Career Confessions

When lovely Monica asked to interview me about my career, I hesitated. At the top of her original Career Confessions webpage were the words: "All participants are successful in their line of work." Was I successful? I certainly don't define success in the same way as the majority of my medical colleagues...or Americans, for that matter. But I told my inner critic (for the umpteenth time) to shove it and have fun answering the questions! Then, when the post went up, to my delight, these words were no longer at the top of the page. So, I'll add question #13 to the list: How do you define success, and do you consider yourself successful? 

Your answers to these questions are infinitely more important than mine. When you can carve away a bit of time, do yourself a favor and answer them!

You can find my answers and, more important, the twelve questions here.

Red Eggs and Rebirth

The most important celebration of the year in Greece, Greek Easter, occurs on the same Sunday as in the U.S. this year. This doesn’t happen very often, so it’s always a treat when it does. Unlike in the U.S., Christmas is not Greece’s greatest holiday; Easter is.

Although many Greeks will argue this point, I am not Greek, at least not in this lifetime. I am Assyrian. My grandparents were Christian, members of the Church of the East, and, Easter was also their greatest holiday. I had often noticed similarities between my heritage and that of the Greeks, and this included religious celebrations. I was not raised in the Assyrian church, but, each year, my Assyrian cousin, who has been a prominent figure in the Northern California wine and food scene, hosts Easter. He invites all the relatives; there are often several who I have never seen before. Folks travel across the country to take part in the festivities. Although it’s certainly not the same as the scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding (e.g., my cousins aren’t all named Nick) we do have the entire lamb on the spit, loads of relatives and a fantasy-land of food and drink. Instead of the ouzo or tsipouro we have a lovely assortment of wine and spirits. Sometimes there’s even Assyrian circle dancing, although this year we’re hoping for a soft-shoe number performed by my seventy-eight-year-old mother and one of my talented teenage cousins. (*See video of Mom's debut here!)

Along with the lamb, we have dolmas (Our version contains cubes of lamb and is dressed with thick yogurt). And then there’s my cousin’s special traditional plates, including desserts, such as his chocolate decadence and his infamous mudslide cookies (huge chunks of chocolate barely held together by cookie dough that do slide down one’s throat quite easily—one year the kids found the stash and ate the majority of them before dinner!). There are other similarities, too--like the deep earth red-dyed Easter eggs from onion skins, and the crack the egg battles. As a child, I was so impressed by their rich color that I did my science project on natural dyes. And, yes, the onions skins beat the beets.

When I finally was fortunate enough to spend Μεγάλη Εβδομάδα (The “Great Week” leading up to Easter) in Greece, many years ago, I was impressed by how similar their celebration, combining food, family and the Divine, was to the spirit and nature of my family’s own celebration. It leads me to reflect on the role of ritual amongst family and friends and the back seat it takes in our culture. It also saddens me to see such a de-emphasis on the message of this universal Holy week. Spring is here. Rebirth is here. Once again, all is possible. And it leads me to ask the questions: How do you choose to honor the cyclical nature of life? What rituals will you share with the dear loved ones in your life?

Happy Easter! * Happy Passover! * Καλό Πάσχα! * Shalom! * Shlama’lokhun! * Happy Spring!

Greek-American Actress Rita Wison talks about Greek Easter on The Washington Post.
Learn how to dye Easter eggs using onion skins here.

Caught Between Winter and Spring

Spring is here! Are you ready? I can’t say that the Equinox crept up on me this year. Let’s face it. The weather these last couple of weeks has been quite strange. Two weeks ago, while on my walk, I was tricked again. Lovely sunshine beckoned me out of my comfortable cave. I took fifteen steps, froze, turned around, ran back inside, and grabbed my winter coat. Sun, how dare you mislead me? After forty-five minutes at a vigorous pace, my body adjusted, and, as soon as it did so, I was pelted with spring showers from a seemingly blue sky. Those clouds were so far away...does rain time travel?

It took several minutes before I caught on. The weather was a projection of that particular moment in time. After a fifteen-month retreat into my cocoon, a long sleep, an extended winter, I was suddenly propelled forward. More had happened in the last twelve hours than in the last twelve weeks; heck, more had happened in the last week than in the last year. It was March, after all, and Mars would finally go direct in another week, but it still managed to catch me by surprise.

Fast-forward one week, and we were having summer weather. Yesterday, I was (pun not intended) hot in my tank top! Today, the sun is hiding again, reflecting my hesitation to dive in. But, spring is here! Are we not ready?

I’m not quite there. I don’t know about you, but if those around me (and the weather!) are any reflection of the whole, I’m going to assume that I’m not alone. If you’ve found yourself caught in between winter and spring, you are not alone. Since Mars went direct, a few days ago, friends were commenting on feeling “stuck.” Or worse, they were feeling caught in between retreating (winter) and forward movement (spring). And to be caught in between two equally strong and opposite forces is much more actively uncomfortable than the word “stuck” implies.

Astrologers have cautioned that although Mars is now direct, it may take up to two months for its momentum to assist us in moving forward. So, all of this is to say that if you feel stuck or caught between winter and spring or feel like you’re slipping backwards or don’t seem, yet, to have the energy to move forward, don’t despair. You are right on target with the earth, the seasons, and the stars.

Don’t make the mistake of thinking that you’re going back to old stuff for an indefinite stay. This is your last chance to let go of the old (yes, the same letting go we were discussing at the beginning of the year). The next two months are an ideal time to consider the changes you are about to make, the new growth that is to blossom in the next two months, so that when mid-May arrives (and it will come quickly) you will be ready to move forward.

Happy Vernal Equinox, Everyone!

Music, the Light of the Soul

On January 21st, I wrote the following. Fortunately, life has improved since then!*

There has been a lot of darkness lately, and I’ve been hanging out in it, longer than I’d like. Are you trapped in here with me? If not, then no need to read on.

Plenty of drama. Lots of change. Much letting go. Even more to reveal. Worlds are colliding. Not just the outer worlds, but the inner ones too. One of my friends recently wrote an eloquent post about the negative effects of travel on the environment. She concluded that overpopulation is our most significant contribution to the destruction of our earth. The earth wasn’t meant to support such a large number of humans.

And as we collide, drama and disaster mount.

I use the small town in which I grew up as an example. Even though it’s located in a major west coast city, it carries the title of “village.” That’s what it used to be, a quiet little village. But in the time it took for me to grow up, everyone else did too…and created families, and acquired SUVs…and, suddenly, my once sleepy village turned into a mini-Manhattan.

The negative effects of this population explosion go beyond the destruction of all things green. In my opinion, overpopulation also accounts for the majority of stressors. For example, it creates unbearable traffic, filled with a populace at its screaming angry rageful worst. I lived in Yarmouth, Maine for two years. There, driving was a pleasure…except when Bostonian weekenders showed up. You could spot them a mile away, because they were driving so damn fast. If you happened to catch a glimpse of their faces you’d see the same expressions of those stuck in the worst traffic jams—the underlying anxiety, the permanent crease in their foreheads, the victimized look in their eyes. You would witness the daily price they paid for their urgency-fueled existence.

It terrified me, because I recognized that all-too-familiar look that had stared back at me in the mirror, the one I had been too busy to notice.

And now everyone wears this mask.

My patient Twitter followers have had to endure my poor reaction to the largest of these stressors--noise. One would think that I’d be able to handle this, having spent my college years in crowded Berkeley coffee shops. Or how about all the years I’ve lived in Greece, where structural insulation is poor, every building has marble floors, and all of its occupants wear hard-heeled shoes? And even if the shoes come off, there are always the raised passionate voices, the rumbling of motorbikes, and the cacophony of traffic horns. One such Athenian apartment building that I inhabited was located next to a construction site. For those of you who have seen the Acropolis, on what does it rest? That’s right. Solid rock. Well, that same solid rock competed for space with the new building’s foundation, so, for weeks, I was assaulted by jackhammers chipping away at my soul.

You’d think that I could deal with a couple of noisy neighbors in a poorly-insulated building. I mean, surely there is no competition between this situation and the Athenian one.

But apparently, I can’t. Step 1: I admit that I am powerless over my reaction to the constant banging of pots and pans, angry shouting, and the incessant slamming of doors and drawers. Step 2: Find life-saving iPod and permanently attach ear buds to ear.

Step 2 is life-saving…not to mention a preventative treatment for insanity. My first iPod’s battery ran out, and I almost lost it. Almost. Its replacement, the infamous hot pink one,  arrived to save the day.

Honestly, I don’t know what I would do without music. I have an incredibly long way to go before I become Eckhart Tolle, Jr. In the meantime, music is a more realistic solution. Is listening to Sarah McLachlan or Ivy bringing me into the present moment, or is it just an escape? I don’t care. It keeps me sane. It feeds my soul.

They say that the olfactory sense takes us back to our oldest memories. That may be true, but I think my ears take me back to my strongest memories, the most significant ones. When I hear a Bach fughetta, I’m back to the age of ten, playing on my upright piano in the downstairs hallway, with my five-year-old brother running down the steps to bang on the bass keys. When I hear Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini I go back to my first ill-fated childhood love affair (the kind that’s all in your head). When I hear A Time for Us from Romeo and Juliet, I’m transported back to the fifth grade, sitting at my school desk, wearing my favorite dress with the mod five-petaled flowers.

Then there are the sixties tunes, and visions of Haight-Ashbury and Telegraph Avenue flash before my eyes. The original American Woman plays and I hear the content of all three boxes of my precious forty-fives. Then, I flash-forward to my first Greek boyfriend playing the same song in a Skopelos disco when I walk into the room.

Thus it goes, on and on. There are the teenage coming-of-age songs, the college songs, the med school years and residency songs (shudder). There are the Maine songs and the Greek songs (sigh).

What else holds this kind of power? Certainly not noisy neighbors.

So, next time you feel stress rising from noise pollution, grab your MP3 player, turn on the CD player, click on YouTube, or visit Blip FM. Don’t let the noise-polluters get you down!

Oh, and thank you, Tweeps, for putting up with my ranting. I hope to do better from now on.

(Yes, I’m writing this in an extremely noisy coffee shop, but couldn’t be happier because I’m listening to the songs that you will find at the bottom of this page or here.)

*Afterthought: I’m happy to report that in the time since I wrote this original post I have made more positive adjustments, including joining a church choir to perform Brahms’ Requiem and purchasing a piano keyboard. The last time I had participated in either was over thirty years ago. It is wonderful to have music back in my life! What do you need to invite back into your life? Spring is on its way. It’s time to make a change!

Revisiting the Void

After a fourteen year hiatus, I revisited New York City. When I had a free moment, did I head out to the hottest Broadway show? Did I rush to the latest newsworthy restaurant? How about a trip to Times Square, Radio City Music Hall, the Statue of Liberty or, perhaps, the Met? No. None of the above. Out of hundreds of spectacular choices, I headed straight to the Guggenheim.

The first and only time I had experienced this curvaceous feminine oddity in a world of linearly-structured museums was as a young teen. It left a lasting impressing on my hormonally-affected adolescent mind. I loved her curves, the illusion of having no beginning or end, the seemingly empty yet pregnant space in her center, the ascending spiral to the Gods. So my return to Manhattan would not be complete without paying homage to the Goddess amongst museums.

In the midst of a noisy dinner, I received a phone call from Mom, alerting me to a special event at the Guggenheim. I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying—just words here and there…Guggenheim…anniversary…void…exhibit. But it didn’t matter, because I had already decided that it would be my first stop.

On Sunday, I made my way uptown, constantly rechecking the cross streets. It should be close. There’s Central Park. Where is it? The Guggenheim is neatly hidden away behind a row of angular apartment buildings. Her curves are nestled behind their sturdy frames which stand guard like overprotective husbands, fathers, and brothers sheltering their wives, daughters, and sisters. This reminded me of her Greek sister Goddess at the Acropolis, suddenly appearing above in the most unlikely Athenian places.

Although the Guggenheim’s outside appearance is impressive, enter within her for an unimaginable experience. During my first trip, I was too young to contemplate, analyze, or evaluate her with my mind. Instead, she found her way into my heart. This time, with years of experience and a bit of wisdom, I was overwhelmed. And just in case I didn’t get it, her Fiftieth Anniversary (which also coincided with my fiftieth year) included the striking exhibit Contemplating the Void. You see, Frank Lloyd Wright and many others got it too. They understood that the gestational center, the Void, isn’t empty at all, but contains all the necessary ingredients for new creation.

This time I did contemplate. Visiting the Void is quite common to midlife journeyers. For those of you who fear revisiting this vital center, remember that this is the place from which all is created. There is absolutely nothing to fear, unless you are set on holding onto your old way of being. Only then is there everything to fear. Those of you at midlife recognize this conflict. We must revisit her center. Our new creations will then radiate outwards, just as they do at the Guggenheim.

A Rude Awakening, Appreciated

I woke up this morning to jarring, banging, pounding—as if someone was trying to demolish the building. It upset me, but only for a few seconds, because, courtesy of difficult neighbors, this is how I had been awakened for months on end. A few minutes later as my mind cleared, I realized the noise was different than usual. Rather than door slams, crashing pots and pans, and shouting, this time, someone was actually building something. Was that a drill? And, yes, there was a hammer. The whole building shook, but that was nothing new.

There was another big difference. The neighbors weren’t here! This was perhaps the third time in months that they were gone. Why? Because, this time, someone else was making noise loud enough to disturb them. I think it was coming from the stairwell, but, by now, this noise had become a part of me, stuck somewhere in the outer layer of my emotional body.

When this began several months ago, I thought perhaps I was being warned of an upcoming earthquake; after all, California is due. I also realized then that this was a metaphor for my life, a life that had become shaky at best, one whose foundation was threatened. Not a comfortable seat, even though I had been the first to rush forward and claim it. A bit later, I mused, perhaps this is what happens when you ask for inner peace? The divine chef of the universe serves you up the noisiest most obnoxious din she can muster. This seemed even more likely since the message was coupled with the external illusion that these were nice people who weren't capable of screaming obscenities or producing a jarring, shaking, pounding clamor every five to ten seconds for hours on end. Surely, they were only cooperating to further my own life-education.

By now, you may be wondering why I’m still living here. As I write this, I can’t help but wonder the same.

But something happened this morning when I realized that this noise was created by actual construction, rather than disturbance and chaos. I remembered that, just two days ago, a ten-year-old leak in the bathroom sink had been fixed. And the plumber had been good enough to repair the tub faucet as well, just in case. One of my Twitter friends reminded me that this represented energy that had been dripping out of me for, well, ten years. I knew exactly what kind of energy it was. Water, our feminine energy, is also our life force. Appearing through our emotions, it is the energy that is often suppressed, that goes unnoticed. This bathroom leak, in fact, had been slow, barely noticeable, until I placed a cup beneath the faucet. I had been surprised by how significant this drip-drip was. It added up at the end of the day...week...month...years. This vital force, the emotional expression of the passions that fuel my life, had been leaking out for as long as I could remember.

This is the same force that is apparent when our emotions come out in a flood. Once, one of my colleagues tried to warn a laboring patient of the dangers of postpartum hemorrhage. Searching to find an appropriate illustration and fueled by a sense of urgency, she walked over to the sink faucet, turned it on full blast (water droplets dancing and exploding into the room), and said, “See this? This is how quickly you can bleed out.”

I realized that I had lost the entire content of my suppressed life force over and over again, slowly but steadily…drip-drip-drip-drip…

Yes, this day was different. The drip had been fixed, and I was feeling stronger, already thankful for the extra energy. And this time the very structure that had been shaking beneath my feet was being repaired. And it was in the stairwell.

Now I have a functional sturdy exit.

****

What aspects of your life are leaking your life force? Do you recognize this only when it comes rushing out? Are you on steady ground? What foundation or structures in your life need repairing or reinforcement? Have you been heeding the signs?

Timeless Beauty

Once again, I am thankful to Twitter for connecting me with like-minded people. More and more women are exploring our society’s refusal to accept death and aging, and, lately, they’ve been tweeting about it. Elissa Stein, author of FLOW is working on her next book project, Wrinkle, and her recent Huffington Post piece, The Age of Invisibility, was about our mistreatment of the elderly. Through twitter, I also learned of photojournalist Robbie Kaye’s documentation of her Beauty of Wisdom interviews with women in their seventies and older, conducted at their beauty shop appointments.

It’s time to address this peculiar societal dysfunction.

In the not so distant past, the anorexic teenager was our society’s single representation of beauty. The Twiggy template lived on, decades beyond her actual owner. Dove’s relatively recent campaign was one of the first to use normal-looking normal-sized women models. Their famous Evolution video revealed the false representation of the final icon of a female model that appeared on a billboard. By the time the initial picture was adjusted, it was so far removed from the original that it was difficult to connect the two. Our sense of beauty, both outer and inner, has become unbelievably warped.

It took my traveling to Greece to become aware of just how culture-specific beauty is. I was relieved when I discovered that the Greeks were blind to the dark hair on my body that was deemed socially-unacceptable in the U.S. I was thrilled that women who we would consider overweight showed no hesitation in wearing tight clothes in public or bikinis on the beach.

But there was another difference, and this one had more to do with inner beauty. In Greece, the elderly were cared for, honored, and respected by their families. Often, these elderly women provided the structure and foundation for the family. Many of my Greek friends were raised by their yiayias (grandmothers). Because the Greeks are a very social people, I had more conversations with elderly women there than I did with one of my own grandmothers. I could not return to my apartment without talking with a yiayia who lived in my neighborhood. She would pull out a seat cushion and rush to make Greek coffee when she saw me approaching her marble steps. In fact, I had to add an extra thirty to sixty minutes to my trip home if I didn’t return during her afternoon nap.

These grandmothers not only shared their life wisdom with me but provided me with such a strong sense of family and stability that it eased the 6,000+ mile distance from my real family. Looking at the world through their eyes provided me with an immediate sense of what is truly important. Linear time disappeared. Relationships and relating became crucial. It was clear that what we do is not as essential as how we do it, and that those we love are more important than anything else in this world. The emphasis on artificial physical beauty disappeared in a land where nothing could be more gorgeous than the dramatic scenery, weathered by the same natural elements that wrinkled the lovely faces of the elderly.

I became aware of another striking difference. These Greek women lived each day in the present moment, just as children do. In fact, they lived their entire lives in this way. This was a country in which the natural cycles of life were recognized and death was accepted along with life. The Greeks understood that in order for anything new to be created, the old must dissolve. They remembered what we have forgotten, that unrestricted growth is unsustainable and undesirable.

Both of my biological grandmothers died long ago. Now, more than ever, I absorb my mother’s memories of her mother and her mother’s generation. Not wanting to miss any of their wisdom, I grab hold before it disappears forever. By forgetting her, I lose. By forgetting them, we all lose.

Ours is a young nation. How can we expect to mature without the wisdom of our elders? Without this wisdom, we continue to destroy our earth and ourselves. The longer we hold onto this notion of unrestricted growth, the more this destruction continues. When will we, as a nation, begin to face our fears about aging and death and, instead, honor the hard-earned wisdom of our elders? When will we see their true beauty? Until we do, we will remain blind to our own.


***
You can read Robbie's letter to her Beauty of Wisdom women on the Feminine Revelations site.

The Nightmare Day Martin Luther King, Jr. was Murdered

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."

Yes, you all recognize this famous quote by the late, great, Martin Luther King, Jr.

I remember the day he was murdered. Assassination is too mild, too clinical, a word for what happened. He was murdered, plain and simple. I was in elementary school in a small privileged hillside section of Oakland, California. My city was (and still is) predominantly African-American, composing over 80% of the population in the 1960’s. My mother, a public school teacher, reading specialist, and, later, professor of Education, had spent her entire life teaching minority children to read in the Oakland Public School system. She, herself, returned to school in her 50’s, to obtain a PhD in Education, which she then used to educate public school teachers. She held firm to her belief that any child can be taught to read as long as they had the prerequisite training.

Although my mother was acutely aware of problems with public education, she was a strong proponent. Even though the system fell short multiple times, she kept her children in the public school system. In fact, we remained in this system through college, all of us obtaining our undergraduate degrees from her alma mater, the University of California at Berkeley.

But the public school system failed many times. I remember the day that Martin Luther King Jr. was murdered, because that day, this small elementary school failed its children, miserably.

I remember being released early into a vast sea of children. Outside, it felt like a war zone. I don’t know if I actually saw the riots or if I just felt them. To this day, my memories are surreal, as if it didn’t really happen, but was, instead, a terrifying childhood nightmare...so vivid that it remains impossible to distinguish from reality. All Oakland teenagers and young adults had emptied into the streets of Oakland. Rioting was everywhere. It was a war zone. So different than what this remarkable gentle loving giant had tried to model for us all.

Every elementary school child was released, including my younger brother, who was in kindergarten. Parents weren’t notified. Older siblings weren’t instructed to pick up their younger siblings before walking home.

I did what I always did after school; I walked home...as did all the older children. My younger brother went outside to stand on the sidewalk in the usual spot where he always waited. My mother, however, had no idea that we had been released early until she saw school children walking up the street. She rushed to the school to find my brother, who was waiting unattended and unprotected outside the school.

I have so many memories, all bad, of that day. Hate, fear, anger, violence, lack of responsibility, danger, disappointment... No not fear. Sheer terror.

Today, two of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s other quotes come to mind:

"I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear."

and

“Life's most persistent and urgent question is, 'What are you doing for others?’”

So, when everyone recognizes Martin Luther King, Jr. today, it brings back all of these mixed fillings, all bad, all sad. I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted it this way, but, honestly, have we learned anything since then? It has been over forty years. What would he think if he could see us now? Not to belittle the changes for which he so peacefully fought, and certainly not to ignore the advancements made in civil rights—no, that is not my point.

I’m asking, have we decided to stick with love? Have we recognized that hate is too great a burden to bear? What are we doing for others?


For more quotes from the great Martin Luther King, Jr., see this Huffington Post Article.

Solar Eclipse of the Century

I have no idea from where this picture was taken. I can only hope that I have permission to post it.

 If not, let me know, and I will remove it!

If you happened to be in Burma today, you had a pretty good view of the longest (annular) solar eclipse of the century, not to be repeated until 3014. Unless you believe in reincarnation, you probably won’t be around to see it the next time.

You may not have been able to view this eclipse at all, but even if you live on the other side of the world, as I do, you may very well have experienced its effects. To say that the last few weeks have been eventful is an understatement. Most of us are still struggling with the end of year clearing and our New Year’s resolutions. We haven’t quite dealt with the slow-downs common with mercury retrograde, and we’re smack dab in the middle of another “longest record,” that of the longest cleaning spree of the century.

Add a catastrophic earthquake in the middle of all of this, and one wonders if the earth is doing a bit of major house-cleaning too.

I find it a bit strange that the moon tries--albeit fleetingly--to protect us from the full light of the sun. It’s as if we can’t bear his full force and Mother Moon makes a last-ditch effort to shield us from the glaring truth that only he can reveal.

I’m struck by this metaphor in my own life. Is she, in fact, protecting me from me? What is it that I cannot bear to have revealed in the full light of day? What have I willingly covered up, tried to ignore or escape from? Unfortunately for me, the answer composes a long list. I can’t help but believe that I’m being placed on notice. All is now revealed. I no longer have Mother Moon’s help. The nurturing cyclical feminine can no longer protect me from the harsh piercing revealing light of the masculine. There will never again be such a lengthy solar eclipse, not for the rest of my life.

So folks, for me, the day of reckoning has come. A choice stands before me. I can ignore the message and face dire consequences or, once and for all, deal with the truth.

It might be a reasonable time to assess your own truth. What is being revealed to you in the full solar light? What has the feminine in life tried to protect you from? What truth(s) have you covered up, tried to ignore or attempted to escape from? Are you being placed on notice too?

The good news is that we have a choice, of sorts. There really is only one choice, and it may be the one that we haven’t yet chosen…but it’s there, and the time to choose it is now.

I don’t know about you, but it makes me feel better sharing this with you, knowing that I may not be completely alone. Why don’t we resolve to face our truths head-on?

Perhaps this can be our New Year’s Resolution.

Pray for Miracles

I honestly didn’t expect that within hours of writing my last post (that’s right…the one that explained that my word for 2010 is “Miracles, simply because there is no way that I or anyone else is going to make it through 2010 without them”) a devastating earthquake would hit Haiti and the whole world would be praying for miracles.

One advantage of social networking technology such as Twitter is that we are all drawn together within seconds. We feel each other’s pain and distress. Devastation is no longer just on the evening TV news, but all over the Internet. We, literally, would have to unplug ourselves from everything electronic and all human contact to escape it.

When I was a teen, my mom would chide me for my disinterest in current affairs and politics. I was the one who ran to the bathroom when a family member grabbed the Trivial Pursuit box. I’m shaking my head as I write this, because now, no matter how hard I try, I can’t escape this information. Even consciously turning off the TV and disconnecting from the Internet does not spare me.

Those of you who are premenstrual or have gone through menopause may have a first-hand experience of how human suffering connects women. We are the iron shavings of the tremendously powerful unifying magnet of loss, anxiety, fear and despair. This is the negative side of emotional or somatic intuitive knowing. It’s the same knowing that alerts us to the next dangerous move of the car beside us and, at the same time, causes the constant driver-anxiety we feel, regardless of traffic.

So, this nightmarish earthquake is the next event in what will most likely be a series. We are acutely aware of tremendous suffering and, yet, paralyzed. It is a horrible place to be—to feel such distressing effects and, at the same time, not take action. We all need to be able to transform these feelings into action. On Twitter alone, numerous helpful Tweeps (twitter people) have listed trustworthy relief groups to which one can contribute. You are probably aware that you can even text as small an amount as $5 from your cell phone (text YELE to 501501). Many others have also reminded us of one of our greatest calls to action: prayer. You certainly don’t have to practice a particular religion or even believe in God, for that matter, to pray. You must, however, believe that there is more to this world than a bunch of egos and that, alone, we rapidly run into the limitations of our own power and control.

Was it a coincidence that one of my new Twitter friends, Amy Oscar, posted “Whatever” to her blog today? In it, she discusses our self-created anxiety produced by the limitations of our personal power and control. It rapidly became one of my favorite posts, because I (and I’m sure I wasn’t alone) could see myself in her honest reflection.

Her post also reminded me that it is our own inability to relinquish control that interferes with our call to prayer. We do what we can, and we make sure that we is the biggest we imaginable.

We pray for miracles.


Eight Specific Ways to Pray for Haiti
Lists of relief organizations can be found at this site, this site, and at this one: