A Momentary Lapse of Reason, a.k.a. Transient Global Amnesia

What's on your mind? Facebook asks. Well, funny thing is, my mind . . . is on my mind.

Monday I lost an hour. Was work, busy, had done five breaking news stories. I remember thinking suddenly that the time had really flown by, looking at the clock. Then I looked at the Trib website and saw my stories . . . and didn't recognize them. They were vaguely familiar, but in the sense that I became convinced that they were from a year ago, and that our flukey publishing system had somehow wiped out my work and replaced it with these others.

Yeah, kinda like that.

Steve Hunt, friend and editor, arrived. I told him what I thought had happened. He checked the stories, found them well-written (thanks), accurate and, more importantly, current. Noting my ongoing confusion at that point, he became concerned and talked me into getting checked out.

Off to the ER at St. Mark's. MRI, CT scans of the noggin, a bunch of tests and questions (who are you, who's president, what day and date is it, etc.) Then the horrible waiting.
My mother is in the end stages of Alzheimer's disease, so as I waited in the ER bed, I prayed it wasn't THAT. A stroke, even a tumor would've been preferable.

It was none of those things, Turns out I still have a fine lookin' brain -- no signs of stroke, tumors or, thank God, Alzheimer's. Diagnosis was "Transient Global Amnesia." Rare. Seldom reoccurs, and memories lost return. (They did, by the way, within 12 hours).

So, along with stress or blood pressure spikes (lot of the former, latter not a factor), migraine sufferers are at risk for TGA. (I have been plagued with them since puberty). Also, being over 50.

It's a scary thing, folks. But it also, generally, harmless and does not reoccur.
Still, the ER doc ordered me to rest the remainder of the week, do a precautionary followup with a neurologist (a panel of 'em is reviewing the scans, per protocol, and will decide whether to doing anything further soon (if something seems amiss the docs at St. Mark's missed), later, or not at all. Waiting to hear back.

So, when I saw the usual Facebook question, "What's on your mind?" I found that funny, ironically speaking.

But what had me laughing out loud today, as I listened to music at the condo complex poolside, taking the docs' orders to heart, was when I realized I had just mentally floated through Pink Floyd's album, "Momentary Lapse of Reason."

The Universe is a cosmic standup comedian, sometimes.

I had this thought, too, being a preacher's kid. Dad always used to preach that when God forgives our sins, he also forgets them. Forever.

Want to change a cynical, ethically and morally bankrupt world? First, change yourself

It’s getting tough to write blogs.

Oh, not because there’s not enough fodder, if political, moral, ethical or any other kind of outrage is what you are into.

There’s plenty of all that. 

In fact, there is way, way too much. It is downright depressing.

So much so, that if you think about it for any amount of time, you just might — in your deepest, darkest moments — wish for an extinction-level meteor event.

You know, give the cockroaches a chance.

Currently, a coarse, crude, egomaniacal billionaire has the Republican presidential selection process in what likely will prove to be a politically fatal spiral to banality. 

The Democrats, meanwhile, offer us either a candidate who lies as easily as a snake hisses, has no integrity, and who flip-flops on her so-called “deeply held beliefs” — abortion, gay marriage, capitalism, the War on Terror, immigration, the environment, you name it — depending on which way the political winds blow . . . or a self-described “democratic socialist.”

At least the socialist, in this case, is consistent and honest about his beliefs, however historically bankrupt they may be.

Then, there are the questionable, unending wars and civil conflicts we dive into, only to learn we have been on the wrong sides, or at least ones where we should not have destabilized nation states inherited by fanatic, murderous Islamic extremists who now persecute millions, slaughter thousands, and ultimately threaten billions.

We are, as a nation, morally bankrupt. We do not admit that; rather, we simply redefine what morality is, rather than confronting what we once commonly agreed was immoral.

Ethics — in business, government, even in religious bodies — has become situational at best, and arguably a massive illusion of self-deception, rendering the concept of proper behavior to nothingness.

One can despair.

But perspective is all. We can only control ourselves, our own actions. 

If we value morality and ethics, let it begin at home — how we treat our spouses, children, and grandchildren — and then shine as a rarity in the workplace, and certainly in our friendships.

If we are to lament the state of the world and its leaders, we need to be the kinds of leaders, friends, parents, workers, and human beings we would like to see.

Finally, but ultimately the key to it all, there’s faith.

If we believe we are, indeed, God’s children, time to stop playing the prodigal, and return to what we know in our hearts is true, good, and faithful to the Love that redeems us.

Want to change the world? And it needs changing, oh yes. 

Well, start with the person you see in the mirror — or reflected in the eyes of a child.

Thanksgiving

This is Thanksgiving week, but we're already living it, thanks to my daughter and son-in-law, Brenda and Idal.

Their generosity in deed and spirit made it possible for us to visit them in Maryland; it is the finest gift we could ever have received.

Seeing how they have created a strong, faithful family with perseverance, hard work and love makes Barbara and me proud, humbled, and truly thankful.

Sharing time with our granddaughter and two grandsons, while they are still young children, has been a treat. The years ahead are anticipated as rich ones because of them.

Seeing my daughter always brings a flash of memory -- a little girl, her eyes peeking out from a cloud of windblown auburn hair, marveling over a plucked dandelion.

Now, she is a grown woman and mother.
A good one. A very good one.

My son-in-law works long and hard for his family, too. No complaints about that, but joy when he comes home to hug the kids and help his spouse with dinner, or chores that may have remained from a hectic day of chasing a toddler and caring for an infant, all while helping an 8-year-old girl with homework.

How rare is all this, in this time of absent fatherless and broken families? Rare.

Thankful?

Oh, yes.

This Pilgrim's progress, and yours

Saturday morning, I took the dogs for a walk along the Jordan River's back trails. 

Once I got past the abandoned shopping carts, one homeless man's well-established and, uncharacteristically clean campsite (and a few impromptu refuse dumps, it was beautiful. 

The trek was a John Bunyanesque metaphor AND, to a point a metaphor, for a spiritual journey. I walked into areas where the well-worn foot trails became hints in the brush and through the limbs of trees, raining down gold and red foliage with each sigh of breeze; into sunlight filtered through the canopy and reflected in the frost on a downed cottonwood, and glistening from the moss on rocks. Beyond, power-blue skies, and clouds of fluff.

I stepped out of the pain, the detritus of human shortcomings, the bitterness of some lives expressed with disdain for themselves, and nature, the cast off wreckage of dreams, even, and into beauty.
It was like going to a cathedral, quiet but for the sighs and whispered prayers of the private penitent, looking up and finding myself walking inside the sunlight of stained glass with saints and sinners, all of us forgiven.

It was, for a blessed, crystal clear moment, being caressed and absorbed in that deep, abiding Love. . . and being reminded, again, that He is with me, and with all who just pause to let go the offense, to forgive, and be aware, to be present.

This, my Lord, transcends mere human doctrines, buildings and their grasp at the out-of-context pieces of scriptures while willfully ignoring the whole.

And, finally, here is a truth I've discovered. If you say you are a Christian that "whole" calls upon us to judge OURSELVES. We, and often poorly and with failures too numerous to count, "sin" -- fall short of the mark, from the word's Latin roots.

Paul put it this way in 1st Corinthians 5:12-13: "For what have I to do with judging outsiders? Do you not judge those who are within the church? But those who are outside, God judges."

And from what I believe, that latter part is in Love and compassion beyond our imagining.

Thus ends the sermon. smile emoticon


If all, some or part of it resonates, I didn't waste my time, or yours.

Be blessed. It's up to you.

Happy 42nd anniversary, sweetheart

Faith, and marriage.

 For me, the former has remained strong at its ancient roots through my River of Life sojourn.

It has ebbed and flowed, trickled through droughts, sustained under a glaring sun, refreshed in torrents and lulled to peace in the rare, precious stretches reflection and, yes, blessings.

Ah, but the latter, too, has been my companion, my warm human touch, the sustainer of love in a touch, a smile, a kiss, a prolonged embrace.

My lover and friend, my life's diamond, my priceless gift from the author of Love, who is that friend who sticks closer than a brother.

When I look in Barbara's eyes, I glimpse eternity. Faith and Love come full circle.

Happy 42nd anniversary, sweetheart.

His Love Wins. Always.

"Love Wins."

See a lot of that since the Supreme Court's decision to expand the constitutional definition of "marriage" to include same-sex couples.

I understand the honest sentiments of those expressing it. And, I will not judge the genuine-ness of their love for each other.

That, my friends, is not my job -- nor your's. There is but one judge, and I do no presume to know the mind of God.

But the truth is, more than 50 percent of people who marry, however they define it, will fall out of "love" and divorce,

But yes, Love Wins.

Greater love has no man, than he lay down his life for another.

Love won 2,000 years ago, it wins today, and it will win in eternal ages to come, because of a unique, selfless act of ultimate love.

Divine dichotomy: Of pain, suffering and a benevolent God

This past week has me, again, reflecting on the perceived dichotomy of suffering and a benevolent, loving God.

Particularly, the fundamentalist, evangelical Christian God who rewards the righteous in this life; the God the fringe of the Charismatic Movement — “Positive Confession,” “Name It, Claim It,” etc. — interprets those rewards as health and wealth and little or no suffering.

I understand, and this week even weep with those who have reached their limits of pain vs. faith, because they expected something else of life from what they were taught. Finally, they chose to cauterize the pain by simply declaring there is not, cannot possibly be, a benevolent loving God who cares about each of us, especially his children who obey, sacrifice and try to emulate Christ’s teachings.

For them, it has become a case of psychic, spiritual pain management: If God is benevolent and loving, they finally ask in their suffering, the perceived lack of that divine care amid the crucibles of life is a kind of open-ended pain that can, finally, become unbearable.

A trapped animal will chew off its own paw to be free of pain and hopelessness. A human being can be understood, empathized with, yes, forgiven for lopping off the extremity of faith in his or her most desperate times.

My week is nothing akin to the suffering others have endured, both those who hang on to faith and those who run from it. I have not reached the point of amputating my faith, and in some ways it is even stronger; but that all has come with more depth, and more pain.

Yesterday, I called my sister — in a group home in Washington state, crippled by cerebral palsy and intellectually a 5-year-old — to wish her a Happy 65th Birthday. Understand, she is my “big” little sister, being three years older, and a lifetime younger, at the same time.

“Hi Mom!” she said, answering the phone, and my heart sank. My mother, in the end stages of Alzheimer’s, is in a nursing home a few miles away from my sister, no longer able to talk, care for herself or remember any of her children, her husband, brothers, sisters.

Mom would not be calling. Her world has imploded to one of sleep, food, playing with dolls. Her body lives; her spirit has all but departed.

“It’s your brother, sis,” I said. The disappointment in her stuttering voice was tangible, and my eyes welled up.

I tried to keep it upbeat. Sang to her. Happy birthday. I could hear her, in that peculiar moaning stutter of her’s, upset. Mom’s denouement has been particularly hard on her; how do you explain memory loss to a childlike mind that only knows her mother, her bedrock in life, doesn’t know who she is?

Abruptly, she said, “Bye,” and the phone disconnected.

Last night, my Dad called, fear and despair in his raspy, almost 93-year-old voice. “Bob! I can hardly see anything anymore!” His macular degeneration has suddenly accelerated. I promised to call the medical staff for him, something he could have done . . . but in his terror forgot, reaching out to his son for help.

His maddeningly helpless son, 800 miles away. I called, asking for an expedited exam by the eye specialist to determine what, if anything, can be done.

It all felt like a massive, growing mountain before me: The mother who was a constant source of prayerful support and stubborn faith, gone; the father who spent his life preaching the gospel, sacrificing to do so in one tiny parish after another, in the twilight of life without his wife, stroke damage limiting his mobility, and now going blind, fearing the darkness to come; a sister who needed her mother, not her brother, on her special day.

So, I begin to understand how some people of faith can finally stumble under skies that seem to have turned brass to their prayers. And, I find myself amazed, and not a little humbled, and yet remain faithful.

It is the perspective of eternity, of knowing there will be plenty of pain in this life — but we are not alone in it. It is believing that like a morning fog, that pain will, someday soon, give way to immersion in the Love that is beyond this veil of tears.

Angel Vasko wrote about that a few years ago for CBN, after dealing with her mother’s prolonged, painful illness and death. (To read the whole article, visit http://www.cbn.com/spirituallife/prayerandcounseling/Vasko_Trust_in_Tragedy.aspx)

“What is the lesson here God?!”  she said.  “Do you want me to know that life is hard and that people suffer and then die!!!? I get it!”

Vast concluded that, “I still have so many questions and I have so much to learn.  But in my heart of hearts, I just want to run into daddy’s arms and have Him hold me.  I want to have a pure heart.  I want to have a simplistic faith again.  Most of all, I want my first love, Christ, to know that I still love Him wholeheartedly."

In our finite existence, happiness and sadness, blessing and loss, joy and pain come, and not always in equal portions. But life is, perhaps thankfully so, brief as it is changing.

On the wild, wonderful, scary ride that life is, it is good to have, as Solomon once wrote, “Eternity in our hearts.”

Nothing new under the sun? Time to look above it

Ancient Israel’s King Solomon, reputed to be the wisest monarch of his time, once lamented that there was “Nothing new under the sun,” and “Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.”

That’s the familiar literary recitation from Ecclesiastes I, anyway. The Message paraphrase might make a bit more sense in the 21st Century: “There’s nothing to anything — it’s all smoke . . . the sun comes up and the sun goes down, then does it again, and again — the same old round.”

Live long enough, and it is inevitable to nod and sigh in agreement with the jaded king of old.

Still, I turn back to that initial King James Version phrase, “Nothing new UNDER the sun.”

I believe your perspective must take flight, ABOVE the sun, to grasp truth, and hope.

Keep your gaze in front of you, or more likely, at your feet, despairing at the path your are on, and like Henry David Thoreau, you will find yourself one of those characters who live their lives in ‘quiet desperation.”

In his work, “Walden,” Thoreau — though of an existential, not religious worldview — urges looking above the sun, too, in the sense of climbing beyond the mundane to the true treasures of living.

Rather than being resigned to our “present low and primitive condition,” he writes about the almost metaphysical ecstasy of “the spring of springs arousing them” and the yearning to “rise to a higher and more ethereal life.”

I am reminded, anew, that it is time again to look above the sun.

Time to see, taste, touch and hear beauty, to cherish and embrace family and friends, and to let my faith in God carry me beyond mere sunrises and sunsets to other, eternal realms — whether experienced within the next breath or heartbeat, or in the passage of eons to come.

And, it's a journey best experienced hand-in-hand. Don't be afraid to reach out.

Mother's Day: Of generations fading, generations rising -- and tiny miracles

Mother's Day 2015 was sweet and melancholy, affirming even as it brought the aching of, and blessings of memories.

 Barbara received lovely cards, flowers and heartfelt calls from the kids (and me), and we reached out to our daughter and daughter-in-law with what we hope were the same levels of love. That was the sweet.

But it also was a melancholy day, with some tears. Barb's and my memories of her mom, who also was one of my best friends, are fresh and a little less painful years after her passing.

And there's my mother, in the final stages of Alzheimer's, no longer knowing or remembering me or my sister, or my dad. When I check on her, though, there's this: the nursing home staff says her loving, if now nonsensical attempts at speech are for her two baby dolls.

Sad, but I also smile at this: both her dolls are babies of color. So are her two most recently born grandsons.

Somewhere in her shredded memories, is there an inkling of this next generation? I don't know.

But the nursing home staff says she specifically chose, and constantly holds those two specific dolls out of the assortment of mostly white babies.

I always smile when my daughter sends me the most recent video of newborn Nate and toddler Gabe. This Mother's Day, I was able to smile a bit broader.

In so many ways, I have lost my mother as much as Barbara has lost her's. The mourning is different, but feels very much the same . . . and yet, there was this "miracle of the dolls."

I'll take it.

Life: Is it what happens to us, our how we happen to live?

A friend and longtime journalistic colleague of mine asked the other day why I hadn't blogged recently.

My answer was that life had been too complicated of late, that I had been reticent to write more about the downward spiral of Alzheimer's and dementia with my parents, the disappointments of work, loss of perceived purpose, etc.

In short, I have been waiting for something more positive, uplifting to write about.

The arrival of my second grandson was, without a doubt, the best of a trying beginning to a new year. My daughter and son-in-law send pictures, and we video chat (Skype) frequently, to see little Nate, his big brother Gabe, and our only granddaughter, Lela.

Another: This past week, after six years of hard work, my wife, Barbara, earned her B.S. in Accounting from Western Governors University. Her joy and glow of success has been a treasure, and for her an indescribable mix of elevated self-worth, victory over the odds, and meaning.

Those are the brightest moments these days. Those are the sailboats we choose to crawl aboard -- yes, choosing to sail toward the sun rather than sink deeper into the darkness of choppy seas.

Life goes on, in all its exhilaration, the laughter and tears of a new generation, and unavoidably, the sorrow and ongoing losses of the last generation.

It  dawned on me, then, that if I waited for some dramatic turn in fortune to blog again, I would be doing Life a disservice. And, I would be waiting a very long time.

We humans like to divide what happens to us into "good" or "bad." We are blessed, or cursed; loved or hated; appreciated or dismissed; relevant or discarded, relegated to less-ambitious roles by younger superiors, etc.

If you maintain the usual human linear assumptions -- our finite, fail-safe manner of thinking and experiencing life -- all of that seems true.

But nothing truly is linear. Matter, energy and our souls are alike indestructible. Mountains erode into sand; sunlight is absorbed by plants to feed and, when they flower, amaze us higher life forms; and corporeal bodies are born, age, break down and eventually decompose to their base elements, only to return as the elements of new life.

The "Breath of Life," that profound, ethereal and yet reassuring expression of creation and existence and rebirth into an infinite existence, exposes as woefully inadequate that linear view of Time, or Being, or Purpose.

We are in error if we do not realize that Reality, according to physicists and theologians alike, extends far beyond the meager dimensions in which we live and perceive.

We attempt to grasp at an understanding of the Creative Intelligence, visualizing human-like super beings holding sway over our lives. But in our hearts, we know that "God" is a Presence both horrifying in its difference from us, and in its iinfinite nature, and as wonderful, and awe-inspiring in its limitless embodiment of what we call "Love.”

And when it comes to Love, we perceive even that with only a microscopic, fragmentary understanding.

We see beginning, middle and end, and think we understand the nature of things. He sees all Time, all its permutations, alternate outcomes – and Space, what we perceive and the wilderness of endless stars, planets, life forms beyond -- as One.

Ultimately, we have two choices. 

 

We can, in our human arrogance, close the inquiries of our finite minds to the Infinite, to Love, Creation and Purpose beyond grasping; we can conclude that what WE cannot understand cannot exist.

Or, we can accept, embrace and trust the Creator and creative process that led to what we are -- as a species, as well as individual souls.

When intellect reaches its limits, there is nothing more than to surrender to the limits, and thus errors of our knowledge.

And, always, the proper response to Love is to live in it, allowing it to flow through us to others.