Crossing Nebraska

It’s not uncommon for those grieving the loss of a loved one to hope for a sign from them that all is well on the “other side.” Perhaps this is especially so for survivors left without any meaningful sense of closure. My mother, for instance, slipped inexorably into the quicksand of dementia without me being able to say goodbye in any meaningful way. Perhaps that explains my openness to receiving a sign from her, despite my Zen Buddhist leanings leaving me less inclined to believe in heavenly realms of souls and angels. Grief is never easy, but grief without closure is more difficult still. Euonymus, sometimes called Burning Bush In the first installment of Synchronicity and Meaning I described waking from dreamless sleep with an artist’s name on the tip of my tongue. The last name was Bosch. The first name rhymed with anonymous. Euonymus? No, that’s a plant of some kind. With the mystery yet unresolved, I fell asleep again. Upon awakening the next morning, however, I saw that a fri

“Oh my gosh, I was just thinking of you!” Have you ever been party to a phone conversation in which the person on the receiving end immediately blurted this out? It would seem to be a fairly common occurrence. But does it mean anything? Is it synchronicity, or is it merely coincidence? For if there is no reason for such events, and no meaning for them to accrue, then they result in little more than “gee whiz” wonderment. I’ve been a “student” of synchronicity for many years. By that I mean I give due consideration to apparently synchronistic phenomena whenever I happen to notice them. I appreciate the way they nudge me from my comfort zone in the rational world and open me to thinking about new possibilities for the reality I might otherwise take for granted. That said, I’m no pushover! My rational mind can’t help but analyze these potentially synchronistic occurrences before getting too excited about them. For instance, when those intriguingly timed phone calls come from my spouse, w

Perhaps it’s human nature that our moods so often track the weather outside—spiraling downward like the cold rain in the drainpipe and then lifting once again when the sun peeks through the clouds. Ah, but it isn’t always so. Sometimes we revel in the gloominess outside, finding a sort of melancholy joy in how it so perfectly supports our (and the world’s) need for rest and renewal. Unfortunately, the opposite all too often occurs. It might be a gorgeous day outside, but we feel as though we’re gazing out through dirty glasses. We sense brightness, but our mood is dark. We wish we had more spring in our step, but it feels as though our feet are stuck in mud. Whether we’re experiencing depression, grief, or merely a persistently rough period in life, it can be all too tempting to believe that such inclement “inside weather” will be our lot forevermore. We might even commence to seeding our dark storm clouds with endless self-recrimination: We’ve “no right” to feel this way given all tha

We recently said goodbye to our beloved cat, Twinkie. He was just a few weeks shy of his twentieth birthday, twelve of which I had the privilege to know. Twinkie had been showing his age for quite some time, but his decline was so gradual, and his presence so strong all the while, that we thought he might live well into his twenties. In fact, Twinkie abided so well in whatever state of health he was in that it took us until his final week to realize just how close to death he actually was. He approached it like a buddha—poised, composed, and unperturbed. The Buddha is said to have died both in great pain and with great composure. We know this because of the cause of death (food poisoning), the teachings he imparted in his final hours, and the meditative state he enjoyed while passing away. His dying was the culmination of all he’d learned and taught since first glimpsing the sufferings of the world while on secret chariot rides beyond the shelter of his father’s palace walls. Namely,

There is richness to be discovered in living more simply. This is a reoccurring theme of this blog. I’ve considered Duane Elgin’s practice of Voluntary Simplicity   several times , for instance, and the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sabi . I’ve also espoused some of my own ideas on what I call Aspirational Contentment . These all relate in some way to making room in one’s life for life itself to unfold more authentically—whatever that may look like for any given individual. Continuing in this vein, I’d like to offer some thoughts on Margareta Magnusson ’s The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning: How to Free Yourself and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter . Magnusson explains the overall concept: “I think the term do ̈ sta ̈ dning [Swedish for death cleaning] is quite new, but not the act of do ̈ sta ̈ dning . It is a word that is used when you or someone else does a good, thorough cleaning and gets rid of things to make life easier and less crowded. It does not necessarily have to

  Of all the anxiety-inducing things in this modern life, having the check engine light come on has to be in the upper half of the list! Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait too long for a diagnostic checkup, as I had an oil change scheduled just a couple of days hence. And what pleasant news I received! “It’s emissions-related,” our small-town shop manager said. “You’ll have to have a dealer check it out to know more, though.” Then she added: “If we were in California, it might be something to worry about. Here, not so much.” I was relieved. It was just one of those emissions things. Maybe my gas mileage was hurting a little bit. Maybe the engine was running a little less efficiently—a little dirtier. But at least I wouldn’t be breaking down by the side of the road. “Thanks for the word,” I replied, knowing that I still had some minor recall-related things that I needed the dealer to attend to. “I’ll ask them about it next time I’m in.” Earth as seen from the Apollo 8 spaceship I