Okay, so it’s not like I called God up and asked to meet for a cup of coffee, that is true, but what did happen felt like I could have been doing just that.
I went to orientation as a lay-chaplain today which included getting a spiffy new badge with my broken nose-tape picture on it. My name as well as VOLUNTEER prominently displayed. I spoke with the HR person while she assembled the necessary paperwork. She was far more stressed than I was because she felt like I needed to be out of her office ASAP. I didn’t feel the same way. I figured it would be done exactly when it needed to be. And, as it turned out, it was.
I met with the lead Chaplain SL who was training me. She took me up to the charting room where we gathered necessary supplies. She showed me how to keep the records which involves room numbers and a general description of the visit. She gave me cards that are to be left if the person is sleeping so they know where to call if they need spiritual support.
We then stopped at the nurse’s station, got information about the patients on the floor (which I wrote down), then we went to the first person’s door.
Praying hands
There sat the Spirit of God in a hospital gown too big to fit the slender body it was covering. A meal sat nearly untouched on the table in front of them. As they related the story of why they were in the hospital, my heart wrenched with compassion. I know it sounds a bit arrogant to tell the Spirit I understand, but I really do. I was able to meet God’s Spirit in such a way that I watched their shoulders visibly relax. To hear the laughter that I was able to coax from their lips was angelic. As my guide and I went to leave the room, I reminded the Spirit of God how loved they were. Thank you was returned with sincerity.
At each room we visited, we engaged with a different version of God’s Spirit. I was asked to lead a prayer, which frankly intimidated me because I’m rather private about my talks with my vision of God, but I did it. It wasn’t as smooth and flowing as SL, but it was sufficient enough for this face of God to Amen throughout my version of prayer. I reminded them of how loved they are and ended it in Jesus’ name which felt alien on my lips, but in this neck of the woods it is a Hallmark.
I hope you have felt this way at some point in your life; like you were doing exactly what you were supposed to be doing exactly the way it was meant to be done by YOU. A feeling that leaves your soul fluffy with grace, compassion, and overwhelming kindness, almost like I feel when I go to church and feel the love there.
I had a meeting with God’s Spirit today in many different bodies. Some were awake, aware, and lively. Some were intubated, refused a visit, or were sedated heavily to help them through their crisis. One face was not in this world but was lost in the colors of flowers and what everyone’s favorite was so they could bring them the next time we visited.
To say that I felt broken open would be a bit of an understatement. I didn’t feel broken, I felt like I was finally rising to the task of my soul in an entirely different way. It was rich with experience, understanding, and a conscious bonding to injured spirits.
I may never experience those Spirits of God again, but today I did. May I never forget who I’m talking to when I serve as a lay-chaplain to those incarnations.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved.
Ever since I redundantly discovered gravity, I’ve been having weird things happen. From getting violently sick to throwing myself into the closet in my sleep. I’ve been tending to repeat stories. I’ve been tending to repeat stories (heehee). And the headache feels like a hangover that won’t go away. At least that is now a low-grade feeling now as long as I’m religious about the tylenol.
The most inconvenient of the side effects has been sleeping. I’ve discovered by trial and error that I need to stay as unstimulated as possible (within reason). Overstimulation makes my head hurt more, essentially wiping out my spoons.
I purposefully saved up my spoons to go visit with my Beastie Diane. I brought over gifts for her and her puppers. I also brought my laundry. I got the clothes in the washer, sat down on the couch to chat with Diane and engaged in lively conversation. I heard the washer sing after it was done. I put the clothes in the dryer.
I returned to my seat on the couch, popped up the feet and shared more conversation. She likes to watch true crime shows and comedies. Today was a marathon of murders. The victim was white. I blinked my eyes and the victim was black. I had fallen asleep for over an hour. She was able to take a shower, clean her bunny room, and take care of other chores she had.
Dudes, I was so embarrassed. It’s just not something I expected. I have been falling asleep more frequently and for longer periods, but I’d purposefully prepared. It wasn’t enough. She thought it was amusing so she didn’t wake me. I still snore though but she said it wasn’t as loud as it used to be. I guess that’s a plus.
I need to grant myself grace. I didn’t have a light head injury. I broke four bones in my face. My brain rattled around in my skull pretty good which is probably where the headaches are coming from. It’s hard to discover limitations that weren’t there before. It’s difficult to accept that this is not something I have control over.
Abiding is all I can do. Laugh at the ridiculousness of my life while loving myself. Forgive myself for my tendency to repeat stories. (Buwahahaha!)
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved.
“For when is death not within ourselves? Living and dead are the same, and so are awake and asleep, young and old.”
Heracutus
My recent explorations of the world have given me a gift. It’s shown me that life is filled with experiences that we create, that happen, or that we observe “in the wild.” Filled to the brim with an emotional connection to how things work, how we process, and meet the situation it’s intoxicating, intimidating, and exhilarating.
In all the living that is to be done, death lurks. It’s always there with a potential to manifest unexpectedly. In a way, living fully, saying yes to new things, learning what knowledge can be found, following your arrow wherever it points are all death defying, or maybe a better term would be death defining.
At the end of my days, I want to be able to look back over my life and know that I lived a good life filled with human moments. I want to look at the mistakes that I’ve made and know that, at the time, I made the best possible decision with the information I had. I want to be able to tell stories of a life well lived. I want to be the best me possible.
Knowing that this could be my last day or even part of a day of my life motivates me to strive towards being immortal. Not in the sense that I will physically be alive, but that what I do in my life will be talked about by people; my friends, loved ones, and those in the wider community. I want to create a legacy of love, kindness, compassion, service, and be known for my sense of humor.
Death is going to happen. The age of death is an exclusive personal interpretation. But while I can, while I’m still breathing and have opportunities, I want to live as fully as humanly possible. When the inevitable happens, I want to know I’ve accomplished a good life. This tracks. So far, so good.
Notice your moments. Move forward with grace and mercy. Don’t give your power to what if’s and what was. This is it. Be love. Do peace. Create Joy.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved.
I was chatting with my friend Professor Pudgytums about things we were doing in our lives. I was creating art, traveling, and working. He was working, traveling, and picking up new hobbies.
He has done fencing, trapeze, racquetball, and a variety of other interesting activities. His latest interest is book binding. He was interested enough to share some of what he was learning.
I sent him two books I have in storage and requested he practice on them. He didn’t feel confident enough to agree, but I sent them just in case.
Then I thought about it. I have an entire library of books primarily on death and dying. I have others, but I want to learn more about a topic I’m interested in like him.
To hold a book, yes I also have a Kindle, is to feel the heft of the words, the thoughts, the desires, the emotions, and entire imagination pinned down in time by someone who didn’t give up. It’s almost holy in a way.
Wait. I have two books that I sent to someone else. Why the farts couldn’t I do that for myself? What do I need to know to do this? I asked the oracle (YouTube).
It’s involved and takes skills that are a challenge. Is it something that I can figure out and learn? I think so.
The writing for one of the books is complete and the art is being created. The second book is complete and ready to go other than formatting. Yes, I’m really going to try it. I have a sneaking suspicion I’m going to love it.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
I was speaking with my mother the other day while she giggled about the antics of her dog, my boyfriend, Apollo aka Pol. He kept going from food to toy, couch to floor, reveling in his dog-ness.
“One joy at a time is all he can handle!” She exclaimed.
It made me think about that phrase. One joy at a time.
In a society that revels in multi-tasking, demanding everything be done all at once despite our chronic limitations, Pol teaches an important lesson. We only have what is right in front of us right this moment. Thinking ahead takes away from what we’re doing. Going over things we’ve done is redundant (redundant) (heehee). This is it.
I used to think that somewhere along the line I’d be given a key/playbook/how-to or something that would show or tell me how to do things. Because of that belief, I looked forward to the day that would happen. As naive as that sounds now, I really thought that’s how adults who “have their shit together” got that way.
I no longer believe that, but what I’ve discovered is that the big picture is great as far as a guidebook goes, but, like Miss Marge taught me, keep moving (even if it’s a sidestep). Take a bite of the moment and savor it as if it were the most wonderful thing you’ve ever experienced. In reality, it is. No matter what is happening, however you percieve it, it IS something never done before in your lifetime, not like this. Not in this moment.
You may have fed your children or your dog a thousand times, but what if this was the last time you were able to do that whether something happened to them or you? Would you feel regretful that you didn’t “do more” or “pay attention better?” Chances are likely, yes.
Each moment is unique to us individually. I read about how a rainbow can never be perceived the same way even if you’re standing next to each other because the light refracts in such a way that what I see isn’t what you see even though we’re looking at the same thing at the same time.
This flows in congruency with our life experiences. This is what we have. This is what we’re doing. This is our perception of time. Because of this, we can take the lesson of Apollo, One Joy at a Time.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved.
Life is a patchwork of moments — laughter, solitude, everyday joys, and quiet aches. Through scribbled stories, I explore travels both far and inward, from sunrise over unfamiliar streets to the comfort of home. This is life as I see it, captured in ink and memory. Stick around; let's wander together.
Mare Martell 