Uplifted

"Where is the love, beauty and truth we seek, But in our mind?"
—Percy Shelley

Sometimes I just can’t figure things out. Especially during the early stages of my recovery from surgery I felt so out of control, perplexed, out of sorts. Then I'd hear a song on the radio, or see something beautiful that reminded me of what I love, or hear the call of a certain bird that flies me right back into the good parts of my childhood. Just taking a walk at these times reminded me there is no such thing as distance, no such state as “all alone.”

Today before leaving for work, during a break in the day’s schedule, or just before going to sleep I’m going to remember those moments of connectedness—seeing a fine picture, reading a great poem, appreciating a model airplane, an old TV show, a good song. Absorbing these small pleasures takes me back to the source of all beauty, energy, and bliss. As I remember what lifts me up, I’ll let myself feel uplifted; I’ll rest in that fullness and walk in that knowledge.

Question: What lifts you up when pressed down by the illusion "you're all alone"?

Break Time

Today I take a little break from any serious consideration of my mental,physical or spiritual state. I am thinking about the lighter part of my heart attack/by-pass debacle.

On the second day after surgery there I am lying in bed, unshaven, no bath in about four days, tubes in places I couldn't even see and I was pooped.

My dear wife Susan had gone to fetch herself something to eat, no nurses to attend to my needs, when I hear a gentle knock on my hospital door. I squeak out the words, "come in" and in walks one of the most beautiful girls in our high school graduation class of 1969. There she stood gorgeous as ever, slender as ever and as kind-hearted as ever. And I cannot, thanks to morphine, recall a word that was spoken between us. All I thought about while she stood there was that I must look terrible. Why couldn't she see me at my best--giving a lecture to 500 people, being a legend in my own mind, funny and full of life? Oh no. I had to be on the bed looking like death warmed over. Even heart-attack survivors have their vanity.

But I'm so glad she came, touched really that she came as did others with such tenderness in their eyes, beauty in their wrinkled but kind faces. I will never remember her words but will always treasure the gift of her presence.

Question: What moment were you seen at your worst and still felt loved?