58 Gratitudes for 58 Years

I was born in 1960, which technically makes me a "boomer" - a much maligned segment of the population. This could be why I feel increasingly irrelevant and why I feel like I am merely wasting space and dwindling resources. Why have I been allowed to live this long when others with more promise were not?

My birthday falls on ... no, "falls on" is too dramatic, too momentous to describe my birthday. My birthday elbows its way in between Christmas and New Year's. It is overcrowded, overwhelmed and overrun by the slew of holiday parties and family rituals mandated by this point on the Gregorian calendar. I suppose this is the reason feeling relevant has been one of my biggest challenges.

This feeling of lacking relevance has most recently manifested itself in the arena of motherhood. The people that I allegedly birthed - because the idea of it is so hard to conceive of at this time - are adults living in different cities, living their own lives. I am contacted periodically by one or the other of them. I contact one or the other of them from time to time. There is happy chit-chat. But there is an underlying discomfort in my lack of understanding of my role in their lives at this time.

I feel sorry for myself for not knowing. Not knowing how I should be using my talents, not understanding why I chose to derail myself so severely at an early age - a derailing that has required years of putting things right with myself - not knowing what I mean to the people I allegedly gave birth to, not knowing how to care for my aging parents, not knowing what my role is in the larger scheme of things. I feel sorry for myself for not knowing.

Because one of the things I measure my success by is travel, every year on and around my birthday, I grow depressed at my lack of will, my lack of initiative. Because I allowed another year to go by without taking a trip out west. I have never been out west, you see. And I feel like something is waiting for me there. But year after year, I ignore this. Here I stand, again, in Greensboro, NC, wondering what the Hell is wrong with me.

All this gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair aside, I recognize I have done unique things in my life that have enriched it, even if they were hard at the time. I recognize that I have encountered and even personally known a great many exceptional people who have brought meaning to my world. I recognize that while my family is not perfect, they are my family, my place of origin, my roots. And for them, I am grateful.

I decided this year to relive my life briefly by stating 58 gratitudes that include moments lived, people known, tasks achieved. They are not in order of importance. They are in the order I recalled them.

1. I am grateful for being born in the small clinic in Denton, NC with a head full of thick black hair. I gave people something to talk about and was, at least for a day, the town attraction.

2. I am grateful for snakes. They mysteriously pop up in my dreams and my waking life and draw me in to a world both of mystery and deep knowing.

3. I am grateful for horses. All pre-adolescent girls, from what I'm told, love horses. That may be. But horses became and still are a huge part of my psyche. They represent the untamable power inside of me. They represent freedom, dignity, and grace. Always.

4. I am grateful for my father. He taught me to read. He taught me an appreciation for music. He taught me playful mischievousness.

5. I am grateful for my mother. She taught me about love. She taught me to sew. She taught me to color. I am even grateful that she passed along the curse of perfectionism because it makes me push myself to be better.

6. I am grateful for my sister, Rebecca, who has helped me to survive 58 years on the planet. She is younger but in many ways wiser. She helps me get off the train of self-destruction. She helps me put positive spins on situations. But she also joins in when I need to bitch about something. Beyond all that, she makes me laugh most heartily.

7. I am grateful for my family physician, Dr. Stephen Hux, who first diagnosed my depression and prescribed medication for it. He helped me get right with myself after many years of self-annihilation.

8. I am grateful for Dr. Edith Wallace, who taught me that I have everything I need to solve my own problems. I have a direct link to a divine source of creativity that will teach me, heal me and help me to be my best self. She taught me to honor my inner jester. She helped me remember to play.

9. I am grateful for my sister, Helen, who helped me to understand that the ways of the patriarchy need not be my ways. She modeled an independence of thought and action that I aspire to even today.

10. I am grateful for my brother, Robby, who taught me hard lessons about standing up for myself.

11. I am grateful for my brother, Brett, who taught me silliness and to embrace the weird.

12. I am grateful for my two children. I am grateful for the experience of being pregnant and giving birth. I am grateful for the experience of breastfeeding two beings, nourishing their bodies through my own. (What a uniquely intimate experience this is! I never would have known this intimacy otherwise.) I am grateful for the residual stretch marks that remind me that all of this really happened. I am grateful for the strength that arose in me from knowing motherhood. I am grateful for the lesson of unconditional love that my children taught me.

13. I am grateful for the being that my daughter has become.

14. I am grateful for the being that my son has become.

15. I am grateful for Robin White Star, who reunited me with the parts that had broken off due to trauma. I am grateful for her wisdom and healing over the many years that I have known her. I am grateful for her teachings of Native American spirituality. These have enriched my life greatly.

16. I am grateful for the love of my friends. There are so many who have braced me up when I have fallen, who have laughed with me, cried with me, danced with me, played with me, listened to me and talked to me.

17. I am grateful for Tim LaFollette. I am grateful for having had the privilege of serving him as he lived with ALS/Lou Gehrig's disease. I am grateful for his grace, his wit, his passion, his determination. I was honored to observe the many changes his body went through during his journey with ALS. I was honored to give him care.

18. I am grateful for Britt Harper Uzzell, a.k.a. Snüzz, who by some stroke of luck caught wind of one of my stupid songs and invited me to record it. His generous spirit and fun-loving nature enveloped me, making me feel important and well loved.

19. I am grateful for Lee Wallace, who taught me about bravery. He shared his love of music and great movies with me. And he shared his dog Stella, whom I spent lots of time walking. All over, we walked. We explored. Stella helped me get out of my stuffy brain and enjoy the beauty all around me. I am grateful for that time of being in Lee's life, helping him by walking Stella, listening to his pondering, seeing a miracle performed that saved his life, watching him grow stronger and able-bodied.

20. I am grateful for WQFS, a college radio station at which I had a weekly radio show. For roughly 15 years, I sat in a tiny MCR and sent my musical love letters out into the world. I gained friends there. I gained awareness of new bands. I gained a sense of meaning by simply attempting to inspire listeners.

21. I am grateful for UNCG, where I learned to trust my instincts and study theatre.

22. I am grateful for Deborah Bell, who taught me mask-making.

23. I am grateful for Marsha Paludan, who taught me so much more than simply how to be in my own body. She exemplified a spiritual approach to performance that now exists in my bones.

24. I am grateful for Lorraine Shackelford-Giddens, who introduced me to Gabriel Roth's Five Rhythms. This is a life-changing practice that I return to again and again for release and clarity.

25. I am grateful for Bob Hansen, who taught me about the history of theatre, who cultivated in me an even deeper respect for the medium and a joy of academia.

26. I am grateful for Great Aunt Minnie Lee, who exemplified true Christianity with her unconditional love, generosity, and grace. I am grateful for the feeling of genuine acceptance I experienced when in her hugging arms. I am grateful for the example of integrity she left me with, for her creativity and her humor.

27. I am grateful for all my relations. Aunts, uncles, cousins. All the family get-togethers. All the many shades of myself I experienced in their presence.

28. I am grateful for nature, for going outdoors and sitting in the sun, for taking long walks in the woods, for riding down a river, for climbing a mountain, for sleeping in the cold, for looking up at the stars, for feeling the rain pour down on me, for playing in the snow, for seeing new landscapes, for witnessing wildlife, for the smell of rich dirt and decaying leaves underfoot.

29. I am grateful for my dogs Soupy Sales and Flossie Mae, who teach me about love and playfulness, about loyalty and service and who help me get exercise.

30. I am grateful for the life of Melchior the cat, who was seriously my soulmate. She was with me through all sorts of maladies. She comforted me. She amused me. She loved me and I loved her.

31. I am grateful for music in all its forms. I will listen to be inspired, to learn about different cultures, to break down barriers in myself. I will play music to learn discipline and how to create sound that moves others. I will sing to release joy, sorrow or to be silly. I make up songs to make people laugh. I love music that makes me cry, that pierces my soul with longing too epic to describe. Nothing else can do this.

32. I am grateful for the radical people in my life. The ones who do not accept the status quo. The ones who understand that our current system of government is by its very nature oppressive and must be eliminated. I am grateful for the people who are brutally honest with me about politics and systems of injustice, who call me out when I'm being lazy or naive, who help me to examine the ingrained biases I have. 

33. I am grateful for Gwen Frisbie-Fulton, a single mom who exemplifies the struggles that I experienced as a single mom with much more integrity than I ever had. She forges a path of fighting for a more just world. While it seems idealistic, even unrealistic, this path needs to be forged. And I need to be reminded of it.

34. I am grateful for the experience of having been married to Steve Mitchell. From it, I learned to be true to myself, to honor who I am with great ferocity, to never allow violent words or acts be directed at me, to fight the patriarchy with all my might, to value my gender, to defend and fight alongside my sisters who are struggling against a system of oppression.

35. I am grateful for the many routes my activist nature has travelled over the years. Writing letters to foreign governments asking for the release of prisoners of conscience, marching in the streets with signs and banners, shouting slogans, painting graffiti, organizing Really Really Free Markets, engaging in community dialogues, listening to others. While I still don't know how to save the world, I am dedicated to continue trying.

36. I am grateful for learning to trust my inner knowing enough to heed it.

37. I am grateful for great literature. Victor Hugo. Mark Twain. John Steinbeck. Kurt Vonnegut. These writers helped shape my world view. I am grateful for good books that immerse me in a world unlike any I've known and carry me away on a storyline that I believe in wholeheartedly.

38. I am grateful for film as an art form and the directors who know how to use it as such.

39. I am grateful for writing. It is something I have done for as long as I have known how. (My first book was titled "Happy the Duck." I wrote and illustrated it.) I have poured my heart into notebooks and journals, periodic articles in local rags and blog entries. Some things are read by others. Some not. Sometimes I gain praise. Other times, I write only for myself. Outside input is nice, but I write as a way of putting order to a world which often seems to lack it. I am grateful for words.

40. I am grateful for dance. Truly beautiful choreography executed flawlessly by physically capable beings. And spontaneous dance combustions executed clumsily by my self.

41. I am grateful for food. For growing my own vegetables, for preparing meals, for enjoying nourishment as I take it in to my body. I am grateful to have this luxury of being able to nourish my body when so many are not able to do this.

42. I am grateful for my health. I have experienced health crises in the past. Cancer. ITP, which I still live with. But in general, at this point in time, my body is healthy and able to do the tasks I need to do on a daily basis. I am grateful to have mobility. I am grateful to have the use of my brain. I am grateful to have strength to move and to make things.

43. I am grateful for the doctors who have helped me achieve health.

44. I am grateful for the teachers I have had throughout my life who taught me more than just the subject at hand. They taught me to think independently, to be myself, to love myself, to explore knowledge, and to question.

45. I am grateful for my creativity, my urge to make things. Whether it is a painting, a play, a song, a mask, an embroidered piece of fabric, or a patch for some jeans, I live for making. Without the spirit of creativity, I am nothing.

46. I am grateful for humor. For all the beings who help me laugh at myself. For all the beings who help me laugh at the idiocy of this world. For all the beings who taught me about the idiocy of this world through humor. Laughter heals. I am grateful for this healing force in my life.

47. I am grateful for all the animal beings that inhabit the planet. All the creepy-crawly insects, all the furry four-leggeds, all the winged creatures, all the reptiles, all the ocean dwellers, river dwellers, creek and pond dwellers. I am grateful for the quality that each of these beings brings to the world. I am grateful for their unique wisdom and teachings.

48. I am grateful for my grandmother Helen, whom I never knew. She died when my mother was nine. But I feel as if her presence has always been with me. I feel as if she has moved through me in loving and playful ways. I feel as if I would have loved her greatly had I known her. But then again, I feel as if I have known her.

48. I am grateful for the roots that my family has here in North Carolina. I am grateful for this state's mountains and coastline. I am grateful for its history and its pre-history. I am grateful for the town of Winston-Salem and the special affinity I have with it.

49. I am grateful for my time spent serving The Garage, a now defunct music venue. It was so much my heart and soul for a time. I am grateful for all the musicians that enriched my experience there. I am grateful for the different sound people but especially for Brian Doub, who was most consistently there and who always produced the best sounding shows. I am grateful for Vicki Moore, Doug and Molly Davis, who worked with me in the beginning of my stay there. I am grateful for Richard Emmett for creating The Garage in the first place and then for providing me with an opportunity to work there.

50. I am grateful for my experience working around books. Kernersville Public Library, B.Dalton Booksellers, Waldenbooks, Borders Books and Music. These were my loves. Everything about working there was a pleasure. The people I worked with, the people I met, the joy of reading which turned into the joy of spreading the joy of reading via the distribution of books. I had so much fun in all these places.

51. I am grateful for the experience of managing a little gift shop in Harper's Ferry, WV. It was a magical little place filled with warmth, lovely smells, beautiful objects, silly cards and music. I honed in on my business skills and my love of creating a pretty and welcoming environment. I met interesting people from all over and made a lasting friend.

52. I am grateful for the hard experience of living at Claymont. It served its purpose of acting as a sort of pressure cooker to expedite needed change. It served my children well by offering them both the wild-ness of the landscape and a nurturing school environment. It gave me rich and challenging experiences which helped me to grow into the person I needed to be. Above all, it reinforced my need to maintain my individuality and my critical thinking.

53. I am grateful for the experience of attending the NC School of the Arts in high school. I am grateful to have been shown that world. Though challenging in its own right, it definitely impacted me positively. I learned of whole different populations that I had previously not been privy to. Gay men, gay women, transvestites, transsexuals, artists. It broadened my perspective and appealed to my desire for a more liberal and liberated life.

54. I am grateful for the lovers in my life who valued me as a partner. Who honored my sexuality by pleasuring me.

55. I am grateful for my current ally, Brian Talbert, who offers me all manner of support, who honors me for the person I am, who calls me out on my bullshit, who makes me laugh a lot, who taught me about riding rivers and gave me immense thrills by taking me down white water. We vowed to make our lives better together, both individually and collectively. And he has upheld his end of the bargain. He makes me happy. I am most fortunate.

56. I am grateful for the house I live in. I am grateful for the neighborhood, for the neighbors, for our yard, for the dogwood trees, for the front porch. I am grateful to share this house and my existence in it with Brian. I am grateful for the work we both put into keeping the house in working order as well as looking pretty.

57. I am grateful for the people who currently employ me in a variety of ways. Cleaning houses, pulling weeds, doing estate sales, making masks and Bohemian Prayer Flags. All of these people are granting me a form of freedom that I need in order to feel more fully myself. For this, I will be eternally grateful.

58. I am grateful for today: my 58th birthday. A day in which I may reflect on my life, on the errors and subsequent corrections I've made. On my ability to overcome obstacles and remain true to myself. On my ability to survive all manner of challenging situations and come out victorious. I am grateful for all lessons learned and all teachings that remain. I am grateful for this path, which is uniquely my own. I embark upon my continued journey without judgement, with an open heart, and love of the unknown.

The Abortion That Lived

It was unheard of.  Uncanny.  But I know an abortion who lived.  He walks the streets angrily, fists clenched, jaw taut, eyes narrowed.  He trusts no one and hates with a passion.  His children are frightened of his wrath.  They move tentatively as if they are made of glass and afraid of shattering into a thousand pieces.  I have never seen his wife.

It is not his fault, really.  He was never meant to exist in this world.  His mother aborted him as a young fetus because he was formed as a result of non-consensual intercourse between her and her older brother.  That is to say, his mother was raped by a person who was supposed to care for her.  She was thirteen.

The young girl who was the unintended mother of this abomination of a man, went to one of those places that no longer exists: an abortion clinic.  She was treated well there.  Tenderly in fact.  The women who attended her were loving and supportive.  The doctor performing the abortion had no doubt in his mind that aborting this fetus was the correct and proper course of action.  He was glad to help this young girl.  When she returned home, however, she was shamefully treated by her father and her brother.  Their contempt of her weighed heavily on her for years until she managed to escape their fold.

There must have been some force present in the unborn child - a hatred exceeding all hatred - which kept it alive in a pile of biological refuse.  It thrived on the bloodied discarded dressings from other people's wounds.  It fed on trauma and fear.  It had no alternative really.  When it was large enough to wiggle about on its own, a mother rat took it and nursed it as one of her own.  The abortion that lived dwelt among trash piles and the stench of urine and human feces.

Oh God.  I can't go on.  It is too grim a story.  But you see, this is what I do sometimes.  I invent stories in order to try and explain why a person might be filled with such profound rage and hatred as to wear a shirt that says "Cure Abortion - the leading cause of death in America," to stand on sidewalks outside of Planned Parenthood and scream all manner of ugly judgments at women going inside, who actually attack and kill doctors who perform abortions.

People who do these things provoke such a violent anger inside of me and such a strong hatred directed at them, that I have to ask myself, how can I learn to love such awful people?  This is the task that has been given.  Love everyone.  Even the people who have wronged me.  How is this even possible?  I just don't know.  So I start with inventing these stories.  They help for a minute.

Hatred is an ugly beast.  It quickly spreads from one person to the next.  It is like a wild fire, burning uncontrollably, fanned by provocation and reaction.  Sometimes all I can do is simply look away from the provocation in order to break the cycle of reaction...in order to lessen the grip of Hatred.

I admire Martin Luther King, Jr.  His words ring true to me.  How to walk his talk is still unclear.  But his words ring true and pierce the dense and putrid air of hatred and bitterness.  I hold his words in my heart like a banner.  My personal battle flag.

The only way to fight Hatred is with Love. I need an army of Love Warriors for backup.

~~~  

Hatred and bitterness can never cure the disease of fear; only love can do that.  Hatred paralyses life; love releases it.  Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it.  Hatred darkens life; love illumines it.      

~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

My Victory

The worst thing that ever happened to me - worse than breast cancer, worse than ITP - happened to me on a late afternoon in West Virginia.  It was early autumn.  The sun was making ready to disappear for the night.  The now ex-husband and I had uprooted ourselves and our children earlier that summer in order to be a part of an "intentional community."  It is with a great sense of irony that I use the term "intentional" to describe my life at that time.

On this particular early autumn afternoon, the ex-husband and I were arguing.  I don't remember what we were arguing about.  (I don't remember the content of any of the arguments that ended in violence.)  I only remember the last words that left my mouth: "I'm not your mother."

At that point, the ex-husband flew into a rage, pushing me down a staircase, dragging me out into the yard, throwing me down on the ground.  I was laying on my back.  He got down on his knees and straddled my chest. He wrapped his hands around my neck, squeezing it tightly, using it to repeatedly lift my head and bang it on the ground. Over and over he did this, snarling unintelligible words in time with the banging.  So what I heard was a word or two interrupted by my own gasps and grunts as my neck was forcefully pulled upward and as my head hit the ground. I could not breathe. The only thought in my brain was Oh God. This is it. I'm going to die now. 

I vaguely remember my children standing nearby.  I often wonder if they fully took in what was happening.  I wonder how they felt as they observed their father assaulting their mother.  I remember ex-husband guy ushering them inside as I laid on the cold ground with the colors of sunset hovering over me.

Dark orange. Brilliant pink. Deep blue. Midnight blue.

I felt as if I were becoming part of the ground - cold and hard like a rock. I was heavy. Frozen. The vibrancy of my life slowly seeped out of my body as the colors faded from the sky.  I do not know how long I remained on the ground.  I felt the chill and the damp of the autumn night falling onto and into me.  I might have laid there all night under the silent stillness of the crystalline stars. I remember a tear rising to the surface of my eye but not fully manifesting. It never rolled down my cheek.

I do not remember getting up, going into the house and interacting with the ex-husband and the children, which I'm sure I must have done.  Because I'm not lying on the ground now.  I must have gotten up.  I must have pushed myself away from the safety of the cold ground and back into the continued motion of family life.

On that night, I ended.  I died.  Checked out.  I put the requisite time and attention into being the primary monetary provider for the family, into preparing meals for the children, making sure they were dressed for school and the like. But part of my attention remained there on that cold hard ground, staring at the sky, trying to feel alive.

There is absolutely nothing worse than feeling dead inside and trying to pretend like you are living.

Eventually, my awareness returned.  I have memories of events that occurred after that one, including more episodes of violence. A beer bottle nearly hitting me in the head as it was hurled across a room. One of the children's favorite bowls filled with cream of wheat smashed against a wall. Being whipped across the back by a denim dress with brass buttons again and again as I curled up in an attempt to shield myself from attack.

It took a while, but I left the husband, who is now the ex-husband.  I knew that if I didn't, I would end up dead.  Not that he would have murdered me.  I probably would have killed myself.  Thoughts of driving my car at high speed into a tree planted themselves firmly in my brain.  So much so, that I had to actively fight the urge to do this on my way home from work every night.

It occurred to me that I must choose to live or die.  And I must fully commit to whatever choice I made.  For example, if I chose to die, I must stop beating about the bush and off myself.  And if I chose to live, I must really start living.

I chose to live.  At the time, I made this choice for the sake of my children.  I did not want to impose a lifetime of psychological suffering upon them by taking my own life.  Additionally, I wanted to send a very distinct message to them both - but especially to my daughter - that the type of abuse to which I subjected myself was unacceptable.  No one ever needs to be reduced to that degree of humiliation and shame.  I come from a long line of women who married abusive drunks.  It was time to break the chain for future generations.

I am constantly amazed by the number of beautiful, smart and talented women who are or have been physically abused by a man.  Having come out of it, I understand how difficult it is to extract yourself from that scenario.  I stayed with my husband much longer than I needed to. I had to reach a point at which I felt courageous enough to leave.  And I needed the safety of a support network.  This was absolutely crucial.

It is important to note that I did not feel completely empowered to leave the ex-husband until we moved back to North Carolina and I lived in close proximity to my family.  I found a job and began to establish a network of friends again.  I opened my own bank account.  I needed to have a safety net in place.  My family and friends provided a great source of strength to me.  And through their love, I began to realize I needed to take better care of myself and my children.

Initially, I blamed ex-husband guy for the violence perpetrated against me.  Then, I went through a phase in which I owned my share of the responsibility for the dynamics of our relationship.  Now, I have come full circle and realize that no matter what I did to contribute to the fucked up dynamic of our relationship, I never physically assaulted the man to whom I was married, the man whom I professed to love and who professed to love me.

Anger is a volatile emotion.  But there are any number of things one can do with it.  Anger does not need to result in assault.  Period.

Assault is against the law.  This simple frame of reference could have helped me so much had it been present in my psyche back in the day.  But I accepted assault as the norm - as part of the dynamic of my relationship with the ex-husband.  I suppose I accepted assault as the norm because I grew up seeing it in my immediate and extended family.  A certain degree of violence, it seemed, was simply a part of life.

I now reject that attitude. Violence is not a part of my everyday life.  I have no tolerance for it in whatever form it manifests: verbal or physical.  I am quick to call bullshit on any type of bullying.  I walk with growing strength and confidence.  I am grateful for my life.

Not every woman makes it out of a violent relationship alive.  I nearly didn't.  But I accepted the challenge of rescuing myself and making my life count.  This is my Victory.

I wish for all people to believe that they have value. I wish for all people to understand that violence is not an acceptable form of communication. I wish for all people to free themselves from the traps established long ago by a patriarchal belief system - a system that is outdated and destructive in nature. I wish for all women to acknowledge their strength, their power, their absolute wildness and to never, ever, become domesticated.

~In Memory of Sarah Browder~

Sylvia Who Giggles Incessantly

There are a lot of crying babies in the world these days - or so it seems to me based on my daily experiences at Planet Care. This has not always been the case.

When I first started working at Planet Care a little over three years ago, I remember noticing how calm and happy the babies who came into the store were. I remember marveling over the fact that Planet Care must have an enlightened clientele that understands correct child-rearing. That's an interesting expression: child-rearing. It implies spanking. So let's use another expression, shall we? How about parenting?

I have a vague understanding of psychology. But I understand this much about children: they need to feel loved.

Children are magical creatures who come from another galaxy to hang out with us Earth beings. When they are first born, they have just landed. They must acclimate themselves to their new environment. Earth is often colder and brighter than their only known world. And there is constant commotion and movement - not the gentle pulsing rhythms and murmuring voices they are used to hearing. Not the weightless rocking to and fro. They are suddenly propelled into the frenzied existence of modern society.

Infants study the world deeply. Their big round eyes search out the source of a sound, the change of light or color. They simply absorb impressions. It is miraculous to observe.

They soon reach a point in which they attempt interaction with their world. Initially, they speak with their bodies, performing a ritualistic dance with their arms and legs in response to some stimulus. They look as if they are leaping into the world, opening their bodies with wild abandon. I marvel at exactly how open children are.

Crawling is a huge leap of comprehension - orchestrating the coordinated movements of four limbs in order to propel one's body forward, or in some instances, backward. Then comes walking and talking, not necessarily in that order. The thing that remains constant, however, is the child's unceasing aptitude to absorb and process information from their environment. But parents must aid in the absolute assimilation of this information. Otherwise, the tiny beings from another galaxy become confused and frustrated.

For a while, my internal fatalist suggested that the vast multitude of crying babies indicated an impending disaster. Much in the same way animals react to an approaching storm, I imagined the babies sensed a cataclysm, either natural or man-made, that would end life as we know it. A series of earthquakes, a significant volcanic eruption and an oceanic oil devastation confirmed this theory. Worldwide economic crises, bombings and attempted bombings of civilians added to any personal anxiety I'd been experiencing about the stability of life on planet Earth. But lately, I realize that this is just the invention of a melodramatic mind and that life will continue, in some form. Even if humans destroy themselves, the planet will endure and rejuvenate itself. Or so I believe.

But there is still the problem of the crying babies.

Infants cry when they are uncomfortable. They are hungry or tired or they've soiled their diaper. They need assistance from their parents at times like these. And it seems that the less time it takes for a parent to respond to a baby's cry, the greater the likelihood that this child feels loved and valued.

I don't have a problem with crying infants.

Toddlers cry when they are tired or hungry or dehydrated. They cry when they are hurt. They can be hurt physically or psychologically. And this is where it gets tricky.

The crying babies that annoy me the most are the ones who seem to be asking their parents for a very particular kind of assistance in assimilating information from their environment. But the parents aren't listening. They do not hear their childrens' request for help. Therefore, the parents do not respond. Or they respond inappropriately.

What if children are able to sense the general level of stress and anxiety present in the supermarket as people whir by? What if they can hear the inner workings of the adults' minds:

I have 20 minutes left to get everything I need for dinner with the Watsons before I pick Johnny up from ball practice and drop Susie off at her piano lesson. I hope she remembered to take the dog out. That's all I need is to clean up dog shit. I'm still working on the stain from last week. I don't ask much. Damn! I forgot toothpaste. I'll swing by that aisle after I find the tortillas. Did they rearrange? I can never find anything here. Jesus. I better stop soon. I bet I'm up to $100. If I go over budget....no! I cannot go over budget. Gas. Lights. New shoes for Johnny. Braces! Jesus. Car needs to be tuned up. I can fit that in on Tuesday after my 3:30 with Dana. Watch where you're going, jackass! Jesus people are so rude!

It's enough to make me cry.

Maybe they hear beyond the minds of the adults. Maybe they hear the sea creatures crying in distress. Maybe they hear the impoverished, the hungry, the homeless, the citizens of the world living in a war zone. Maybe it is all too much to bear.

Maybe the crying babies simply need reassurance from their parents. And maybe the parents don't know how to provide this reassurance. Maybe the parents are seeking reassurance themselves. But they seek reassurance through the acquisition of material possessions, through food and drink and the attempt to satisfy any addiction that presents itself as immediately satisfiable.

I find myself increasingly irritated by the presence of so much unhappiness. The crying children do not irritate me. I am irritated by the parents of the crying children. Not because I feel like the crying children need to be stifled. No. The crying children need to be heard by their parents. And the parents need to respond to the cries of their children, not in the way they respond to their own internal cries - through the acquisition of material possessions, through food and drink and the attempt to satisfy any addiction that presents itself as immediately satisfiable. They need to respond from a place of love and compassion. But that would require the parent to be still and quiet in their hearts and minds so that they could really listen.

One anomaly exists: a toddler named Sylvia.

Sylvia has a remarkably astute nature. She observes and understands most everything around her. Or so it seems to me. She processes information quickly and assimilates its meaning. And then she giggles. Quietly. Sylvia giggles.

I hear her approach. When I tell her hello, she giggles. Her gaze draws me in. I look at her long and quizzically. She giggles at me. I grow increasingly mystified and delighted. And she continues to giggle.

I am removed from form and function in an instant. All that matters is a girl named Sylvia and her giggle - which somehow reassures me and lightens my heart. This child named Sylvia, this bodhisattva, shows me the true meaning of enlightenment. It incorporates the removal of worldly burdens by transcending the material realm of desire and suffering. And what happens when worldly burdens are removed? Nothing is left but the giggles.