April 6: "Koan in the Rain," Eternity, Memories

Billy Collins imparts wisdom . . .

Koan in the Rain

by:  Billy Collins

You want to know

the sound of one hand clapping?

It is the same

as the sound of the other hand

holding the umbrella,

only slightly louder.

For those of you who know nothing about Zen Buddhism, a koan is a riddle/anecdote used to demonstrate the failings of logical thought and also to provide some kind of enlightenment.  So, for example, Collins answers the question "What does one hand clapping sound like?" with the image of the other hand "holding the umbrella, / only slightly louder."  It's not a logical response, but somehow it feels right.  Appropriate.

So the koan for this blog post is:  What is eternity?

It is Saturday, and I've been alone with my dog for most of the day.  The memory of the blizzard from the past week is melting away outside (I can hear watery fingers drumming on the roof and sidewalks).  I haven't accomplished a whole lot--a load of laundry, a long walk with my puppy, and quite a bit of heavy self-reflection.

Recently, in a therapy session, I found myself talking about memories that I haven't allowed myself to think about for a very long time.  I'm not going to delve into the details of these recollections, but they were quite painful, physically and mentally.  Things that happened over the course of many, many years.  (I apologize if you find my reticence to provide a fuller explanation frustrating.  Perhaps, in the future, I will be ready to open up.  Not today.)

What I will say is that I've been crying today.  A lot.  (I'm not telling you this to elicit sympathy,  I'm telling you this in order to answer the koan about eternity,)  Opening the door to these memories and feelings was like punching a hole in a dike.  The hole just keeps getting bigger and bigger, and more and more details from the past keep flooding through.

It's a little like being in a bad horror film where there are ghosts around every corner.  Each ghost is trying to talk to me or hand me something or take over my body.  I've been ignoring these ghosts for so long that they're a little pissed, and, now that I've let my defenses down, they're unleashing on me.  And that's not a bad thing.  It's time for some exorcisms.

As most of my faithful disciples know, I struggle with sadness at times.  And free-floating anxiety.  I wouldn't say these emotions are crippling.  I've become very used to them and have developed ways of coping that allow me to function every day.  Most of my acquaintances would probably describe me as funny, upbeat, positive.  That is true.  I love my friends and family.  However, when I'm alone, I often find myself mired in self-criticism, self-doubt, and low self-esteem.  (That admission may shock more than a few of you.)  I can't remember a time in my life when I haven't felt like this.

Don't worry.  I'm not going to harm myself.  Been down that road before, not going down it again.  The last few days have just been . . . long.  Filled with painful recollections, some panic, and barely-controlled weeping.

The world is thawing.  Water is flowing,  Everywhere.

That's Saint Marty's definition of eternity.

February 24: Memories, Billy Collins, "Carry"

You know, memories have a way of creeping up on you.

The days after my sister died three years ago, I saw and heard her everywhere.  Walking across the parking lot at work.  In the evening, sitting on the couch, I would hear her voice.  On the anniversary of her death, I came across the holy card with her picture on it.

The same thing has been happening to me with my father.  I see my dad disappearing around the corner at Walmart.  I hear his gravelly whisper at night.  Just yesterday, I swear I saw him at Menards when I shopping for a bathroom vanity and sink.

I carry these people around with me everywhere.  Can't get away from them.

Saint Marty is thankful today for these moments when my dead are alive again.

Carry

by:  Billy Collins

I want to carry you
and for you to carry me
the way voices are said to carry over water.

Just this morning on the shore,
I could hear two people talking quietly
in a row boat on the far said of the lake.

They were talking about fishing,
then one changed the subject,
and, I swear, they began talking about you.

June 5: Alex P. Keaton, TV Theme Songs, Memories

All afternoon, I sang TV theme songs with my coworkers.  The Addams Family.  The Brady Bunch.  Gilligan's Island.  It made the afternoon go by quickly, and there was a lot more laughter and smiling in the office.  I would hum a few notes, sing a few words, and pretty soon everyone was singing along, including the patients in the waiting room.

These songs are cultural touchstones.  As I was singing the Family Ties theme song (yes, I know this one, too, right down to the "Sha la la la" at the end), I could remember how I used to sit in the living room with my siblings, lusting after Mallory.  I remember the last episode, with Michael J. Fox leaving home for his dream job in New York City.  All TV shows have this kind of reminiscent power.  Everyone of a certain age recalls sitting down with the entire country to watch the last episode of M*A*S*H.  I even remember the last shot of The Cosby Show:  Cliff and Clair Huxtable dancing off the set into the studio audience.

We all have these kinds of memories.  Alex P. Keaton memories.  Hawkeye and Radar memories.  Sam Malone and Diane Chambers memories.  Mike and Carol Brady memories.  We all have those Marcia Brady moments in our lives where we got hit in the noses with footballs.  Or had to say goodbye to our best friends, BJ and Hot Lips.  Or been Gilligans marooned in gym class with the Gingers of our dreams.  That's why those theme songs stick in our heads, why they mean so much to us.  Because they define who we are at certain times in our lives.

So, if you find yourself humming the theme to Three's Company tonight, you're not alone.  There are millions of Jack Trippers out there with you.

Saint Marty is one of them.  Sing along with him:  "Come and knock on our door..."

They don't write 'em like this any more