Early Spring

Lying in bed afraid to come out from under the blankets
I watch as the snow begins to fall,
my mind is full of images of yesterday.

Sunlight shines luminous on the water.

A cardinal alights on a tree branch.

The tender buds of spring.

Me, sitting on the riverbank, my coat tossed carelessly aside.

Relaxing on the bank immersed in tranquility.
Listening to the poignant music of the river.
I  glimpse into Nirvana through the bars of winter’s prison.

As I looked up at my love
all I can see is a silhouette of joy
surrounded by a radiant halo of warm sunlight.

It feels like the clutches of winter have released their grasp
and the world is ready to be born anew.
Alas, I know that is not yet so.

A break from death’s dress rehearsal is all we are experiencing.
As I glimpse at the buds on the trees and the songbirds in the air
I want to cry out a warning, but the peaceful beauty holds me mute.

It is too early for you fruits of summer to begin your journey to my table.

I dream of the future in this reverie of spring.
I feel the fits and starts as the cold grudgingly releases its grip
I feel myself become anxious for the thaw.

Yet I know that this brief respite is only a taste.
It is too soon to leave the comfort of our slumbers.
Death is not ready to liberate life, it is testing its powers.

For shall we enter the stage too early
the dress rehearsal can quickly become the main act
all too easily.

So for me, I will return to today
warmed by memories of yesterday
as I watch the snow fall outside my window.

Jay Luptak
Whitehall, MI
February 21, 2012

 

 

Trapped by Language

As I look into the wood I dream of the past.
A past before history. A past before words.
A past when humanity, their needs, and nature were at one.

The idyllic winter wood before me now
Is beckoning to me.
Asking me to enter its canopy and throw off the shackles of communication,
To return to a time free of words.

The wood can easily support all of my physical needs.
It can provide a life unencumbered by the trappings of language.
It offers hard work and solitude, a quiet simplicity.

The wood holds no expectations.
There is no need to express needs as words.
Needs are simple and understood.

What do we gain from communication?
It seems to complicate more than simplify.
Needs are far more simple than communication allows.

We need to be loved.

We need to feel worthy of love.

We need to love in return.

Civilization creates an expectation that communication equals confirmation.
Our needs although fulfilled feel unvalidated without proper vocalization.
The wood promises a life free from the need to speak.

Oh how I yearn for the simplicity of the woods.
Yet so much more I yearn for that verbal validation of my love, my worth.
This paralyzing fear I am feeling can be abolished with three little words.

Jay Luptak

Jan. 2012

All Smiles are not Equal

So lately I have been trying to edit and clean up my posts rather than following my usual habit of non-stop regurgitation after which I immediately hit the publish button. As you can tell by my absence this has not been working. By the time I get to the fine tuning I am bored of the topic and start up on something else. I now have several drafts that will most likely never end up being published. So, for now I am going to go back to the regurgitation method. Pardon the meandering rambles that regurgitation provides…

What do you do when you can’t stop smiling?

For the last few years I have been generally content, and admittedly “happier” than many of those around me. But lately it seems that I can’t wash this gosh darn cat that ate the canary grin off of my face for anything…

You said “hey
and since that day,
you stole my heart
and you’re the one to blame

and that’s why I smile…

A.L.~ Smile

It’s a pretty weird feeling to be this seemingly happy. I say seemingly because I am still afraid to accept/admit it. I wake up daily expecting the bubble to burst. I do take some solace in the fact that a similar smile seems to have found a permanent home on another. The two of us must be a sight for those around us. Grinning and glowing no matter what we are doing. Crazy! I am sure that those of you that know me well are nearly as shocked (some maybe even more so) as I am that my life has taken this turn. Until very recently I was determined to accept sole responsibility for my personal happiness. I had vowed to steer clear of relationships and to avoid dependence on anyone for anything (well, anyone other than mom…) And in a way I still hold very much by that maxim. Even as I grin from ear to ear I remind myself often that I can in no way ever begin to think that I have any control whatsoever over this other individual. More importantly I have no right to weigh him down with the responsibility of my happiness. He (or me for that matter, but it doesn’t seem to be in the cards) may wake up tomorrow and decide this adventure is not a part of the path we would like to continue down. Poof and it could be over. Before, this fear of loss was holding me back, and maybe still is somewhat, but more importantly now, I am trying to focus on the fleeting changing nature of life and enjoy every moment we are together. Thus the goofy grin. I guess the grin is actually proof that I am in fact enjoying this time, be it long or brief, that we share. I grin because I am not remembering my past mistakes or worrying about what the future holds. I am enjoying with present awareness the gift of every moment.

I like the saying that they call it the present because it is a present. How true!

Back to my hesitancy, nay I say refusal, to become dependent on someone else… Should this relationship for some reason come to an end I will be sad, and in that way my happiness does depend on someone else. But I am the one making a conscious personal decision to share my life and to enjoy this time and make these memories so (I hate to even say this due to the jinx factor) even though if for some reason we decide to part it will be with joy in my heart. I may lose the shit eating grin, but I will know that I gave it my all and that I was truly able to open up and share whole heartedly with someone again.

Wow, it feels good! After years of denying that I needed to make this kind of connection it is such a pleasant surprise to let it happen!

and that’s why I smile…

it’s been a long while
since everday
and everything
has felt this right

A.L.~ Smile

Now for those detractors that will remind me how vehemently I denied the need for this type of relationship, I can somewhat justify my past behavior in the confidence that if I was not where I was mentally/emotionally when this started I would have destroyed it by now. I needed to get to a point where I was comfortable alone, and did not seek someone out of need. I had to have all those years alone to get to know myself. Without the strong sense of self that living alone for so long fostered, I would easily fall into one of two patterns. Most likely I would be too busy fortifying and guarding my individual identity to appreciate this other wonderful individual for his individuality. Or even worse(I think) I would let this person consume my sense of self by giving up my wants and needs in favor of his. I would morph into a ghost of what I feel he wanted me to be. All in all both of these patterns, as years of experience has shown me, end in failure.

You know I’m a crazy bitch
I do what I want when I feel like it
all I wanna do is lose control,

but you don’t really give a shit
you go with it, go with it
Go with it!
cause your fuckin’ crazy
Rock and Roll

A.L.~ Smile

A Refuge from the Chaos

One of my favorite descriptions of what happens when two individuals come together comes from a poem, Rain in May, Cape Town by award winning South African Poet (who I had the fortune to study under at University of Cape Town), Rustum Kozain.

…where we lie down for one second against each other, staring over a cliff at the point where, I repeat, the Indian Ocean and the Atlantic do not meet. Who can say where that exact point is? Or is not? How broad and wide must be the region where two such forces clash, then bleed into each other. exerpt from Rain in May, Cape Town This Carting Life Kwela Books/Snailpress page 79

Images and ideas inspired by this poem have knocked about in my head often since the first time I heard it read in 2002. Although the images/thoughts have been ever present they have only, over the last week or so, begun to change and grow into something personal. I used to hear the words and envision the Cape of Good Hope as it appears visually, what human eyes easily perceive when looking out over the water. When I think of the surface of the oceans at the Cape of Good Hope I think of awe inspiring beauty that cycles through the calm and violence of weather and seasons. And until lately that is also what I thought of relationships. I even avoided the potential beauty of letting someone else in out of the fear of the turbulence that it would create in my life. I was convinced that was what a relationship would inevitably be. Cycles of calm and storm, and lots of work during the calm battening down the hatches and building the tools that would be needed for the storm. Who would want to get involved in something that was nothing but fear of pending disaster and lots of disaster avoidance work in between? What I am finally realizing, and am starting to see in that poem, is that a relationship has little to do with what lies on the surface, be it calm or turbulence. A relationship between two people is better reflected in the quiet stillness that lies below the surface.

What I am coming to understand about both, the oceans and relationships, is that turmoil and turbulence are not inherent parts of either system. Turmoil and turbulence generally only arise when exterior forces act upon them. This hypothesis is being proven over and over to me as I step back and look at what I am actually responding to when I am feeling frightened or upset in this infancy of this relationship that I am hesitatingly moving into. In nearly every case my feelings are not being affected by the relationship or even by the other person that I am getting to know (although it is easy to see these emotions as his fault). I am responding to forces that are external to the relationship. For the most part I am responding to my own fears and expectations. So rather than blame the other person for the turbulence I am feeling I have been stepping back and looking at where these fears and expectations come from and more importantly separating them from the current reality. At first this was a painful, difficult process, but as I get more comfortable with just enjoying the reality of the moment and my certainty in the destructiveness of expectations grows it gets easier and easier to remove them from the equation.

I can’t remember how many times I have been told that “relationships are hard work”, and yes, some of my past relationships have been A LOT of work. And this had always helped me to visualize/remember the turbulence seen on the surface. But Really?!  Let me clarify my new-found reluctance in this idea by including a definition of the word work; Work – exertion or effort directed to produce or accomplish something; labor; toil.  Wow! I for one do not like the idea of defining what it takes to nurture an intimate relationship with another human being with words such as exertion, labor, effort or toil. Yuck!!! What I am now realizing, at least for myself, is that this idea of hard work does not come from the relationship itself, it comes from trying to fight these exterior forces and that at the end of the day the forces acting on the surface don’t matter. The storms of life will always be present, but just below the surface there is always a silence, a peace, to be found. That is the space in which relationships should dwell. There is no ‘work’ to be done in this place below the surface.  It is a place that we can go and escape, a refuge that lies below the turbulence.  A relationship should not add to the chaos of life, it should be the place that we can go to escape the storms. The place where we are open and trusting enough to just be.

These burgeoning ideas of relationships remind me of snorkeling the Great Barrier Reef. The world underneath the surface is so peaceful and deep. Yes, there are still predators, but down there a shark is just a shark, the veil of deception seems flimsier. Or at least seems that way to me. We all have our own perceptions and expectations I can only write about my own. None-the-less I am confident that we do have the ability to find the peace below the surface in our everyday lives and in our relationships with those around us. It is in our power (and our power alone) to keep the forces without from disturbing the peace within. We have the power to make a peaceful under sea refuge out of our lives and our relationships.

A Wake for a Dead Irish Guy

This post is in memory of a time and relationship that, although not a journey I would ever choose to relive, did much to shape the person that I have become. If it wasn’t for Wayne I do not believe that I would have found the peace that I have in my life today or be  living in my lovely home in Michigan. I won’t go into the reasoning behind this or any back story on the relationship. This is about remembering a precious life and all that I have gained from knowing him. This is not about remembering the struggles from which these gifts were grown. Many of you already know the other side of the story. Suffice it to say without Wayne I would likely still be miserable and in California. So, as hard as it was to spend those years with such a tortured soul I am grateful for the lessons learned and the path that rose up from where I was with Wayne.

Well, there was plenty of whiskey and lots of loud music. However, rather than being surrounded by oodles of rowdy drunk Irish people I was alone with my thoughts. I know I should have let them rise up to be addressed by a sober mind, but this was about Wayne, and well, that isn’t how he would do it… Rather than share verbatim the thoughts that were scratched into my journal (and admittedly my hand when I ran out of space in my journal) at various points in the evening, I will attempt to add some sober sense to the ramblings while still keeping them pretty true to their original utterings.

So wow, Wayne is dead. Wayne died at the same time that I was letting go of the fear and insecurities that I had been carrying with me since that chapter of my life abruptly closed, (or actually didn’t really close it just took on a different form). I feel like I need to explore this timing a bit. I also need to play with the space that can open when the fear leaves. The absence of fear, how refreshing. It is strange knowing that I do not have to worry that he may be on the other side of the door. Strange and wonderfully freeing! The fact that he has passed and the manner of his passing are very sad. Even though the relationship was beyond turbulent, (or maybe even the turbulence is further proof of it) I cared about Wayne deeply. Sharing a home is not something that I have ever taken lightly.

Embrace peace and best wishes on your new adventure. You will be remembered, and now that the fear is gone I can remember the good. Thank you for trying to love me. I know that you did all that you could.

No more triple checking the doors and windows whenever I am home alone. And as I open the doors I need to also remember to tear down the walls.

So, I am sitting with all of this and letting the feelings just do their thing so that I can truly know them. I think that losing the challenging people in our life is hard because we know that they have probably aided us on our path more than those around us that have made our life easier. It is through the struggles that we learn and grow. The part that I find unbelievably synchronistic is that quite nearly the very day that Wayne died I was learning what I needed to let go and move beyond the fear and mistrust. In a way that leaves me with a heavy feeling of responsibility. I need to honestly and whole-heartedly move forward with my life. I need to once again embrace trust, and let the world back in.

Although I know this tragedy was not designed merely as a signpost for my journey, I do understand that I need to treat it as such. This is a huge cosmic kick in the ass. The universe has spoken, and I would be an utter fool not to listen. What I hear the universe saying is that I have been alone long enough and I need to open myself to trust and let people in. I am somewhat baffled that the universe is telling me this when I have just taken my first hesitant steps onto just such a journey. Jump and the net will appear. As much as it scares me I guess it is time to jump. Although, it is very early to say where this new journey may lead it is very different from the paths that I am used to. It feels safe. I trust it and I trust him. It is a relaxing calm compared to the turbulence that has been ever present in all my past relationships. Perfect? No! Perfection only exists in our minds. I prefer the reality of what is in front of me. Rather it be in an individual or in a relationship, perfection equals the end of the journey. I prefer to continue traveling the path. I love my journey and all who are able to share it with me.

And at last we come to some scribbled tid bits that still aren’t quite sitting well with me, which means that although I know I need to open myself up to trusting others and that I have taken baby steps into this process, I am far from actually embracing trust. At some point last night in my whiskey induced haze I imagined that I may someday actually be able to say and mean “those three little words” again. When that happens I will know that I have regained that sense of lost trust.

So here is to Finley Dwayne (Wayne to me) Madden. Your life and your smile touched many. You were loved and you will be missed. May you find peace and joy wherever you are.

Dreaming of Eggs

So last night I had a VERY strange dream about fried eggs. I am not going to bore anyone with the description. Suffice it to say there was a duck bill poking out of my egg yolk. My personal interpretations didn’t have a lot to do with the interpretations found online, one of which I have included below. According to the “experts” the dream is far more fortuitous than I gave it credit for. If I thought they were right I might be glad. However, I have been a bit pessimistic lately and figure my bumbling interpretation is probably closer to the mark. After the little diddy about what the “experts” claim egg dreams mean is my own disturbing rambles about my dream. Pretty much non-sense and possibly offensive to some, but it seems I am getting pretty shameless about what I share these days so what the hell I am posting it. I am feeling somewhat disturbed and feel no shame in disturbing others. Well, at least not in this manner. I think next time someone asks me how I would like my eggs I’ll try them incubated.

If your dream featured eggs this symbolizes fertility, new changes, birth and creative ideas.  It indicates that a change is around the corner. According to old dream oracles from Egyptian times this dream is connected to life and spirituality and often represents our potential within – the meaning of this dream is to apply your knowledge and experiences that you have learnt in your life so far so that you can deal any problems in the future.

The general interpretation of having an egg featured within in your dream is an indication of all the possibilities in life that have yet to come to the surface, if your dream involves eating eggs then this indicates the need to segment certain aspects of your life and to approach these as separate entities – in order for you to move forward in a different ways and face your fears and doubts. It is important that you face your fears in order to achieve success. If your dream featured a black egg then this is often associated with Satan and the sinister forces within.  A black egg can also show fragility and may be connected to the family or perhaps a love relationship.

An egg can be taken as a symbol of spiritual development and awareness, this dream is often linked to progress life, you may need to escape a situation for a while as the situation is holding you back.
Dream Dictionary Online

Fuck!
Fuck a Duck.
What do you get when you cross a chicken and a duck?

What the hell are we possibly thinking when we decide to open up to someone else…
What the hell are we thinking when we don’t!

I had a dream of a duck in chicken egg.
What’s up with that?
Am I hiding behind a shell?
Or is someone else behind a shell that I need to break?
If I break that shell will it be something unexpected,
Lying beneath?

Lying beneath
Lying on top
Just plain lying
Am I kidding myself?
Kidding someone else?
Or having my leg pulled?

Have I cracked enough eggs?
Should I keep cracking?
Or am I just cracking up?
Fuck the duck!
But is a chicken what I want?
Or is a chicken what I’ve got?
If we are all chickens where did the duck come from?

What do you get when you cross a chicken and a duck?
Fuck a duck.
Fuck!

Jay Luptak June 2011

Let the Deluge Begin

Something to babble about after months of nothing to say.

Well, at least that is how I am feeling this morning. I wanted to lock myself in my room all day and do nothing but write morning pages (for those of you who don’t know, morning pages are a sort of regurgative brain drain done with paper and pen) until every page was full and every pen run dry. Instead I am here at work trying to get out as much as possible because I know if I don’t it will be like Dorothy waking up after her visit from Oz. It will all seem like a hazy dream and much that I need to remember will be forgotten. I also know that if my thoughts are not shared with others they will more easily be denied when life gets tricky. You, without any needed action on your part, are my accountability warriors.

I woke up today and was inundated, as if from nowhere, with answers. Pretty much hit with a ton of bricks when I sat down to breakfast. Answers to questions I have been denying even needed asking. The way that everything seemed to align for me this morning was unfathomably perfect in its synchronicity. It all pretty much knocked me on my ass. Then it became all the more unbelievable when I discovered that I was not the only one that received this gift this morning, but that is their story to tell. My head is still spinning as clarity and answers seem to fall from the sky. So what was to be a brilliant epistle to my fellow Artist’s Way people is quickly turning into a jumbled mess that I have decided to share with the world. As I sift through feelings and search for what seems relevant for inclusion and where to begin, bear with me as I attempt to break this down to highlights…

As you all know I have been allowing the presence of another person, namely mom, in my home to put me a bit out of sorts lately. I think the Universe is breathing a big sigh of relief this morning. I am quite sure that the next attempt to get my attention that the Universe was going to present me with was going to closely resemble a piano being dropped on my head. Yes, I have finally realized that mom is here for a reason, and not just because she wants to be, I want her to be and needs a place to live.  What I have finally realized is that her being here is a huge part of my own journey. I need this experience to point out weaknesses that I have become very adept at hiding. When you live alone it is so easy to keep things from showing up in your public persona. There is no urgency to address things when there is a private place to escape, where interaction with others (or even yourself) is not a requirement. Now that I am sharing my home my private sanctuary is gone, and I am forced to sit with and address my demons. It took many years of the Universe slapping my in the face to force the realization that I do have the power to change and the areas I feel deficient within myself can be repaired. So on with a game plan.

I have far too often in my life struggled with insecurities. I have always known that my insecurities were non-sense. I have never really failed at anything. Deep down I know that I have no reason to be insecure. I mean, who am I kidding, I am fucking brilliant right! Anyways, my mom spoke one of the mantras that I grew up with at a little art party we had on Sunday. It is the infamous “Anything worth doing is worth doing right” saying that I am sure we have all heard at some point in our lives. I admittedly have heard it often. Drilled into my head would be the manner in which I would describe my “worth doing” indoctrination. My first big revelation of the morning; I have been using this quite useful idea in a way that is very harmful to myself. (Now here is where things get touchy for me. I am not one to blame any of my shortcomings on others. I do make my own choices and what works for me may or may not work for others and vice versa. As I move forward I am not blaming mom for my acted interpretation of her guidance, it works well for her and she only wants what is best for her children. I know that. I also know that we all have a variety of our own demons to fight in our own ways. I digress…) My indoctrination was quite thorough, if you couldn’t be the best, don’t bother. In other words, inaction was preferable to failure. Sadly, I have lived much of my adult life with this belief. I am finally realizing that my fear of making mistakes or of not being an immediate virtuoso at everything I do has kept me from trying and experiencing so many things that I would love. Starting today I now have this wonderful feeling of freedom and empowerment at the thought that I do not have to be a pro at everything. I need to change my perception of mother’s mantra to sound something more like “anything that you want to do is worth trying, and should be attempted with your whole heart and to the best of your ability” and “if at first you don’t succeed, no biggie, just try again” “practice makes perfect.” Perfection can and should be discovered in imperfection. I am starting to see that learning from mistakes and not always expecting perfection is the more logical journey than the expectation of immediate perfection. Me, with all of my imperfections and potential failures, is perfectly who I am supposed to be, demons and all.

So how does this process translate into overcoming insecurities and what do I do with my insecurities? Well, it seems that in order to eliminate them I have no choice but to examine them. When I truly look into the root of my insecurities I see what I have held onto as the cause, and I am finding that the cause is rarely justified.  And if it is justified, once it is uncovered the cause can be addressed and dealt with. Admittedly much easier said than done. I will not be walking into my Artist’s Way meeting next Sunday to tell everyone I have secured the position of Creative Director at Apple, Inc. nor will I go on about how I will be publishing the great American novel in time for the Christmas rush this year, but I am pretty sure I will be walking a little taller. I have a lot of insecurities to address and it is sure to be a slow process, but like the alcoholic that has admitted they have a problem I too am taking that first step to overpowering my deficiencies. With each insecurity I uncover, I find the courage to move on to the next.

This all kind of, in my own twisted manner, ties in with week six’s request (another reference to the Artist’s Way group I am a part of) that we examine our personal version of “God”, I have not kept from the group my reservations that Cameron uses this concept far too much for my taste. And without going too much into theology/belief systems I am of the ilk that life itself is the Creator and the Creation. Life must and will happen and in order for it to exist there must also be creation. For me God is everything. God is the beautiful orchid that sits on my desk just as much as God is the chair that I am sitting in or the gum on the bottom of my shoe. God is the brilliant revelations that I am having. Yet, as confident as I am in my beliefs I know that they are mine because they work for me and that they may not necessarily work for others. Thus we are each responsible for our own truths. And yet again I digress… Where I am going with this is that, although very comfortable and confident in my personal truth regarding my personal relationship with “God/the Creator”, I did find a very important hole in my life that I need to find a filling for. Just as important for my well being as a “God concept”, I need to find a representation of inspiration. Those of you that have been in my home and have seen my alter, may have noticed that I keep a photo of my mother on it. I had always thought of her as my personal inspiration and my aspirations were very linked to being more like her. As much as I love her and am humbled by everything she has done and overcome I have come to the realization that I do not honor her best by wanting to be her, but instead by becoming the best me that I can be. I am now on a quest to replace my alter photo with someone/something that speaks to me out of familiarity of aspirations and a shared path as to where I truly want to see myself, rather than out of a feeling of familial obligation or ancestry. There is also, when it comes to mother’s photo, not only the feeling of misplaced aspirations but also something that holds me back from being what I know I can be. There is a fear of failure that has been such a part of my relationship with her. I need to remove all ideas of failure from my life and most especially from that one place in my home I turn to for inspiration and personal growth. In no way is this need to seek a new image a reflection on mother. She is still the most important person in my life. I know that she has never and will never see me as a failure. That is a personal interpretation that I hold myself to on her behalf. I need to overcome my own need to please her. I need to find a way to lower that bar.

For my new image, I feel that my replacement needs to be human and needs to be contemporary. Other than that I am stuck. It seems like I may need to create an image of my own using multiple sources for inspiration. There are many people out there I consider inspirational, but all of them also hold an aspect within that either does not speak to me or they have a failing that does not fit within my aspirations. Thus the human condition… We are all born of a combination of strengths and weaknesses. The other option I am considering is a baby picture of myself. To some it may seem self-aggrandizing, but the greatest goal I can imagine is to reach a point where I can live a life free from enculturated perceptions and other’s expectations. The only place I feel we are free from that reach is in our immediate infancy. So quickly we become representations of our environment.

So here I stand on the precipice. I think I am almost ready to jump… This is an auspicious week for me to be having breakthroughs. I face the future with the hope that this is a foretelling of the year to come…

So thank you to all of my Artist’s Way chums. Thank you for being a part of my life, thank you for joining me on this journey. Thank you to all of you that have made it through this rambling epistle you are my accountability warriors!

The Madonna of Port Lligat

I was really hoping to have something to post today, but as the keyboard rattled away I found that every line I typed just opened a larger can of worms. Well, maybe not so much a can of worms, I know in my heart what I was trying to say. Today it was a matter of tripping over the words until there was a big jumbled mess of incoherence. I find words to be funny things. I spent the majority of my college career reading, writing and studying them and I still have no control over them. Although they are our primary means of communication I find that often times there are so many important things, call them concepts for lack of a better word, that words can’t even begin to express. More specifically, nothing in the human communication arsenal can express, I just happen to use words more often than anything else.

What is it about the driving forces in life that make them impossible to describe? I guess all in all I am glad that we lack this ability. It is through our striving to describe things like love, joy, peace etc. that our most beautiful art is created; an attempt to describe the indescribable results in our music, poetry, literature, architecture, sculpture, visual arts. Heck, even most of our science and technology is driven by these concepts.

As I was tangled in my jumbled mountain of words I remembered being at the Dali exhibit at the High Museum last summer. I have a standard physical reaction when I wander through a museum; my heart beats a little faster, I feel a noticeably heavy weight in my chest and I have to make a conscious effort to hold back tears. It is pretty annoying, but I guess it stems, as do many physical reactions, from fear. As I wander through museums I know that at any minute there is a chance that something is going to kick me in my metaphysical head, and I am going to turn into a ball of mush in a very public place. That is exactly what happened at the High. I was standing in front of the Madonna of Port Lligat, surrounded by school children (gotta love a school that will take tweenies to see a Dali exhibit!) and I just couldn’t hold it back anymore. The Madonna of Port Lligat was never one of my favorite works by Dali, but standing in front of the enormous painting I felt an overwhelming sense of love and compassion emanating from the canvas. I know, sounds a bit daft, but wow! I think I stood there in front of the painting for a lifetime. As the children tittered and tatted around me I just let the emotions fill me up. Once I knew there was no more room I let the emotions go, composed myself and moved on. I had no idea what triggered Dali to create that particular painting, where he was on his path through life, but I did know that Dali had a vast, compassionate and open heart and was willing to bare it and show his vulnerability to the world. Awesome! As I left the museum and wandered to the MARTA station to catch the train back to the airport I felt comfort and lightness and knew in my heart that no one is ever really alone.

So, I was trying to find the words to describe the fear that drives us to fulfill societal expectations and my bumbling and stumbling through the English language brought me back to the High, and the fact that not everything can or even should be put into words. These indescribable places are the places that we have to find on our own. The glimpses that these phenomenal people like Dali are able to share with us are not meant to describe what is inside of us, they are more akin to a confirmation that although we are often alone on our chosen path we are joined with all of humanity on our journey.

South African Hospitality

South African Village, Somewhere outside of Gomo Gomo Game Reserve

The sun beat down on the dry dusty South African landscape as a white Volvo made its way down the rough unpaved road. Somewhere in the barren nothingness in the state of Mpumalanga.  My mother and I were returning to a small African village that we had passed through the day before as we were leaving the private game lodge that charges more per night than most of the area residents can make in several months possibly even a year.  This was my second trip to South Africa, and before I left the United States I had taken the time to do some spring-cleaning and gather together clothes and house wares that I was no longer using so that I could share them with people far less fortunate than myself. The previous day we had stopped in the village we were about to re-enter and I had given these leftover items from my life to the people living there.  On this trip we were entering the village not to relieve our conscious by giving away remnants of our life, but to retrieve something that we still placed value on.  My mother’s cellular telephone was missing and she felt sure that as we were loading the car the previous day that it must have fallen into the boxes of stuff we had given to the village.

Six hours and a grueling car ride later we were back in the village. One of the school children that understood English was called for and we explained the situation. The child translated back that they had seen no phone, but would help us try and find it. One of the village ladies that I recognized from the day before led us to one of the mud huts nearby where she prepared tea and toast for us while the young girl ran from hut to hut to see if anyone had seen the missing phone. The woman who was entertaining us as we waited spared nothing to make sure that we were comfortable. She brought out honey from the back of one of her open shelves. She took great care in making the tea and spreading the honey on our toast. What I realized as I sat in her home was that the tea and toast that she was offering to us far exceeded the few used clothes that I had given to her. She was offering us the best that her meager cupboards contained while I was only giving up things that no longer served any purpose nor held any meaning in my life.

The phone was not found until a few days later when we returned to my mother’s house in Johannesburg. It was in the bottom of her camera bag, but by then the phone no longer seemed so important.  The generosity and helpfulness found in a small village without the luxury of electricity or running water seemed far more important than any material possessions that I could think of.

I came across this unbelievable generosity again in the township of Soweto. Mother and I entered the situation relying on information that we had read about how to behave in the area. The guidebook made it very clear that petty theft was a major problem in the townships and that when visiting it was not wise to bring any money with you. Mother took that literally so we entered Soweto with not a dime between us. The tour ended at one of the many shabeens (independently owned small beer houses serving homemade corn beer). Of course we had no money so we sat beerless and enjoyed the uniqueness of the atmosphere. The gentleman next to us insisted that the shabeen we were in had the best beer in Soweto and that he was going to buy us some to ensure that we could leave feeling confident that we had tried the best beer in Soweto.  The gentleman then proceeded to order and pay for a can of beer for each of us to drink.  I find that homemade corn beer, even the best in Soweto, has a bitter and somewhat unpleasant flavor especially when served warm as it had to be as the shabeen had no electricity, but again I was stunned by the hospitality of someone that lives in a world without the creature comforts that I take for granted.

I approached both of the above situations feeling that I had more to give to the people around me than they had to offer me.  I came away both times being proved wrong.  It was not simply the fact that the generosity, in comparison, far exceeded my own, although it did, but it was the proof that humanity is by nature good that I found shocking.  The Johannesburg newspaper is filled with stories of hate crimes and racial violence, but I saw none of that while I was in South Africa.  I came away rather, with memories of humanity reaching out to humanity, and the confirmation that throughout the world people are more eager to help one another than to hurt one another.

J Luptak
Chicago, IL 2002

Mom and I in Soweto

I still feel that humanity, at it’s core, is good. When I think back on the above stories it isn’t the goodness that drives me the most, I love that part and I know that it is there. When I think back on my travels, not just in Africa, but all over the world, the thing that tears at me to this day is that these people seemed so much happier than the faces that I see on the streets in America. Yes, I know that we are having problems these days. The economy has tanked and many people are struggling to get by, but still for the most part we have so much more than so many others. We are very fortunate people, or are we?

It is our fortune and comforts that I fear actually keep from knowing true happiness. We are too busy desiring, acquiring and holding on to actually appreciate what we have. I am not advocating that we give it all away, or stop buying the things that we think will make our lives easier. I am advocating that we take a breather once in a while, maybe just 5 minutes out of your day, to think not about what you want or what you have but to just be grateful for what is. I wish I would have been doing that while at the shabeen in Soweto. I bet that corn beer would have tasted a lot better without the shot of guilt I chased it down with.

Are we supposed to be thankful?

Does anyone else find it strange that Walmart was open 24 hours on Thanksgiving Day? And many other retailers were open most if not all of the day as well. My cousin saw a woman at Walmart sitting in the store in a lawn chair with her ‘Black Friday’ purchases five hours prior to the start of the sale. Is there not something seriously wrong with this picture? Are we so gullible? Have our priorities been so skewed? Deep down somewhere I know that we are better than this.

I much prefer the days when a few of us would have to hop in the car and drive around for hours trying to find a gas station open that just happens to have an antique can of cranberries on the shelf after finding out that someone forgot to buy them before everything shut down for the holiday. For me being able to drop into your nearest grocer or department store on Thanksgiving Day represents a very sad indication of where our society is heading. Although little known, it is a fact that Americans work longer and harder, and have far fewer holidays than other developed nations. Now the few holidays that we generally could count on being home with friends and family are being taken away. Is the bottom line so important for companies that they have to be open on Thanksgiving? Unfortunately, they seem to think so. Are the sales that are made on that day going to make or break the company? Absolutely not! Is giving your employees time off to spend with their loved ones going to increase their productivity? Yep, that one has been proven! At what point did corporate rights surpass individual rights and why the heck did we let it happen? Not so long ago companies were in service to their customers. Now the customers serve the corporations. It has all been turned upside down, and we let it happen. YIKES!

Irregardless of the “Real Story of Thanksgiving” that Rush Limbaugh and his buddies are espousing (an excerpt is included below for a sense of balance), Thanksgiving celebrations began throughout the colonies as a communal fall harvest celebration and yes the first and many of the early Thanksgiving feasts included the Native Americans.The first as a way of thanking them for their assistance in acclimating the Pilgrims to this new world. It was a time for family and friends to come together and celebrate the abundance that came with the Fall harvest. Early Thanksgiving celebrations revolved around a sense of community not the selfish sense of the individual and celebration of free-market supply side economics Mr. Limbaugh purports it to be about.

Prior to 1863 Thanksgiving was celebrated on a community level. Abraham Lincoln took it to the national level making Thanksgiving a National Holiday, in 1863 at the height of the Civil War. The proclamation entreated all Americans to ask God to “commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife” and to “heal the wounds of the nation.” To me it sounds like Lincoln was remaining true to a communal sense of Thanksgiving rather than promoting free-market capitalism over the welfare of the community. Reminding us not only to be Thankful for what we have, but to remember those less fortunate, and asks that the Nation work together to repair the rift cause by the on-going Civil War that was tearing the Nation apart. There are those, as evidenced by Limbaugh, that not only claim this version of Thanksgiving Day is false, but that we are fooling our children by teaching them what they consider a very small portion of the Thanksgiving story.

So here is a portion of the version being sold to the masses by Rush and the Tea-Baggers. This is also the mentality that promotes this ridiculous notion that working and shopping are good ways to spend your holiday. I don’t have the time or energy at the moment to point out the blatant fallacies nor to scream about the parts that are just wrong, but those of you who know me, well, I hope at least you know that just copy and pasting this little bit gave me hives, and hopefully you have either read enough on your own, or heard me rant enough to see the flat-out misinformation. I hope that you were all able to stay home and enjoy your holiday surrounded by loved ones. In an effort to send the word next year please, let us stand together and buy ALL of our groceries before Thanksgiving and stay home next year! There is no commodity that they can sell for any sale price that is worth not being with your family for the holiday!

So in essence there was, thanks to the Indians, because they taught us how to skin beavers and how to plant corn when we arrived, but the real Thanksgiving was thanking the Lord for guidance and plenty — and once they reformed their system and got rid of the communal bottle and started what was essentially free market capitalism, they produced more than they could possibly consume, and they invited the Indians to dinner, and voila, we got Thanksgiving, and that’s what it was: inviting the Indians to dinner and giving thanks for all the plenty is the true story of Thanksgiving.

Now, I was just talking about the plenty of this country and how I’m awed by it. You can go to places where there are famines, and we usually get the story, “Well, look it, there are deserts, well, look it, Africa, I mean there’s no water and nothing but sand and so forth.”

It’s not the answer, folks. Those people don’t have a prayer because they have no incentive. They live under tyrannical dictatorships and governments.

The problem with the world is not too few resources. The problem with the world is an insufficient distribution of capitalism.

The Real Story of Thanksgiving (Rush Limbaugh)
Rush Limbaugh
excerpt