The Unclad Soul

There is an insightful comment from the novelist Virginia Woolf in her search for purpose in life. She had often come to detours and dead ends. There were high moments of discovery and low times of nagging self-doubt. In a personal essay she concluded, “What is the meaning of life? That was all—a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with the years. The great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark.” It is such a magnificent comment. Most of us at some point in our lives, often in mid-life or our later years, look back over it all and wonder what any of it meant. We see people we loved for the wrong reasons. Relationships that ended badly. Pathways we should have never taken. Choices we knew were questionable but made them anyway often with regret. We see good times, laughter and celebrations, deep love; that fun concert, the hila...

There is a beautiful line from poet and author Wendell Berry, “We hurt, and are hurt, and we have each other for the healing. It is always healing. It is never whole." That sums up quite nicely a large part of our purpose on earth. After the passing of time and the living of life, we know too well that we hurt others and they hurt us. Life is an ongoing process of learning how to navigate this uneven path we are all on. And in the midst of our hurting and being hurt there are those who are there for our healing. This is a fundamental part of parenting. Our children, if they are to be themselves fully alive, emotionally healthy, and self-directed, must never doubt they are loved by their parents. And that whenever they fail, or get in trouble, or suffer illness, there will be healing at home. This, too, is the core work of marriage, of spending life with a partner, of committing oneself to another person in a relationship of trust, intimacy, and love. Being a s...

I want to stand under a wild sky at night and hear the ancient stories the stars tell. I want to get lost in the wonder of trees lining a country lane and welcome the breeze that refreshes and soothes. I want to swim in the ocean and feel the soft weight of the water hold me in the rhythm of its support. I want to watch children play and relish the freedom in their laughter and remember again what innocence is. I want to make friends with a lonely dog and walk with it along the beach and rest in the grass with its head on my chest. I want to stand in a garden of flowers and disappear in their color and drink in their fragrance. I want to be with people of character and depth and withdraw into the intimacy of affection and know again the worth of my humanity. I want to experience the fundamental powers that define me and believe in my own dignity and authenticity. I want to examine the truths that are pillared in my soul and honor the stability of their influence. I want to...

I wonder now, in these agitated, often berserk times, if we have lost something precious in ourselves. Maybe we never had it. Maybe I have an image of our humanness in my mind that does not exist outside my mind. If so, then where did I get the idea that we are mostly good, and kind, and know how to behave in decent ways? I got it from people in my life who demonstrated those beautiful characteristics to me. Real people. Family. Teachers. Neighbors. Coaches. Friends. I know we can be caring people because I still see people caring all the time. And because I want to be caring, too. Where does that come from if we are basically just selfish, coarse, vulgar people? Who in our culture today champions good manners, courtesy, appropriateness? Where are we to look for people who value intelligence, learning, curiosity; who demonstrate kindness and generosity? It was blistering hot this past weekend. I was running errands and saw an elderly woman walking on the sidewalk. She was ...

There is this from Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland,” Mad Hatter: “Why is a raven like a writing-desk?” (There is a long pause.) “Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said, turning to Alice again. “No, I give up,” Alice replied: “What’s the answer?” “I haven’t the slightest idea,” said the Hatter . And so, there you have it. My dilemma. I’m trying to figure out what happened to us as a nation. It’s a riddle I can’t answer. I haven’t the slightest idea. There are possible answers, I suppose. We got too big. We overachieved. We mixed religion with politics and politics took over religion. We became insanely selfish. We forgot our neighbors. We learned to hate more than we learned to love. We confined ourselves to our own kind and decided “others” were our enemies. We stopped thinking. We stopped caring. We stopped growing. The list is pretty much endless. So here we are. A nation in crisis. We’re surrounded by the greatest gadgets and devices and pla...

I have been out of pocket a while because I was battling Influenza B, one of the strains of the flu virus that has been plaguing the nation for months now. The flu brings with it a variety of nasty irritations. Fever, chills, headache, sore throat, a hacking cough, weakness, and just a general feeling of, Lord, please help me! The strains this year have included additional problems such as strep throat, pneumonia, and in some cases, sepsis, a sometimes deadly collection of bacteria and toxins in the bloodstream. My worse symptoms were a searing sore throat from two small ulcers caused by the flu virus and an accompanying ear and neck ache. I felt very fortunate to have Ingrid and Claudia bringing me soups and good things to eat and making sure I was still alive. My sons, Caleb and Luke, kept up with me, offering to come to my rescue if I needed them. I had great friends from Hamilton checking on me daily. And I had coworkers who called to see if I was faking or really sick...

(This week was my brother's birthday. This is for him.) The weeks have scurried on and turned into months now and still you are gone, but, here as well. There are remembrances of you, photos, emails, and memorials, both small and large. Your voice is in my memory and now and then I hear you speak, recalling old phone conversations where together we cursed politicians, phony preachers, a sleeping church, and, where we replayed the last major golf tournament, Tiger’s life collapse, Phil’s implausible shot, Rory’s power swing, and Spieth’s relentless grit and skills. We grieved Mom’s difficult life, Dad’s mysterious remoteness, and our own flaws and foibles and foolishness. And, there is your laughter, still floating in my consciousness; a laugh that drew you up, shoulders raised, head lifted, eyes closed, a sort of breathless moment of immobility, slow motion seconds of you drinking in great gobs of elation and jubilance ending in coug...

The human body – what a miracle. Despite all we do to it—abuse it, take it for granted, it still operates with amazing precision. Walt Whitman wrote, “If anything is sacred, the human body is sacred.” It is more than a work of art; it is the work of genius. The mind – a complex computer with nearly unlimited capacities. Think of all we do without even thinking about it. Breathing, swallowing, sleeping, waking, walking, running. My typing, at this moment, without actually thinking about it, my fingers run across the keys effortlessly as though they somehow instinctively find the right letters on their own. It’s all the involuntary work of the mind. Creation gave us a brain but life gives us a mind. If we are aware, life will feed and nurture our mind. The ancients called the mind “a palace.” Such a gift. Intimacy – touching, kissing, making love, holding one another; it’s all so vital to our humanity. We shrivel and withdraw, we isolate and grow remote when there is no real i...

“Laughter’s the nearest we ever get, or should get, to sainthood. It’s the state of grace that saves most of us from contempt.” ~ John Osborne, Playwright

“There is always something left to love. And if you ain't learned that, you ain't learned nothing.” ~ Mama, in Lorraine Hansberry’s, “A Raisin in the Sun”

I have friends who are supporting Donald Trump who have posted a few times on my Facebook page. They believe that I sympathize with them in certain ways. And I do. I understand where they are coming from. I share their frustration. And I’m glad they have posted comments. I want to hear their thoughts. I welcome them. I have friends who are supporting Hillary Clinton who seem bewildered that I am not on board with them and with her. I get that, too. I’m a liberal Democrat and they think I should be supporting Clinton. But, I’m not. Friends are irritated about that. That’s okay; I still want them to comment. I want to hear them as well. We don’t have to fully accept each other’s viewpoints or beliefs or politics in order to be friends. But we should be willing to at least listen to one another and allow each one of us our thoughts without judgment, anger, resentment, or condemnation. And certainly without hate. Thankfully, my friends do this. Hillary supporters believe Dona...

I lost a friend last week. Her name was Angi Jenkins. Only 46 years old, her life ended after a lifetime of battling cystic fibrosis. I knew Angi during my years in Hamilton, Texas. She moved to Dallas not long before I did. We reconnected here and then we became Facebook friends. She was often in and out the hospital dealing with serious health issues related to the CF. I dropped in on her unexpectedly one afternoon when she was having to stay at Baylor Hospital for several days. She apologized for not looking her best, but anyone who knew Angi knew it was impossible for her not to look her best. She had a luminous smile, a glowing spirit, and a bighearted presence that simply chased away any of the dark clouds that surrounded her illness. She dealt with her situation with gifted humor, beautiful poise, amazing courage, incredible love and faith. In these past days Saint Paul’s comment in his letter to the Philippians comes to mind: “I thank God every time I think of you....

I am a liberal Democrat. I am a Christian. I am a humanist. I believe in Choice. I support Gay Marriage. I believe in gay rights. I believe in reasonable gun laws including background checks at Gun Shows before a purchase is made. I believe in children. I believe in grand parenting. I believe in laughter and kissing and hugging and love. I believe in thinking, in using your mind and not just your emotions, which are often accurate, but can be easily manipulated. I believe in books. Books are guides into mystery and morality, into wisdom and insight, into gratitude and generosity, into acceptance and endurance, into risk and living, and we need all of that. I believe in pets because whether it’s a dog or a cat or a bird or a turtle it invites compassion from us and can make us a more decent person if we treat it with care and affection. I believe in the sacred which has the power to move and even transform us. Nature is sacred. Seasons are sacred. So is the ocean. Quiet worship before ...

I had lunch recently with my friend Andy Morrison. Andy is in his early 40s and has Asperger’s Syndrome. Asperger’s falls within the autism spectrum of developmental disorders. The condition involves the development of basic skills such as communication and socialization. In people with Asperger’s these skills are delayed and complex in their functions. People with Asperger’s may display eccentric behavior, a preoccupation with specific subjects or rituals, a limited range of interests, and most noticeably problems with social skills. Andy struggles with all of these difficulties. But one major difference is his vast intelligence. He is a voracious reader with a photographic memory. He fully understands language, has a phenomenal vocabulary, and an encyclopedic mind. I learn from him every time we meet. But his inability to naturally interact with others often trips him up and keeps him frustrated. It is simply a part of the Asperger’s and he struggles against it as best he ca...

     “Here's a secret: Everyone, if they live long enough, will lose their way at some point. You will lose your way, you will wake up one morning and find yourself lost. This is a hard, simple truth. If it hasn't happened to you yet, consider yourself lucky. When it does, when one day you look around and nothing is recognizable, when you find yourself alone in a dark wood having lost the way, you may find it easier to blame it on someone else -- an errant lover, a missing father, a bad childhood -- or it may be easier to blame the map you were given -- folded too many times, out-of-date, tiny print -- but mostly, if you are honest, you will only be able to blame yourself.      One day I'll tell my daughter a story about a dark time, the dark days before she was born, and how her coming was a ray of light. We got lost for a while, the story will begin, but then we found our way.”   ―   Nick Flynn , American Playwright/Poet ...

“Only my books anoint me,  and a few friends,  those who reach into my veins.”  ~ Anne Sexton, "The Complete Poems"

“I suspect the most we can hope for, and it's no small hope, is that we never give up, that we never stop giving ourselves permission to try to love and receive love.” ~ Elizabeth Strout, Novelist

Here’s a spoiler alert: we all make mistakes. That had to be said just in case someone thinks because they have cleaned up their life or because they’ve never had an affair or never abused alcohol or because they believe in God or because they go to church or because they have money or because they’ve never failed badly that they are just fine. Maybe. But I would be cautious. Chances are they’re about to mess up sometime soon; because that’s just part of being a normal human being. There is a character in Barbara Kingsolver’s terrific novel, The Poisonwood Bible, who laments: “I've swallowed my pride before, that's for sure. I'm practically lined with my mistakes on the inside like a bad-wallpapered bathroom.”  That has it about right for most of us. A friend of mine recently went through a tough patch of self humiliation. The details are not necessary, just that he’d had a long day of good food and beer (mostly beer) and had over indulged. The situatio...

Below is a link to a terrific essay. It is written by a friend of mine in Los Angeles. She used this essay to come out and declare herself as a Lesbian.  Regina Cates is a beautiful soul, loving and kind, fun and funny, and brilliant! Her story is moving and so needed. Once a man-hater, and with too many good reasons to be so, she allowed herself to evolve, soften, learn, and grow in ways that enabled her to at last have genuine male friends. Here is a part of her story. Please Read This!

I have a great need to experience the sacred.  I think we all do. We live in times that so often desecrate the human spirit.  War, drones, gun violence, road rage, political wrangling, insatiable greed, sexual abuse, child abandonment, and all sorts of inhuman acts against one another too often occur which all serve to deaden our souls. The recent news of the man who systematically kidnapped three young girls in his neighborhood, who just decided to own them as his property, held them captive for years, sexually used them for his own entertainment, was unimaginable in its heartlessness.  How do those women, whose youth and teenage years and sense of self were taken from them, how do they recover from that kind of fiendish, barbaric treatment?  We see this on the news and something dies inside us.  It is so easy then to want to harden ourselves against the cruelty of others.  But in the process we lose our connection with the sacred. Each m...