had no intention of keeping you, but didn’t want you to die. You weren’t given much of a chance, but you fought and you made it. Who could resist a kitten with that much will to live?

Through out our years together, you taught me that love does not need to be big and demonstrative, but is quiet and steady. You were happy to just be near me, just to be my companion. You were my friend and my protector. As the years wore on, you slowed down, as we all do. But, still, you always were near, purring loudly.

About a month ago, you got so sick I thought I was going to lose you. But, you had the will to pull through. It’s as if you stuck around to teach me one last lesson about love.  You helped me to see clearly the difference between love and attachment. Love makes you strong and calm – able to face the toughest of circumstances. Attachment makes you a complete wreck. You became my practice. When I was with you, nursing you through your illness, and yesterday helping you die, I tried my best to stay with the mind of love – forgetting for a while my own pain and doing what was best for you. It is a lesson I will never forget.

Good night my sweet friend. May we meet again, whether it is Buddha’s Pure Land, this life or a future life.  May the mantras and prayers whispered in your ears and on your behalf ripen in your enlightenment, and may you help others on their own journeys as you have helped me on mine.

She’s gone

Nomie’s little body gave out today.  If I wanted to prolong her suffering, I probably could have waited another couple of hours and she would have gone on her own.  But, that seemed cruel.  When I brought her home from the vet, her little body was convulsing.  I knew it was time.  Fortunately, the vet I normally don’t like all that much had given me his home number in case I needed it tonight.  I did.

Her last couple of hours were no doubt frightening and a bit painful for her.  I held her the whole time and talked to her and chanted OM MANI PAME HUM.  When the vet came over, he took care of business quickly.  I held her as her little body went into its death convulsions and continued to chant.  It was over fairly quickly.

She’s still in her favorite chair.  The other two can sniff her and perhaps understand what has happened to their friend.  In Tibetan tradition the body remains untouched for a period of time (not sure, but I’m giving it 24 hours).  Tomorrow night, my friends will come over and do a powa – transference of consciousness ritual – for her and then she will be buried.

The sense of loss is profound.  I hated that she suffered at all.  Yet, I know I did the right thing by bringing her home, and not leaving her in the hospital overnight.   It was her time. I didn’t want her dying alone in a hospital, nor did I want to extend her pain.  She was held.  She was loved to the very end.

I invited my teacher to the powa.  Hell, I need someone there who knows the ritual. If she gives me the company line that putting an animal to sleep is wrong, I don’t know what I’ll say.  I would rather let the negative karma ripen upon me than to see her suffer for one more minute.

Now, I am left with pain.  She was my special girl.  We had an incredible connection.  I’m going to miss her so fucking much.

A complete mess

I woke up at 3:00 am to find Nomie making little mewling sounds as if she were in pain. I took her to bed with me in the hopes we could both find comfort in each other’s presence. It was a fitful night, but at least it seemed she was able to sleep. Me, not so much. It was the first time in months that she has slept with me.

The vet was kind enough to squeeze me in first thing this morning. There are two theories: a) her electrolites are off b/c of the kidney disease which would explain why she can’t walk or b) she’s had a small stroke which would explain the sudden onset, the inability to walk, and her dilated pupils. However, he’s not clear why she is in pain. She’s at the vet hospital today – he’ll give her fluids and see if that doesn’t help things. If not, he’ll do some more test$.

When I come home from my half night and early morning cat vigil, I call my boss to take the day off, which I’ve wanted to do for some time now, but keep getting turned down. And, despite operating on no sleep, quasi-hysterical over my cat and deeply depressed, he still wants my ass at the office.

Then I get a message from my teacher that completely set me off. She’s back now, so she’s got her list of things that need to be done and she wants to meet tonight. No fucking way. I’m not sure how to respond. Instead I just wept on the phone to the boyfriend.

Hey, but at least I can rejoice that I’m purifying, right? Right?