Essentials

My honey gave me an atomizer for Christmas which infuses the air with soothing aromas.  I have a collection of essential oils which were given to me by a dear friend when I had surgery last spring and I love the essences of lavender, eucalyptus, and wintergreen I breathe in and out as I relax or sleep.

It got me thinking about essence.  I realize that unconsciously I have always been a person who intuitively relates to another person's essence - that part of a person that some might call soul.  But essence is more than that.  It's the "control center" of being, where all our feelings are housed.  All good and bad impulses originate in our personal "control centers," originate from our essence.  Our essence defines us.  Depending on the balance of qualities in our essence, we are perceived by others to be good, bad, friendly, sad, giving or any other quality that a human being can manifest.

My essence sensibility was called upon this year when my father died and my younger daughter decided to put a distance between us - obviously two very different and separate events, but with similar effect.  One is lost to me forever and the other is lost to me, I hope, until she completes an emotional journey. 

These two people have been essential parts of my "control center."

My father was at the core of my being.  To the degree that I am adventurous, creative, happy, loving, giving - my father is the model who helped me to develop those qualities.  His personality embodied them.

When I think of him now, when I relate to his essence, it is a near meditative state of remembrance and love, and it puts one big smile on my face.  Since his death I have been taking care of my mourning mother and his essence is always around us lightening the mood, infusing me and, I believe to some degree, my mother, with his insistent joy and determination to live well.

I am so grateful to be able to have him near me all the time in this way and I practice feeling him and seeing him.

Though my daughter's "control center" is probably doing everything to block any impulses coming from me, I am enjoying her, in her absence, in the same way that I am enjoying my father.  I can see her.  I can hear her laugh.  I can understand and feel her pain and my arms are around her everyday in this way.  It's very comforting to me since I cannot have it any other way at the moment.

A very good example of how this works relates to my very dear and adorable granddaughters.  I don't live around the corner from them and can't see them as much as I'd like to.  Though I could always call them or "Skype,"  it's ultimately an unfulfilling communication with small children.  "Hi Nonna."  "How are you?"  "Fine . . . "  So I feel their magical essences around me all the time - their zany, creative and loving presences in my life.  For example, I will enjoy every minute with them of the trip they are taking this weekend to Boston.  I will even feel the periodic fatigue, exhaustion and exasperation of my daughter and son-in-law as they tour a big city with two little girls in
tow.  Exhausting elation.

Perhaps there is a religion that practices this type of meditation.  If not, then perhaps I have hit upon something.  Whatever it is, whenever I can't be near someone I love, I meditate on who they are and the energy they have projected into the world, and I feel that I have them with me. 

Breaking Bread with Veterans

Last night I had the honor to be among about thirty veterans who are in a treatment facility in New Jersey for post traumatic stress disorder.

A friend and neighbor of mine has been visiting this group for a few years.  Every couple of months, she organizes dinner and entertainment which she delivers, sets up and serves.  Then, she and then participates in the event.  I have been contributing food for some time, but last night was the first time I was able to join in.

The dinner fare was humble - hot dogs (kosher and non-kosher), potato salad, green salad, cole slaw, beans, and all the hot dog fixings anyone could want.  The entertainment was lively - a piano player who delivered some rousing renditions of boogie, Motown and rock classics.  

As we assembled the food, some of the vets visited us in the kitchen, offering their help, but mostly seeking the company and conversation.  I was overwhelmed by their openness and gratitude.  Those who sought our company were very open and forthcoming about their experience and what life became for them upon their return from service.

During the entertainment, I sat between two vets, one who had served more than seven tours in Afghanistan and Iraq.  The other was my age and a Vietnam vet.  His name was Wally.  He and I were instant friends being only a year apart in age.  I couldn't help but reflect on his life's journey compared to mine.  These guys still move in the military way.  They salute each other, but it's with humor and the camaraderie that can only come from being that close to death. 

The other, Diego, was my daughter's age, and said that he'd be getting back to his poetry to help him reassemble the shattered puzzle that his life had become after seven service tours.  He gave me a wristband that he had worn overseas which I will treasure forever.

At one point in the evening, Mike, another Vietnam vet, invited me to dance.  Mike uses a cane, but was nonetheless spirited and so happy to be up on his feet and enjoying the music.  I asked him when he'd been in Vietnam.  "1969," he said.  "You were probably a hippy," he added.  I responded that I did protest the war.  He replied that he did too upon his return from Vietnam.

Young Albert (23 years old) broke my heart.  He talked about his love of his dog, whom he'd rescued from a kill shelter.  "Both of us have PTSD," he said. "So he understands me."

In spite of their experiences, or because of them, these veterans start their lives again.  Most were men, but there was one woman there who described her two tours, and said that she returned so shattered that she was unable to be a mother to her son.  But when they return, they start from a premise that most of us could never fathom - to have killed and to have part of your spirit killed along the way.

I reflect on my own father, who passed away last year.  He returned from World War II having served in the Pacific.  He returned with some photos, his uniform, a medal, but very few stories about his service.  As he got older, I would seek out the recollections and he would share in his way.  He was always an upbeat guy and so his spin on the experiences was usually humorous.  He was lucky.  He didn't seem traumatized and he managed to return to his world and resume his life in a productive and positive way. 

But that's not the way many, may I say most, of these vets return. 

I will go back to visit again.  Perhaps I will see some of the vets and some new ones.  They rotate in and out.  You can't leave without feeling like you should have done more.  You could have done more.  So, I say to all you folks who only have a cursory experience with veterans - just give one hour or day of your life to these folks who have given so much.  And who will continue to give because there is simply no other way for them to live.

It's the least we can do.