Community Caregiving

 

“The immediate genius of generosity is that it draws us out of ourselves.”

                                                                                                                                                                                              Wendy Lustbader

I didn’t see the subject of this Slow Lane coming. I have no idea of what I’m going to write. I only know that the title set-off some kind of reverberation that has galvanized me to sit down and see what comes.

I only thought of caregiving as exclusively personal. I’ve had caregivers for almost 17 years now. I’ve been grateful, vulnerable, ashamed, and astonished by the care I’ve received, but I never thought about it in collective terms before, never conceived of caregiving in any collective way— except I have. Without knowing, or even noticing, I’ve been creating and supporting group activity, always intent upon helping a group become a ceremonial ground, a place where one can discover, and be, fully human.

Now, for the first time, I’m realizing that I am a community caregiver. Perhaps, many of us are. I hope many more will be. By labelling these efforts as community caregiving they become visible, and can be valued again.  Caregiving, in general, has been undervalued in this society. It is work that has been left to the underclasses, and the marginalized. It is as if heartbreak, illness, disability, and pain are a unwelcome part of our humanity.

As one of the old, I know that these qualities, as hard as they are, deepen our humanity, and tend to bring out what is most special about our species. Caring then becomes something else. It is supporting the futherment of human evolution, particularly of the heart. A caregiver is love manifest. A mid-wife at the door of Creation.

A community caregiver is someone who is sensitive to the tides of our larger connection. Not just the social dimension of who we are, but the entire ocean of our cosmological togetherness. Those of us gifted with this kind of awareness are moved by tidal forces to create celebratory events which make more explicit the ties of love that bind us, and make being human so poignant.. In any moment a social caregiver can be switched on, and does their best to attract and pull together a cluster of humans.

I didn’t consciously know I was one of them. I thought of myself as a caregiver, a man touched by hopeless courage, bound to what is deeply broken, but because I have lived in this fractoring culture, I never thought of myself as in service to any collective. I’ve been enlightened. There is something so big, that it calls us all in different ways, and some of us have to serve it.

Community, I think, provides an intermediate playground. It is large enough to be the something palpably larger, that it provides a glimpse, of the even larger wholeness we owe ourselves to. In this age, caregiving is gratitude personalized. Community caregiving is the Universe doing self-care.

I suspect, that the luck that steadily comes my way, is somehow related to the quality of community caregiving I do. The gift increases when it is given away. The Universe thrives and expands because caring does. 

 

 

 

Lucky

 The Slow Lane

I’m coming up on the 20^th anniversary of my stroke, and it occurred to me, to use the story about becoming Lucky to celebrate. That’s right to celebrate! You see the stroke has been one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I have told pieces of the story of why, but never the whole story, and now I think is the time. I intend to only briefly touch on the medical hell I went through, because the details of my particular situation, though plenty traumatic, are not really that germane to the story. I’m not Lucky because I survived, I’m Lucky because the experience transformed me. Here’s what I mean.

When I was 55 I had a hemorrhagic stroke, a blood vessel in my brain leaked. That altered everything. A few months later, after brain surgery, I developed a very rare brain condition, that set me on an unknown course of losing functioning on a regular basis. All of this (all that losing), led to the loss of my marriage, family, home, property, career, health and well-being. It was an immediately dark time in my life. Literally, my life had been turned into rubble. For much of the first few years I was dazed, angry, and full of grief. I had no idea what hit me —but I knew my life, as I knew it — was over.

Eventually, I lived alone, my marriage ended, I became disabled, and it looked like I was dying. My doctor scared me, by saying that medicine didn’t know what was wrong with me, and couldn’t treat me. I was freaked out, and freed to try other means of treatment. Nothing made a difference. After years of trying things, I ran out of resources, and resigned myself to dying. I remember, living for 3 years as a terminal patient (with a 24-hour planning horizon) and a sense that everything was over.

The transformation began so innocuously, that I had no idea it had begun. All evidence suggested that I was dying. So, what arose in me was a set of regrets. I didn’t want to go to my grave with what I knew. After a poignant and painful dream, where my house was boarded up, and closed, I realized I couldn’t stand not sharing with someone what I had learned about community. So, I started writing, using only two good fingers on the keyboard. I did it, slowly, to exorcise my regrets, knowing I might die soon, only to have, stuff that I didn’t know come out.

Whereas, I started, thinking I knew what I had to write, I wrote what I didn’t know I knew. I learned so much from myself, that I felt compelled to keep going. All that time, I was discovering, that within me, was a life, that I had no inkling of. In the process, David became Lucky. I didn’t know it yet. It was several years before I recognized the changes that had been wrought. But, there as I lay, unable to move, near the abyss, Life moved into me, and I was re-made.

Lucky was born of what was left of the man. It was through no intention.  I was nothing but a failed carcass. What arose from that piece of meat was someone that was Life’s alone. Unbeknownst to me— an operation by ‘invisible hands’ — was being performed. I’m still waking up to that procedure.  But, some unknown presence settled in, and set me on a new course.

Emotional intelligence grew, connection with the cosmos became more vivid, compassion took on a deeper hue, foolishness and play flourished, and I grew into a more internally free being. I knew my relations. I was delivered a decisive blow, dealt a disabling wisdom, mentored by mystery, and captivated by Life. Paradox became a friend. Lucky emerged as mystified rubble, doomed and freed by hardship.

Now I marvel in the world around me. Certainty has fled, and I know the real vulnerability of being human. Grief and praise have intertwined into awe. I wheel around amazed, overwhelmed, and grateful that I have lasted long enough to get here. I know the Universe is my truest parent and that I’m wanted.

Forgive my weirdness, after all, I’m a little demented — surrounded drunkenly by all of this magnificent wonder and hellish mistrust.