Nina Catanese

A Secular Spiritualist Ponders The Last Supper, Or I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

So, this is a pretty important part of the Holy Week story. It's the night of the Last Supper, Passover, and Jesus has told His friends over dinner that things are going to get real dark, real soon. Like most of us, His pals are just hungry and want to eat bread, olives, and get their wine on. They're always up for a lesson or a parable, but, this night, Jesus is quite serious, giving them the play-by-play of what is going to go down.

Something spooky happens next when Jesus starts passing around bread and doing something a little different than what they usually do on Passover - Jesus introduces the idea that what the Apostles are actually doing is eating His body and drinking His blood. Right about now, I'd be like, "Uh...I can think of you now each time I eat bread and drink wine because YOU JUST FREAKED ME OUT, Vampire Jesus!"

Like most of the Apostles, I would not understand Transubstantiation, wouldn't quite get what in holy hell my friend and host (no pun intended) was saying, I'd be mad, sad, and confused about Him talking about leaving us, and I'd probably pass out from eating carbs, drinking, sadness about Jesus saying He's leaving, and mass confusion.

So, I'd miss the part where Jesus goes into Gethsemane alone, and suffers, contemplating and bargaining and, ultimately, accepting what's to come.

We may not really understand what He was getting at during Supper, because prophets talk in parables and say stuff we still don't get after 2,000 years of translations, language shifts - and personal agendas, but one thing is 100% certain: WE ALL know the feeling of being in a really dark place, wringing our hands, crying, worrying, and feeling terrified, alone, and completely helpless regarding what's coming at us like a terror train.

The Buddha teaches us to surrender to what IS. Life on earth is suffering. Lean into it, process it, because it's going to happen, and if we accept it, move through it, we will find peace. Sounds impossible. Impossible without strong drugs, anyway. Living in the moment, a terrifying, painful moment, one that feels like it's going to kill you... that is what Jesus is doing in the garden. He has no antidote; He has no great idea how to get out of this and prays to God to "take this cup" of a raw deal away.

We're to take His absolute human form and human suffering to heart and, therefore, have camaraderie and compassion for the suffering of others. Because Jesus is all of us. Siddhartha is all of us.

So, that is what I am contemplating today on Holy Thursday. What in heck is it all about? I think it's about the ugly fact that, from time to time, and for what seems like FOR TOO LONG, shit is going to get real in our lives, and there is inner strength in the silence of prayer and/or contemplation. There is inner peace and strength in processing. Like an angel that comes to us and holds us, and the weight and enormity of all we bear becomes lighter. That comes from being in the moment of surrendering to What IS. For Jesus, for the rest of us humans, it is a grueling process, and we all do it differently.

I think it was Winston Churchill who said, "If you're going through hell, keep going." Another truth is, "This, too, shall pass". For the more spiritual of us, "Be still and know I am God" comes to mind - and heart. Josie, my beloved, sagacious mother, used to tell me, "You can’t put a hand against the ocean to stop the waves." Also, Ringo drops some wisdom, knowing, "I get by with a little help from my friends", and Paul's Mary wisely suggests that, in times of trouble, we all "Let it Be". I have raged against these pearls of wisdom every single time shit gets real. But I always go back to them in times of trouble. Which reminds me of the words Chris Cornell gave us (that I wish to God he, along with some good friends of mine, had heeded):

"Sometimes the rules get hard

But if somebody left you out on a ledge

If somebody pushed you over the edge

If somebody loved you and left you for dead

You got to hold on to your time till you break

Through these times of

Trouble"

Like the story of the Buddha, the story of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane offers us a narrative to teach us, "Hey, we're all going to succumb. Let's get through this the best we can - deep breaths, crying, processing, and getting through the difficult times with as much love and compassion for our brothers and sisters as humanly possible.

And sometimes meet up for dinner and stay awake to talk about serious stuff.

Love you guys.

The holidays can be a fun - but stressful - time of year for just about everyone. Gift buying, decorating, get-togethers, cooking, and planning are the joyful parts of the season, but they bring their own special type of hair-raising stress, as we all know. Holidays bring about a unique type of stress for those suffering with Alzheimer’s and for their caregivers. Mom’s Alzheimer’s, currently in the mild-to-moderate stage, is a little worse this year. Especially around this bustling, busy, out-of-routine time, her confusion gets worse. Her patience is all but gone. Her ire is up. She has become more confused, careless, and disinterested in decorating and organizing. This year, my sister and I put up the Christmas tree, put up the decorations, and we invited her to help so she’d feel a part of it. But she didn’t want to participate even though she kept asking me when we were going to put up the tree. She had no interest in participating, but enjoyed the lights, the ornaments, etc. I guess Christmas for her is now more of a spectator sport than something in which she can participate.

Her disease is not advanced yet to the point where changing her surroundings with decorations can upset her and make her disoriented and confused. This may happen around the corner, and we will deal with that if and when it comes. This time of year, she fixates on gifts she needs to buy her friends. Fortunately, her friends are also getting up in age (they are all in their 70s) and want to simplify things by buying gift cards. Gift cards are a daunting idea because Mom doesn’t know where to get them. We’ll take her to pick those out, but will she be happy with all the choices she gets to make, or will she get confused and frustrated and irritated over not being capable of making decisions on the spot? It’s a toss-up.

We will take her to the stores with which she is familiar: Pier One, Target, and she will buy things she enjoys, she’ll get excited over the lovely things, and we will remind her that she already bought that set of glasses last year, or we’ll let her buy more Christmas mugs, knowing we’ll have to stash away the old ones to make room. We let things slide more often, as it doesn’t make much sense to fight. Who has the energy for twelve battles a day? Buy the snowman plate. Buy the four Christmas mugs you love but don’t need. If they bring her joy, why fight it? When we put them out in the kitchen or when we put out a new candy dish and she forgets she bought them, it will be a new and exciting acquisition all over again. So, that is a positive. Heck, we can wrap stuff up and give them as gifts that she forgot from last year! I haven’t the heart to do that, but I like to joke about it. Levity is important. Because does she know she already owns Rick Steve’s European Travels DVD set? Hmm…

The good thing about the holidays is that most of it surrounds talk and memories of holidays past. We can reminisce about when we were kids or what Christmases were like when she was young; we can laugh over silly things family members did ten years ago,  pop some popcorn and sit together, enjoying the third viewing of It’s a Wonderful Life. Of course, she remembers the movie; it’s a good one, so we want to watch it again! She may not recall recipes from last year, and she may not remember how to make certain holiday favorites, but she’ll remember them once  we make them, she recognizes what they are and knows she loves them.

Each day brings on different moods and memories. One day she cannot remember how to make simple sugar cookies, the next day – or the next hour – she’ll rattle off some complex Italian cookie recipe  she remembers off the top of her head. Alzheimer’s Disease is an unwelcome guest in our house. But it’s not going anywhere, and it’s more than likely going to bring some unwelcome friends along with it.

Facebook Entry, April 8, 2019

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures: he leads me beside still waters; He restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil: for you are with me; your rod and your staff - they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.” ~ Ps 23

I talk to myself when I drive - usually at night when no one is around. So I talked to myself, and I laid out my plans over the next few months: letting go.

I still have no idea what to do next. But I know fretting over it is doing nothing for me. I do not know where my steps are leading me, but I am grateful my feet are able to move. I know I am on a road leading...somewhere. My hands are strong, my mind is getting less and less foggy as the months move through grief and exhaustion. My body needs work, rest, and shaping up. As far as I know, I am getting a do-over. I can't get back those years, and I don't want to; they taught me a lot about myself. They taught me a great deal about others. I know what I am capable of, I know what I can and cannot handle. I know what I will and will no longer allow. I have learned how to trust my choices. I have learned I am strong enough to do better next time when I have made a mistake.

Parenting my mother has taught me how to parent myself. Through a great deal of fatigue and pain, I have learned to trust my instincts and let go of old messages that no longer serve me. I have learned to love myself, mistakes and all.

The hardest thing to do is relinquish control. I walked down into quite a valley over the past few years, and I did give up expectations, rules, wishes, dreams, and hope. I now know what "nose to the grindstone" means. I know how it feels. There is no looking up, no looking forward, no daring to think of a future. There is only work. Now I am reacquainting myself with peace. Silence. Stillness. Healing. Rest. And I am looking out. I cannot see too far into the future besides, "I'll feed the cats, then feed the fish, brush my teeth, clean up the dishes..."

What the hell do we ever really know for sure anyway?

Nothing. Nothing is certain. I learned with uncertainty, and it ripped me up until I let go.

Here am I, sitting in my tin can

Far above the world

Planet Earth is blue

And there's nothing I can do...

(David Bowie)

Another lyric that comes to me on the daily:

"I come to you

Defenses down

With the trust of a child..."

(Peter Gabriel)

Something leads me. I don't have a clue where I am going. So much has changed externally, I cannot even name what has changed internally. I am recognizing I used to think of myself in terms of being victimized and held back by my dad, held back and broken by my mom's situation, by my own inability to run for my life, my inability to make the right choices... I no longer think of these things as evil, but unfortunate. Unfortunate circumstances. Now they are over. And now I heal. Or I get smashed by a bus or a stroke. Who knows what is next?

Not me.

Is this what divorce or death of a spouse feels like? Big giant turds of change, just sitting there, stinking up the joint...

In all this confusion, I hear, "Be still."

Within the vision of brilliant green leaves I hear, "Be still."

In the slow growing of daylight, in the movement of warm breezes pushing past the cold winds, I hear, "Be still."

In the loving embrace of friends, in the editing opportunities, in the catalogs of seeds and heirloom tomato plants, I hear, "Be still. Trust."

Some of us believe there is nothing at the end of our hands; some of us believe that it is when our hands are empty that something indescribable takes them and leads us to where we need to be. I believe in the latter. I do not know what will come tomorrow. But that is where faith begins - not when things are going well; not when the job comes through; not when you already know the answer, but when you absolutely do not. I don't have faith that everything is going to be rosy and grand; I have faith that I will be all right, no matter what. I possess hope. At least today.

"Where will I be

This time tomorrow?

Jumped in joy

Or sinking in sorrow?

Got a feeling

I should be doing all right

Doing all right..."

(Brian May/Tim Staffell)

"With patience and love

What I'm thinking of

I'm sure that you'll find

It's all in your mind

It's all in your heart

And that's just a start

Tonight

And it's gonna be all right..."

(Shawn Smith)

September 2, 2018

This has been a good summer. I avoided the garden. I avoided social gatherings. It’s funny how little things like temporary tennis elbow and sinus issues can help you make decisions your heart needs. No weed pulling, no planting, no digging, no being in public too much. It’s too much work.

I’ve never felt so exhausted in my life over these past few years. Especially the last two. Trust me when I say that even though I’ve gone through the motions of living and laughing, a dense fog sits in my mind and heart, making me think my soul has flown. Like it couldn’t take any more and left for a break. My light, having left, brought upon me such a stupor, I could - and have - slept most the days away. Comforting, deep sleep. It’s truly nature’s balm. I’ve just slept seven hours, and I could fall asleep again under the right conditions.

Then there is the scratching desire of wanting something to happen, something to change, but it feels like I’m stuck. I’m too tired, listless. Like when I take Benadryl; makes me itchy to DO SOMETHING! but it also makes me fall asleep sitting up. Jumpy and exhausted. The worst. It’s the doldrums. I’ll get to that...

Makes it sound like something isn’t “right”. But it IS right. I trust this feeling is my healing time. It’s mourning time. There is sadness, a cavernous loss, a sense of being out to sea, no destination. A sense I ought to be “going somewhere, doing something.”

I’ve always been afraid of the word “doldrums”. It feels terrifying. Something churned up from a past life experience? Perhaps. Shipwrecks have always been a draw for me and a few of my friends. Something happened to me on the water, I’m sure of it. I don’t like being in freshwater.

This is not a digression; it fits. Sink or swim. Doldrums. The sea being a symbol of the undifferentiated state, the depths being the unconscious. I must give myself this time to not be afraid, to trust that where I am at right now is where I’m supposed to be. Not lost, but in unfamiliar territory. Miles (seemingly) from home. Boat kind of leaky. Lost an oar back there...no winds pushing me. Static. On hold.

Tension permeates the doldrums; it’s not merely stagnation. Waiting for something to happen and being in a stupor within the anticipation.

Author Italo Calvino wrote:
“You have to understand, no one realized how long we would be becalmed there, off the Antilles, for years even, with the haze and humidity, the sky leaden and lowering as if a hurricane were about to break any moment. We were streaming sweat, all naked, climbing in the rigging, looking for a bit of shade under the furled sails. Everything was so still that even those of us who were most impatient for change, for something to happen, were motionless too, one at the top of the fore topmast, another on the main jib aft, another again astride a spar, perched up there leafing through atlases and nautical maps…”

Like most stories, this is where the adventure begins. I just trust in that. No matter what.

The Hereditary Bully Gene Blues

"To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting."

-e.e. cummings

There is a girl who lives across the street from me. She’s about 12 years old. She has been bullied incessantly, mercilessly, by a girl in her class, one of the "cool" kids. The parents followed protocol and had meetings with the teachers and administrators; nothing was done. The administration claimed their "hands were tied". One day, the mom confronted the bully's mom when she spied her through the giant windows of a hair salon. In true nut-doesn’t-fall-far-from-the-tree fashion, the bully's mom started bullying the little girl’s mom, calling her names, mimicking her - you know, typical adult behavior.

The 8^th grade girl suffers from social anxiety, and she is on the autism spectrum. She would be considered what we call in genteel company, Different.

One evening, I attended the grade school talent show with a friend whose kid was in the show. At the show, someone pointed out the bully to me. I confess, it took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to chase down the little bully and terrorize her. Then I was going to go after her mother. Maybe even throw in a roundhouse too, Chuck Norris-style, for good measure. Yep, I thought long and hard about serving a roundhouse to the side of Ignorant Bully Mom’s head for not disciplining her daughter.

But, instead, I thought about jail time, checked my notorious Sicilian temper, and, during the talent show break, walked with the bullied girl along a school corridor. This funny, silly, bright, sweet girl who is so gentle and loving to animals and kids… I told her basically what I've written down here:

"Kids can be so cruel. They have no filter, no boundaries. They need stability, and Different rocks the illusion of a stable world. Being a teen is plain awful. Knowing you are, somehow, Different makes it all the more difficult. Whether you are gay or artistic, shy, kind of geeky, really intelligent or kind of slow, or have a limp or are anything other than white or black or whatever majority happens to be in that school - kids can be ruthless because they are acting within the comfort zone of the sheer ignorance and power of the majority. Herd mentality, they call it.

"Different stands out," I told her. "High school is a microcosm of life in that Different tends to get squashed. People will try to mold you into a square when, dammit, you KNOW you are a hexagon or, at the very least, an acute triangle. Because Different makes people uncomfortable, threatens their equilibrium.

"But Different makes movies, writes poetry, pens a memoir, learns computer programming, learns to fence or quilt, becomes a bassist, a painter, a therapist, a dog whisperer, a biologist, a singer, a circus performer, an astronaut, a costume designer, a really cool parent..."

I told the bullied girl, "BE STRONG! Don't EVER let them win, don't let ignorance and fear dim your light, your beauty, your uniqueness. DON'T EVER give up on yourself. I know it hurts, I know it feels terrible, I know what it feels like to have someone always hovering over you, ready to call you a name, ready to threaten you, put you in your place with lies about how worthless and insignificant and ineffectual you are. Remember,  all this is coming from a negative place, a place where fear and ignorance dwell. Maybe the bullies don't have a lot of love at home. Maybe they don't have neighbors who love them and watch out for them. Maybe," I continued, "these bullies feel threatened by what you have, by your happiness or your uniqueness. Maybe bullies aren’t getting enough attention, and they take it out on people like you. Maybe they are crummy because they inherited the Bully Gene from their parents. Remember, their ignorance reflects them, not YOU. And you are better than that. The best part - THE BEST PART - is that all this will not last. Hold your head up and remember: This, too, shall pass. Fools and ignorant bullies and snotty, shallow, bitchy girls and... Well, you know the type. They'll all fall by the wayside. They'll all fall away. Hopefully, they’ll all grow up. Embrace your wonderful self. Don't let anyone tell you you’re worth nothing. Don't ever let anyone allow you to feel worth less than what you are. They can't take away anything you have not willingly given them."

She seemed happy and emboldened by my tirade and thanked me for it.

I wish I wasn’t so angry at the bully. I wish I could have said to the bully who thinks it’s funny or empowering to call people names like faggot or retard or fat ass, “One day, someone will be afraid of your uniqueness and want to stomp you into the ground because they don't understand you, or because you are smaller than they are, or not as attractive as they are, not as skinny, smart, or stupid. Don't ever be responsible for treating another human being with so little respect. Eventually, you’ll live to regret it. Accountability will kick in eventually, and the things you've done will come and bite you on your ignorant butt later.”

I wish I could go back and tell her, "Be the better person. Don't make someone else's life a living hell. BE better than that. Better than your mom, even. You can be better than a bully.”

I know she wasn’t ready to hear me.