Problem Solving

The late Wayne Dyer had an affirmation on his desk. Paraphrasing, it went something like this:

“Good morning! This is God speaking. Today, I am working on solving all your problems, and I don’t need your help. Have a spectacular day!”

It was a cue for him to live the moment and trust in a loving, friendly and generous Universe to work on the larger issues. When his action was required, he would be told.

“Surrender to Source,” advises the daily calendar in our kitchen. Yeah, right. Only “surrender” doesn’t mean “give up”. It means “get out of the way.” Meddling in the Universe’s process creates resistance, hinders the flow, and frustrates me into the bargain.

Problem is, I spend eight hours a day solving problems. Math problems, Sharepoint problems, policy problems, formatting problems, problems, problems, problems. It’s what I get paid to do. It often drives me crazy, but it’s my job. I’m also a Virgo, analytical to a fault and naturally inclined to solving puzzles. So how, after a day of solving other people’s problems, do I stop trying to solve my own? How do I let go of the wheel and trust all will be well without me figuring out some way to make it so?

The problem isn’t the problem. My attitude toward the problem is the problem. In fact, the problem may not even be a problem, it’s just that I perceive it as a problem. And, because I am already (constantly) in problem-solving mode, I feel responsible to, well, solve it.

But some problems are simply too big for me to solve. There are too many moving parts, or the solution will involve more people, or more information may be required before I can act. It may not even be my problem; it might only look like it because it belongs to someone I love.

I must develop an attitude similar to that of the work folks who trust me to have the answers. I must trust my loving, friendly and generous Universe to have all the answers, and to pass them along in the proper time (rather than when I think it’s time). I know life unfolds according to a plan that doesn’t always align with mine, but if I can “let go and let God”, as Dr Wayne liked to say, all will be well. I don’t need to get a grip. I need to relax my grip while the Universe does its thing without me interfering.

All is well now.

Problem solved.

Make One Mistake ...

As the entire galaxy knows, I’ve been a Flyer fan for forty-plus years. I watched Kate Smith sing “God Bless America” live at their home games during the Stanley Cup playoffs. I thought it was hilarious that this woman, this unblemished model of manners and conservative ideals, was a good luck charm for the Broad Street Bullies. By then she was an icon, a legend lauded—even decorated—for her work raising funds to aid the US war effort during WWII. She was up there on the pedestal with motherhood and apple pie, representing America in all her fine, upstanding, life-liberty-and-justice-for-all glory. Up until the last time the team made the playoffs, she was posthumously present at home games, belting out a duet with current anthem singer, Lauren Hart, that always brought down the house.

And now, she’s gone. Her video archived, her reputation besmirched, her statue removed from outside the arena. All because some unknown someone wormed their way as far back as 1931 to discredit her. Yup, eighty-nine years ago, Miss Kate Smith recorded a song that has either offended or might offend someone in 2019. And now her legacy means nothing. Her good deeds, her sterling reputation, her place in Flyers history—poof! Null and void, nixed, erased, eradicated, negated, meaningless.

I’m not saying it would be okay for the same song to be recorded today. It probably wouldn’t. (I say ‘probably’ because many of the lyrics recorded these days are offensive to the point of obscene, and I’m fairly open-minded.)We’re supposedly more enlightened in 2019 than we were in 1931, though, honestly, I’m not so sure. If we can’t keep a little perspective when considering our history, then we haven’t progressed much at all. If the Flyers organization can’t stand by their icon for the good things she accomplished but will delete her on the mewl of a mistake that no one at the time would even have called a mistake, then we’re all screwed. We all deserve—or will deserve—banishment from the annals of mankind because every one of us at some time in our lives either did or will do something ignorant as judged by another’s set of rules.

Can we please focus on the offences being perpetrated today? Can we please acknowledge that yes, historic wrongs must be righted, yet all things must also be put into correct context? Can we please forgive and move on without destroying a legacy of good works? Can we please respect the families of those we decry as sinners of the worst sort simply because of something they did in a time when it was okay to do it? Even if it’s not okay now, forgiveness is the first step to reconciling the races. You don’t move forward by erasing the past. You accept it and pledge not to repeat it.

A lot of other Flyer fans are so outraged they say they’re not fans anymore. They’ll be cheering for Boston or Washington or Pittsburgh next season. Since these folks were obviously looking for a reason to switch team allegiance, it seems they found it.

As for me ... I shall retire to Bedlam.

Our Lady

I am the spire that stood for 850 years. A beacon of hope, a symbol of faith, a call to God. A steadfast, enduring testament to a greater, unconditional, universal love.

A billion lives have been lived around me. I am a marker from all sides, a destination for some, a sanctuary for others, never changing and ever present to all. I have survived rebellion, revolution, conquest and occupation. I have witnessed violence against the innocents and man’s inhumanity to man.

I bear my own scars, evidence of repair and recovery over decades of existence.

I am beautiful. Magical. Wondrous. Beloved. Admired. Appreciated for my age, my art, and the comfort in my presence. You may not share my faith, yet you’ve known me all your life. I have always been and always will be.

So you thought.

When the flames came too close, when the fire burned too hot, I was consumed. I toppled.

I fell through the roof and disappeared from sight.

Am I no more?

With love, with time, with compassion and support, with my gods’ help, I will stand once more.

Not as I was. I will be changed for the better. I will be stronger. Brighter. Built to code for a world bent on grinding me to dust.

My purpose remains though my remains be gone.

Avec plus d’amour,

Heavenward

Why do we look up at Heaven?

When we address the Almighty, we are taught to bow our heads in a show of submission to a higher authority, but I no longer consider myself subordinate to God. I am born of Divinity; not exactly on equal terms, but most definitely worthy of eye contact with the Creator.

Assuming the Creator has eyes. I am unsure of the form one takes outside this physical dimension. It seems likelier that man has made God in his image rather than the other way around, and though I can’t say for sure what God looks like, I recognize without question that he exists in some form or other.

I also digress.

Despite my preference for face to face conversation, one day I found myself looking at the ceiling while speaking to (insert iconic nomenclature here), and the question occurred: Why?

Well, I thought, the heavens are above, aren’t they?

Are they?

“Parallel dimension” means side by side, not above or below, so doesn’t it make sense that our otherworldly ancestors, angels, spirit guides, deities, etc. occupy the same space with us albeit in a different realm? Why else do I look at the empty chair by the fireplace when tossing off a comment aimed at the other side? I must sense my guardian angel seated there, otherwise my gaze would go elsewhere.

Like “up”.

If you believe Heaven lies on the far side of the sky, by all means, look up when you seek it … but what about the folks in the southern hemisphere? Our Up is their Down, so where the heck is Heaven?

I think it might be here.

It’s in the taste of chocolate. It’s reflected in a stranger’s smile. It rings in a child’s laughter. It warms the hug of a friend. It smells of sun on hot pavement. It chimes in birdsong. It lingers in silence.

Why do we seek Heaven above when it’s present with us? Look around instead of up—and you just might catch an angel’s eye.

With love,

Saved By Zero

I wrapped up the last task of the fiscal year end crazies on Friday. While it’s still high anxiety for the real finance folks at the office, at last it’s over for me.

Thank the gods.

The first three months of the calendar year are the worst three months of the government fiscal. I return to work after Christmas holidays and am thrust headlong into hell. It’s fast, it’s furious, and this year it nearly killed me.

Maybe it’s the non-stop number-crunching. Left Brain is in full control and she is a tyrant. Creativity takes a beating. I can’t write more than a terse email, let alone a philosophical blog post. And laughing is not an option unless it rings with hysteria.

Granted, the past twelve months as a whole were out to destroy me. Not only was my personal life in turmoil, my work life was equally volatile. When I am stressed, I lose myself. I become inflexible. I am resentful and impatient with others. I have spontaneous crying jags. I develop seasonal alcoholic disorder. I crash at nine p.m. though sleep eludes me well into the wee hours, and when I do sleep, my dreams are nightmarish.

I stop being me. I don’t know who I become, but I don’t like her very much. I’m just relieved when she goes away. She started packing at the end of last week, once the last invoices were paid and the quarter reconciled. After the forecast and the final tally zeroed out, I felt Ru come out of hiding.

There’s yet a ton of cleanup in the aftermath, and I don’t just mean at the office. I must also sift through the wreckage and pull out what worked for me when all else worked against me. Amidst the storming were moments worth preserving: gold stars for remembering to breathe, to recalibrate, to take care of myself wherever possible. I also acknowledge the support I had during the worst of it, from Ter, from my wee sister, my friends, and my brilliant colleagues at work. Work, work, work. Yup, Q4 is the absolute worst time of the annual cycle—

—and now that it’s over, I look back and wonder why I was so fraught. Nobody died. Nobody was at risk. Everything got done, and if it didn’t, oh, well.

Will it happen again in 2020? Probably … but I have nine months to sharpen my coping skills!