So what is it that I alwaaaaays say repeatedly, ad nauseum, at least 1x/day?
Leave a Legacy.
Practically, how do you do that? BY WRITING STUFF AND LEAVING SURPRISE POST ITS ALL OVER THE PLACE! Duh.*
So I'm here today because I was drinking strawberry milk & reading the news and
I happened to find the ultimate wonderful thing in the world!
Elana Desserich was diagnosed with pediatric brain cancer. So here's this sweet baby, holding hands with death. And she's just 6 years old. I don't even know.
So, Elana wakes up each day to a wonder that isn't the amazing-ness associated with being 6. No finding out what butterflies do, or that ants are the human equivalent of a team of oxen.(Ants are not humans. I didn't realize that they weren't people until I came back and read the literary masterpiece that is my description of a pretend world where arthropods are people/beasts of burden. It's nice here in WeirdoNotVeryIntelligentTown. You should join us!) Nope. Elana learns what it's like to have your legs stop working, and to lose your ability to see. Elana takes her knowledge of the darkest aspects of human existence, and uses that to decide to spend her last days on Earth writing love letters to her parents to hide all over their home, so that they can hear her voice after she's gone.
To have that sort of forethought at such a tender age. Once again, I don't even know.
And you know, we have these tragic things handed to us. They're ugly. They're the worst sort of gifts, wrapped up in smelly ugly scary death paper instead of pretty bows and so forth. And we get so angry. Our natural inclination is to blame God, and search for an answer to our definition of unfair.
We're unwilling to stand back and see the purpose, which is a large piece of another thing I always say and that is that beauty comes from ashes ( an unoriginal sentiment that I stole from a very old book). In any case, this sweet baby girl took the ugly thing she was given, and used it to show others that their lives had significant meaning, with no regard for herself.
The loss of neurological function is complicated and mysterious and not easy to embrace for any human being. And so I marvel that a child who lost her ability to speak spent the following days of her life drawing pictures of what she thought love meant, labling said and then finding hiding places for these missives with a goal to be achieved long after her little heart stopped beating. To learn more about Elana Desserich, go here.
Don't tell me you can't do it. Go buy some Post Its. WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!
DO WHAT I SAY!
*amongst other wonderful things.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Hi. I cannot continue our discourse with Christmas and all of the other benevolent days of the year that I adore coming up around the corner..like this.
It disturbs me that I might perhaps sound just a little too desperate to be viewed as altruistic/perfect-ish. As if this place is a way for me to prove that I'm good. So I need to clarify, because it's fixin to get crazy up in here now that I'm a little more settled, and, well CHRISTMAS IS COMING! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
I do this anonymously. There are folks I know that I send here in order to force them to slow down and listen to me, because I want to be heard. I believe that my way is THE way. I'm stubborn and narrow minded in that respect. But I've never told anyone that I seek out the hurting and broken and that I made a conscious decision to look for people who have been places I've been, and places I haven't been, and let them know that their souls don't have to stay there. I've expressed on numerous occassions that I'm fascinated by human beings and the things that we are. We're so mysterious and not mysterious too. We do amazing things, and we're made in an incredible way, and I love us so much. So when I find the filthy and dirty, or the mean and nasty, the confused, the old, the young, everyone I see..I find them. I look for who they are and I love to find it and then I love to give to them so they can see the value of their lives. I like to feed them and surprise them and write them notes because we forget to marvel at the wonder of what we are and I think that's a huge part of why the world is so awful. So I tell you about the things I do, the food I buy, the conversations I have, the people I see and what they're doing and all of the ways I give because I want you to be excited and have a sense for what's truly precious. That's why I tell you.
I wanted there to be a place where I could give you examples of what it means to be a responsible citizen of this country, and this world. I want you to see that you can do it too. Mother Teresa made a choice, and part of that choice was a natural inclinication to apply the real meaning of love to every wound that she encountered. I don't understand why folks like her are lauded as if only certain people are capable of such things. ALL OF US ARE. So I want to show you, that this is what I do, and that you can do it, and that if enough of us develop a tenderness for what it means to be human, in all of its manifestations to include the ugly and gross and bad ones, that we can wrap our country in hope and it will fluourish and lives will be made whole.
So I tell you about what I do. These people I find are so amazing to me. And I only find them because I want to. YOU don't find them because, maybe you don't want to. I'm not sure really.
But you need to understand, that I don't want you to know my name. Because this has nothing to do with me. If you do know me, whatever prejudices or horrible things you may come up with regarding my desire for attention or need to feel good are sad, and I'm sorry if that's the conclusion you come to. Because there are regularly occurring moments when I hate that I am like this.
And so, I'm adressing it right now. I'm here for this sole purpose: I want you to see that there's another way. To stop and examine yourself, and your life and what you do and think and are, and see if there's a place for honest and unselfish love somewhere in there. I'm not here so you can look at me, or think about me, or praise me. I'm a human being just like you and all of the people I try to express joy to, and so if they have problems, and they are hurting, and they have idiosyncracies and not-right glitches in their souls that render them strange in accordance with the flow of acceptable sociological patterns, why can't I be as broken as they are? I was, and I am. I'm not purporting to be special. I'm those people, the worst of the worst. The ones that do horrible things that we can't understand. I've talked about dirty, bloody homeless women. I am that. I've talked about the death that consumes when hate is allowed to manifest. I am that too. I am all of these awful things that I talk about, which is why I am so full of hope and joy. I wasn't able to know one without the other.
So, however you'd like to view me or this place, know that it's not easy for me to be this way. And the only way I know how to deal with it is to share it with others in order that people stop staring at me like I'm an idiot when I pose a plan to pack up Thanksgiving dinner leftovers and go find people in the street to eat it with. This consumes me, and when you read what I have to say, it's because this is my way of putting it in a box, and giving it away to someone else so they can understand.
Thank you, xo.