Last week, I received two copies of an amazing book: “Amber, The True Story of a Courageous Young Girl”.  Yesterday, I was honoured to take the second copy down to Phoenix Children’s Hospital, and offer it to the hospital’s Family Health Library- The Emily Center.  Like Emily, Amber was a person struck down by childhood cancer.

She was the child of a friend, which made reading this book, and sharing it, all the more important for me.  It is said, quite often, that growing old is not for sissies, and I’m sure I will experience some of that, down the road a bit.  Let me say what else is not for “sissies”:  Watching someone you love waste away.  I have been there, first as a brother, then as a husband.  Yet, I can only dimly imagine being there as a parent, and how much more as a single parent.  Amber was courageous, and that courage was matched by the steely, fastidious, undying determination of one of the finest human beings I have ever known:  Her mother.

The title of this piece comes from a song by Bruce Springsteen, entitled “The Rising”.  He wrote it and offered it, in response to the September 11, 2001 attacks on New York and the Pentagon.  The children he mentions were those sent to their heavenly home that awful day.  He chooses to see them as an inspiration, not as anchors, or albatrosses.  Such are children like Emily and Amber. They move us in all sorts of directions:  Charitable fundraisers and ongoing donation programs; medical schools researching cures for such deadly plagues; prayer vigils; meal preparations for the parents and siblings keeping watch over the fighting child.  They move us, most importantly, to treasure just what is in front of us, just how fortunate we are.

Everyone’s problems are important, to them, and to those closest to them.  Everyone’s issues deserve a measure of attention, a resolution.  It is, however, no cliche to say that when the Most Important is front and center, the Important has to wait its turn.  There was, in those dark, painful, inspiring days, a decade or so ago, nothing more important in all the world than a child named Amber.  I would have been there, in spades, had I known.  Stay vigilant, stay involved, stay loving.   This world is not for sissies.

I heard from my dearest friend, this morning.  It was a brief message, but it meant the world to me, knowing that she is okay, and in charge of her own life, as always.

This brings to mind just what is the purpose of this life.  We are told, in the Baha’i Writings, that the purpose of physical reality is that each of us comes to know and love God.  As God is, in His Essence, unknowable, how are we to reflect such knowledge and love?

The answer that comes to me is that we show compassion for His creatures.  Baha’u’llah admonishes us to “Be fair to yourselves and others”.  We each must regard our own bodies as human temples, thus not abusing these bodies with excess of food and drink, much less an excess of mind-altering substances, however tempting such substances might seem, in times of stress.

Beyond self-care, the knowledge and love of God is reflected in one’s care and love for : Family members; fellows in faith, or, in the case of atheists and agnostics ,fellows in philosophy of life; co-workers; casual friends, and those who inhabit our in-most hearts.  Finally, compassion for those we encounter randomly, in the course of a day, and for the non-human- the plants, animals, and inanimate resources, is also a sign of knowing and loving God.

I will have something to say, in a later post, about those who presume to hate God.  For now, though, let us consider that, without a deep and abiding compassion for all of the above, including our own selves, we relinquish our mandate and toss aside the very purpose of our being.  None lives for self alone, and gets to feel alive, for very long.

I’m happy knowing you’re okay, my friend.

It’s said in physics that the breaking of ionic bonds has serious consequences for the entire chain to which the broken ions belong.  It is also said, in some circles, that each ion is attracted to some other ions, and repelled by still others, which may or may not be attracted to it.

This explains a chain of human interactions.  I referred yesterday to my high school friend not being attracted to a boy who loved her, and who, in turn, was liked by a girl to whom he was not attracted.

It goes around and around like this, throughout life.  I have been in the middle of this, several times.  I have been drawn to a person, who is drawn to someone else, who is drawn to yet another, and so on.  On my other side, there is one who is drawn to me, while turning away from someone who is drawn to her, who turns away from yet another, and you get the picture.  This could be Aretha Franklin’s “Chain of Fools” or just the human condition, voicing its disquiet.  Nonetheless, even those who feel like they’ve never been loved are attractive to someone- they just haven’t met, or acknowledged, that person.

Each turning away causes some turmoil.  The wiser among us realize that each soul, each human; each mating, befriending being, has criteria for making these choices, these bonds.  For some, the criteria are physical and so don’t endure.  For others, the criteria are spiritual, and less easily understood or accepted.  For still others, there is this attraction that makes no sense to the casual observer, and much less to the receiver of affection.

I’ve felt all three types.  With my wife, Penny, the first two sets of criteria existed simultaneously, and the spiritual set endures, though she is in another realm.  I’ve had plenty of physical attractions, and these have fizzled, after a very short time.  Ditto for those whose being attracted to me is purely physical.  There are a few in my present life to whom I am attracted spiritually.  These attractions linger in my heart, even though I no longer have any direct contact with them.  Luckily, I am not involved in the third type of attraction.  The last such was in 1976, and hurt the intended recipient, terribly.

My bottom line is this.  The most horrifying thing I can ever hear from another human being, especially someone I love, is “I am really hurt by what you did(said)”.  I know I must hear it, and make amends, but knowing I have crushed someone’s spirit shakes me to the core.

This is becoming a trend:  Soul-sharing in the morning, travel-sharing in the evening.  I think that’s how it will remain.

Anyway, my mind drifted back to my high school days, yesterday.  I was trying to find a parallel for just how I really feel about my best friend.  Romantic thoughts just don’t jibe, though she is a beautiful woman.  The thing is, 62, with under 40?  Umm, not very likely.  Brother and sister?  No, and for the same reason.

Here is a parallel.  In the summer of my junior year, I would spend most week days at Fireplace 10, of  Nahant Beach.  I would alternate between sunbathing and hanging in the blanket area, and body surfing, when the tide was coming in.

Although I had no girlfriend of any sort in high school, I had a lot of friends, both male and female.  The girls would often sit down on my blanket and just share their feelings and frustrations, seeking a “safe” male perspective.  It made me feel purposeful.  One of these was Joan.  She is two years younger than I, so she was entering her sophomore year.  There was a guy who was absolutely bonkers over Joan.  She was, and is, a lovely woman.  She was dating a guy already, though, and they were happy.  Charlie was one one of my best friends in school, and Joan felt safe talking with me about her dilemma.  She didn’t want to hurt N’s feelings, but it was she and Charlie, and no one else.

As my senior year progressed, N moved on, Charlie and Joan remained a committed couple and they both were among my best friends.  Joan was probably my best friend that year, and I could share my own hopes and dreams with her, where the guys with whom I hung out were far more opinionated and judgmental, with me and with one another.  Joan also didn’t mince words, when she thought I was being over the top, but there was never unkindness in her demeanor, or her voice.  She just was, and had nothing to prove.

Once I graduated, I would only see Joan now and then, at the Friendly’s Ice Cream Parlor, on Rte. One, or at random parties.  Three years after I graduated, we lost Charlie in a tragic accident.  Joan, bless her, moved on, slowly and with determination to survive and thrive.  She was doing well, the last time I saw her, working out of Boston and traveling, both for her job and for pleasure.  She waxed poetic, on that last meeting, about East Asia, especially Japan.  That was thirty-eight years ago.  I believe she is now a grandmother and still working.

She remains, though, an inspiration and a long-ago source of stability in my life.  I guess that’s why I feel the same about a person who is an inspiration to me now.  Many blessings, to you, my best friend on the planet.