I’ve said exactly those words, or I would have. You see, my first child had some learning disabilities. That was way back in 1980 and doctors really did have a wait and see attitude. So we waited until she was 5 years old and then I had her evaluated. She just wasn’t meeting those classic benchmarks of communication….and my little brother Billy had similar issues…way back in 1954. And life did not turn out well for him. I was not going to let that happen to my daughter.

Even with an evaluation, it was challenging to get her any assistance. She was that interesting category of “gifted, learning disabled, “ a brilliant, well behaved dyslexic little girl. No problem, no cause for alarm. She’s so sweet and pretty, she’ll do just fine. But back to autism – before I go off on that rant of how schools treat pretty little girls who need special help. Or don’t help them at all.

Anyhow, I was referring to that moment when a parent just “knows” that something is wrong with her child. In my son’s case, I had seen the detriment of taking a wait and see approach. By 2, he was not hitting any communication milestones – no little sounds, words, not much of anything. By 3, I was insistent that he needed to be evaluated. By whom? For what? And with what money?

In those days, health insurance would not cover anything related to disability in a child. Unless your kid had been seriously injured in an accident or had some strange disease which could be medically diagnosed, you had no benefits. You were paying out of pocket, and we were poor. Very well educated,  but pathetically poor.

Taking the most formidable resource available to me, that is to say my intelligence, I began to read and then to search for available resources. The doctors had nothing; the schools weren’t sure but maybe there was a screening and evaluation program for “poor” people, but obviously I wouldn’t qualify, because I sounded too well educated to be poor.

After convincing the intake worker that I was indeed poor enough to qualify, an appointment was set. A packet of paperwork appeared 2 weeks before the appointment, a 20 page package asking for every conceivable bit of information about my child and our family history. Thanks goodness for brother Billy and sister Nicole. Their disabilities gave credence to my suspicions that something was wrong with my son.

And thank goodness for that intelligence because, in the age before there was an Internet (when Al Gore was still a young parent too), it took every bit of intelligence to put the pieces together and figure out what would help my son. Which is precisely why I now share any and all of my experience in hopes that I might encourage just one family, help them understand that autism is not a life sentence; it is an opportunity to treasure that which falls outside the box.

Being a student of psychology, I was fascinated by normative behaviors and their importance to social success. As the speech and language therapist, the physical therapist, and the occupational therapist worked with my son, I read everything I could get my hands on about behavior modification, brain based learning, child development. Over time, we constructed an extraordinary team; none of us knew where we were going, but we all believed in the potential of this child, the little Mozart.

I talked to his teachers every day; together we plotted new strategies, examined supplementing his regimen with medication (yes, Ritalin worked very well for him until he reached late adolescence). Over time, a little man began to appear; a sweet, intelligent child who starting using words to communicate and stunned us with his brilliance, especially the fact that he understood all too well the ambiguity of language. “Nice day?” was an opportunity for him to ponder the mysteries and multiple interpretations of nice, or even question if it were really day and not, more specifically, morning.

For me, it was day by day, not always nice days, yet taking joy in small victories….I never looked over the horizon to see what his future would bring. My friend wants her son to graduate from high school; I was amazed when my son did graduate and I could look back at 16 years of struggles and success as together, we were determined to break free.

Freedom, freedom…what does it mean to you and me? Please don’t wait – ask the questions, help your child break free now.

I’ve been spending a lot of time recently, that means over the past year….immersed in autism, dealing with autism, taking it out and examining the autism crystal. Let’s be more specific – my friend Mary’s son is autistic, my new young friend Rick is autistic, my son is autistic.  One great big word and 3 very different faces. Early intervention unlocks the door and that doesn’t mean letting the schools, the educators “take care” of or handle the problem. When they do, the outcome is very poor, painful to witness a 16 or 26 year old manchild who is overcome by fear, debilitating paranoia, whose autism becomes the lens through which life is experienced.

Contrast that with a 25 year young man who was been successfully habilitated since the age of 2….sure schools and educators were involved. But the mom, that’s me, took care of the situation. Every step of the way; every challenging, frustrating, uncertain step of the way towards a great victory. Does a general know the outcome of the battle as the first salvo is launched? She only  has an expectation of victory and begs, borrows, or steals the tools to make that dream a reality.

Back in 1985, we in America didn’t have much knowledge about autism. The research had not come out of Europe yet. Our kids were diagnosed with “pervasive developmental delay” or some other catch-all disorder. Autism was for head bangers, vacuum huggers. Now we know that autism is for doctors, lawyers, indian chiefs….all quite succesful and very special.

I read something last month about anxiety, about the effects on making changes (like removing a kid from their computer obsessed world) with its potential to increase anxiety and exacerbate autistic behavior.  I misplaced the article and lost my train of thought…..not at all uncommon….and so, this blog. While this new article is in my hands, the thought is on my mind.

The article is “Training the Troops” by Tracey Quinlan Dougherty and it discusses the “resilience training program which helps soldiers and their families weather the financial, emotional, and psychological stresses of repeated deployment.  It uses principles of cognitive-behavioral therapy, which involves challenging one’s inaccurate thinking, to help participants make better decisions, communicate more effectively, and deal with difficult situations.”

It’s been a very successful program, first with Philadelphia middle-schoolers and now with military folks. So why not with autism? It takes a very concerted, 24/7/365 effort to counteract the negative thoughts, to disrupt the seemingly logical thought process. It is not easy to help these young people find the flip side, the positive thoughts and then hold them firmly in place. There have been days when I wanted to scream in frustration, days I constantly, deliberately, and painfully played “little Mary sunshine” just to get these kids to the other side….only to see them slip away so quickly without that constant positive reinforcement. The journey of a thousand miles begins with that single step….yes.

What I’ve seen recently, as an autistic child ages, the propensity for dark, perserverative thoughts can become an obsession, a paranoia. They are older, able to understand homelessness, bag ladies, being on welfare, never graduating from school, not having a girl friend….all those things that maybe they can or cannot ever do. Those dark scary things which, given the wrong circumstances, may become their reality. Honestly, it’s frightening and it’s possible.

And worse yet, there are no resources out there to help them anymore…not once they’re grown up. If the schools push them through, out the door, they are not ready to deal with our world….so, where do they end up….on our doorsteps, in our shelters, under our expressways. These bright lights, these visionary yet singular minds silenced. Can we do no better than this?

Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, nam myoho renge kyo, nam myoho renge kyo…life is amazingly lovely, each moment precious as I fill the hours of my day with the sounds of chanting. Hour after hour flies by, moments of deep grief grab hold of my heart, throw me to the ground sobbing….once again, nam myoho renge kyo and a cold wash cloth save the day. Just to breathe deeply, to appreciate this opportunity to create change.

My new friend, Stephanie, watches closely each day. She is happily observant, amazed at the deep capacity for optimism she witnesses. As Berto lies far away, her father Henry is right here with us  in his own healing process.  We chant together and Stephanie attends our SGI district meeting as we “Win Together — Win Right Now” and she begins her own chanting practice.  It is my greatest joy to see her life transforming with daimoku.

And, at just the right moment, I am honoured to receive a message from President Ikeda (via one of my good SGI friends)

“Buddhism teaches that the lotus flower grows in muddy water. What this
means is that our supremely noble lives continue to shine even amid the
harshest of life’s realities, just like the pure white lotus flower that blooms unsoiled by the mud.

Having gone through what you have, there is pain and suffering in others hearts that only you can notice. Having suffered what you have, there is true love and affection that only you can find. There are definitely people out there who need you.

If you give up on yourself, it is only you who will lose. Nothing, no matter
what happens, can change your inherent worth. Please have courage.
Please tell yourself that you are not going to let this ordeal defeat
you.

Those who have suffered the most, those who have experienced the
greatest sadness, have a right to become the happiest of all. What
would the purpose of our Buddhist practice be, if the most miserable
could not become happy?

The tears you shed cleanse your life and make it shine. To live with this conviction and keep moving ever forward is the spirit of Buddhism. It is also the essence of life. You may not want to tell someone else about your pain and anguish, but I strongly recommend that you consult with someone, even just one person whom you can trust and rely on. You should not suffer all by yourself.”

I feel victory, that I continue to move forward, day by day encouraging someone with my life, with victory. After all, I am truly the someone who knows your heart and understands “your” pain. I will be there for you too,

Much love, Raven

“Hear and trust the truth which comes from spirit.” Sometimes the universe sends us a message. Put your hands together and just give thanks for each moment and pray….send those good thoughts across the universe.

Acknowledge those great big tears of rememberance…there is so much that you have shared and every little place reminds you of the one you love. And smile, thankfully, gratefully smile that you have been blessed with this opportunity. To reunite in love, across the vastness or time and space, to pull back the veil and hug.

Still, thinking about it, chanting for your safety, it is hard to imagine going forward. It is a challenge to consider that this separation is only for a moment….just a blip in time. Writing this, I am overcome by grief, by doubt, embraced in the fear that I may never kiss your lips again, may not see your smile; you have lightened my burden for years now, you have made me laugh, seen me smile….and where is that now?

This month Emmett has come to spirit, Gerald joined him last week. Henry is recovering….you are brothers in faith, with all the shoten zenjin encircling you, protecting you, guiding you safely to your mission. Each of us…just one more day, one more step towards enlightenment.

Emmett and Gerald – come back soon and man the barricades…..Henry and Berto, cheer them on from the sidelines of healing. We will all lift this universe towards peace and happiness.

“My every thought, word, and deed is a reflection of your clarity and love.” I’m trying to make causes which are beneficial…send new year’s wishes to my new colleagues….assist a student with a donated laptop so they can stay in school….reconnect in laughter with old friends and discover that my old friends are already friends with each other – Is this a very small world or what?

I went through a couple of years, as I was writing this book (we’ve made our way up to page 6 now – only a few more to go and then we recycle the positive affirmations as needed – stir until boiling and spice with daimoku), when I realized that my children were pretty grumbly and negative.

As I slowly held up the mirror of my life, I saw quite clearly that I was setting the negativity pace. And I was ashamed…reluctant to admit that Mom was pretty yucchy. So, my buzz phrase became “nice matters.” Nice in thought and word and deed. If you don’t have anything nice to say, say nothing at all.

At first, there were some fairly significant protests. After all, I had taught my children well and they, literally, had nothing nice to say – about each other, about themselves, about anything. It looked as if life was going to be pretty quiet – nothing to say, or nothing they were permitted to say.

However, within a few days, as each of us began to find something good to say (because we really do enjoy talking), the chatter returned. It was funny, and kind of embarrassing, as each of us stopped the other from saying things that were “not nice.” Even when they seemed to be true. Doesn’t matter – you can always take the small extra step and uncover the hidden beauty in each person and every action. It just takes a moment’s thought and then it becomes second nature.

Years passed and nice became the new normal. OK, we’re not perfect saints…we each had our moments of ugliness. But that awareness that each of us is the Buddha and our lives are the Buddha’s life became the backdrop of our lives.

So, when things happen, it takes just a breath to find the goodness in the moment, the expression or reflection of clarity and love. And the next heart beat aligns thought, word, and deed to that essence.

Tonight, my daughter called from Portland and requested a video call with her sons to celebrate the New Year. Talk about laughter, I in my night gown, sitting at the laptop, laughing with the boys thousands of miles away as if we were in the same room. Berto has Skype too…..we’ll be in the same room…laptop to laptop – heart to heart – as each of us fulfills our mission for peace and prosperity. Happy New Year!!

There are moments when I chant just about safety…to keep all those monsters at bay. But, I understood early on, after Stephane’s death, that my children, “our” children of the universe –  who according to Kahlil Gibran, “Your children are not your children…They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you” – my children or your children are always protected.

So, if they’re not just my children, then I’m thinking that this positive, nurturing, protective universe we inhabit, is taking care of them. Thus, they are always safe and well sheltered – sometimes in this mother’s heart and arms; otherwise in the arms of Gaia…proceeding from that nugget of wisdom….I, too, am just a child of the universe, safe and well sheltered. And the universe of my choosing is light and monster-free. Stop watching the damn nightly news….

And we’re all moving in the direction of our greatest dreams, with our hearts open to the possibilities of living in the dream. Healthy, happy, positive, productive….all those good things….staying open – even to those things that, at first blush, I don’t like…green eggs and ham…..Iraq….wearing corporate attire on the virtual job….you know, the perceived pain in the ass of life.

Chanting daimoku lets me take the fear our of the box, turn it over and over, examine it from every angle…..see the actual blast walls surrounding the government complex where Gregg will be living….hear the joy in his voice that he’s going to the job of his dreams and he thinks it’s like boy scout camp – and it probably will be just as he imagines and as the reality that my daimoku creates. Nam Myoho Renge Kyo Nam Myoho Renge Kyo  Nam Myoho Renge Kyo. My family is safe and well sheltered; we are open-hearted and in love; life is good. See you on the flip side….

So, back to Baltimore, which is exactly what I did for Thanksgiving, I went home. Now, I know my city fairly well, but I’ve never had to view it through the lens of “bridge fear.”  And bridge fear is really a fear of the unknown and subject to other qualifications – how long is the bridge, how high, can you see over the side, etc. This bridge fear became manifest as I drove my son to law school, having rented a van which seated me higher than usual, and required a journey over a couple of very high bridges. Usually daimoku works; I can chant really strong, passionate daimoku and make it over the bridge.

But this time, I was chanting and, just as I reached the bridge, on a dark and rainy night, and was in the outer lane closest to the long drop to the water, a big truck blew its horn, startling me, and “that’s all she wrote.”  Since then, I have this intense “I-do-not-like-them” feeling about bridges. So I chant about this and try to avoid them, even going the long way around.

And so, what does this have to do with honoring the Buddha within each of us? Well, driving around Baltimore, wholeheartedly daimoku-ing, I noticed that the lanes which used to be “normal” size seemed “downsized.” And my little, compact car seemed gigantic. I began to understand in day 3 that the road was the same size it’s always been and I really did have a small car, but my anxiety (compounded by the fact that I didn’t buy the extra insurance from the car rental place because I wasn’t going to have an accident – lol) was shifting my perception.

So, more daimoku just to relax because my family and friends live all over the city and I have to drive over small roads and some bridges if I want to see them.  But, in Baltimore, my daimoku gets profound sometimes. Maybe I really do have a karmic connection to the city of my birth. Whatever. But when I drive in Baltimore, and my thoughts go towards something negative, there’s always a potential traffic accident to wake or shake me up.

Nam myoho renge kyo to the max as my thoughts wander to something not so respectful. And just a minor lane change on the highway, with my turn signal on, and a quick second glance in that empty lane next to me and “holy crap” there’s a fast moving car where my empty space was. Now ordinarily I’ll curse and swear at said fast-moving driver, who is usually going hundreds of miles over the speed limit and presumes that he’s driving the race version of his Honda.

But something has changed…for years I’ve been considering that each of us really does have a Buddha potential.  Well, more than considering…really allowing that to become part of my life.  So, when this sporty little driver hopped into my lane, I allowed him to be the Buddha part of our relationship. Not even the thought of cursing entered my mind. My only awareness was that I have the “no-bad-thoughts-while driving-in-Baltimore” karma. And I needed to continue chanting and change my perception to one of deepest gratitude. And with that, the lanes were wider again and my huge car was smaller and I could relax and just drive.

So, thanks Baltimore for the presence of this spirit in my life. Because of you, I can be deeply appreciative that a horrendous accident (like, how many cars would you crash into on a crowded 4 lane interstate going 60mph?) was avoided at the very last second. And I could change my thoughts to ones of protection – that every driver on the road would have a safe driving experience and get home safely. As I did…with no accidents. Now about those bridges…….

So I wrote and I wrote and I found that the more I wrote, the more confusing it got. Still the writing process served me well. I discovered that I am not a novelist – fiction or not – I just keep getting deeper and deeper and there is no light at the end of my tunnel. But I am an essayist – as I was once told, one of the best of my generation. But that was many years ago and it came so easily that it had no value to me. Isn’t that strange….the stuff that just flows like water….no value. The painful, boulder pushing….gee, that’s what I had chosen to spend most of my life on.

So I gave up on the damn book. My friend begged me to just sum it up in 10 pages. He said “guys won’t read any more than that,” even erotica. Men don’t really want to read – just grunts and a few descriptors.…paint the picture….just sum it up.

By now, I had page upon page of meanderings and a book title. And I was fortunate to have some experience with writing those short and sweet essays and stories. So I took my friend’s advice and began to distill whatever small pearls of wisdom there were. And I chanted to understand, with my life, what I needed to say…and do.

Well, at this point in my life, I was a single mom with 3 kids still around the house….in various challenging iterations. My oldest was doing the head trip that children who are still angry about the divorce can do so very well. My son was just doing, which is fantastic when an autistic kid interacts positively. And my youngest was just watching it all. And I was still complaining and blaming – wishing that life were not the way it was.

And I remembered something that one of my good Buddhist friends had said. Well, probably everyone had said it to me, but it finally made sense. If I’m complaining about what is….my ex is a cheap so-and-so…my daughter is wacked….and I am pissed and stressed and wish I had a boyfriend….Well, if those are my thoughts, my complaints as I chant, that’s exactly the experience I’m going to have. And with that, I had page 1 of “the book.”

“Appreciate your life. You are creating your own reality.” Now, it seems like such a simple thing to say thank you. Thank you for this opportunity to transform my life into the reality that I choose to experience. But then…..my reality was my daughter was a real day in, day out drag. Angry, aggressive, drugs, bringing on the mother-of-all-anxiety (see the previous post for more on that) and making me senseless with worry as she hitch-hiked across the US of A. Say no more….this was not the way I was going to live my life.

More daimoku (that’s Nam Myoho Renge Kyo for you pilgrims)….more changing the patterns of my thoughts…..ooooh, making this a movie and choosing to make it great. And slowly, day by day, the true picture of my life began to shift as the effect of my deep gratitude and reality generation became manifest.

My daughter made it safely across to Portland, camping with the Rainbow Family along the way. My son continued to just do, steadily surpassing what went before, coming out of his shell, and demanding, yes in a most creative way, that he be given the chance to skip a grade and excel in school….and he did…and he has continued to surpass my wildest dreams for his success and happiness. And the wee one….all she ever wanted to do was act…..and she did….and she still is….A very gifted young actress, quite hard working with a fierce determination to move in the direction of her greatest dreams.

So…appreciate your life…give thanks for what you intend to experience and you will experience exactly that and then more than your wildest dreams of that.

You really are creating your reality – this is a movie, and it’s up to you to make it great.

Next up – about that boyfriend…

Listen to the messiah-story   

This is an old Chassidic story about a monastery, once filled with thousands of monks, that had fallen on hard times. After years of dissension, the monastery was not a happy place to be. The older monks had died and there were only five grumpy, middle-aged monks left.

            Nearby, in the woods, an old rabbi had a little place that he used for meditation. Somehow, as if by magic or just plain old intuition, the old monks were able to sense when the rabbi was in the house, so to speak. In their gravelly voices, they would whisper, “The rabbi is in the woods, the rabbi is in the house again.”

The most senior and sage monk was worried. He could see the future – no more monks and no more spirit in the monastery. As he paced the monastery grounds, a thought occurred to him. Maybe, just maybe, the rabbi would know what to do. And so, off he went to see the rabbi.

            As the rabbi greeted the old monk, it felt as if they were friends. The old monk poured out his heart to the rabbi and pleaded for advice on how to save the monastery and the priestly order. The rabbi was touched by the request, but could only remark that they seemd to share the same problem. In the words of the rabbi, “I understand. Sabbath days, no one comes to temple anymore. Even high holy days, only the old folks are there.” The rabbi and the monk nodded their heads and together, shed tears of sorrow.

As the shadows grew longer across the woods, it came time to leave. The monk smiled, remarking that it was truly wonderful that they had met after all these years. Once again, he asked, “Are you sure? Is there anything you might know that would help save the monastery?”

            “No, I’m so sorry, but I still know nothing about this sorrow we share,” the rabbi answered. “I don’t have any advice for you. I do believe that the Messiah is one of you, though.”

            As they monk trudged back to the monastery, the remaining monks met him on the path and asked, “What did the rabbi say?”

            “He couldn’t help us,” the monk answered. “We just talked; he has the same troubles as we do. He did say one strange thing, just as I was leaving though – he said, The Messiah is one of us. I don’t know, it doesn’t make any sense.”

            In the days afterwards, the old monks thought about what the rabbi had said. The Messiah is one of us?  Did he mean one of us monks? Here at the monastery? Who?  Brother John has been our leader for more than twenty years, maybe that’s who it is.

But, maybe he meant Brother Thomas. Brother Thomas is a very wise man. I’m sure he didn’t man Brother James! He’s so tempermental. But when you think about it, Brother James is often quite right, very right in fact. Maybe he did mean Brother James.

For sure it’s not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive, he’s a real nowhere man. But, he sure has a gift for being there when you need him. Maybe Brother Phillip is the Messiah.

Obviously, the rabbi didn’t mean me. He couldn’t have meant me. No way, I’m just an ordinary person, just a monk. But, what if he did? What if I am the Messiah? Oh my God, not me, not me. I couldn’t be that important, could I?

            As each of the monks thought through this, a strange thing happened. The old monks began to treat each other with amazing respect, just in case one of them really was the Messiah.

            Life went on, day after day, week after week. Springtime came, and the forest around the monastery bloomed with flowers. People came to picnic, and wandered the lawn of the monastery, and occassionally stopped by the chapel to listen to the monks’ chants and prayers.

As people came closer to the monastery, they began to sense something extraordinary. They felt this deep respect, almost a joy, so strong, so strong, it just touched them. There was definitely something going on there, something strangely attractive, quite compelling even. Without even knowing why, people started coming back to the monastery, every weekend there were people playing and picnicing, enjoying the atmosphere.  They began to bring their friends. And their friends brought other friends to this wonderful place.

            And then, one day it happened. One of the young people, hanging around the monastery, started to talk to one of the monks. Over weeks and months, this person returned to the monastery and sought out his new friend.  And after a while, he asked if he could stay and join them. Just like a miracle, first one, and then another, and then another, asked to stay. And within a few years, the monastery was filled with youthful voices, with respectful thoughts, and happiness.  Indeed, one of you is the Messiah.

Now, this could just as easily be a Buddhist story, surely everyone of us is the Buddha, and each of us, in our relationships, becomes the Buddha. It’s not just one of us, it is each and every one of us who is the Buddha, the Messiah, the highest embodiment of mercy and compassion, the love of spirit for all of us.            And that’s how it all began…the book. Yes, tomorrow… the book.                     
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