The Unclad Soul

It’s the beginning of a new week, and soon, a new month. Where did the time go? Weren’t we all swimming and grilling and taking vacations just a couple of weeks ago? Now the kids are all well into the school year. In a few days, it will be Halloween. And incredibly, it’s only 58 days until Christmas. Someone has said, “Life is not just the passing of time. Life is the collection of experiences and their intensity.” Well put. Not just a collection of experiences but also their intensity. Those are the moments that give life substance, affirmation, depth. Those are the times we remember. I attended a couple of birthday parties over the weekend. They were great times with family and friends I love. We shared food and drinks, laughter and fun, warm hugs and memories. There were children rolling in the grass, their tender faces bright with smiles, their small arms extended to receive squeezes and kisses. There were adult reminiscences, catching up on what’s new with on...

“When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me / Speaking words of wisdom, let it be / And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me / Speaking words of wisdom, let it be… And when the broken-hearted people living in the world agree / There will be an answer, let it be / For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see / There will be an answer, let it be… And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me / Shine until tomorrow, let it be / I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me / Speaking words of wisdom, let it be / Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be / There will be an answer, let it be…” That is a song written by Paul McCartney after the death of his mother, Mary. She had come to him in a dream at a difficult time in his life and told him to let it be, that things would be okay Let it be. For the longest time, I thought that was all the song was about, ...

The news carried a story this week of a couple in Sonoma, California who had lost their home in those raging fires. It came on them without much warning. They woke up in the night smelling smoke and before they knew it their house was in flames. They jumped in their swimming pool in order to stay alive. They would come up for air only when they had to. The heat of their burning house singed their backs every time they did. They had planned a trip to Indonesia, and instead of staying in California trying to deal with all the damage and loss, they got on a plane and left. In their fifties, they said they wanted to get out of there and enjoy time together. Good for them. The mess will be waiting when they get back. Why not get some relief and fly off to a beautiful place and live in the moment where there are no blazing fires to deal with? British novelist Martin Amis once wrote, “ The future could go this way, that way. The future's futures have never looked so rocky. Don...

The movie, “Collateral Beauty,” deals with vitally important themes. For me, it fell short in many ways. There were moving moments, to be sure. The all-star cast made good attempts, but they distracted me. I kept seeing them as the movie stars they are and not as real characters in a difficult story. The film centers on an advertising executive, played by Will Smith, who three years earlier lost his young daughter to a fatal illness. His grief has crippled him and he is lost in bitterness and silent rage. He spends his days building colorful, elaborate domino mazes that he then collapses. It’s an obvious metaphor of his life and the shattering of his spirit and soul. He created his ad company on the basis of three imperatives: Time, Love, and Death. These, he told his colleagues and employees, are what connect us to all things fundamental to our well-being. He wanted his ad agency to reflect these themes in all aspects of its work. And yet, in his tormenting loss, he sees thes...

Indulge me if you will to be a little revealing and vulnerable with you. It’s a big world out there and sometimes it seems to be getting away from me. As I age I cannot help but wonder what it all has meant and means and where I might have taken different steps along the way. When I was a boy I wanted to be a doctor. I thought it would be the neatest thing ever to be able to walk into a room wearing a starched white lab coat and look into someone’s throat or ears or listen to their heart with a stethoscope and say, I know what’s wrong. And then I’d help them get well. It was a boyhood dream I suppose but as I moved through school I didn’t think I had the brains to do all of the science and math and physiology and chemistry that was required. And I didn’t really have anyone to convince me otherwise. I had other dreams: becoming a professional baseball player running the bases in Yankee Stadium; a lawyer successfully defending the innocent wrongly accused; a teacher fill...

"O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;   Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;   Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)   Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;   Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;   Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest, me intertwined;   The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?   Answer.   That you are here—that life exists, and identity;   That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse."   ~ Walt Whitman

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...