My Pilgrim Mind

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Humor: #1

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Calming Humor

An article on the traits of calming people listed humor as a way to “lighten the mood”. Since one goal of my spiritual life is tranquility I read the piece, though my chest tightened thinking how “humor” has hurt me. Ridicule, sarcasm, put downs, racial or religious humor don’t feel funny. Bury the blond jokes, the Polish jokes, the Jewish jokes, and all the others. Joking at one person’s expense to make someone else feel better is sick. For years I was abused by those forms of “humor”. I even used them to entertain others. Once I realized humor was painful I avoided it. Only in the last decade has a healthy (strange) humor entered to my conversational repertoire.

 

 

My humor derives of noticing incongruities: the four year old wearing a packer sweatshirt over a pink fluffy tutu. I laugh at animal behavior such as the incident where a robin sat on top of the suet feeder, bent over to peck at the food. A red-bellied woodpecker landed on the opposite side of the feeder and looked up. Seeing the robin’s butt, the woodpecker used his long bill to poke the robin in the rear, thus taking control of the feeder. An additional source of humor is ME. So many times I plan for one outcome only to have to deal with another. Reminds me of the quote, “The best laid plans of mice and men”. Laughing at myself relieves many a difficult situation.

 

Healthy humor and the ability to laugh at life is a gift. What about you? How does humor enhance your life? Can you share it?

Silence

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The Sound of Silence

The space between my presence and the twitter of birds

The cradle of my night

A bubble racing over black tar

The cat crossing the laminate floor

Eighty-eight ivories following the New Year’s party

Conversations with God

Time that’s stopped

The laughter that isn’t mine

Blinking eyes

Watercolor poppies on canvas

Silence envelops my body

Oh, that it would enter my brain.

 

GOOSE MUSIC

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Singing the present

Time: 7:25

Temperature: 25

Location: Wooden deck near Madison, Wisconsin

Wearing a flannel nightgown and wool vest, I fill and hang bird feeders. Overhead a noisy flock of geese flap their way to the marsh. The “v” formation and the honking form a vision of notes on a music staff. Goose Music serenading me – a pleasant distraction from neglected duties.

I haven’t written anything lately. I’m enveloped in isolation or depression. After purchasing a spiral, I recorded my “to do” list. The notebook is now half full. The critical parent in me demands to know why I’m so far behind. How could I be such a failure! A kinder side of me suggests looking at my accomplishments. I’ve created a new wildlife feeding station on the deck. I’m clearing out old papers. I’m changing, even praying for self-discipline.

The geese remind me of life’s circle, a pattern of constant change. Seasons change. Geese fly south. Local birds devour the seed and suet I provide.

Do I think of Fall as a period of loss? Loss of old habits, old possessions, skills that dissipate with old age. Or is Fall a time to rethink my life and reopen my spiritual connections?

The geese embrace the change, their “v” shaped chorus performing their travel song in the sky. What’s my travel song? Who’s in my chorus?

 

BEING PRESENT

Live in the present moment.

Don’t obsess about the past or worry about the future.

All you need is right here now.

(Spiritual Literacy, Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat, p.19)

 

Loss and Love

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Across the room sat Otto, a man I wished loved me. We were friends. I had emailed funny messages as he traversed a difficult time. I kept the notes platonic. This day he announced his engagement to another woman. I knew of his interest in her. My reaction surprised me. I would have expected myself to feel jealous or depressed. I was sad for myself, and for what would never be. But, inside me, a contented warmth grew. I wanted so much for him to have peace and happiness. My sense of loss was not important.

Years later, during a meditation, I recalled that day. Both the happiness and loss flowed through time, back to 33 AD. The location was a Roman crucifixion. I was not in the crowd staring up. I floated behind the left arm of the center cross, Jesus’s cross. His eyes gazed on the people below Him. His pain seemed secondary. His focus was projecting love, peace, and happiness on those watching Him. If His pain meant these people could find love, well, that was all that was necessary. Tears swam in my eyes.

In a much lesser degree my love and loss of Otto evoked similar feelings in me. For the first time I had an inkling of the meaning of Christ’s death. “Jesus died for love of us. Jesus died to make up for our sins.” The factual words of dogma and theology buried the impact of love. I’d always heard that the nails were my fault. I was the cause of the pain. I never saw the willingness of love to accept pain so another could have a chance at happiness. This was personal. This was a God I connected with.