Beyond Goodness

Here are some musings from Rob Brezsny this morning:

"I used to have superpowers," the bumper sticker says, "but my therapist took them away." Does that describe you? Have you been overly normalized by the bland conventions of what constitutes psychological health? Has your spunk been sapped by the pressure to behave yourself in a civilized manner?

If so, I'll offer you three pieces of advice. They may have a sickening effect if you apply them too liberally, but they'll be a tonic if you use them in small doses.

Here is the first, courtesy of Henry David Thoreau: "Do not be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of much life. Aim above morality. Be not simply good; be good for something."

Here's the second, from Isaac Asimov: "Never let your sense of morals get in the way of doing what's right."

Here's another, formulated by William Irwin Thompson: "An overdose of an antidote becomes a poison in itself."

- Rob Brezsny, Pronoia, Frog Ltd., Berkeley, CA, p. 60

Old poetry books

My father taught me to appreciate old books. He had a huge library, contained along the walls of many rooms in our house. I think each of us 8 kids kept some of them when he died.

Here are three I keep out on a table because the look and feel of them gives me pleasure, and they are full of poems!

The one on top is about five inches long. It is a book of poems titled The Seasons: containing Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, by James Thomson, with the life of the author by Dr. Samuel Johnson. It was published in 1788.

The second with the Celtic embossing is The Shorter Poems of John Keats, and has no publication date.

The green book on the bottom of the pile is The Early Poems of John Greenleaf Whittier, published in 1893.

Out of season, I want to post one of the most beautiful poems ever, from the second book: Keats' "To Autumn."

TO AUTUMN

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fumes of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

John Keats, 1819

Kind friends

“Charm” by Debra Hurd

Reminiscing today about my childhood with two kind friends, both older.

Jimmie E. was two years older. Every Saturday morning I crossed the street in our small Michigan town, knocked on his back door, and went in and watched Mighty Mouse and The Lone Ranger with him in his little den.

In the autumn we played house outside. We raked piles of maple leaves into a large blueprint of a house in his backyard. Rows of leaves were walls. We parked our bikes in the “garage.” We never actually said, “let’s pretend you’re my husband, I’m you’re wife,” but it was assumed.

Janet J. was four years older. A twelve-year-old playing with an eight-year-old me, she was always fun and taught me how to wrap fabric around dolls, securing it with pins to create spontaneous clothes. In her yard smelly green walnuts were scattered around. Her father flattened them with his car tires in the driveway.

Janet’s father and my father were both ministers. We lived across the street from each other, she in the Methodist parsonage, I in the Baptist parsonage. Our churches were also across the street from each other on two corners. In the Methodist church they could dance in the basement. In the Baptist church dancing was not allowed because it was considered sinful. (I’m not sure what folks at the time did with the Psalms in which King David danced unto the Lord.)

One of my best childhood memories was piling into the Methodist minister’s convertible European car with the neighborhood kids and going for a root beer at the A & W. In those days it was still a drive-in and they hooked a tray of frosty mugs on your window.

Together, Jimmie, Janet, my brother John and I were in the Happy Workers Club. We raked leaves for old people. Afterwards, at night, we played combat outside the Methodist church, which resembled old German buildings we saw in WWII movies.

I am the youngest of eight children. All the neighborhood kids were older. Many elders have cared for me my entire life. Even my husband is older than I by a bit.

Thank you to all you lovely friends and family who have cared for me. I will turn the big 5-0 next month, and I couldn't do it without help (and some dancing) along the way.

Visit my Paris Deconstructed blog for a new post.

Independence Day Wish

Here are my son and my nephew huddled with matches, risking life and limb (just kidding) to light our family's fireworks at the lake Sunday night.

The little display in the sky is about the level of enthusiasm I feel patriotically right now. I am happy to live in the United States, don't get me wrong. I lived in a less developed country for three years (Turkey). I appreciate convenience, availability of goods, democracy, freedom. I really do. I lived at another level in a place where telephone service was limited and stores were not open 24/7. But did I suffer? No. I actually suffered a bit returning to the States. I was overwhelmed by Choice, Glitz, Money. How long and how much for that ABC Monday Nite Football video extravanganza, for goodness' sake??

I'm embarrassed by the desire our current president has to control parts of the world. I understand it's about "our interests." But come on, the New American Century? How much hubris is that?

I don't want to start a political debate. I just want to state here, for the record, that on this Independence Day, I wish we were not at war in Iraq and Afghanistan. I wish we were not playing a missile game with North Korea. (As if THEY don't have the right to defend themselves when countries like ours are attacking countries we perceive as a threat without them attacking us.) I wish each of us would take responsibility for our own life and realize it is what I do that will matter. I have to think and live my life. I wish so many things, but I also wish to be at peace with things AS THEY ARE. I'm not waiting for things to change (even though I hope they will).

I get to say these things, because this is my blog. I hope I have not put a wall up between me and you. It's not important. It doesn't really matter in the long run. I just have to say it today.