Did I sign up for This?

I have been thinking about the relationship of developing dependence, over time, between ‘carer’ and cared for. Mother and ‘child’, husband and wife, professional carer and client (live in carer especially.) Not to mention all the other multiple relationships that grow when an individual needs help.

I’ve also been thinking about people I have worked with who developed some form of Autoimmune Disease MS (Multiple sclerosis) for one and Parkinson’s Disease for another.

Back in 1972, I worked for a voluntary organization coordinating young volunteers. Calls would come in for help needed for the elderly and infirm: gardening, decoration, shopping, cleaning.  These requests would be matched to the volunteers. Peter, who had just been named ‘Man of the Year’, was the coordinator of the organization. Bound to his chair and not able to move his limbs, only one finger worked to switch on his speakerphone and his speech was weak.  He had MS, was totally dependent on his mother for EVERYTHING, disarmingly handsome and ready for a laugh. When we met we would talk about his life in particular difficulties around dependence and his relationship with his mother. Months after I’d left I learnt he had got married! Imagine? While his mother was devastated, he had found love and perhaps some level of liberation.

Then there is a whole raft of people I know who developed Parkinson’s Disease. Mr Cook my employer, Alexander my colleague, Brian the ebullient one. My heart goes out, at times the outlook appears grim and hopeless both for the individuals concerned and for those who support them. Dancing for Parkinson’s people and in an interesting turn of events, my former Alexander Technique teacher is working wonders in Edmonton Canada to support those with compromised mobility.There are other AT Teachers working in this field all around the world.

Returning now to my original thought. To the relationship, human, emotional, practical between those in need and those who can and do meet that. I’ve been that person. I assisted Rev. Master Jiyu towards the end of her life, in the mid-1990s. I was never her ‘carer’, she was always my teacher. That was the basis, teacher/disciple, heart to heart along with all that goes with assisting, Testing times for sure. So looking past the dependence relationships talked about in this post, there is the unseen heart to heart level. Which sometimes gets lost sight of.

Let Candace have the last word, Parkinson’s has become interestingly and unexpectedly, my passion’.

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Still stitching?

Yes. Yes to ‘lifting the needle’ as Rev. Master Jiyu would term the honorable art. And still in the sense of a certain calm or stillness that comes about when making stitches. One after the other, slowly. Slow sewing. Try it. Or, slow walking, slower talking (that’s one for me). Slower just about anything one tends to rush with.

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Knowing when to Stop

I have STOPED! The thing is, once one is into something, stitching for example, it’s difficut to draw to a close. Pack up threads, scissors, scraps of fabric, samplers. Tidy away.

Here an attempt at Boro, a old Japanese way of patching to extend the use of anything and everything. They would put patches over patches, constantly extending the useful life of the fabric. Old pieces are now collector’s items and rare.

Then there are the finer stitches, rice stitch and the oh so exact running stitch which I learnt from a women in Berkeley Zen Center, years ago. Stitches used for sewing the Kesa by hand.

Stopping is physically stopping, then there is the packing away, chasing stray needles and pins into their places to rest. Gradually the mental buzz subsides. This could be stopping: walking, talking, reading, scratching, worrying, cooking cakes, grooming the cat, playing with the cat. Writing blog posts!

Anybody recognize this process? It’s constant. It’s living. It’s passion. The thing is to know when to stop, pack it in, and move on. I’ve stopped stitching for today!

Stopping can simply mean, in practice, adding in pauses, micro pauses in ones daily activities. If you are a talker your friends will thank you for it.

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Nature – Kangaroos – Video

Let the sights and sounds in this video fill our hearts and may we offer spiritual merit to all those involved in the forest fires currently raging in Austraila.

“Sunday Morning” takes us to the beach in Australia, among kangaroos fleeing forest fires that have been ravaging the country. Videographer: Harry Clapson.

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Join the In-between world

Ah me! This is a dialogue between Karen and I which has brought out sentiments around caring for the dying, and the ‘world’ one enters with them. Brilliant!

Karen You wrote recently to suggest that we open a dialogue between us around the comments that I made about your piece on ‘Non-becoming’, which you posted in December. The comments that I made on the post, were:

‘I have spent a lot of time this year being with elderly relatives whose lives are coming to an end, have become dependent on others to stay alive but don’t seem ready to die. It has made me question what it means to ‘be alive’. I thought I knew and I find that I don’t – not fully, anyway. This is a helpful reminder – thank you, Rev. Mugo.’

More recently, you wrote a piece entitled ‘When a Smile is All’ in which you comment:

Mugo ‘Yes, it is odd to be caught in this in-between world within the community. Taking care not to spread the cold; we take a lot of care. Not mixing, eating alone, not joining in kitchen clean-up, sanitising hands, handles etc. At least we can share a smile. I’m not dying but it feels that way sometimes. My sympathy goes out to those who are actually and actively dying. Human, animal, the earth’.

Karen  It immediately struck me that that is what I was getting at. There is life, there is death but there is something ‘in-between’. Stuff still goes on in this ‘in-between’ world, for both the people I have looked after /still look after, towards the end of their days and for the person doing the looking after, also. There is a disengagement with the world. For the person doing the dying, this is voluntary, welcomed even but there is still a resistance to leave the world altogether. For the person doing the looking after (me), there is a necessity to inhabit that ‘in-between’ space too, because that is the only way to understand the needs of the person you are helping, and yet the everyday world makes no allowance, for you aren’t the one dying; yet in a way, you are. I have sensed, I suppose, that someone’s dying state is not their’s alone. That anyone with them, who is willing to ‘be’ with them, lives in this limbo, too. It is a bit like being apart from things when you have a cold but it lasts longer than a cold.

I think that I have had romantic ideas about death, in the past. I did some nursing in my late teens, so I have been with the dying, many times but recently, my experience of it, my observation of it, is quite different. When I was younger, I could see death as a release of something. My experience with my dad was quite different. It was protracted and agonising for him. For my Mum, she has been living in this ‘in-between’ state for about five years and she is scared. For my aunt, likewise, although in her case it is more of a state of purgatory for her husband than for her. To a degree, this is how David lives too. Life and death are just moments in time and yet this phase before physical death occurs has, in my experience, hung heavy on those who go through it. It is ‘grey’, it is hard to bear. It is a state of not being of life but not ceasing, either. It is a place of training but it is not pretty.

I don’t know if any of that makes sense but I thought that I would write it to you, anyway.

Mugo Makes sense to me. And thanks for back and forth conversation.  I hope this has been stimulating for others to read. And there may be something in what you have written that I’ll pick up on to start a post.

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Practice Within The Order of Buddhist Contemplatives