With That Moon Language

Admit something:
Everyone you see, you say to them,
     "Love me."
Of course you do not do this out loud;
     Otherwise,
Someone would call the cops.
Still though, think about this,
This great pull in us to connect.
Why not become one
Who lives with a full moon in each eye
That is always saying
With that sweet moon
     Language
What every other eye in this world
     Is dying to
     Hear.


--Hafez


This poem, by the Persian lyric poet, has been on my mind.  I can't stop thinking about it ever since I read it, in yet, another insightful book given to me by my amazing mother-in-law.  This book is titled, "Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion," by Gregory Boyle.

Fr. Greg is a Jesuit Roman Catholic Priest, director and founder of Homeboy Industries and former pastor of Dolores Mission Church in Los Angeles, CA, who organized his parish around Liberation Theology--which, consequently, I wrote my senior thesis on in college while researching the influence of the Catholic Church in Latin America.

I'm not even halfway through this book, yet it is already affecting me in numerous ways.  Specifically, this poem...the idea of it...

We all want to be loved...but we don't go around telling everyone we see, meet, make eye contact with to "Love me."  In fact, we feign insouciance.  We walk tough, chin up, exuding an air of "whatever."  We are proud and make an effort to hold people at a distance, rarely exposing our vulnerabilities, to avoid feeling pain, hurt, rejection, judgement.  But, underneath this facade, everyone wants to make some sort of connection, attachment, alliance, bond, partnership, union.

Instead of asking..."Love me"...why not be the one to give what everyone is "dying to hear."  Why not, with our eyes, our presence, our attention...tell people..."I love you."

During a memorial service for a reformed drug dealer, who had been senselessly shot while packing his car for a camping trip, Fr. Greg recalled the changes this man had mad in his life and the enlightenment, self worth, and acceptance he had found by "embracing his goodness."  According to Fr. Greg, if you can achieve this ability of loving others by "embracing your own goodness", then "nothing [will be] the same again.  And, really, what is death compared to knowing that?  No bullet can pierce it."

Transporting folks to and from their doctor's appointments and hospital stays, I am constantly interacting with new faces everyday.  This poem is on my brain while I work and it makes me want to give "what every other eye in this world is dying to hear."  If I don't think about it, I easily lose focus and get lazy in the repetition of transport.  To show people I love them, I have to actively work at it.  Most of the time, I don't even have to say anything.  A warm smile and a sparkle in my eyes that look with intention and sincerity into another's is all it takes.  Others can tell what I am feeling by the energy I release with a simple look.  I've come to realize that what I see in my world is a reflection of how I'm feeling that day, what mood I'm in.  If I'm lost in my own worries, fears, insecurities, I find that my world is ugly and gray.  No one wants to make eye contact with me, nor I with others.  There are no connections made.  If I am focused outwardly on others, happy, refreshed, enjoying where I am at that moment...I find my world to be bright and full of hope, promise.  Beautiful interactions follow.  This is referred to as the Mirror Aspect of life.  What we see around us in our world, our environment is what we are or who we are being at that moment.  Our lives are reflections for better or worse.

I was fortunate to meet a 92 yr. old gentleman the other day while "posting" (basically, waiting around at a designated spot until someone needs transporting).  Walking towards me in the local church parking lot, with a bag full of bread crumbs, my first thought was "uh oh."  As an initial response, I feel justified, since the last time I was approached in this parking lot was by a scraggly couple asking if I could help them get the handcuffs off the girl's wrists.  On second thought,"This is my chance to meet someone new.  He looks harmless.  Let's see what he's up to."  Turns out, he's a fascinating and inspiring fellow whom I hope to meet again soon so I can learn some more from him.  He told me all sorts of interesting facts about his long life that I never would have known had I kept myself closed to the interaction.  He was so energetic for his age and full of life and optimism.  It was refreshing.  Born in 1920 in the northeast, he thanked me for  transporting people in wheelchairs since his own father had been paralyzed from the waist down and wheelchair bound his entire life.  He disclosed to me about growing up in Detroit, Michigan in the 20's, his military experience, meeting his wife in Scotland (we made this connection from my maiden name McCrystal), the decade it's been since she passed, and his 30 years working for The Boy Scouts of America. "I'm just doing my boyscout duty by feeding the birds and squirrels and cleaning up around this church," is what he said to me, all the while holding up his right hand in the typical fashion of reciting the Boy Scout Oath.  I believe my friend lived with a full moon in each eye, with that sweet moon language.

Why not become one

Who lives with a full moon in each eye

That is always saying

With that sweet moon

     Language

What every other eye in this world

     Is dying to

     Hear.

I love you.

The Look of the Cake, It Ain't Always the Taste*

The look of the cake...old, wrinkled, sagging skin, muscle weakness, hard of hearing, wheelchair bound, tortuously slow-shuffling gaits, diapers, food spilled down their fronts, uncomfortable and frustrated.  This describes only a few of the people I have transported in the past few weeks.

It ain't always the taste...mostly, I've been fortunate enough to be in the company of people genuinely happy...to get outside and have someone they can depend on to get them where they need to go, to be picked up on time, to be going by wheelchair instead of stretcher, to have someone to talk to, to be smiled at, to be looked into the eyes with sincerity, and to have their hand held in greeting and goodbyes.

Driving the wheelchair van, a.k.a. Para-Transit, the past 3 weeks has given me a unique perspective on the lives and personalities of the older generations.  I've been graced with the presence of beautiful people who have experienced so much more than I have and all of whom have amazing stories to share if given the chance or right circumstance.

Following are some of the things I've been told while transporting my elders:

"You look so healthy!"

"I knew you did something outside, like run.  You looks so tan."

"The pretty woman's gonna drive you."

"What's that...a skull on that car?  I guess people like that sort of thing these days."

"You know, I was still driving my car before I got hurt. I only drive during the day. Not at night.  I can't wait to get better so I can drive myself to the grocery store."

"I'm so pleased you're here.  I had to come by stretcher.  I'm so glad I can go in my wheelchair!"

"I hope it's you who comes and takes me the next time I have to go."

"Oh! They've never been on time before!  You know what it is?  It's because they sent a woman this time!"

"I immigrated here with my husband during WWII.  I have such fond memories of Germany...and sad ones, too.  I used to swim in the Rhine River."

"Is there a back door you can you take me through?  I don't want my friends to see me like this."

"You know that song, Dust in the Wind?  Well, that's what I think of when I see the Rocky Mountains looming in my backyard.  They make me feel small.  It's good to feel small.  Things change, moments pass, nothing lasts forever.  I don't need a kidney transplant.  I've lived a good life.  I'm satisfied."


Some of the people I've transported have not been able to talk to me for various reasons.
I knew that my patient with Parkinson's understood me as I squeezed his hand and looked into his beautiful, clear, blue eyes to say goodbye.  With his gaze deeply fixed upon mine and my hand held tightly in his, I like to think that he would not let go because he didn't want me to leave.  In reality, his Parkinson's made his muscles stiff.  Oh well, I'm still gonna think that he wanted me to stick around.

My patient who was deaf had to be transported by stretcher.  I sat in the back with him while my partner drove.  He could read lips so we were able to communicate a little.  We also used hand gestures to communicate...I wished so badly that I could remember what I had learned from my ASL class.  He was tired and really wanted to rest on the way to his nursing home.  At one point, during the drive, he needed help moving so he was not lying on his decubitus ulcer which was on his bottom.  I held his hand to help him and then he didn't want to let go.  So, I gladly held his hand while he slept.  It made me sad to think that he might be going someplace where he would spend his days alone, with little human contact.  As I was leaving him in his room, he smiled at me, looked into my eyes, and said goodbye like someone does when they can't hear how they sound.  I hope I was able to provide him with a little comfort and company, even if for a short time.

I look forward to the new people I get to meet each day.  My greatest desire is to share a little brightness...sunshine...smiles...sparkle...into their lives as they progress on their journey of healing and rehabilitation.




*Lyrics from the Black Keys: "Next Girl"