Across the Universe - Thoughts on the purpose and passing of icons.

"..Sounds of laughter shades of life
are ringing through my open ears
exciting and inviting me
Limitless undying love which
shines around me like a million suns
It calls me on and on across the universe…”
- Lennon & McCartney


While attempting to knit together some random thoughts about the source and discovery of personal peace and happiness a flash of news flooded every channel of media of the sudden death of Michael Jackson. The Internet and the world seemed to explode in grief and celebration of his life and songs. “Why all this attention for some troubled entertainer?” I wondered.

I too have a few fond memories watching my girls, when they were younger, imitating the moves from Jackson’s songs Thriller and Billie Jean, and the joy they derived from listening to his songs and watching him. O, K, I admit tapping my foot to a few of his more popular tunes too.

(I am delighted that music has seemed to play an important role in my life and my identity. Ginny teases me that I have a “soundtrack” to my daily life. I have even toyed with a selection of music to be used if there is any memorial at my own passing. )

One reporter noted that Jackson was quoted, as saying that he felt that the better he became as a performer the more people would love him. I thought how sad and how lonely he must have been. It was no secret that he wanted to be the most famous and wealthiest entertainer ever. He even purchased the rights to half of the Beatles song catalogue as an investment. It is bewildering to consider that a man who brought so much delight to others was seeking happiness and love in his own life.

The public’s reaction to his sudden passing is what has struck me the most these past few days. There is an immense outpouring of grief and spontaneous memorials and celebrations in his honor. Even a group of prisoners in Asia quickly rehearsed and performed for a large audience the dance routine from the video “Thriller.” Though there have been similar public demonstrations of grief on the death’s of other icons such as Elvis and James Dean, I can personally recall experiencing the murder and death of John Lennon and how the world reacted then.

When Lennon died we didn’t have the advantage of the Internet, twitters, face booking, cell phone texting. It was Howard Cossell’s announcement on television during a national Monday Night NFL football game that became the initial channel that informed much of the world of Lennon’s passing. (I went to bed early that evening and missed that news and was awakened by Ginny who heard the news the next morning on television.) By that time the next morning thousands of people were already gathering in front of the condominium building, The Dakota, where John, Yoko and their young son Sean lived in NYC, in impromptu memorializing and communal grieving. There were reports of similar gatherings around the world. When I arrived at the college where I was working at the time hundreds of students were gathered in the quad soberly respectfully singing Lennon and Beatles songs and a memorial service was promptly scheduled for the ballrooms in the student center for that same afternoon.

I called my friend David, (”member of the band”), in Virginia. He said he had expected and was waiting anxiously for my call. I had first heard the Beatles when my family visited my grandparents in London in 1962. When we returned to the US from that summer in London a cousin back in Britain would send me single records of this new band from Liverpool, England that I boastfully shared with others. Years later David had the opportunity to meet John Lennon and his wife Yoko at the Dakota. David had to go there to assemble a hand crafted crib made by his uncle-in-law, which was purchased by Yoko’s sister for the Lennon’s baby. David commented on how Lennon was amazed with the craftsmanship behind the design and construction of this crib.

My friend and I first saw Lennon and with his band The Beatles (John, Paul, George and Ringo ) perform live at Shea Stadium in August of 1965. (In an interview with a young fan in a video about The Shea Stadium concert, the girl speaks about the “joy” the Beatles bring to the world and how she wishes they could last forever. Is she wishing for the Beatles or for the joy or both?)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mUXwnEWEnE



David and I now laugh as we recall the teenage screaming and screeching and a flying ice cream cone landing on David’s sports jacket at that famous performance. Because the noise was so loud we heard very little of the songs the band played and sang. Yet, we were immediately inspired to create our own band and make our own music together. We even adopted one of the original names the Beatles used as their band name, “Long John and The Silevermen.” We figured…”well their not using it anymore…and besides it worked for them!” A local newspaper embarrassed us with a feature story on our endeavor that headlined “Local boys challenge the Beatles to American Popularity!” The truth must be known that the reporter asked me a question about “Giving the Beatles a run for their money” and I responded smugly “yeah right.” I learned early on ---never trust a reporter. After that article appeared I didn’t go to school for a week and to this day I still don’t trust reporters!

Over the years David and I would continue our debate as to who was really the walrus.
We eventually abandoned the dream of becoming the next Beatles even though my ouija board predicted otherwise. David grew as a writer and musician and he continues to hone his crafts today. Now I just drift-away to the pleasantries and reminiscences coming through my iPod. Some days I caress the ole J-35 and scramble at recalling chords and lyrics to a Beatles song or two or maybe even one of my own. For me it is always easy to get “lost in the music.” Some call getting lost like that “zen”, while others just say it is “pure joy.” It was similar to what I had experienced years earlier while playing baseball.

A few years ago Michael Jackson collaborated a couple of occasions co-writing and performing songs with John Lennon’s old partner, Paul McCartney. In one of their videos of their recordings together they portray traveling minstrels- pure entertainers. Maybe that’s what their real role is in life was to be, minstrels? They provided relief and escape for the public from the pains of the world and the everyday journey and an opportunity to get lost in the moment in the joy. Reflecting on those perpetual massive public demonstrations of grief and celebration at the passing of Jackson and the similarities to the reaction to Lennon’s murder gave rise to a very simple possible explanation. Maybe the gift and role of Lennon and Jackson was for them to be a channel to facilitate joy and a form of relative happiness to millions around the world.

Obviously I can speak more specifically about the impact of John Lennon on my own life. However, I feel that from hearing some of Jackson’s songs and seeing how others reacted to his music and performances I can assuredly say that both artists fueled a fire of hope and delight. There are many musicologists and sociologists who have explored in depth the origins of and impact the Beatles music had on the world and society and I don’t have the wherewithal to follow that journey here. However, for me the fab four came at a time in my own experience where I was seeking identity, freedom, peace, hope and love. They became popular with a medium, a new spin on contemporary popular music, that I had recently adopted as my own channel to express my authentic self. Participating in organized sports for me had run it’s course and my physical limitations hindered progress and stalled a few dreams in that arena .So music seemed to be a perfect alternative.

As the Beatles matured, their music matured and coincidently, lagging serious few steps behind these minstrels, I slowly grew with them. Though I maintained a personal and spiritual affinity with the words and music of George Harrison (he and I had the same birthday), my personality seemed to be compatible with that of John Lennon’s. This received a non-reliable validation recently when my daughter Lindsay had me try a Facebook app “Which Beatle am I most like?” The answer for me was "Lennon." I know that at times Harrison seemed to speak or sing for me but John’s attitude and songs kindled the fire of my own journey. Recently I discovered that George admitted also that he admired Lennon and that John was in many ways a guiding force in his own life and musical explorations. Hmmm?

Fortunately the Beatles came to popularity when they did delivering and oft sought message of delight, hope and love to the world. Unfortunately, I have discovered much, much later in life that these gifts were and are always present within and in the universe but they not readily recognized nor nurtured. Sometimes we just need someone like a great mentor, teacher or even an artist who is a channel of the voice of love (God) so we can hear and experience the peace and joy already within and around us. Maybe this is why we lament and celebrate simultaneously at the passing of a John Lennon, George Harrison or a Michael Jackson? Maybe our spirits recognize the great connection to peace and joy these artists provided and in their passing we dread the possible loss of the peace and joy they spread amongst us?

Maybe we just need to be a little more attentive to the present and the gifts that reside within. I am absolutely thrilled that the Beatles and Michael Jackson existed and were able to infuse much joy and peace through their words and music. I am just hopeful that I can develop the faith and wisdom to grow this peace and love within my own being, by knowing my role and purpose through serving others and spreading a little joy wherever I go.



Post Script:

Lennon was one who was not afraid to create and sing songs about the power of love (i.e “All you need is Love”, “The Word” [- is Love]) and his chorus and mantra in the song “Across the Universe” is the phrase and sentiment that inspires me the most at this moment:

“Jai Guru Dev – Om. “

This phrase has been translated to mean ”Hold on to the source” or “Victory to (salute) the greatness (the love) within you.”

I am grateful for all the music and how these artists used their gifts and spirits to serve us by bringing joy to the world. Their music continues to engage a smile and make me want to dance. I am also humbly thankful for the blessing that they helped me to recognize God’s peace and happiness living within each of us.

“ And, in the end the love we take is equal to the love we make.”
- Lennon and McCartney

I don't know what your destiny will be, but one thing I do know: the only ones among you who will be really happy are those who have sought and found how to serve.
—Albert Schweitzer






amdg

Fathers Day - Prayers and Rainbows

Here’s an interesting query. What do Father’s Day, prayer, rain, walk off home runs; rainbows and Grace have in common? (The answer at the bottom of this narrative.)

I was absolutely taken back with humble surprise months ago on my birthday as Lindsay gave me with two tickets to a Boston Red Sox game scheduled for Father’s Day. It would be a return to the place where we spent two days before my CABG(surgery) ten months earlier. As one might expect I was absolutely thrilled and my excitement grew as we got closer to the date .The delight grew exponentially as Ginny and Leigh decided to make the trip to Boston for Father’s Day a family affair—and post anniversary celebration! The only thing that dampened the prospect of watching a baseball game in that cathedral on Yawkey Way was a month of deluge that would have made Noah nervous. I hadn’t heard any voice warning me to build an ark, as I was too busy praying fair weather requests for a special weekend!

The National Weather Service and related weather web sites became my virtual chapel. Most of my prayer time centered on requesting blue skies and blessings for the weekend! A special attendance at a daily mass also provided opportunity for serious supplications for sun! Then an indication of miraculous relief appeared on the Saturday before Fathers Day when the weather service indicated that the rain that had ruined the US Golf Open for thousands of fans who bought tickets, and not to mention the golfers, was passing through the northeast and New England regions faster than expected! “Prayer works,” I thought. “The Feast of the Sacred Heart is on my side and I won’t be denied,” I concluded. Though a “what if” meditation surfaced on potential lesson that might be learned considering that the weather and God may not respond to my self-absorbed reflections.

The trek to Boston was safe, quick and uneventful. Dinner at the famous Anthony’s Pier Four was a wonder-filling Anniversary-Fathers Day feast. Sunday’s dawn had low-lying clouds hiding peaks of Boston’s skyscrapers and any hope of brightness and warmth. A real threat became evident that the anticipated celebratory day could be washed - out. However, an early morning coffeed-up meditation along the banks of the Charles River surfaced a flood of blessings past and there began the metamorphosis of the wandering soul. Directly across from this pilgrim’s pastoral pew the ghosts of yesteryears were as clear as if they were in the present. I could see vividly college student Ginny from 40 years ago venturing in and out of her 700 Commonwealth Avenue dormitory. There too she and I were with a member of the band, David, singing and snoozing on the banks of the Charles while rowers’ sweat and strain and sailors carefully continue to this day to tack up river. The now infamous gigantic Kenmore Square Citgo sign shining through the mist, symbol of dreams, illuminated a view of my giant Citgo client and dear friend O’Toole as his laughter and his love filled my senses one more time. Tears of joy began to flow as if I had just washed up home on the banks of the river from a wander-lusted odyssey. Though a prayer for a fair weathered miracle persisted, hope for a peace-filled and joyous present day grace gradually replaced the meteorological petitions.

After ignoring my cardiologist’s dietetic recommendations for a second day in a row, this time with cholesterol filled breakfast the family squeezed ourselves into a cab and darted to our destinations for the day. Linds and I exited the cab under O’Toole’s sign in Kenmore Square to make our way to our field of dreams while Leigh and Ginny chartered course to do what they do best, shop on Newbury Street. The four of us were off to prospective afternoon of heaven as the moisture filled grey sky baptized our respective arrivals.

Lindsay and I approached the Fenway Park with a combined religious respect and childlike enthusiasm of yearning pilgrims. We stopped to pay homage to the bronze statue of Saint Ted Williams before we made our way to the mardi gras like festivities of Yawkey Way. Music, laughter, food and beer filled the air. We had no idea that the sky continued it’s perpetual spraying as we were lost in the moment. We even had a chance encounter with a St, Joseph’s University family , where Linds attended college and where Leigh is now a senior. (We heard later that Leigh also had a “Hawk” sighting on Newbury Street! ) These encounters seemed somehow to bless the moment in an Ignatian way. Those exposed to Jesuit education and spirituality would know that something like this would happen. Linds and I met alums from Holy Cross and Fordham the night before sitting next to us in the hotel bar. My friend Ban would say “Ya just can’t ignore the Jesuits…their influence is everywhere!”(even at Red Sox games!)

We were bleacher bums and had a great view of the field. Fortunately I had received a brand new high collared water proofed Red Sox wind shirt earlier as a Father’s Day present. It protected me from the wind and the spray zipping over the green monster onto our seats and the field. But much like the players on the field we were focused on the game. We also enjoyed the brew, peanuts and hot dogs. I can’t remember if it was raining when we sang “Take me out to the ball game” or when we cheered “So Good, So Good, So Good.” to the chorus of “Sweet Caroline!”

But then something happened!

The Sox looked like they had is game sewn up when suddenly they gave away the lead to be tied up in the top of the eighth! In the bottom of the eight the Braves (it was an interleague game) brought in a reliever who knocked down the Sox batters. The super star Sox reliever, redeemer, savior, rescuer extraordinaire, John Papalbon, entered the field to concert blaring sound systemed song by a now famous local Irish American Celtic Punk Rock-Type band called The Dropkick Murphys. The band is known for its raucous music but also for it’s loyalty to the working class, blue collar causes and trade unions. “That’s Joey’s song” Lindsay screeched! The song is a favorite of her Irish boyfriend…it was perfect…”I’m Shipping Up to Boston.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-64CaD8GXw&feature=related


O’Toole must have been smiling from his private box in the sky. The stadium actually rocked and started to rumble and sway as the fans stomped and cheered. There was no way the Sox would be denied. A little more rain spread over the field and players. The optimism began to wane for a few of us when Papalbon throwing faster and harder than hard and loaded the bases. The long gone prayers for good weather ignored now were now resurrected and redirected to “help us get through this!” I was also worried that we would get into extra innings and would get a later than planned start back home and Leigh had to get to Philadelphia…blah,blah,blah…when Pap finally got three out with no one scoring! Whew! His job was done! (For the time being anyway.)

The crowd weaved the tension and enthusiasm in the air into a fever pitched frenzy. Nick Green, a recent addition to the regular Boston lineup, came up to bat. The first pitch and…Bam! Over the right field fence just fair. Game over! Crowd crazy! Team runs out onto the field jumping shouting and climbing on each other. Sound system blasts immediately “Love that Dirty water…oh Boston you’re my home!” We dance, we high five each other and everyone around us and sing at the top of our lungs! It was as if the fans and team never doubted. “What am I missing,” I mused as Lindsay and I jumped and sang with our fists in the air.

Decompression is difficult as within minutes we are back at the hotel meeting Ginny and Leigh and we respectfully competed with stories of our respective outings in Boston. Within a few more minutes we poured into the car and appropriately we literally added some room for “Grace.” A perfect coincidence. Seriously…Grace is a friend of Leigh’s from college who was in Boston visiting a friend and who sat right where Nick Green’s homer won the game. She joined us for the return journey. But the skies couldn’t take it anymore and opened the floodgates for our departure from Boston.

Two hours later after careful skimming in and out of the weekend exodus the seas parted and the rain had ceased as we stopped for a quick bathroom break and a refueling of burgers and fries. It was at the exact same moment as we were all laughing and gathering back in the car that I realized my prayers from the days before had been and are being answered. Within seconds of that moment of illumination we all noticed the biggest and most prominent brightest rainbow any of us had ever witnessed right to the left of the highway. The soundtrack of my soul promptly turned to a song by Van Morrison “When Will I ever learn to live in God?” (See below)

The weekend was transformed into a celebration that was more and better than I had expected or ever prayed for. It was much more than a rerun of the Red Sox weekend ten months earlier . It matches or even surpasses the old Fathers Day weekends we had years ago on our old sailboat. Yes, my prayers were answered as they always are.
Why do I doubt? Where is my faith? Years ago when I started down this faith journey I had very simple basic prayers that always seemed to be answered simply and straight forward. But now as the journey has logged numerous miles, hours and encounters .The answers to the prayers are more substantive if not simpler. Sometimes I am really slow to learn…this joy and peace filled weekend was never about the weather or the game…it was and is always about the love…the relationships…the faith…. and the gift of family...a journey of discovery of the love and blessings that surround us all ways.


“Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

- Matt. 6:21

When Will I ever learn?

…When will I ever learn to live in God?
When will I ever learn?
He gives me everything I need and more
When will I ever learn?

Whatever it takes to fulfill his mission
That is the way we must go
But you've got to do it your own way
Tear down the old, bring up the new…
- Van Morrison


+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Red Sox Nation - August 2 &3 2008
(From - Songs of the Second Chance Dance)


Pilgrimage to Mecca,
Holy land
Yawkey Way
Land of Yaz
Blessed by St. Splendid Splinter
700 memories
Back bay beauty
Loving dirty water under
Joe’s sign at Kenmore.
Navigation set
Grey thunder boomers
On our tail along I-84
Would our luck find it’s run?
48 hours and counting
this vessel
would be New England lobster split
in the bottom of the 9th
with a full count.
Outdoor lunch and cheers
Where everyone knew our name.
The sky became black and
Street band played
Herb’s theme,
“Oh when the Saints.”
Fantasizing , praying that the message clear
The clouds would pass.
They didn’t.
Every ounce of water in heaven
Niagra falled their way to
Curbsides Charles’
Noah who calmed us just 14 days
At the boss’ party
Said this too would pass.
With more hope than faith
We made our way to the cathedral
Angels blew away the clouds.
Dressed requisite red
Slugging back bay brew and dogs
Sweet Caroline was right
As we sang “So good, so good”
Officially Baptized into the nation
Our sins forgiven
We celebrated victory with one last Sam.

amdg

Of Anniversaries and Remembering

Ten days this June have been inundated with heavy rains accompanied by a flood of memories surrounding a group of planned and surpising public and personal anniversaries.My body and soul are still soaked!

Every moment of every day is an anniversary of sorts , aren't they? There are sad memories; joyous recollections; some memorable inconsequential events; people we recall who we have encountered , and places we have been that seem to kick start some emotional torrent of remembrances. Why does there seem to be so much excitement around anniversaries anyway these days? What's the significance of setting aside some time to recall a specific date or event yearly or on a regular basis? Not all events or circumstances from the past are worth celebrating , or are they? Isn't ok just to forget what has happened ? Aren't we supposed to live in the present? These are the kinds of questions that keep my brain from resting and sleeping at night . Maybe it was the memories surfaced by some recent anniversaries that fueled this sleepless inquisitiveness.Maybe I am just getting old.

The other day while reading about the 65th anniversary of the Normandy Invasion,D-Day, I found a surprising message pop up from Lindsay on my email . Lindsay reminded me that it was ten months to the day, June 4 2009 , since my CABG(by-pass surgery.) "My how time flies by", she added. Lindsay likes to keep track of events in her life like that.That event is an oft revisited turning point in our lives. I like to think of it as a little more spiritually transformative than a commencement exercise . Sometimes I really don't think much about how my surgery had impacted others . I think for Lindsay and Leigh that this date and event had a significant impact on their lives (more than I can imagine.) A friend of mine thinks that my personal attitude and approach to the surgery was a foundation for and influenced greatly how my daughters experienced it and recall it. Leigh has told me that she believes that since that surgery I am much "calmer" and "less stressed and stressing" now. I wonder about her and her sister.But maybe the remembering has to do with the unique bond between fathers and daughters.

This memorial article I was reading on the anniversay of D-Day also had an impact as it recalled for me how my dad was at the Normandy Invasion , "D- day plus three." He was a 19 year old tank commander in General George Patton's Third Armored Division. My father never spoke much about the war. The only time he seemed to verbalize his remembrances of the war or his feelings about that time in his life is when we would watch a movie about the war. He would quietly lecture that war was quite gruesome and not glamorous at all.He added that the violence and suffering was too horrific to recall, speak about or even portray on film.That infamous day in June and WW II was a transformative turning point for my father and millions of others. He also spoke about meeting my mother. This great world-wide drama and tragedy became a theater of coincidental events that brought my mother and father together. My mother was a "displaced Italian now a Brit" living in England and a member of the famous "Land Army." She met my "Yank" father who was stationed nearby her temporary home (where she lived and worked in England before dad departed for the great war on the continent.) After the war they would marry in the US and create a family and many memories and celebrations.

My friend Kirk once visited the vast battle memorial cemetery at Normandy,France. He shared a somber observation that the graves of so many young men reminded him that there were thousands who would never marry or have children. They wouldn't have birthdays,holidays and wedding anniversaries to celebrate. Yet, we would would remember that invasion and recall and pray for them on the anniversary of their great sacrifice.

June seems to be filled with a number of anniversaries. The media reminded us that this month and year is also the twenetieth anniversary of the Tienneman Square demonstrations and massacre in Beijing,China. It is not very hard to forget the picture of the one lone brave man who "faced down " the tanks as they entered the square to disperse the dissidents. As the tanks tried to avoid this one man he would move back into the path of the oncoming trembling rumbling mass of metal and firepower. There were thousands who stood up for freedom then when finally the Chinese government decided that "enough was enough." Many were killed and imprisoned for their desire and commitment to freedom.When I see that picture or recall those brave young people I remember the freedoms and gifts I have taken for granted. Additionaly, this anniversary causes me to think " What and who am I willing to die for ?"

Sometimes anniversaries come out of traditions. Lindsay came home for the weekend recently and we continued with our new small tradition of attending the celebration of the Mass at a small chapel at the Loyola House of Retreats on Sundays . That Sunday started as just another day t. I am slowly learning that though each day is gift and new it is also an anniverary for someone , for some thing or event.

Fr.Gerry, entered the chapel prepared as the "celebrant" to preside over the liturgy of the Eucharist wearing what appeared to be Irish accented adorned vestments. With a quiet smile and voice he humbly and proudly announced that the vestments he was wearing were the ones he wore 35 years ago at the presiding over and celebration of his first Mass as a priest. He was celebrating his anniversary on the feast day, and annual celebration and remembrance , of the Holy Trinity. It was Fr. Gerry who blessed me with the Sacrament of Healing on the Feast day of St. Ignatius Loyola ten months ago and a couple of days before I went in the hospital for my heart surgery. I am grateful for a variety of reasons for Gerry's commitment , vows and of course his prayers. Lindsay and I were honored to celebrate his annivesary with him.

Now it is just a couple of days before the anniversay of exchanging marriage vows with Ginny. Though we believed that we had mapped out our future course adequately we had no idea where the journey would take us or how we would survive the unforseen adventures yet to come. Our odyssey together has been marked with many blessings, joys, trials and broken hearts.Fr. Bill queried about the secret of making it so far.My response, "a lot of work, love, faith and some more work." But in remembering all the challenges and blessings it is not hard to think about how just ten months ago when we worried that our eyes would meet and lips would touch for one last time as they rolled me into surgery. Ginny said she doesn't remember that moment that way. Sometimes the remembering is quite personal and a matter of perspective,isn't it?

Suddenly , somehow a mild illumination seeps through the cracks of this travel worn weathered soul.What I have read in volumes over the years affirms a central theme that has been the topic of exchanges with my friends, Fr. Lou and Fr. Bill. Without getting in to a theological and psychological treatise , the notion is very simple...

...it is sometimes easier for our simple human hearts and minds to see and understand God in our life and journey in retrospect.

Whether we are experiencing good times or enduring the trials of the world, the presence and fullness of the love of God may not always be fully appreciated in the present. St. Ignatius stresses the importance of "remembering" as prayer.

Maybe this is one essential truth of the significance and purpose of celebrating annivesaries.


"Remembrance is a form of meeting"
- Kahil Gibran

"We sanctify all we are grateful for "
- Anthony DeMello SJ

"My how time flies by"
- Lindsay

amdg

Sometimes on the Journey

Sometimes there are days when everything seems to go right. Sometimes it seems that there are days where nothing goes as you planned it. Some days there are just days when they are in the middle of the ying and yang of life and you wished you had stayed in bed.

The other day was one of "those days."

The Internet was down and the phones were not working in the office and I had a ton of "important" activities I needed to get completed for work but since we rely so much on technology I was lost. The decision was then easy to take some time for some personal business (please don't tell my boss.) It wasn't until I was done with the day that I realized that this potential day from hell was transformed into a series of graces.

Now you know how when you have an older tired car you can dred the experience of bringing the car in for motor vehicle inspection. The "failed" sticker can easily be translated into a proclamation of "many dollars for serious or annoying repairs need to be spent here.". Unexpectedly my twelve year old Volvo passed a motor vehicle inspection (Please do not contact the DMV!) But concerning another car related situation, right after the successful inspection I ventured to an automotive repair store ready to go to war. A couple of months ago this shop replaced a bent rim and wheel on my car and recently the local Volvo dealer realized the wheel this auto shop had me purchase was the wrong size. I was ready to "lawyer up", as my friend Anthony says, and punish this auto-repair shop if I didn't get immediate satisfaction. To my ultimate surprise the store manager was a complete gentleman as he asked to see my receipts and credited my credit card with no questions asked!!

The surprises would continue. Did you ever have one of those delightful surprises that somehow come out the blue from nowhere? I get email messages and phone calls from old long lost friends periodically and though delightful these reconnections are almost expected. I think these reconnections are just checking in to see if I am still alive. But as I came home from my automobile adventures I found an Internet message from an old friend and associate. (Yes, the Internet was now up and running, another surprise!) I had tried to reach out to this man a year or so ago and when he didn't return my emails I thought the worse. I guess I am guilty also of checking in to see if my old friends are still roaming around. When this particular associate and I were working together this man came down with Lou Gehrig's Disease (ALS.) So it was truly an unexpected connection when a surrogate of this associate reached out to me on my friend's behalf. I was/am delighted, humbled and grateful that this "companion" reached out to reconnect with me.

Suddenly my trials of the day seemed so inconsequential. These issues never were really significant but I had found cause to develop stress over failed technology, auto inspections and inadequate sales and service. Also, the small victories in each of these situations seemed to diminish in their importance. I am grateful for the small blessings but they were almost meaningless compared to the reaching out of a long lost friend who has suffered so much.” Relationships are what really matters,” I thought.

I don't think this friend knows that our experience together years ago became a subject of one of the chapters in a book I have written. His intelligence, service, compassion and persistence have inspired me always.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


The Long and Winding Road



“Many times I’ve been alone
And many times I’ve cried,
Anyway you’ll never know
The many ways I’ve tried.”

Long and Winding Road, Lennon and McCartney


“Great fidelity to the holy will of God in the little things of every day is what Thomas a Kemps called the Royal Road of the Holy Cross”
Father Hugh Thwarts SJ

In the movie “Romancing the Stone” Kathleen Turner’s character takes a bus along a serpentine mountainous path called a road through the mountains of Colombia. On film it looked quite ominous in real life the road is dramatic as it is spectacular! Well I wasn’t in Colombia but my client Jackson took two associates, Pat and Jim, and myself along a similar type drive up through the mountains outside of Caracas. Pat thought it was cute that every once in a while we would see a tiny doghouse size structure adorned with flowers. Venezuela is known for its abundance of stray dogs and she thought the locals had constructed shelters in the mountains for the animals. Jackson laughed and advised that these structures were memorials for individuals who have died in accidents along this snake hilled roadway going straight up and swerving right and left going down the mountain. Our hearts in our throats we traveled 60km from Caracas through the Macaroon National Park to a small mountain village founded by German immigrants in 1843. It is a transplanted Bavarian village in a valley in the Andes.

http://www.venezuelatuya.com/centro/coloniatovareng.htm

White stuccoed red shale chalets coat the mountainside. The founders called it Colonia Tovar. I must admit that traveling to South America was anxiety provoking enough. Going to unknown village miles from “civilization”, up and down unknown roads to an unknown added to the anxiety and prayers.

Traveling has really been a mixed blessing. I have admitted that earning the frequent flyer miles influenced my time for reflection. Actually my reading, writing and prayer time on airplanes probably had their roots in my anxiety and guilt.
For the most part I really didn’t enjoy the prospect of flying and then there was the fact that I usually didn’t know much about where I was headed or about the people I was to meet on the other end of my journey. What a great metaphor for life isn’t it? Often I really had no idea of where I was going and I was literally running on faith and hope! God knows I can fill volumes about the adventures, places and faces…and maybe I will someday. One of my last trips to Caracas it was about ten days after 9-11. It was the first flight from Newark to Caracas after a hole was left in our hearts and the skyline. Only a dozen or so passengers boarded including a couple of very lonely fear filled mideastern looking travelers who feigned sleep for the duration of the flight. I am not sure if I wrote or prayed the complete flight but I am sure that whatever I did it was intense and focused. The anxiety was not mitigated much when I was greeted at the airport by young packing bodyguard who led me to my full armored SUV. “I have faith, Father, it is trust I lack.” One tradition that was born out of my fears was to visit a church or chapel at every city I would visit. Another was to visit a baseball stadium in each of these cities. Though intended I never did see a ball game in Caracas. I had heard in the movie “Bull Durham” that there are 108 beads in a Rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. I would carry beads and it I didn’t have them handy I would use a baseball or vice versa.

After arriving in Colonia Tovar my group began exploring the quaint pubs and gift shops. Jeem and I lost sight of the others . I had just met and hired Jeem .Pat had recommended him to help with this project, as he was bi-lingual, educated in Spain and successfully managed an American enterprise in Mexico. For some unknown reason we discovered simpatico immediately during our first telephone encounter. He was not convenient to visit as he was in Chicago and I lived in New Jersey. Besides being familiar with the petroleum and convenience store industry in Latin America he was an avid baseball and soccer fanatic. Besides he had a brother in seminary. “So far so good”, I thought. Jeem and I found our way to the local church on the town square when we lost our party in the germanesque village in the Venezuelan mountains. Without hesitation we entered knelt down and prayed together. We were not aware of each other’s beliefs of views on spirituality and God. As we discovered that as we traversed the through the mountains and wandered about the winding lanes of Colonia Tovar we were discovering our own mutual winding pilgrimage to spiritual maturity. During the off hours Jeem, Pat and would have spontaneous explorations about our faith journeys and prayer. If we had taped these exchanges one would think in listening to the tapes that we were missionaries on some struggling crusade. I was reminded constantly of the passage “where there are two or more in my name there I am.” Who would’ve imagined that we three disparate pilgrims would eventually become companions in the mountains of Venezuela? At night I fantasized that Ignatius had commanded us to go forth to spread the word. I have no doubt that God was with us in us every moment in our business encounters in Caracas and the outlands. We wanted so much to find a way to continue to work together beyond this project. God was laughing again as God heard our plans. We were, we are true companions.

The client, Jackson, had requested that my firm help pull together a “country market entry plan” as they tried to develop a brand marketing strategy for Latin America. Jeem was instrumental at helping me craft the plan but there came a point where we needed assistance on the financial banking side. There are so many economic and banking implications when attempting to establish a commercial enterprise that crosses so many national borders. Jeem and Pat would continue to be involved with general business and organizational issues in developing this plan. But, I turned to Herb’s former partner, Les, who since our consulting days together had developed a substantial track record in the banking industry. Though quite bright and an impressive strategic thinker even Les was stumped with some of the minutiae and detail of international banking commerce regulations and processes. Les turned to a former employee of his. His name is Rob and he was a subject matter expert on international financial banking and accounting regulations and operating guidelines. I had met Rob a year earlier when we worked together on another project.

Les, Jeem, Pat and I with a few people from my home staff would work closely Rob. Over time we sensed a change in him. He told me of how his TMJ was acting up and affecting his speech. We assumed that the tension in his jaw was the reason that he had a difficult time articulating what he was attempting to say. He was becoming more difficult to understand each time we would get together. It became more difficult to include him in our weekly conference calls as he vocalization was deteriorating rapidly. Though the ability to communicate effectively was being impacted his ability to think and contribute to our project was not diminished. Rob was used to trials, as he was a competing cyclist. He used to share with us how he trained for miles daily in preparation for the big race he was for which he was training. Pat, Jeem and myself would quietly pray privately for Rob. He had a disarming sense of humor and he was always a delight to be around. He never complained about his condition. Lincoln, one of my staff members, found a way for Rob to communicate with us using technology. Though appreciative of Linc’s efforts Rob wasn’t an early adopter of this technology. Maybe he was self-conscious about his ailment. Rob’s involvement was finally relegated to emailing, instant messaging and typing draft documents. He almost could not speak and he felt embarrassed and wasn’t sure but he started to wear him down and he would feel quite physically fatigued.

Rob’s required involvement in our project gradually came to a close. He never complained about his change in circumstances and remained hope filled that he would improve. I am embarrassed to say that even as of this day at writing this I am not sure if Rob is a prayer filled or faith filled man. I had reached out on several occasions from a spiritual or prayerful perspective to him. He was gracious in his reception for my prayers but never went any further with an indication of his having faith or not. A mutual friend then shared with me that Rob did not have TMJ or a severe case of Fibromyalgia as we all speculated. He was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease. It is a progressive and usually fatal disorder that attacks the nerves and muscles called amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). Coincidentally this disease was part of the muscular dystrophy that I had become involved with from a fund raising perspective. I wanted all our efforts, money and prayers from this involvement with MDA to some how magically be channeled to healing Rob.

Rob became an adjunct companion of sorts. We were all moved deeply with Rob’s ability to maintain his dignity throughout his severe personal, physical, and emotional and his probable spiritual trials. No words of complaint. As a matter of fact he was always uplifting. His work and diligence was unsurpassed for any healthy individual. I am embarrassed to recall what I paid him for his contribution to the project. If we were to inspect the quality of his work one would never know that his body was fading away. I don’t know many who could deliver the dedication and perfection under normal conditions. After his responsibility in the project ended he continued to correspond with me about the project, business and life in general but he never let on about his declining condition. His journey on that long winding road had taken a turn that would be faith testing to most of us. He became one I would name on my daily prayer list. Again, was this a coincidental encounter? Is Rob another one of those spirits who’s job it is to bless pilgrims on the journey?

As I reflected on Rob and blessing the Gospel reading for today, The Sermon on The Mount, continues to burn deeper into my inner being:

Matthew 5, 1-12
“… Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account...”

As companion Rob taught me much and obviously blessed me as I worked with him on this part of the journey together. He was blessed with his gifts and in his suffering. He was blessed in his service with grace. I would like to say that Rob and I have stayed close over the years after the project. We haven’t communicated much at all. Yet, he is one of many who have written something new in the ashes along the “Royal Road” of my journey.

copyright -2008 - JFSobecki


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A little poem from David Whyte on journeys.


The Journey

Above the mountains
the geese turn into
the light again

Painting their
black silhouettes
on an open sky.

Sometimes everything
has to be
inscribed across
the heavens

so you can find
the one line
already written
inside you.

Sometimes it takes
a great sky
to find that

small, bright
and indescribable
wedge of freedom
in your own heart.

Sometimes with
the bones of the black
sticks left when the fire
has gone out

someone has written
something new
in the ashes of your life.

You are not leaving
you are arriving.

~ David Whyte ~

A request

A friend asked "Please tell me about your morning relections."
So I wrote...

Morning peace

There, over there…
Morning bird rests
Her sunrise serenade.
Silence,
Dark nature’s stanchions
Leaves rustled,
Breezes born
From the gentle movement
Of an angel’s wings.
Colors gradually perceptible
By the heart’s eye.
Wonderous orb
Calmly reclaims her kingdom.
Chevron flight
Southbound squawkers
Encourage each other
Journeying home.
Colors and floral perfume
Magnets for worker bees
Humming, buzzing
amongst the petals
At the pilgrim’s feet.

-- J.Sobecki , Songs of The Second Chance Dance,Copryright 2008