Thursday, March 6, 2014

Meditations in Fast Times: 2. Tolerance, she said


                  2.

Tolerance, she said,
is well enough and good.
Acceptance is better.

Acceptance
of conditions,
a simple recognition
of a basic truth:
each and all are.

The storm, settling
in for a daily dose,
clattering, cluttering, close—
an exertion
gripping mind and soul
—holding self in a
grip of judgment,
casting a dark cloud
over possibility;
simple
is the most difficult
condition of all.

The rhythm of feet to floor,
the staccato of many voices
against a descant of driving rain,
these are reminders;
the vastness of experience
is no different than the center
that is home,
and each foot fall,
each whispered prayer,
each meal lovingly prepared
is refuge taken in now
and everything.

The thunder and lightning
startle one from reverie;
muscles suddenly tense,
then release
into realized truth:
acceptance is nothing less
than an intimate engagement
with all things.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Meditations in Fast Times: 1. Coming down from the highs

                        1.


Coming down from the highs,
coming down from the heights,
separating from the rights and rites
to settle,
first formless,
then in form,
informed
by stillness at its fulcrum,
stillness as close to rest,
as can be achieved in a lifetime
—neither a resignation,
nor abdication,
but an embrace of liminal space,
in which to consider
the moment;
clay, after all,
            can only grow so tall
before gravity,
or a confusion of tongues,
causes it to fall;
But now, at least,
is an acceptable time
to consider the limits of dust,
the rewards of oblative ablution
and what treasures lie
beyond substance,
within, perhaps,
the gift of apprehension
or the embrace of possibility
as—sic transit mundi—
we flutter in moth-like suspension
before the light,
betwixt and between.

 © 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Stop and See—Contemplate


Let me celebrate Life at all times;
may a song to beauty always be on my lips—
May all my days glorify the sweetness of Being!

Friends, join me in singing;
let our music weave a celebration of Life!

We, who search and strive for truth,
are sometimes so woefully unaware:
truth constantly surrounds us
and is continually being revealed.

Let all who seek find,
and all who realize glow with dignity;
May all who suffer find relief
through transformative possibility;
Let none of us be confounded.

This lowly person asked for truth,
and was given an answer:
The Spirit of Life surrounds all those
who fully engage with the world.

Stop and see—contemplate
by resting in the goodness of Life.

Blessed are all
who love,
who do right by others,
who speak truth and beauty,
who make and nurture peace.

All who find the goodness of Life
and share it abundantly
cannot fail to be blessed.

Together,
Let's celebrate Life, at all times;
may a song to beauty always be on our lips—
May all our days glorify the sweetness of Being!

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

***

Stopping (concentration) and Seeing (insight) are integral halves within Buddhist meditation practice. “The Great Stopping and Seeing” is a collection of lectures set out to explicate the various methods of meditation practice, as realized by the 6th century Chinese master Chih-i.

While filtering Stopping and Seeing through my own experience and practice, the thought drifted into my head that Stopping and Seeing sounded somewhat like “o taste and see” from Psalm 34, and so this offering is a sort of re-envsioning of Psalm 34.

The interesting thing about Psalm 34 is that its heading indicates a relationship to the story of David’s adventures in Nob, as told in I Samuel 21. David, in this situation, acted as though he was insane, in order to escape from danger. Is the Psalm a crazy outburst, or does it reveal method in madness? Likewise have those awakened to enlightenment been thought, at times, to be crazy.

At any rate, we could all do worse than throw ourselves headlong into celebration, at every opportunity! 

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Scheherazade and Her Master


He had power,
but no soul;
though he was surrounded by wealth,
he believed in nothing and no one;
when his wife found consolation
in the arms of a servant,
in his fury, he dispatched them both.

From that time,
he felt nothing;
people were mere objects
for him to command—
he alone had power over life and death;
the trail of blood
leading out of his courtyard
to the pit of lifeless virgins
provided ample evidence.

Then She came
—what does it matter where She came from?

What happened next made him so dizzy,
he almost swooned:
She opened her mouth and began to speak.

At the sound of Her voice,
he could feel,
and he knew at once:
he was not worthy to lurk in Her shadow,
all his power and erudition meant nothing;
he was but a thin shell, filled only with shame
at his past thoughts, words and deeds.

Her sound looked like sunlight cutting through clouds,
in order to dance on the distant waves of the limitless ocean;
Her voice tasted like berries drizzled in honey;
it intoxicated like wine.

He was mesmerized by Her voice,
yet he was convinced She was no sorceress.

While Her voice rumbled, purred, caressed and sang,
the sun rose,
the mighty waters parted
and land emerged
now before him,
as at the dawn of creation.

The sound that came from Her lips,
it was unlike any other;
ah, it was life itself!

He somehow knew
if he could live within the tone of Her voice,
there was redemption for his soul,
his life would have meaning,
he would be worth something.

To grant Her rest each night,
to nourish Her body,
to bathe Her in rosewater,
to clothe Her in silk
and adorn Her with gold and jewels,
to let Her rule his kingdom
with equity and peace—
this was but the smallest price to pay
for that heavenly, life-giving music.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Thursday, February 6, 2014

Teary Balm


The rains return,
a blessing and a communion
for all that is parched and scarred,
for the cracked and dry rotted;
the rains return, a teary balm.

Soft sprinkles gather
to dance on leaf and blade,
to explore forming buds and
unfurling fronds of fern,
reaching deeply into
and encouraging
the dormant
mosses.

Any accumulation
pours forth where it can,
settling accounts with roots,
pooling intimately and deeply,
rolling in ever widening waves,
with a depth of touch
and seeming awareness
of that most real commingling
that lies at the heart of being.

The rains return as teary balm
—for the earth and all dwelling thereon;
Holy rains, heal our parched and scarred,
heal our cracked and dry rotted,
heal us from the very roots
to the tips of each branch,
flow into the budding flowers,
and fill the wellspring of our awareness;
Oh, beautiful teary balm,
bring blessing and communion
to full bloom and being
in us.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Caveat Donator: Pars Secundo


I previously wrote about an incident where my husband and I received a lien notice. in October of 2013, against an auto we had donated and had not seen since the previous February.

Here is the location of the original entry:
http://songsofasouljourney.blogspot.com/2013_10_26_archive.html

In the meanwhile, I am putting the takeaways here, right at the top. That way, if you don’t have time, or otherwise don’t want to read this story, you can go away having been completely and utterly informed by this article. Don't worry if these takeaways seem unrelated; you'll thank me for this information later.

The TAKEAWAYS:

#1 - DO NOT DONATE CARS! If you want a group to benefit by a gift from you, sell the old clunker you have for parts, file all the paperwork yourself, and hand the group a check. Read farther down if you want find out why this is better.

#2 - Transparency means that everything organizations and institutions don't want you to see is farmed out to a contractor, where the opaque becomes more opaque; no one you need to talk to is reachable by phone; you can’t get a report in under 4 weeks, though the data is all digitized; and no one is accountable to the truth but you.

**

As I mentioned in that previous article, I sent $20.00 to the DMV to get the history of the car, so I could prove I no longer was responsible for it. This was indeed the best $20.00 ever spent. I received the documents in November; they proved we no longer owned the car. I collected these, along with everything else I had relating to this odd incident, into a file. I had already returned the lien notice to the DMV indicating I had no interest in the vehicle and was not the owner of it. I waited for the other steel-toed boot to drop.

Last Thursday, we received a call from a collection agency. Clunk. That was the other boot.

The collection agency was calling to tell us our credit rating was at risk if we didn’t pay a bill for towing and storage of the vehicle we no longer owned. I explained we had a release of liability and that we never saw the vehicle once it was towed away from our home, and further, we had never received a bill from anyone and expected to pay nothing.

I faxed documents over to the agency and the woman called back to say that their legal advisor would look it all over and call me to let me know what the resolution was.

Tuesday morning, after a holiday weekend, the call came. The documents I provided were insufficient, I was told—we would still be obliged to pay. I reiterated that I had never seen a bill from anyone, and had no idea how much money was involved. We are not legally obligated in the matter of this car, I yelled into the phone; this is a matter of public record! I asked the woman to fax me all the information pertinent to their case. (They are actually required to do so, by law.)

The more I thought about this, the madder I got. How in the world did this happen? I called the donation center that handled the car and left an urgent message, asking for a return call. I emailed Consumer Action with my story, asking for advice.

Then, I started doing research on the web. What was up with this collection agency?

Well, what was up is that they have an “F” rating from the Better Business Bureau. The complaints I found on Yelp resonated with what I was experiencing. Interestingly, this company had been named in a class action suit against a consumer credit reporting agency that allegedly disclosed consumer credit scores to that collection agency and possibly others, in clear violation of the Fair Credit Reporting Act, so that consumers could be targeted based on their financial vulnerability. Lovely. The collection agency settled with plaintiffs out of court. Well, you know what that means…

(Sigh)

Knowing there was no reason for me to be charged for the towing and storage of someone else’s wrecked car, it was time for me to play hardball back. I drafted a very terse note to the general manager of this agency:
  
We have been receiving phone calls from your collection agency regarding an automobile (VIN # -------) that we have not held title to since February 5, 2013. This is a matter of public record through the Department of Motor Vehicles, to which you may apply for verification.

We find it curious that we are receiving phone calls from a collection agency when we have never received an invoice or a collection notice. We can only conclude that you are making a fraudulent claim against us on behalf of your client.

If your office persists in harassing us in a matter that does not concern us, or if our credit rating suffers at your hands, we will take legal action. In the meantime, we shall be contacting the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau and the FTC regarding your activities.

Sincerely...


I sent this missive by certified mail on Thursday, January 23rd.

Friday came and went. Nothing was faxed to me by the collection agency.

The Consumer Action people got back to me with advice, and the donation center spoke to my husband, who forwarded all the documents pertinent to them.

Saturday, we received a bill from the collection agency, our first contact by mail. The amount they want is nearly $3,000.00. This bill was dated January 13, 2013, but was obviously sent overnight, possibly retro-dated, to cover for the fact that they had forgotten to send us a bill. Most things sent from that ZIP Code to ours come overnight or in two days. The reason they had to send this is that, by law, they are not supposed to communicate with us by phone until we have received something in the mail in writing from them. The postmark on the envelope is January 24th.

HA!

We are surrounded by technology, and everyone and their brother seems to have access to my information, yet that is somehow insufficient to prove something as simple as “we haven’t owned the car since February that was involved in an auto accident the following October”. We still have to push the paper around. Even though we have pushed paper at them, they persist in their quest.

Okay, the way we read it is that the bottom feeding collection agency is in collusion with the towing company to work one kind of fraud. But we realized there is probably another kind of fraud going on here, and it has to do with the auctioning of vehicles.

When we organized the documents from the DMV in the order in which each event took place, we realized that after the car was auctioned in late February, to the person or company whose address is in Mexico, there was no more paper trail. This is significant, and I will tell you why: if the car was purchased by a Mexican concern, one would assume it was taken to Mexico, particularly as there was no further registration of the vehicle.

However, the car was being driven by California resident in October. Where did that person get the car? And why didn’t the seller properly release liability and transfer title?

Such an occurrence cannot be an isolated one. If it happened with the car we auctioned, the potential is great that many vehicles purchased at auction are being resold without transfer of title.

The implications are chilling. How many people have purchased autos that subsequently disappear from the system? How many similarly unregistered vehicles are on the road, even as we speak, with drivers who are uninsured, possibly even unlicensed? Such “ghost” vehicles not only endanger us if they are involved in accidents, but these cars could be also used in the commission of crime. These vehicles, subsequently abandoned, are virtually untraceable to any person but the last person who registered the vehicle before it was sold.

Fortunately, in our case, no one was injured in the accident involving the car.

We are not done with this story, Morning Glory. We don’t know what will happen next, although we are hoping the case will be closed. Will we have to go to court? Stay tuned...

In the meanwhile, here are those takeaway messages, one more time:

**
#1 - DO NOT DONATE CARS!

#2 - No one is accountable to the truth but YOU.


Thursday, January 23, 2014

Down in the Tube Station At Midnight (or anywhere, anytime of day)

Every so often, I have a guest commentator on my blog. Today, my guest is my husband, Rick Dougherty. At the dinner table, Rick related the story you are about to read. I felt it was vital and important; a story that needs to be shared and thought about deeply. This is a story about people in the Bay Area, about homelessness, about addiction, about suffering. It is also a story about intuition, compassion and engagement. I hope you will take this story to heart.

***

I was coming home from work in San Francisco today, heading down the escalator to the BART station, and noticed a young man in a grey hoody and jeans standing near the turnstile. His backpack lay against the column behind him and, as people walked past to head down to the trains, he was asking for fifty cents.

Normally I would have walked past, but something about him caught my attention. He had a very gentle demeanor, a soft voice and spoke very well. He was very thin but didn’t seem to be ill or worn like so many of the homeless do. I had taken this all in as I put my ticket into the slot and walked through the stile, and was about to move on but instead, just out of curiosity, I turned back and asked him where he was going. For a moment he looked a little puzzled, so I said that fifty cents wouldn’t take him very far. Then he gave a slight smile and a conversation ensued that moved me deeply.

He told me he was just trying to get enough for something to eat, and when I asked him where he lived he said he was from Danville but hadn’t been home in three years. He had been sleeping on benches at the airport along with many other homeless people. The police would walk past them every night on their way to eat but so far didn’t seem interested in them. I asked why he didn’t go back to his parents and he said that they had thrown him out of the house because he had become hooked on heroine.

Before it all fell apart, he had seemed to have a great life in store. He loved baseball and was a great pitcher, a lefty with a 90 mph fastball, and had received a full scholarship at St. Mary’s. But at the end of his sophomore year a teammate saw him shooting up at a party, and when the news got out, he was not only off the team but was expelled from the school.

He said that in the past three years he had overdosed eight times and that each time the medical team had been able to revive him, the last couple of times only barely. You’d think having gone through that he would have learned his lesson, he said, but within half an hour of being released he was out looking for his next fix.

I told him my own family had been riddled with alcoholics and I had learned that the only person who can save an alcoholic, or an addict of any kind, is themselves, so there was nothing I could do for any of those family members but walk away. I said that it was because of that experience that I was reluctant to give him any money. To my surprise he said, “No, don’t give me any money. I’ll just go buy heroine with it.”

I asked if he had looked into any treatment programs that could help him, and he said that he didn’t think he could make it through the twelve-to-fifteen month programs. But if he didn’t even try to grab onto a rescue line, I replied, the there was no chance at all that he could change his fate. But if he took that very first step, he might begin to feel the confidence that he could control his life and could regain the determination to see it through and pull himself back up on his feet.

He shook his head again and said he wasn’t sure he could do it. I told him that in the end there were parts of him trying to run his life, his body and his mind, and that he would have to decide which one would run it in the end.

He nodded solemnly, as did I. I wished him well and we shook hands. Then I headed down to the trains.

***

This is a simplified version of the story from the way it was told at our dinner table, but that is the whole story.

There are a great many things that could be said about the story you have read, but the one aspect I want to draw your attention to has to do with engagement

I know that I have had similar encounters with people, over the years--people who were, for all intents and purposes, struggling to deal with something. Who knows what it was that made Rick turn back? I can only think there is some sort of intuition involved. 

We will never know if anything Rick had to say to this young man will have a lasting impact (he has survived overdosing eight times, but cats only have nine lives), but I cannot help but feel that when we follow the intuition that tells us to engage,--that it is not only okay, but we need to engage--this opens a pathway for positive change.

In your dark night, whose face was it that made you smile? Whose warm hand touched yours? Whose kind word or funny joke? How was the darkness dispelled? What unexpected encounter changed your life

When you pass people huddled on the street or in the tube station or in the airport, what is it that will make you talk to one of them? Are you tethered to a virtual muffler, or are you tuned to what is happening around you?

Whose life might you unknowingly influence for the better?

One last thought: We shall all be changed, of that there is no doubt. If we shall all be changed, let it be through compassionate, caring engagement.