Aurora to Ardmore, London to Lebanon

Aurora.

I wasn’t going to pander to it because – well, because it is so personal and the press has made it so ‘newsy’ (when it really isn’t) that I didn’t want to add any more to that.

But then my daughter, who is in Scotland, writes in her blog about being a global citizen and in a Skype call with her I enthusiastically support her taking a bus to go running off to London for a day of adventure with her friend. I remember when I was 14 and I traveled by myself throughout Europe, in Greece, in Communist countries, and the most fearful thing was that someone would grab my ass.  And so I think – go, wander, explore, because that is life, that is how life should be. 

Now it does cross my mind that London is the home of the summer Olympics and  that the Olympics is a potential source of terrorism.  And it does cross my mind that she will be working the Fringe Festival which attracts close to 2 million people into the city some of whom might be 'fringe' themselves. But even as these thoughts make themselves known they are over-ridden because I believe this is what it should be like at her age; hop on a bus, ride 10 hours into London, go roaming about, work in a giant artistic event, experience the world and just keep exploring. Thus I  I bury my mother hen fears - which exist in part because I am an ocean away - and instead trust her sensibility while I recall how much I gained in self-awareness and confidence from my own early travels. She has my blessing and I am thrilled for her.

Then this; Aurora and the fragile nature of life rears its head.

I know that had my daughter been home, she, like so many other kids, would have likely been at the opening  midnight showing of a new Batman release. And, I know that, unlike her going off to London,  I wouldn’t have had even a second thought about it because I am nearby and just like in  Aurora, Colorado the movie cineplex here is in a mall - a place that is considered very safe. Her friends are good kids all and it’s just a movie,  the kind of thing you do every day. In fact, the status on Facebook for two of her friends this evening  read ‘at the movie’. Its a normal, American kid thing to do.  Between the two, given the commonplace nature of going to the theater 5 miles away my worry about her taking a bus to London seemed the far more reasonable.

But the very normalcy is just the part that gets folks about this; when the everyday stuff suddenly isn't so everyday you find yourself struggling for answers.  After 9/11 when the area where I worked in the city was under lockdown, when we had to show badges to get in and out of buildings, when I passed body search dogs on my way to the office and there were kids with AK-47’s on the street corners  I felt invaded by fear.  However my friend, a Rabbi, who had lived for a while in Israel shrugged, this is how it is he said. But doesn’t it make you crazy I asked?  God will decide my time was his answer.  Now I don’t know about that part, but I understood, he had lived with street bombings and violence as something that could happen. I lived in ignorance.

Nor is it just Israel or the Middle East.  My African American friends have a similar response – welcome to life in an urban war zone, or in a Southern town, or anywhere for that matter if your skin color or your features or how you are just doesn't blend in.

I remember when I rode the ambulance in Brooklyn – and I remember the first time we had a shooting – a drug dealer shot in the chest. I was just a volunteer, I never saw a bullet wound (or even a dead person). The medics threw me the MAST pants (military antishock trousers – inflatable pants used to keep blood pressure up when there is bleeding from the chest) and I didn’t know how to put them on. But the guy with the bullet wound did and he told me, he’d been through all this before. Even told us which hospital to take him to.  Getting shot was just part of his life.

In the year that followed that incident I got to learn a lot more than how to put on MAST pants. I remember the postman with the vacant eyes when his girlfriends ex decided this guy had no right to her, I remember sitting in the projects waiting for the coroner to come and get the bloated body of an old woman that no one even thought about while I listened to the gun fire down in the alley below, I remember the bar in Red Hook awash in blood and bodies after a bar room dispute, and most of all I recall standing in the ER watching a doc hold a woman's heart in his hand trying to restart it after someone shot her. I heard the momma's in the waiting room crying, and seen the life leaving as a body turned into a carcass. Getting shot got pretty real sometimes.

But for most folks in America, the possibility of getting shot in the middle of a movie theater in a suburban mall exists so far from the reality of their lives that imagining it feels like the end of reason. The violence stuns a lot of Americans because we believe violence in a theater is only supposed to be on the screen. Personal violence is supposed to be removed from our daily lives; sanitized.

So it is that we live in a strange dichotomy; aware of violence through media news clips and movies but the sharp pain of it is once removed. We manage mostly to remain oblivious to the impact it has on people's lives. We are  ferocious about freedom, self righteous in our ideas of justice and and ignorant about what's brewing in the house next door. And,in the end, we are unwilling to address the problem that exists until it lands up on our doorstep.

I have friends and family who own guns; and  the vast majority who do have been trained in their use and have a deep realization of what they can do.  As for myself, I shot a gun once and then for lots of reasons, mainly  because I understood how powerful it could make me feel, I knew that I would never own one. Turns out that I was a pretty good shot, and I even liked it, but I didn't like how it made me feel so strong. To this day I have that bullet to remind me.

Now I do appreciate and respect that  some folks feel different, I get that for them having that gun is important. Yet even the ones that have those guns have licenses and not a one is an assault rifle. And most of them embrace the idea of some sort of regulatory process.

But for me the bottom line is when someone’s right to have a gun comes up against my right to go to a movie, that’s when I say enough.  We are quicker to imprison someone for shooting heroin than for shooting a kid walking in the street.  

Yes, I agree and understand the old maxim, it’s people who kill people – its just that a) they use guns and b) there’s a lot of that killing stuff going around.

No matter what, and I will leave the debate on gun control to the pundits, it still comes to this, it still comes down to the fact that I cannot understand why we do this, why are we, with all our knowledge, here - with guns and arsenals and assault rifles. Why do we have such a love affair with the gun as an answer, with destroying each other. Why do we increasingly move toward militarization as a solution to every problem. And why do we believe that we have the RIGHT to kill another person, and not just in self-defense or protection but because, just because.  Horrifyingly there have been a few comments in the social media ether in SUPPORT of the killer - and I just stop and think - huh?

We have tapped into this part of ourselves and now we cannot let it go. And that's what make me weep, that is what breaks my heart - because if we believe that a gun is the answer to differences then we have no answers. Yes, I agree, more regulation won't fix things because so long as we think that power over can bring peace we will keep destroying.

Think on this - prior to 1900 disease and pandemics were the largest killers of human beings. After 1900  war and democide became the chief  destroyers of human life - interestingly right around the time we used our amazing human intellect to invent the automatic rifle. And it's gone downhill from there.

Now, it's not like we have nothing else to do, it's not that as though we have already conquered all illness and can prevent pandemics - no, we still have plenty of those.  Even more there is plenty of the basics that still need our attention - every day  50,000 children die from  lack of clean water, it is estimated that 15-30 million people will die of poverty annually, and 10 million children will die before the age of three.

One billion people cannot read or write – with less than one per cent of what the world spent every year on weapons we could  insure every child was educated – and education is the first step to better health, reducing poverty, and improving quality of life. But it doesn’t happen.

These are all things we can do something about – access to water, eliminate poverty, educate people – we have the tools, we have the ability. But we don’t.

Instead we make more guns, bigger guns, more deadly guns. And we argue about regulation.

And this is where I am stuck.

There are 10 firearm deaths per 100,000 folks in the US.

There are .58 and .46 deaths per 100,000 folks in Scotland and England respectively. (that is POINT 58 and point 46). 

So I let my daughter get on a bus in Edinburgh and go to London in search of adventure. And its safer than going to a movie in her home town.

The lust for violence is great in America but in truth the problem permeates the world; Syria, the Congo, Tibet. It is as though there is some perverse belief that calculated destruction is an answer in a world were there is plenty of suffering without any human made violence needed. I have thought, perhaps foolishly, that our highest aspirations as humans was to make the world a better place, not a defeated one.

I sign my notes to people with the word 'metta' - and so far no one has ever asked me what it means. Maybe they looked it up, maybe they know. It is an ancient word from the Pali language - an Indo-Aryan tongue that is used in Buddhism. It's mean is 'loving kindness' - the love of all others, without bitterness, in fellowship, in sympathy, a love which overcomes social, religious, racial, political and economic barriers. I don't have it but I strive for it, I strive to be accepting, I strive to create a world that is more interested in providing water, food and education than guns.

And tonight it is metta that I give for the folks in Aurora, Colorado. It is also metta that I give for the world as a whole; from Aurora to Ardmore, from London to Lebanon.

It is time for us to put down our swords and ask ourselves what we are doing.

Message From A Strong Place

“Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, and stretch her wings toward the south? / Doth the eagle mount up at thy command, and make her nest on high? / She dwelleth and abideth on the rock, upon the crag of the rock, and the strong place.” 

Rough spot. At a crossroad, trying to be wise. Filled with doubt. Many questions, no answers. Spirit wounded but know that it is I who must heal myself. 


Got up and was compelled to go on a spontaneous midweek run through the college campus. As I neared the field where I usually stop and focus on gratitude I came upon a red tailed hawk having his breakfast. He allowed me to walk right up to him, looked me in the eye, cocked his head with a grin  and then continued on about his business. It was a rare sight - just me and the hawk. Seeing as how I have had all sorts of unusual animal encounters that almost always speak to me I wondered about this one. And here is what I found...

The red tailed hawk carries the roll of visionary and messenger. This honorable totem brings the lesson of discovering dormant abilities and helps us to see the big picture. It is a symbol of illumination and peace. This special friend offers a path to channel direct contact with hidden wisdoms and insights. It further teaches us to be very observant of these insights and wisdom, the treasures offered by Red Tailed are sacred and of a higher calling. We are asked to show precision and a sharp mind in our hunt for wisdom along our path. When the Red Hawk Soul is then operating from such Higher Intent, these are the natural born investigators, psychics, attorneys and observers that deploy their acumen for insight and direct speech in a constructive, rather than destructive, manner

Red Tailed Hawk’s Power is further represented by the beautiful red color that comes with maturity. This is our reminder that wisdom takes time and is not something that is given, the wisdom of Red Tailed Hawk is something that must be earned. Red represents Power, Energy, and the Kundalini. The Kundalini is the Force that directs the flow of all other energy fields within the physical body. This Force lies dormant within each of us when we take up the ~Robe of Physical Life, and is thought to lie coiled at the ~base chakra~ (located near the base of the spine) and referred to as the ~Serpent Power. ~ There the Power lies sleeping until it is awakened via the Soul who begins the journey on the road of spiritual discovery and who is consciously acknowledging and incorporating their Life Lessons.

Red Tailed Hawk will soar beside the Two-Legged whose own gift of psychic vision may be exceptionally acute. This may take the form of precognitive dreams and/or ~visions~ during which these souls are quite literally able to "see the future."

If the gift of vision is not present from birth, then there will exist within the Red Hawk soul, the ability to pierce the veil that separates falsehood from truth. They will also possess an intensive gaze that can leave those who might find themselves the object of such a gaze, squirming under the penetrating stare.

Equally, Red Tailed Hawk individual, will have the ability to view the broad picture, in much the same fashion that a Hawk can gain a wide view of their surroundings while soaring on the unseen currents of wind as they ride the sky. The human counterpart will be a believer in the philosophy that all things happen for a reason, and it will be this awareness of the ~Big Picture, ~ that will assist both themselves, and those whom they share their gift of keen insight with, through many a difficult time.

In the following quote, Chief Seattle eloquently expresses the concept of Guardianship. "What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected.

You must teach the children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of your grandfathers. So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our kin. Teach your children what we have taught our children, that the earth is our mother.

Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves. This we know, the earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth.“ ~Chief Seattle~

Red Tailed Hawk Affirmation Card: I am healed and empowered through my visions. My life moves forward.

In the Celtic tradition Hawk empowers a person to seek out their ancestral roots and to examine in depth that which is positive so that it may be integrated into the person's life and that, which is limiting so it can be released. Tradition is only worth honoring when it supports joy and fulfillment in one's life! In this tradition Hawk also supports the solar side as stated above, helping a person to move forward in life and to seek out great quests to embark upon.

In the Egyptian Tradition Hawk was associated with Magic and shape shifting. Isis is said to have shape shifted into a Hawk to save Osiris. Horus also carried Hawk medicine which allowed him to see the "unseeable".

Among Native American traditions, Hawk served the role of Mercury, bringer of messages and portents of change. Hawk reminded the people they needed to be awake and aware.

As we each strive to grow and change in new directions, we are reminded of the lesson of the many spokes on the wheel of Life. Each of us will stand on every spoke of the Medicine Wheel. At some time or other we will all walk on similar trails through the forest. The time for hierarchy is over; every man, woman, and child on this planet is a Medicine Person. It makes no difference who or what we are, what training we have had, or what race we come from. If we would all use our healing abilities to heal the inner conflicts in our lives, we would have the right to use that Medicine to assist others. All humans have been given the mission of healing him or her self. The inner peace of self-healing can restore our Sacred Space and that of All Our Relations. In accomplishing this common goal we will bring world peace into reality.

The Apartment

Tough mother – hah! Here comes the oxygen again.

So my one and only calls to tell me that she is getting an apartment for her junior year – a decision we discussed and which I fully support. As she is walking over to pick up the lease she mentions that it begins July 1^st – which means, ahhhhh, she will not be home for summer.

And there it is was again, that woosh as all the life force air is being sucked out of my very soul. She will not be home for summer. Not. Be. Home.

And soon THIS, this place where I live, will not be home, not for her. It will not be where she lives, ever again.

That is, of course, the plan, and it is wonderful – she is exhibiting planning and thinking and self-reliance and independence and all the critical skills that are essential to maturity and living in this world.

Drat.

And my heart silently, secretly breaks. Can’t help it. I just love her.

I get it – I understand what is going on;

Number one - I will miss her. Honestly, even though she is sort of in and out of the apartment in the summer her presence is like sighting a hummingbird – she flitters in, buzzes about and I get to enjoy the miracle. It’s brief but wondrous. Sometimes her friends accompany her and sometimes, with that kind of perfect serendipity that one can never plan, they linger and we have a conversation about the world, life, gender studies, boys, disability, justice or whether tomatoes are tasty – and it brings laughter, insight, a new perspective and a very special joy to the day. My spirit soars with life. Alas, the abundance of these moments is slowly ebbing and I deeply miss them. And now they will be fewer still.

Secondly knowing that my daughter is moving forward in her life throws all sorts of awareness into my own; what do I do for myself, where do I want to go next, what is meaningful to me, am I meaningful to others? It is also a recognition of the passage of time. I may not notice the changes in my own life so much, but when I see the ones in hers it brings me up short – who am I now? This is not to say that I don’t have my passions and my own work, but simply that my daughter is a big piece of my whole and when that piece changes shape it affects everything around it. Sort of like a brain injury…J

I do not begrudge her the opportunities to fly - and in fact I could not be prouder of them, yet…. suddenly I notice this hole in my heart – or at least what feels like a hole because in truth its really not. It’s really my heart expanding. It’s really about what it means to love – to have faith, to support, to trust for the sake of another.

When my daughter was born I said that it felt like someone had taken a vital organ out of my body and that it was now alive, connected still but apart from me. Over the years many of those life support systems have faded away, as expected, as needed – and yet, what remains, I believe, is that mysterious and strange force that will connect us no matter where in the world we both are.

So – you go girl, you go. The world is yours and I have your back.

The Art of the Miracle

Gabby Giffords.

My hat is off to her, I respect her, admire her, even wrote her – BUT….I have said it before and I will say it again – the press around this story bothers me endlessly. News articles tend to spin Gifford’s experience as a heroic political event rather than use this, aggressively, to identify and gain support for the real issues around brain injury. From the perspective of educating the public and working towards making changes the press does a terrible job; for months after Gifford’s shooting they printed reports suggesting her impending return to her office; a notion that (to anyone who knows) is 99% ridiculous (I won't mention the other 1%).

It is not that I would have wanted Gifford to resign but most brain injuries, and certainly ones such as hers, do not disappear or heal after one year. To suggest that they do or could goes back to the great falsehood that if because you ‘look good’ you ‘are good’. If there is any expression that folks with TBI HATE it is ‘you look great’ (thanks to John Byler for educating us on that one). Appearance barely scratches the surface of the issues. To encourage the populace to believe otherwise does a huge disservice to the community at large – it encourages people to think ‘Oh, well all you had was a concussion, why aren’t YOU returning to work. You must not be trying.’ Read John’s book if you keep asking that question.

Now we are hearing the next great misconception – the endless commentary about her ‘miracle recovery’. There is no miracle here, sorry. Like the idea that she could return to work in 6 months a miracle recovery makes this out to be either a question of character or some sort of spiritual beneficence; it is neither. The accomplishments (the miracle) of Gifford’s or anyone ability to rebuild is really about three things: 1) an individual’s effort, 2) having a supportive environment and 3) the appropriate and effective tools and techniques. I will also acknowledge that there is a basic physiological component as well – the extent and location of injury - but we don’t really know the brains capacity in this and furthermore that part is beyond our control.

Let me be clear that even when I speak of effort I am not necessarily speaking of character, of inner fortitude. Brain injury can make the most will powered and determined brain go wonky. Furthermore the true grit that is needed is often influenced by the support, environments and care that one receives. Obviously the Vet who returns home and cannot find work or needs to support a young family after risking their life for their country, or the civilian who finds in late mid life that they can no longer perform the only job for which they have a skill and who consequently faces losing their home, or the elderly person who is ignored because old people are just forgetful or the young athlete who is assumed to be a poor student and a behavioral problem – clearly even grit in these circumstances may not matter much. These folks are battling a systemic process that assumes they have to only try and they will succeed. Simple awareness of what brain injury is and is not is the first step in helping people gain and sustain the determination that is needed for them to rebuild. And for every person this path looks different and takes a different turn.

As to the other two parts of recovery – this is what I would like to see Gifford’s office really focus on. The knowledge and participation of community and environment in order to rebuild a life is essential. This means educated family members, teachers, employers, police, etc. It means providing meaningful services and assistance for folks who are struggling instead of denying medical care, foreclosing on a home, or walking away from folks because they don’t act like you would like. It means coverage for alternatives like HBOT and neurofeedback. It means giving ADA real teeth in employment and educating businesses about invisible disabilities and how they can help. It means making the public aware that people with TBI’s are still capable, talented individuals who want to be productive and useful. And it means that people have patience and understanding; so that next time you are in line in the grocery and someone is struggling to count their change or the driver in front of you isn’t going 5 miles OVER the speed limit you don’t let it be known that they are interfering with YOUR life. It means - perhaps most of all - being a friend, helping someone organize their kitchen, or taking them out for a walk, sitting with them a listening (yes, even if it’s a bit of a ramble), offering to go with them to a community event, to church, to the grocery – and understanding if they need to leave, if they don’t speak, or if they get sad. It means not dismissing as useless or worthless or less than a person who’s speech is broken, who’s thoughts may seem randomized or who forgets to ask you how your kids are –maybe even forgets that you have kids. It means learning how to help them redirect without attacking their spirit. It means that we DON’t cut services and limit resources because we have written these folks off. It means that we embrace differences, really embrace them and recognize perseverance, tenacity, creativity, patience, new ideas as valuable contributions to our society.

When it comes to the tools for healing we need to step out of the surgical suite and pay attention to what comes after that. Cognitive rehab is a lifelong process; but it doesn’t have to be a chore, it can happen all the time, in all aspects of what we do. But it does take acceptance, it asks that we don’t berate failures or mistakes, we don’t unempower people by taking things away but rather we give the time and effort to helping them understand, learn and development the approach they need. It means we do not judge.

Far more needs to be done with understanding how people can ‘rewire’, both in terms of developing new neurological pathways and in neurogensis. We do not understand how physical activity, cognitive activity, nutrition and environment interact. We do not know which folks will benefit from hyperbaric oxygen and who won’t. We don’t know what kinds of therapies are effective, how long and in what combination. We don’t know how to rebuild executive functions such as multi-tasking and organizational skills in a world which places a premium on those abilities. We do not even know how to identify strengths and build on them. I believe that if we put the money and time into it we can, in 10 years, look back on this time and reflect on the crude and simplistic approaches that were used. Or perhaps not – the choice is up to us.

I have nothing but the utmost admiration for Gabby Giffords; from all accounts she is intelligent, tough and humane. She has achieved a lot and has been through a lot – having good things on your side doesn’t diminish that one bit. However for most civilians and for most Vets a supportive community (be it family, friends, employers or the guy next door), financial safety, good medical care, access to a wide range of health inducing programs and opportunities to do productive and supportive work are sadly lacking. All too often the tremendous struggles of these individuals is hidden in shame, in fear, in despair. For this reason suicide is epidemic in the military and significantly more prevalent among TBI survivors in the civilian populations. We offer palliative services and ignore the root cause.

The disabled are, after women, the second largest demographic in this country. They are not always ‘organized’ in the way other groups are but more and more I see this changing. The disability community is the canary in the coal mine of human and organizational dynamics; they speak to humanity, diversity, to creativity and to collaboration. When we can stop seeing individuals as defective, less than, impaired we can start truly provide the tools that are needed to rebuild, to reintegrate, to be part of and not apart from. I have yet to see or hear a single politician acknowledge the significance and importance of this demographic. Let it be known; there are 50 million of us – and we vote – just like you.

Rebuilding after brain injury is about composing a new life, note by note. Whether you are 23, 43, or 55 this is not easy. Many in this country would like to turn away from this, pretend that a brain injury takes you out of the picture, a side line to life – take some disability money and stop bothering us. But I believe that there we could have a lot of ‘miracles’ - if we change our thinking, if embrace instead of dismiss, if we listen instead of judge. And in the process we could compose a new symphony – one that includes all of humanity.

Dis and Dat

Under construction !!!!

Beginings

Under construction !!!

Thanksgiving

Although Thanksgiving thoughts usually turn to, well… the giving of thanks and feelings of gratitude, I found myself on this particular Thanksgiving day thinking about its meaning in a different light.

Now this is not to suggest that gratitude isn’t important – every Saturday and Sunday I go for a run on the grounds of a local college. During these runs I often meet a lot of dogs; I have come to know them pretty well, so much so that I bring dog treats with me every time I run. Surely there is no better teacher of gratitude than a dog who is about to receive an unexpected treat from a stranger, particularly if said dog has even one molecule of retriever in him. The complete wholehearted appreciation of those dogs is a profound lesson in gratitude.

My joyful dog encounters and the beauty of running in the woods has lead me to always end my runs in this fashion; standing the middle of the playing fields, I look out at the surrounding trees and sky, I draw deeply of everything around me, absorbing the subtle shades of color, the play of light, the feel of sun or wind or rain or snow; I impress all this upon my heart – and then, with all of my being I say to the world around me; ‘thank-you’. Who or what I am thanking I am not always sure, but of my thankfulness I am certain.

Now today, on this glorious morning I once again went for my run, and, true to form, at the end of the run I stood on the playing field for my moment of giving thanks. Because it was Thanksgiving I was keenly aware of a sense of gratitude; the beautiful day, the meal ahead, my well being, a place to live and people around me. Yet, even as I said my prayer of thanks my thoughts wandered a bit from a wholehearted jubilance. Despite the beautiful day, despite my deep appreciation, there remained a tug in my heart because this Thanksgiving is the first one that I will not celebrate with my daughter. She’s up in Evanston and her winter break begins in 2.5 weeks. After some hand wrenching over the exorbitant airfares we decided that it just didn’t make economic sense to come back for three days when she would be home again so soon after.

Thinking about how much I missed her presence I realized that for me, this day – both literally and metaphorically stood not only for thankfulness but equally it meant homecoming. Homecoming; a slightly old fashioned word that seems more suited for soldiers and prodigal sons than for that American phenomena known as Thanksgiving. But the idea of coming home is a powerful one; it is a return to where we belong, where we are safe, where we are known to our tribe.

Surely it is this lure of homecoming that makes Thanksgiving the most traveled holiday of the year. And certainly the magnet of homecoming insures that even the most curmudgeonly ‘I hate holidays’ sort will trek to some distant locale in order to break bread with kith and kin. And it is homecoming that encourages us to do this even when those very same folks have the known capacity to drive us to a frenzy with their never changing habits and quirks, even when we can list a dozen other things we’d rather do then spend hours with them. Yet, despite all these pitfalls and hesitations, Thanksgiving has its way and a-homecoming we go.

Lately I have been reading of Odysseus and Aeneas; and no doubt the tales of their long journeys and their efforts at homecoming have been on my mind. Although Odysseus and Aeneas were driven by the hands of the gods perhaps those gods merely represent the longing that we all share; a longing that compels us to schlep over great distances and invest of ourselves so that we might be once again in the place we call home, gather together with those that know us and share in that most elemental of needs, the eating of a meal. Of course in the end homecoming isn't really about a place, nor do all homecomings require travel. Ultimately homecomings are about heart; the journey we take, whether by car, airplane or simply in our thoughts, is always about finding the place and the people our heart calls home.

This pull of homecoming, the urge to return to our clan and celebrate with them informed my second thought about Thanksgiving; it is about community. In its very origins, the story of the day is rooted in the coming together of Pilgrim and Native American; to share the feast of their respective harvest and, in doing so, begin the creation of a community. A harvest is no simple matter, to plant a garden alone is possible but to feed a community, to bring together the necessary variety and components for the well being of all; that requires the union of many hands. A community thus engaged speaks to collaboration, to cooperation; so that each member can take part in what is produced, so that each member feels a sense of belonging. Thanksgiving is deeply rooted in this; the work of the group permits us to reap food, to make a meal and most of all to support one and other in the art of survival. Great is the need to belong to a community, and great is the value in belonging.

I belong to a few communities; both virtual and in the flesh. Each in its own way, like a Thanksgiving meal, provides me with some form of sustenance and nourishment. They embrace me, they succor me; there is an abiding connection that shapes me. Though the word community is often used to describe a grouping of any kind a community is not designated; it is formed. The place where my mother lives is one of those 55 plus enclaves of homes; if you buy a house there you are, on paper, part of the community. But what really makes this a community is what her neighbors do for each other. The more able bodied take on the physical chores, the more elderly carefully watch others homes. They check on each other, listen to each other and especially, they forgive each other. When my father was alive he took great pride in his small, and somewhat secret, contribution; on garbage day he would bring his nearby neighbor's garbage to the street and their empty pails back to their garage. They didn’t ask him for this; he simply took it upon himself since he tended to rise at dawn. It seems like a small and even insignificant act but imagine the delight of knowing that on a cold and windy morning you don't have to bring out your garbage or worry that your pails will blow away; all because there is someone nearby who thinks of you. Like a neighborhood tom cat my father staked out as his turf and endeared himself to his community.

It is the very value of community and its importance in our lives that led me to my final Thanksgiving day thought; a thought that is perhaps surprisingly significant and yet one that I fear is losing ground. A community is not static, there are moments of weakness, moments when people become divided or fail to engage – yet one of the most powerful forces that can maintain the community in its times of struggle is tradition. Tradition, simply defined as the established habits of a group, provides comfort, reassurance and even beauty. To know what comes next, to partake in ceremony, to feel the ease and surety of the familiar; these help fortify us. Sometimes the simple act of stepping through a process can help reignite a fading heart, or the ability to rest upon the framework of constancy can keep one moving through darkness. Tradition is not a trifle, it acts as a guidepost, a reminder, a grounding, a glue. Though traditions can morph and circumstances can change ,the having of them matters.

There are traditions in various parts of my life; I delight in them, they bring comfort, they are the secret password into this or that community. Every Saturday at the beginning and the end of my yoga class we recite a chant and say ‘om’ as a group. I love to listen to the combined voices as they do this, there something uplifting in the blended harmony of voices, my heart rises with the ethereal sound. This tradition brings me to attention, it unites me with this room of strangers; it insures that gently and respectfully we come together even as each persons efforts in the class are individual and alone.

The rituals of Thanksgiving are similar; we go to this one’s house, we have this turkey, this stuffing and these pies. We say these prayers or play cards or watch football or fall asleep on the couch. Like many folks I have the memory of when I was young and all of the children in the family had to sit at their own table. Back then we all dressed up fancy for the dinner. Now we are grown up and sit together at one table - yet, while jeans may be acceptable now, my mother and I still put on ‘nice’ clothes, the tradition just feels right to us.

It may also be true that, if we reframed the habits of others, particularly the ones that are most irksome, and we saw these not as crosses to bear but rather as part and parcel of tradition they might be more tolerable, even endearing. You know what I mean; every Thanksgiving my father would whistle this squeaky whistle while he cooked, like chalk on a board, and every dinner my mother would mushily cry over our being together, I would always be late, and my brother would always say a provocative political statement. It simply wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without those things. We all have such traditions; the sister who comments slyly on our weight, the uncle who boast endlessly (and boringly about his success, the grandpa who snores at the table and dribbles his soup. But I have been to enough funerals now to know that it is often these very things that we miss the most, that shape our remembrances.

So it is that though my family is a very small community, our partaking in these traditions, all of these traditions, even the roughshod habits, sustains us, gives us community, as much – and sometimes more – than our shared DNA.

Homecoming, community, tradition. Actually they aren’t just for Thanksgiving.

Lately I have taken to going more frequently to Unitarian services on Sunday. Certainly it is a community, and a welcoming one at that. But the going, and the order of service are also traditions; ones that I have come to adopt and find solace in. And oddly the service also provides me with a most profound sort of homecoming; the grace I find in the song and silence permits me to return to the community of myself, to pause and stop and just be at peace. And for this too I give thanks.

Today, as I drove to my mothers house, even as I was missing my daughter, I thought of Thanksgiving, I thought of homecomings, community and traditions and a single line to a song came to me;

‘and I thank the Lord for the people I have found’.

Indeed.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.