Into The Fire

The Sun magazine is an important part of my life.  It is a monthly magazine of personal, passionate writing. that has survived for decades without running advertisements.  It's motto is a quote from concentration camp survivor Viktor Frankl, - "What is to give light must endure burning." It consistently publishes pieces that are raw and real.  Unvarnished truth right in your face.  The prose and poetry are joined with black and white photos that unfailingly capture the spirit of the words.

I think The Sun has greatly influenced the content and style of this blog.  It somehow has given me permission to try to go beyond my comfort zone (and probably the comfort zone of some readers) in my awkward struggle to find the right words to express myself.

I just returned from a weekend writing retreat sponsored by The Sun.  The promotional material for this event described it as a celebration of personal writing. "To write about ourselves in a way that touches others and reminds them of our fundamental connectedness we must be willing to take a leap - with all our passion, fear, and longing - into the fire.  And that fire is not just a metaphor.  Its as real as our own mysterious existence; as real as a painful moment that has broken, and maybe opened, our hearts."

 The retreat was at the beautiful Rowe Conference Center in the mountains of rural western Massachusetts. It involved "a weekend of investigating our lives through the written word."  These investigations took place via workshops run by authors who have regularly published in the magazine.  It also, for me, involved a lot of chatting, eating delicious vegetarian food and shivering in an unheated cabin I shared with three other men.

Since I'm such a big fan of the magazine, the Irish pessimist in me I was prepared for the weekend to be a let down.   Infatuation once again deflated by the weighty reality. I can gratefully report that my weekend with The Sun was not a disappointment nor was it a thrilling ride into literary transcendence. It was inspiring and fun but it was also work.  The apply-titled workshops involved a considerable amount of writing which does not come easy for me.  There seemed to be many participants who were serious, full-time writers.  I was amazed at and intimidated by the quality of material written by others during the workshops.

Most of my efforts resulted in unreadable pages of crossed out scribbling.  The one piece that I completed and volunteered to read was a simply written short account of an event related to my mother's death.  It was a deeply personal and disturbing disclosure about a situation I had never discussed with anyone.  It was written during a "Reader's Write" workshop.  Readers Write is one of my favorite parts of the magazine.  Readers send in short prose pieces based on a different topic each month.  In our workshop the topic was "Eyes."

The best part for me was meeting, and talking at length with, other people who love the magazine, both readers and Sun staff members.  This common interest seemed to make substantive conversation fairly effortless.

Overall, the retreat was a positive, uplifting experience.  I hope it will motivate me to work to improve the quality and frequency of my writing.

Prayer and Psychodoodle

Last night Dorothy and I went to the first in a series of five spirituality workshops at the Unitarian Universalist church in Binghamton (UUCB).  We've been going to UU churches off and on for about forty years and have attended the UUCB regularly since moving to the area last May.  The series we began last night uses the popular UU hymn "Spirit of Life" as a basis for spiritual exploration.  One of the exercises was to look at a series of  spirituality related phases from UU hymns and pick three to five of the phrases that struck/impacted/wowed you the most.  We were then asked to use these as a basis for  a drawing and also for a written piece.  The writing could be a poem, song, meditation, prayer, etc.  I believe both the drawing and writing were supposed to be more or less spontaneous expressions of  whatever was stimulated? by the phrases.

  Here's what I wrote...

Deep power in which we exist
May your guiding light
Help us grow joyfully in unfolding grace;
Live with an open heart;
Dwell in wise silence;
and
finally
once again,
Find
Our eternal home.

So I wrote a prayer.  And meant it. It feels odd how comfortable I am now with this previously shunned behavior.

I also found the picture I drew interesting.  I look forward to future sessions.

Resurrection Robin

 

There is a window over the sink in our kitchen where I can look at birds while I do dishes.  Yesterday, on Easter morning,  there was a big, fat robin hopping in front of a blooming Forsythia. bush. The robin's classic head tilts and worm-grabbing thrusts are great fun to watch. I found myself singing some words from deep in my memory bank.

 "When the red red robin comes bob bob bobin along, along.
There'll be no more sobbing when he starts throbbin his old sweet song.
Wake up, wake up you sleepy head,
Get up, get up, get out of bed,
Cheer up, cheer up, the sun is red.
Live, love, laugh and be happy."

Cheer up, wake up, live, love, laugh, be happy.  It's what I've been working on  and writing about in this blog for the past year.  I went online and found out this song which was featured in the 1946 film, "The Jolson Story," was written by Harry M. Woods in 1925. Here's the link to all the lyrics.  And here's a link to an original Jolson recording of this great song.

In years past singing and guitar playing have given me great joy and comfort.  I haven't been able to play with much feeling for at least five years.  Every time  I'd try the guitar would feel dead in hands.  I couldn't make it sing no matter how hard I tried.  It's flatness matched my often deflated mood.  It was like losing a very close friend who could always cheer me up.

For the past three of four weeks I've been playing guitar again. It's alive and singing and so am I.  Hallelujah!

I'm not sure what happened but something has opened up.  I'm playing every day with already recallused fingertips.  What a thrill to have this friend back in my life.

The last lines of the song are..

"I'm just a kid again, doing what I did again, singing my song.
When the red, red robin comes bob, bob bobin along."

I am singing my song again and it feels great.

Live, laugh, love and be happy indeed.

Who's left out and what's kept in

As I review my past blog entries I'm struck by several things.  One of these is the ongoing uneasiness I feel about the self-centeredness of much of my writing.  I have a strong feeling that it's just not right to talk about yourself so much,  especially when it's about deeply personal things.  So far this concern has taken a back seat to the thrilling satisfaction I get from finding the words to express deeply held thoughts and feelings.  It's like I'm on an exciting treasure quest.  I find clues here and there and every once in a while stumble upon something that  makes my heart soar.  Like seeing a new spring warbler or finding a patch of hepatica on a cold March morning.  And one of the most amazing things is that these treasures are inside me.  It's not that I'm a great prize it's that trying to create something from the heart,  which I'm trying to do in this blog, connects me with something bigger than me.  It's this connection with a  powerful, positive, mysterious, integrating force (God?) which somehow allows me to give myself permission to be publicly personal.  Hell, isn't that what artists do all the time?  If they're not putting their heart into their work I'm not interested.

Which leads me to the point I wanted to make in this entry which is that despite my semi-elaborate defence of soul baring there are things will not discuss here.  Namely, I consider my my family and friends out-of-bounds.  I have no right to bring my relationship to them or any of their issues to this public place.

That on the surface is an extremely reasonable and important boundary.  The problem is that my family and friends are an very important part of me.  If I am truly trying to use this space as a vehicle of personal expression and discovery how can this be done with fullness and integrity without dealing with the people I love?  The people that many ways define who I am and how I live my life?

I have no answer to this.  There are many things I'd feel it would be helpful to explore re  the people in my life but this is not the place. This isn't a diary or journal.  This is public.  Duh.  It's just that I feel like I end up putting on the breaks when I get into areas involving other people and somehow this seems to violate the spirit of what I'm trying to do here. There may be a way to play the edges on this issue which I haven't discovered.  We'll see.

All of this also raises the interesting question of why I feel the compulsion to do any of this publicly.  Why not just keep a personal journal where nothing would be out of bounds?

 I'm not sure I know the answer to this either.  What I do know is that I've been able to keep this blog going for awhile now and I've never been able to keep a journal despite numerous efforts.  Just knowing that someone else might read this and might take the time to respond is energizing.  The "why" probably has to do with wanting connection.  There's that word again.

Art Movement

I was just sitting in front of my computer screen, wanting to write something for this blog.  I was trying to be open to whatever wanted to surface.  And, almost involuntarily I typed.  "the other side of goodbye."

These lyrics by Warren Zevon have been floating in and out of my consciousness for awhile now and have surfaced in this blog before.(see Death, Zevon and The Wind written in January, 2011)

This is the full verse


Will you stay with me to the end?
When there is nothing left 
But you and me and the wind.
We'll never know till we try
To find the other side of goodbye
              - Warren Zevon The Wind


If something keeps coming to the top does that mean there's still work to be done with it or does it reflect a limited imagination?  Probably both.

We'll never know til we try to find the other side of goodbye.

These mysterious, evocative words make me feel almost the same way I feel when I look at a great painting.  I am overwhelmed with deep feeling but can't explain either the feeling or the reason it surfaced.

I remember being in the Prado museum in Madrid surrounded by some of the worlds greatest art but being deeply impacted by one painting in particular. The Portrait of a Cardinal by Raphael

     This cut and paste reproduction is a poor substitute indeed for the original.  The texture of the brush strokes and the deep crimson are significantly absent here.  Nevertheless, perhaps you can feel a bit of what I'm trying to say.  Which is more of a pondering than a pronouncement  Why do somethings grab us and shake us and not let go?  Are these qualities of attraction universal or only a reflection of some learned bias by the observer/reader?

Are Raphael and Zevon tapped into the same wellspring?

Probably.  What is that magic chord?  Where is it?

I will be forever grateful for art that touches my soul.  It seems to answer questions I didn't know how to ask and raise questions I'll never be able to answer.

Prostate Protestation

I've spent the past three days writing a response to an article that appeared in the local paper.  I found the process of doing this challenging but very satisfying.  It stirs up memories of how much I enjoyed being a media agitator in Phoenix.  Maybe there's a lesson here about finding my post retirement path. Here's the letter.

March 5, 2012

Editor

Press & Sun-Bulletin

P.O. Box 1270

Binghamton, NY 13902-1270

On March 2nd The Press & Sun Bulletin ran an article by Jennifer Micale entitled "Drive urges screenings for prostate cancer - Libous helps promote awareness campaign." 

The article announced the launching of the "I Turned Pro: Proactive on Prostate Cancer" campaign by Lourdes Hospital, UHS and state Sen. Thomas W. Libous. 

Prostate cancer is a major men's health issue and the goal of this campaign "to raise awareness of the disease, its diagnosis and treatment" is important and should be applauded.  My concern is that the campaign is strongly encouraging men over 50 to be screened by having a prostate-specific antigen (PSA) blood test.

I am a 64 year old male who has decided to discontinue having PSA tests.  My investigation of this issue has convinced me that there is a growing consensus in the medical community that PSA tests are, in most cases, not a good idea.  Current research is showing that, according to a recent article in theNew York Times,  "regular PSA testing does not save lives and can lead  to aggressive treatments that leave men impotent, incontinent or both."

In October, 2011 the  U.S. PreventiveServices Task Force (USPSTF)  issued a draft report   which "recommends against prostate-specific antigen (PSA)-based screening for prostate cancer. This recommendation applies to men in the U.S. population that do not have symptoms that are highly suspicious for prostate cancer, regardless of age, race, or family history. "

The report states that,"The evidence is convincing that for men aged 70 years and older, screening has no mortality benefit. For men aged 50 to 69 years, the evidence is convincing that the reduction in prostate cancer mortality 10 years after screening is small to none."

The report goes on to document harms related to screening and harms related to treament of screen detected cancer. 

"Adequate evidence also shows that up to 5 in 1,000 men will die within 1 month of prostate cancer surgery and between 10 and 70 men will have serious complications but survive. Radiotherapy and surgery result in adverse effects, including urinary incontinence and erectile dysfunction in at least 200 to 300 of 1,000 men treated with these therapies. Radiotherapy is also associated with bowel dysfunction."

The awareness goals of the "I Turned Pro" campaign are honorable and important.  Its recommendation that men over 5O receive PSA screening should be revised to better reflect the current state of medical knowledge.

Ferd Haverly

1609 Buffalo Street

Endicott, New York 13760

ferd@haverly.org

Holy Smoly!

Smoly?  Just feeling playful, that's all.  Not a usual inclination for me.  Playful. Hmm.  I feel a wellspring of playfulness starting to burble, gurgle. Quite a change of pace and tone from my more morbid musings. It probably has a lot to do with the Spring that is beginning to emerge.  Titmice, chickadees and cardinals regularly singing now.  It's only March 2 but the air is already alive with the sweet scent of rebirth.  Crocsues (Croci?), daffodils, and tulips are poking there brave heads out of newly thawed turf. Holy smoly indeed.

I saw a chickadee sitting on top of one of the birdhouses I put up last Fall singing it's Spring mating song.  Their plaintive, sweet song is similar to another favorite bird song of mine, the white throated sparrow. (The video link for the wt sparrow is spectacular.  It says more than I will ever be able to write here)

This Winter has been incredibly mild with very little snow.  I feel we don't deserve Spring.  We haven't suffered enough yet.  Why is it so difficult to expect and accept good fortune?  Maybe we'll have a monster snow storm in March to make me feel more comfortable.

To hell with old, nasty, negative thinking.   Here's to Spring springing!