I've decided today what I'm going to be when I grow up and retire--I'm going to be 'a pain in the ass' to everyone who needs one...starting with doctors.
I had an eye appointment today at 2:30. At 3 I walked over to the desk and was called. I was taken to a room and I started complaining to the technician. "I had two appointments today--I was to celebrate the Eucharist at a nursing home at 11 and meet with a couple who is getting married at 1. I was there, on time, for both. If I had kept either the folks in wheelchairs or the young couple waiting a half an hour I would have expected them to leave....Why do I wait a half an hour just to be called in? My appointment was at 2:30, why didn't I get in this room when I was told I would be?"
Well, you can imagine that conversation..."the Dr was in surgery" and I said, "did he get to the office late?" "No, but things got backed up..." And I said, "Why, what backed them up?" And she said, well, Mrs. Jones needed an injection we hadn't planned on?" And I said, "so why didn't you come and tell me I was waiting because Mrs. Jones needed an injection? I would have appreciated that...." And she said, "we can't give out that information because of the HIPA laws." and I said, "Well, I know from experience that Hipa laws suck--I can hardly find people from the parish in hospitals...but someone could come out and tell me, 'gosh, jim, the Doctor had to do a proceedure I can't name on a patient I can't tell you about and that's why we're late taking you in...."
Then she sent for the Office Manager. We had a good conversation, actually, she really listened and has had to go to doctors herself so she knew what I was talking about. I compared it to two things: one, if a service is supposed to start at 8 a.m. or noon and I delay it without explanation for half an hour or more, I wouldn't expect people to stay. After all, church is only about your Spiritual health and most people don't get that in the same way they 'get' physical health. Besides, if I'm a few minutes late for the Wed. noon service, everyone knows each other and I have to interupt their conversation to start the mass! You know people you are waiting with in church...you don't in a doctor's office.
The second thing I compared it with was the Department of Motor Vehicles. At least I know and know fair well that going to DMV is a crap shoot. I have to stand in line to get a number and then wait for my number to be called--like at Deli--but I can be counting down all the time and always take a book to DMV. Sometimes you're lucky--I had to change my registration, since the DMV put the wrong description of my car on it and I'd been told that by a Cheshire policewoman who checked my VIN # and let me go...AND I had to get a new driver's licence because my wallet got stolen. I was in and out in 15 minutes! But I've waited an hour or more before. But I could see the #'s on the screen and knew where I stood.
I told her--the very patient Office Manager--that I love my eye doctor and he did surgery on both my eyes and I knew things 'happened'. I just wanted to be kept informed about 'why' my 2:30 appointment didn't really mean 2:30. I trust she took in my complaint and I truly believe the desk folks and nurses will make sure people 'know' they have to wait for a good reason. We'll see. But being a pain in the ass, especially a somewhat charming and very polite one, suits me well. I am somewhat charming and terribly polite--I still call people "Mam" and "Sir" for goodness sake.
Then there was the exam. It always takes forever for me. Oddly enough I didn't need to change my glasses. The Dr. suggested I get one of those little clip on lights to put on the altar book so I can see it better....Well, he's Jewish and doesn't realize what a liturgical faux pas (did I actually spell that right? my spell check allowed it) that would be.
Because of my age they dilate my eyes until my pupil is about the size of a gerbil and then make me click a thing every time I see a light and stare as deeply into my eyes as Spencer Tracy used to stare into Katherine Hepburn's eyes. Then he brings out the torture device--a little piece of glass that he puts between my eye and the light that makes me reveal all the security secrets I know and tell him about how much I used to masturbate as a 15 year old. I'd rather be water-boarded than have that light shined in my eyes....It's like staring into the sun on the equator at noon.
"Doesn't that hurt my eyes in some ways," I asked him.
"Probably," he said, 'but only short term...it will wear off in a few hours...."
I left with two pairs of the plastic sunglasses over my eyes and drove home. There are still auroras around everything and my computer screen is blindingly bright. But I am committed to being a pain in the ass to the medical profession from this day forward.
I'd recommend that to you as well. They call it an "appointment" for a reason. Don't wait--get aggressive (though be charming and polite) and point out that you matter and your time matters and you need to at least have the courtesy of being apologized to for being made to wait and given some HIPA approved explanation for the delay.
Aging folks of the world unite! Let's get this handled, beloved....
Monday, February 15, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Lightening up a bit....
Ok, after my diatribe about guns--and notice this about me, I get concerned with 'educated' people start shooting people. What an a**h**l Classiest I am! Ponder that...I will, I promise....
So, I thought I'd share some of my poetry with you. I'm facing a wierd and unknown future in about 2 and 1/2 months when I retire from St. John's. Here's a poem I wrote in 2005 about the future....
THE FUTURE
"There is this about magic doors
you pass through them unawares."
--Celtic saying
The future is out there, obscured from sight
by the mist that flows up from the sea at dawn,
impenetrable--a fog wall closing in, narrowing
the moment down to its nub, its essence,
a particle of time.
Straining to see doesn't help.
Squinting is useless.
Standing on tip-toe in the cold damp grass,
vainly trying to peer above the close, clinging clouds.
The future undoes your hope,
unties your pleasures and aches alike,
stripping away this moment, now.
"The present", someone told me once,
"is just what you miss while awaitng the future."
Something like that is what they said.
But I missed it then,
wondering what they would say next,
not wanting to miss that....
On this side of the future, fog is all we have
or can have. A road beneath two trees,
sweet wet grass for walking barefoot
and maybe
some magic door we entered already.
jgb/2005
So, I thought I'd share some of my poetry with you. I'm facing a wierd and unknown future in about 2 and 1/2 months when I retire from St. John's. Here's a poem I wrote in 2005 about the future....
THE FUTURE
"There is this about magic doors
you pass through them unawares."
--Celtic saying
The future is out there, obscured from sight
by the mist that flows up from the sea at dawn,
impenetrable--a fog wall closing in, narrowing
the moment down to its nub, its essence,
a particle of time.
Straining to see doesn't help.
Squinting is useless.
Standing on tip-toe in the cold damp grass,
vainly trying to peer above the close, clinging clouds.
The future undoes your hope,
unties your pleasures and aches alike,
stripping away this moment, now.
"The present", someone told me once,
"is just what you miss while awaitng the future."
Something like that is what they said.
But I missed it then,
wondering what they would say next,
not wanting to miss that....
On this side of the future, fog is all we have
or can have. A road beneath two trees,
sweet wet grass for walking barefoot
and maybe
some magic door we entered already.
jgb/2005
Guns DO kill people
Before I get to that, there is this--it took me about 10 minutes to get to this point when it usually takes me 15 seconds. I don't know what I did wrong but GOOGLE, hereafter known and the Spawn of Satan, keep rejecting my password which had always and ever been waterbury, or, as GOOGLE (SOFS) shows it *********. Actually, it is little dots instead of little stars, but I can't make it on my keyboard.
I HATE and DESPISE beyond all knowing the Internet and everything about it. I wish it did not exist. I do like email and being able to look things up, but it is both a pain in the ass and a Right Wing Conspiracy to suck our souls away so we can't be liberals and human beings any more.
But since it is here and I have finally found my Blog, I'll just write a bit......
Unless you've been on one of the moons of Jupiter, by now you've heard of Dr. Amy Bishop, a Harvard Ph.D. who pulled out a handgun and killed three of her colleagues and wounded three other people in, for God's sake, a faculty meeting of the Biology Department at the University of Alabama in Huntsville.
OK, I was hysterical enough when the Army psychiatrist killed all those people at Fort Hood. My Lord, a psychiatrist killing people with a gun....But he was in the army and did have access to weapons. But a Harvard educated Ph.D. shooting down other Ph.D.'s--we've got to draw the line somewhere....Why in the hell do we live in a country that would let a highly educated person own a gun?
I do not own a gun. I grew up around guns. I grew up in a place where people hunted and did target shooting. I've shot a lot of guns in my life. I respect people who hunt and do target practice. But when I moved my father out of his house and brought him to CT, I took his pistol--which I shot a lot as an adolescent--and turned it into the police in Princeton, WV. I didn't want it. I didn't want to own a gun.
You want to know why I don't want to own a gun? I don't want to own a gun because I know I would use it. I would shoot someone who was breaking into my house threatening my wife, my dog, my cat, my two birds. I'd shoot them as soon as look at them. I simply would. I am an 'almost' pacifist--but pacifists are dangerous people. I wouldn't carry a gun in a war because I know I'd use it to kill people and I won't own a gun because I know...given the situation...use it to kill people. And one of my rules is this: DON'T KILL PEOPLE.
So where did Dr. Bishop get a handgun--not for hunting or target practice, but to kill biologists?
The two most ignorant bumper stickers I've ever seen--and I 'like' bumper stickers by in large--are these: GUNS DON'T KILL PEOPLE, PEOPLE KILL PEOPLE and THEY CAN TAKE MY GUN WHEN THEY PRY MY COLD, DEAD HAND FROM IT.
Jesus Christ, what idiocy. GUNS KILL PEOPLE. Ask the families of the soldiers that Army shrink killed. Ask the families of the biologists Dr. Bishop killed. If they hadn't had a gun they might have tried a knife but people can fight off a knife attack much more effectively than they can dodge a bullet. They might have punched and scratched and kicked at people, but I doubt they would have killed them.
All you idiots out there, listen up: GUNS KILL PEOPLE.
Already they are talking on Public Radio and everywhere else about how Dr. Bishop killed her brother WITH A GUN when she was an adolescent. They are trying to explain "why" she killed her Ph.D. colleagues.
I'll tell you WHY. She had a f***ing GUN, that's why....
No one would have written or spoken a word about an Army psychiatrist or a University of Alabama professor who scratched, kicked and punched people until restrained.
Here's the other bumper sticker, third on my list for idiocy: WHEN GUNS ARE OUTLAWED, ONLY OUTLAWS WILL HAVE GUNS.
No, you morons, the Police will have guns too and if guns were illegal we might put some people out of the society for simply having one without waiting until they killed someone with them.
I won't go so far as to say that 'only outlaws have guns' now--keep your hunting guns and your target practice guns--but, for God's sake and all our sakes, stop letting people...people like Dr. Bishop and Dr. Bradley...have guns. We'll use them, beloved, and none of us need folks like us with our fingers on the trigger....
I HATE and DESPISE beyond all knowing the Internet and everything about it. I wish it did not exist. I do like email and being able to look things up, but it is both a pain in the ass and a Right Wing Conspiracy to suck our souls away so we can't be liberals and human beings any more.
But since it is here and I have finally found my Blog, I'll just write a bit......
Unless you've been on one of the moons of Jupiter, by now you've heard of Dr. Amy Bishop, a Harvard Ph.D. who pulled out a handgun and killed three of her colleagues and wounded three other people in, for God's sake, a faculty meeting of the Biology Department at the University of Alabama in Huntsville.
OK, I was hysterical enough when the Army psychiatrist killed all those people at Fort Hood. My Lord, a psychiatrist killing people with a gun....But he was in the army and did have access to weapons. But a Harvard educated Ph.D. shooting down other Ph.D.'s--we've got to draw the line somewhere....Why in the hell do we live in a country that would let a highly educated person own a gun?
I do not own a gun. I grew up around guns. I grew up in a place where people hunted and did target shooting. I've shot a lot of guns in my life. I respect people who hunt and do target practice. But when I moved my father out of his house and brought him to CT, I took his pistol--which I shot a lot as an adolescent--and turned it into the police in Princeton, WV. I didn't want it. I didn't want to own a gun.
You want to know why I don't want to own a gun? I don't want to own a gun because I know I would use it. I would shoot someone who was breaking into my house threatening my wife, my dog, my cat, my two birds. I'd shoot them as soon as look at them. I simply would. I am an 'almost' pacifist--but pacifists are dangerous people. I wouldn't carry a gun in a war because I know I'd use it to kill people and I won't own a gun because I know...given the situation...use it to kill people. And one of my rules is this: DON'T KILL PEOPLE.
So where did Dr. Bishop get a handgun--not for hunting or target practice, but to kill biologists?
The two most ignorant bumper stickers I've ever seen--and I 'like' bumper stickers by in large--are these: GUNS DON'T KILL PEOPLE, PEOPLE KILL PEOPLE and THEY CAN TAKE MY GUN WHEN THEY PRY MY COLD, DEAD HAND FROM IT.
Jesus Christ, what idiocy. GUNS KILL PEOPLE. Ask the families of the soldiers that Army shrink killed. Ask the families of the biologists Dr. Bishop killed. If they hadn't had a gun they might have tried a knife but people can fight off a knife attack much more effectively than they can dodge a bullet. They might have punched and scratched and kicked at people, but I doubt they would have killed them.
All you idiots out there, listen up: GUNS KILL PEOPLE.
Already they are talking on Public Radio and everywhere else about how Dr. Bishop killed her brother WITH A GUN when she was an adolescent. They are trying to explain "why" she killed her Ph.D. colleagues.
I'll tell you WHY. She had a f***ing GUN, that's why....
No one would have written or spoken a word about an Army psychiatrist or a University of Alabama professor who scratched, kicked and punched people until restrained.
Here's the other bumper sticker, third on my list for idiocy: WHEN GUNS ARE OUTLAWED, ONLY OUTLAWS WILL HAVE GUNS.
No, you morons, the Police will have guns too and if guns were illegal we might put some people out of the society for simply having one without waiting until they killed someone with them.
I won't go so far as to say that 'only outlaws have guns' now--keep your hunting guns and your target practice guns--but, for God's sake and all our sakes, stop letting people...people like Dr. Bishop and Dr. Bradley...have guns. We'll use them, beloved, and none of us need folks like us with our fingers on the trigger....
Thursday, February 11, 2010
old pictures, new thoughts
My wife moves stuff around constantly--furniture, pictures, other stuff. I noticed last night that a picture of me from my high school graduation. She balanced it on the top of the bottom part of the window where my computer sits.
I look at that picture and can't quite come to grips that it is a picture of me. He's so young and clean-shaven--and his chin has been air brushed so it isn't nearly as sharp and distinct as mine is (covered by a beard grown for that purpose some 40+ years ago!). He reminds me of a song I don't know where I heard or why I remember or who performed it or anything except two lines:
"He has the cold, clear look of a seeker of wisdom and truth,
And an up-turned chin and grin of impetuous youth."
Well, yeal....my look is neither cold or clear anymore and my seeking of wisdom and truth devolved into a fascination with paradox and chaos. I still grin a lot but it is the grin of an aging white man who sometimes can remember 'being young' and though I'm still a bit impetuous, it is the impetuousness of a mischievous elderly man, not to be trusted completely....
Looking at him is like being lost and unstuck in time. How young, how optimistic, how much skinner! how dressed up, how air brushed to be almost handsome....
Sometimes we need to ponder where we came from and who we used to be and probably, in some way, still ARE. Not bad for a session of pondering....
I look at that picture and can't quite come to grips that it is a picture of me. He's so young and clean-shaven--and his chin has been air brushed so it isn't nearly as sharp and distinct as mine is (covered by a beard grown for that purpose some 40+ years ago!). He reminds me of a song I don't know where I heard or why I remember or who performed it or anything except two lines:
"He has the cold, clear look of a seeker of wisdom and truth,
And an up-turned chin and grin of impetuous youth."
Well, yeal....my look is neither cold or clear anymore and my seeking of wisdom and truth devolved into a fascination with paradox and chaos. I still grin a lot but it is the grin of an aging white man who sometimes can remember 'being young' and though I'm still a bit impetuous, it is the impetuousness of a mischievous elderly man, not to be trusted completely....
Looking at him is like being lost and unstuck in time. How young, how optimistic, how much skinner! how dressed up, how air brushed to be almost handsome....
Sometimes we need to ponder where we came from and who we used to be and probably, in some way, still ARE. Not bad for a session of pondering....
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
a note about 'pondering'
I realize I often use the word "ponder" in these musings and thought I might say something about what I mean by it.
The title of this blog "Under the Castor Oil Tree" is an allusion to the end of the OT book of Jonah. The story ends with Jonah on a hill overlooking Nineveh, pondering all that has happened. The tree he sits beneath, withered and dead from a worm at that point, is --some scholars believe--a Castor oil tree. After running away from God only to get thrown in the sea and swallowed by a great fish that regurgitates him right where God wanted him to go...and after proclaiming the destruction of Nineveh only to have God spare the city because the people repent--much to Jonah's disappointment...and after sitting in the blistering sun asking God to kill him only to have God cause a tree to grow and shade him, until God kills the tree---well, I don't know about you, but that seems a lot to ponder about.
You can google ponder and find out how any number of dictionaries define it. But what I mean is an experience that causes you to say "Huh..." to yourself and start to wonder about the deep down meaning of things.
Pondering, as I use the word, isn't directed toward discovering an answer to your quandary or a way out of whatever quagmire you find yourself in. Quite the contrary, what I mean by "ponder" is to muse and wonder and consider the implications and possibilities of things. "Answers" are for fraidy-cats--people unwilling the examine the quandary for its own sake or explore the quagmire rather than struggle to get out. If you keep saying "Huh..." to yourself over an extended period of time, you're doing what I call pondering.
I have a friend who I think either ponders most everything or simply has developed a habit of saying "Huh...." He has raised saying "huh..." to an art form. Others who know him actually try to distinguish between the tones and timbres of his wide assortment of 'huh's...'
That wouldn't be a bad thing for all of us to be habitual about--wondering, considering, reflecting...all of which are a part of pondering. The older I get, the more things there seem to be to ponder upon....
Happy pondering....I hope your tree doesn't die....
The title of this blog "Under the Castor Oil Tree" is an allusion to the end of the OT book of Jonah. The story ends with Jonah on a hill overlooking Nineveh, pondering all that has happened. The tree he sits beneath, withered and dead from a worm at that point, is --some scholars believe--a Castor oil tree. After running away from God only to get thrown in the sea and swallowed by a great fish that regurgitates him right where God wanted him to go...and after proclaiming the destruction of Nineveh only to have God spare the city because the people repent--much to Jonah's disappointment...and after sitting in the blistering sun asking God to kill him only to have God cause a tree to grow and shade him, until God kills the tree---well, I don't know about you, but that seems a lot to ponder about.
You can google ponder and find out how any number of dictionaries define it. But what I mean is an experience that causes you to say "Huh..." to yourself and start to wonder about the deep down meaning of things.
Pondering, as I use the word, isn't directed toward discovering an answer to your quandary or a way out of whatever quagmire you find yourself in. Quite the contrary, what I mean by "ponder" is to muse and wonder and consider the implications and possibilities of things. "Answers" are for fraidy-cats--people unwilling the examine the quandary for its own sake or explore the quagmire rather than struggle to get out. If you keep saying "Huh..." to yourself over an extended period of time, you're doing what I call pondering.
I have a friend who I think either ponders most everything or simply has developed a habit of saying "Huh...." He has raised saying "huh..." to an art form. Others who know him actually try to distinguish between the tones and timbres of his wide assortment of 'huh's...'
That wouldn't be a bad thing for all of us to be habitual about--wondering, considering, reflecting...all of which are a part of pondering. The older I get, the more things there seem to be to ponder upon....
Happy pondering....I hope your tree doesn't die....
Monday, February 8, 2010
The projectionists
So I have this hat--I've always had a hat of some kind since I truly believe if your head is warm, you'll be warmer...but that's just me. This hat I have is, obviously to me, a lion. There is a brown and yellow and white mane from ear to ear in two inch long fringes of yarn and that motif is continued down to two yarn masses on either side of my hat, attached to the ear flaps. There are two brown ears--a little like Mickey Mouse ears but smaller--on the top of the hat and the hat itself is the downy gold/yellow of a lion. My brother-in-law gave me the hat and I love it and wear it everyday and forget sometimes to take it off.
My hat gets giggles and smiles and out-loud laughter. A guy in a convenience store in Baltimore--a guy with lots of piercings and tattoos and jelled hair told me, "Man, I hate to say it, but that is one 'rad' hat...." I'm not sure what 'rad' means--some play on 'radical' I suspect, but, being polite, I thanked him for his observation.
Here's the thing--my hat is so obviously a lion to me that I am amazed at what people tell me they think it is: a Viking, a Mohawk Indian, an Arab, a Hindu, a Peruvian (that one is understandable since it looks like those hats except for the fringe mane and the ears and was, according to the label, made in Peru) and, my favorite, an Ewok. (Of course, some people, I know, think I look like an idiot in my hat, but I don't mind.) H. told me "I can't take you seriously in that hat," and I replied, "that might be the point...."
So, lots of people 'project' things on my hat. "Projection", of course, is a really important concept in psychology that most people have no concept about in day to day life. Most of us always think of ourselves as video cameras--recording what we experience with our senses. I would suggest it is more true to think of ourselves as movie projectors--putting our own thoughts, interpretations, judgments, ideas, opinions on the clean, white screen that is what we think of as 'reality'. If you asked me (I know you didn't but I'm going to tell you anyway) most of what we assume is objective reality is really what we have 'projected' on life as we know it. And the fact that we assume we are 'recording' makes the fact that we're really 'projecting' doubly hard to notice and realize.
Whenever someone says to me, "Are you feeling alright?" I tend to assume that they aren't feeling quite up to par. So I ask them how they feel and almost always they tell me about what's bothering them. Same thing goes for "Are you tired?" or "Are you angry?" or "Are you a little depressed?" Almost always whoever asks me stuff like that is 'projecting'. I'm just the screen, for goodness sake.
And there is all sorts of 'projection' stuff put on me because I'm a priest. People almost swoon when they know I smoke. One wonderful woman left the church because I say things like "bitch" and "shit" and "fuck" from time to time. And when I tell people about my skepticism and doubts about this whole Christianity thing, they cross themselves and break out in hives. "A priest wouldn't...should...always...never...."--things like that are all projections. I am who I am AND I am a priest.
Whenever I have a strong initial opinion about someone or something, I try to remember to ask myself, "where did THAT come from?" whether the opinion is positive or negative. Somebody somewhere probably taught me something about whatever it is I'm reacting to and I'm projecting my unconscious on to the person I'm encountering. About the worse one for me is when I meet someone I know is wealthy. I have lots of junk floating around in my unconscious about 'rich people' which I immediately project onto the next 'rich person' I meet. And most of it is negative and unkind and terribly unfair and keeps me from really encountering people who have money in an honest way. Just today at a funeral I met a woman who was attractive and charming and very friendly. I took an immediate liking to her until she told me her last name. She is part of one of the wealthy families of Waterbury and my opinion of her turned on a dime (or a trust fund!) but I noticed what was happening and was able to continue our conversation and walked away liking her greatly. I realized if I had known her last name before we started talking I wouldn't have given her a chance. I would have been projecting in technicolor if not 3-D and never realized what a genuine and nice human being she was....That's what I'm talking about.
It would behoove me and all of us (I would suggest) to walk around knowing fair well that we are more like movie projectors than video camera and ponder our opinions about people, issues, stuff by asking, "wonder where that came from?"
It's not a BAD thing, that we 'project' constantly. We're actually pretty much wired up that way in the factory. But it is definitely a GOOD thing to realize that about ourselves and, whenever we are paying attention, to ponder and reflect about what is 'real' and what we have 'projected' on reality.
Just a thought for your castor oil tree time....And mine....
My hat gets giggles and smiles and out-loud laughter. A guy in a convenience store in Baltimore--a guy with lots of piercings and tattoos and jelled hair told me, "Man, I hate to say it, but that is one 'rad' hat...." I'm not sure what 'rad' means--some play on 'radical' I suspect, but, being polite, I thanked him for his observation.
Here's the thing--my hat is so obviously a lion to me that I am amazed at what people tell me they think it is: a Viking, a Mohawk Indian, an Arab, a Hindu, a Peruvian (that one is understandable since it looks like those hats except for the fringe mane and the ears and was, according to the label, made in Peru) and, my favorite, an Ewok. (Of course, some people, I know, think I look like an idiot in my hat, but I don't mind.) H. told me "I can't take you seriously in that hat," and I replied, "that might be the point...."
So, lots of people 'project' things on my hat. "Projection", of course, is a really important concept in psychology that most people have no concept about in day to day life. Most of us always think of ourselves as video cameras--recording what we experience with our senses. I would suggest it is more true to think of ourselves as movie projectors--putting our own thoughts, interpretations, judgments, ideas, opinions on the clean, white screen that is what we think of as 'reality'. If you asked me (I know you didn't but I'm going to tell you anyway) most of what we assume is objective reality is really what we have 'projected' on life as we know it. And the fact that we assume we are 'recording' makes the fact that we're really 'projecting' doubly hard to notice and realize.
Whenever someone says to me, "Are you feeling alright?" I tend to assume that they aren't feeling quite up to par. So I ask them how they feel and almost always they tell me about what's bothering them. Same thing goes for "Are you tired?" or "Are you angry?" or "Are you a little depressed?" Almost always whoever asks me stuff like that is 'projecting'. I'm just the screen, for goodness sake.
And there is all sorts of 'projection' stuff put on me because I'm a priest. People almost swoon when they know I smoke. One wonderful woman left the church because I say things like "bitch" and "shit" and "fuck" from time to time. And when I tell people about my skepticism and doubts about this whole Christianity thing, they cross themselves and break out in hives. "A priest wouldn't...should...always...never...."--things like that are all projections. I am who I am AND I am a priest.
Whenever I have a strong initial opinion about someone or something, I try to remember to ask myself, "where did THAT come from?" whether the opinion is positive or negative. Somebody somewhere probably taught me something about whatever it is I'm reacting to and I'm projecting my unconscious on to the person I'm encountering. About the worse one for me is when I meet someone I know is wealthy. I have lots of junk floating around in my unconscious about 'rich people' which I immediately project onto the next 'rich person' I meet. And most of it is negative and unkind and terribly unfair and keeps me from really encountering people who have money in an honest way. Just today at a funeral I met a woman who was attractive and charming and very friendly. I took an immediate liking to her until she told me her last name. She is part of one of the wealthy families of Waterbury and my opinion of her turned on a dime (or a trust fund!) but I noticed what was happening and was able to continue our conversation and walked away liking her greatly. I realized if I had known her last name before we started talking I wouldn't have given her a chance. I would have been projecting in technicolor if not 3-D and never realized what a genuine and nice human being she was....That's what I'm talking about.
It would behoove me and all of us (I would suggest) to walk around knowing fair well that we are more like movie projectors than video camera and ponder our opinions about people, issues, stuff by asking, "wonder where that came from?"
It's not a BAD thing, that we 'project' constantly. We're actually pretty much wired up that way in the factory. But it is definitely a GOOD thing to realize that about ourselves and, whenever we are paying attention, to ponder and reflect about what is 'real' and what we have 'projected' on reality.
Just a thought for your castor oil tree time....And mine....
Things not to laugh at....
I saw an ad in the NYTimes about the winners of the Australian Open Tennis Tournament. Two of the folks were in wheelchairs--they had won the doubles for quadriplegics. I know it will use up all my Political Correction Points, but, really, should quadriplegics play tennis? There is a reason it's call 'disability'.
I once told a blind member of the parish about the fact that the buttons on the "drive through" at my bank had Braille characters on each of them. I wondered if she'd been tempted to 'drive through' anywhere. She laughed and laughed and told me, quite sensibly that the bank probably didn't want to have two kinds of automatic keypads and put the same one in the drive through as in the walk in. She's probably right.
But, for goodness sake, there are reasons being in a wheelchair or blind is called "disabilities". There are simply some 'abilities' that not everyone has. Which reminded me of a terribly politically incorrect joke.
A rabbi, a Baptist minister and a Roman Catholic priest were playing golf together. (Notice how Episcopal priests seldom show up in jokes--we are that irrelevant....) At the fourth tee they were slowed to a stop by a group in front of them. They were disgusted--all of those Holy folk--by the wait they had to endure and were saying terrible things about the group ahead of them.
An employee of the golf course was riding by on a cart and the three religious folk asked him why the group ahead were holding things up so much.
"This is a new program," the employee said, "we're very excited about it. Those golfers are part of our 'blind golfers' initiative. You'll notice they have guides to help them line up their shots and talk to them about the course...."
The RC priest said, "Well, I'll have to say several rosaries to make up for the terrible things I said about those poor blind people."
The Baptist minister said, "I'll have to be on my knees for hours asking for forgiveness for my comments about them."
The Rabbi said, "Why can't they play at night?"
So much for political correctness....
I once told a blind member of the parish about the fact that the buttons on the "drive through" at my bank had Braille characters on each of them. I wondered if she'd been tempted to 'drive through' anywhere. She laughed and laughed and told me, quite sensibly that the bank probably didn't want to have two kinds of automatic keypads and put the same one in the drive through as in the walk in. She's probably right.
But, for goodness sake, there are reasons being in a wheelchair or blind is called "disabilities". There are simply some 'abilities' that not everyone has. Which reminded me of a terribly politically incorrect joke.
A rabbi, a Baptist minister and a Roman Catholic priest were playing golf together. (Notice how Episcopal priests seldom show up in jokes--we are that irrelevant....) At the fourth tee they were slowed to a stop by a group in front of them. They were disgusted--all of those Holy folk--by the wait they had to endure and were saying terrible things about the group ahead of them.
An employee of the golf course was riding by on a cart and the three religious folk asked him why the group ahead were holding things up so much.
"This is a new program," the employee said, "we're very excited about it. Those golfers are part of our 'blind golfers' initiative. You'll notice they have guides to help them line up their shots and talk to them about the course...."
The RC priest said, "Well, I'll have to say several rosaries to make up for the terrible things I said about those poor blind people."
The Baptist minister said, "I'll have to be on my knees for hours asking for forgiveness for my comments about them."
The Rabbi said, "Why can't they play at night?"
So much for political correctness....
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