The Way of Zen through the Pandemic

A week ago, I shared with my social media friends my choice to couple "stay at home" with a social media fast.  Of course, I am still here blogging, and I'll keep doing so through this pandemic.  My own perspectives on the pandemic differ from just about everyone I know.  Most are in fear over the health crisis; I am not.  Some are cynically critical of the media's narrative; I agree, but see a higher purpose. Some are afraid of its apocalyptic overtones; I am not. Some are scorning the president; some are praising him.  I am doing neither at this time; he's trying to look at the bigger picture, but, as always, he remains entirely incompetent for his position.  Some are hanging on the words of a traditional health expert who happens to be in an important position right now, Dr. Fauci; I do not; I listen to Dr. Bruce Lipton and others with a newer, more holistic approach to health.  (These two medical researchers will be discussed in my next post.)  Finally, most are distressed for what the future holds after this pandemic has passed; for those of us willing to learn from it, I am hopeful.

For now, enjoy the tidbit I shared with my social media friends and the Way of Zen poem to complement it:

"A post is circulating that Christianity isn't able right now to speak to the pandemic; I disagree. However, eastern spiritual wisdom really does. I was led to Lao Tsu and others in the second half of 2019, possibly in preparation for this moment. After the work the Spirit led me into last week, I am really ready now to soak in "stay at home" with inspiring texts, my own writing, and bonding with my family. So I will complement that with a social media break for a while. . . .  Something beautiful will come out of our current hardship, my friends, as we enter our hiding places, reflect on what really matters, discover how important our relationships are, and learn to build a better planet. Meanwhile, to all and to your health, strength, and peace."

Other Pandemic Posts:
Whispers of Mystery through the Pandemic

Cocoons and Koans

Whispers of Mystery Speaking through the Pandemic

Nature brought forth a pandemic

Man brought forth isolation

God will use them both to teach us all

          Virtual (((hugs))) to all; prayers for those facing our pandemic first hand, for those in stress, for those unemployed, and for our brave health care workers.

          I have just returned home to my state of Washington with my son, from his university in the state of Oregon.  We are, at this moment, whirling in the pandemic crisis, and the Governor of each state is faced with a monumental challenge.  Health officials are screaming about the rapidly spreading virus that has no vaccine.  If the virus is not controlled, hospitals will be overrun, ventilators for the very sick will run out, and health care workers will be in great danger.  WA Gov. Inslee, my own, has been commended nationwide (well, by all except for our President) for his quick, wise, and well-thought out response to the crisis.  OR Gov. Brown was taking her time in responding to the pandemic and getting pressure to take her cues from my own Governor to her north.  Tragically, she followed the lead neither from her northern nor her southern neighbor, and in order to prove she wasn’t “too little, too late,” she went “too much, too late,” putting my son, other college students, and many other Oregonians into a different type of danger.

          Our pandemic is not black and white.  Not only can we protect both our physical health and our mental health, we must.  Mental health is key, both for itself and for protection against the virus.  Our immune systems depend upon our strong mental health. 

          Here is the story as it came to me through my son, a college freshman.  In order to spark a process of “social distancing,” 2-3 weeks ago, many of our universities, including the one where I teach and the one where my son attends college, shifted to all on-line instruction.  Given that, many students chose to return to their families.  My son chose to stay.  Roughly ten days ago, students at these same institutions, including mine and my son’s, were told that if they left their college campuses outside certain geographic perimeters, they would be unable to return.

          Between those who had already left and those arranging to do so, my son estimated his campus was dwindling to roughly 15% of its population.  For him, neither choice was “good”; which was better?  Four of his friends were staying, a few having to, due to travel restrictions to where their families live.  His little group of five teased themselves as “The Remains,” a commentary on their vanishing campus.  Together, they were going to the Dining Commons for their take-out boxes, as required, and bringing them back to their dorm where they ate and played games together.  Unlike our hometown where the pandemic had already hit, my son’s college campus was safe from the virus, and he was at ease with his friends.  He decided to stay.

          A week ago, everything changed.  My son and all the other students living on campus received an e-mail on Monday evening from the university citing OR Gov. Brown’s executive order and the solitary confinement for students on campus:

“In light of this executive order, students living on campus in a residence hall or apartment are  asked to to stay in their rooms as much as possible. . . .We have been asked to close common areas and lounges in the residence halls in order to abide by this order.   In addition, all social or recreational gatherings of any size in which people do not remain at least six feet apart is prohibited. . . .”

          My son, a freshman, was crying and shaking when he contacted us about this order into solitary confinement.  We read the full e-mail and the order by Gov. Brown, and both were chilling.  By that time, we had already heard the statement the same day by our own Governor, Gov. Inslee.  Although they both had issued orders on the same day, Gov. Brown’s and Gov. Inslee’s twin orders were night and day different.  Gov. Brown was prohibiting neighbors into one another’s homes or even rooms; this included college students, retirement home residents, and apartment dwellers who live alone and whose “families” are those who live in the rooms next door.  Gov. Brown has closed all of the parks and all of the recreation facilities, including those for non-contact sports.  She has ordered Oregonians into their own homes, and is requiring distances of six feet from one another when folks go out together for a stroll.  She has instituted fines of up to $1,250 and jail time up to 30 days for violations of her order.  Although police enforcement of this order is unlikely, except for the especially irresponsible like the Florida megachurch pastor who held services in defiance of his state's order, peer pressure is an effective deterrent and clearly working on the very sparse streets of Oregon.

          Gov. Inslee, by contrast, is encouraging the outdoors and says of non-contact outdoor activities: "we consider these things essential activity too for everyone's physical and mental health."  The sunshine, exercise, and Vitamin D all boost our immune systems.  The science is clear: stress, fear, and mental health conditions compromise our immune system. For a college student, solitary confinement is terrifying.  Aren’t “The Remains” family? I wondered. Shouldn’t they have the rights of family members?

           As I heard my son’s voice shaking over the phone and read the e-mail he received and Gov. Brown’s order, my chest was burning.  Burning hot.  Everything in this mom wanted to race at that moment, 8 pm at night, to drive straight to him, arrive at 2 in the morning, and bring him back home.  But the Holy Spirit said, “My Child, I am with you and with your son, and I will walk you through this. I will use you not only for your son, but also his friends, and the other students on his campus, and even on campuses at other colleges in Oregon.  Hold still and follow My lead.”

          Of course, I did not sleep a wink that night.  My chest kept burning hot all night long and all the next day.  But I trusted in the Spirit, and chose to follow the lead.  God had positioned me perfectly to make a difference.  My son had not only chosen my own Alma Mater, he even chose a university where I personally know the Provost, having, after I graduated, collaborated on a project with her, when she was a professor.

          I was divinely placed to make a difference, and I knew a simple solution: define the close friendships within the residence halls as “family” members.  Family members can eat together, play games together, and, in this moment when everyone is afraid, they can hug each other and cry together.  I prayed through it, received encouragement from my friends on social media, one of whom suggested the very solution I was already formulating, and then followed the Spirit’s guidance to write the following letter (with names deleted) to the officials at my son’s university:

          “Warm wishes in precarious times to each of you, President [Last name], VP [Last name], and copy to the one I know as [First name], Provost [Last name],

Along with the heavy hit of the pandemic, Gov. Brown's declaration is another very heavy hit.  This is especially true for college students, if the relationships they have formed on campus are not considered "family."  I imagine you've already attempted to communicate this truth to Gov. Brown.

My son called last night, not only clearly crying, but also clearly shaking.

Unlike those of us who are in our homes with our families, college students are at college with their friends who have become their "family." The small group of five students of whom my son is a part on the [Univ] campus calls themselves "The Remains."  They are "family" and should be given the rights of family members.  This should be the case for all of the students who need to stay on campus and who have formed friendships with some of the students there.

In the coming days, we will be working out what we will do as a family ourselves.  [My son] made the wise decision to stay on the [Univ] campus because he is safer there than he is in our own community. 

His mental health, however, and that of all [Univ] students, is no longer safe.  We are trying to fight one "enemy" that is attacking our physical bodies by creating another, which could be even worse, that is attacking our mental health, particularly the mental health of our youth.

At least one of my son's friend's family is out of the country, and his ability to leave is unknown. Likely, the [Univ] campus has others like him.  Please consider the mental health of all of the students who must remain on the [Univ] campus.  One way to do so is to recognize the friendships the students have formed while they are physically away from their own "families" are now their "families," and please permit them all the rights of family members.

Knowing what I know about [Univ], I imagine that you have already expressed this to Gov. Brown.  Even in unprecedented, precarious times, these policies are entirely inconsistent with [Univ] principles.  Please continue to advocate for the mental health of [Univ] students to Gov. Brown for a simple modification: friends of college students living on campus are family.

Thank you ever so much and warm wishes again,

[My name], [Univ] Alum

and Mother of a [Univ] '23 student”

          My letter was warmly received and its outcome encouraging.  The Vice President of Student Affairs reached out to my son, said meeting him was the highlight of his challenging week, and invited me to personally meet him, which was both an honor and a pleasure.  He expressed gratitude for my ideas, plans to work toward them, and is in contact with officials at all of the other universities in Oregon, along with the Higher Education specialists within the Oregon Health Authority, which is directing Gov. Brown’s initiatives.

          My son and I perceive that the e-mail he received is the same or very similar to one sent to all students living on college campuses throughout Oregon, that it was written by the Oregon Health Authority, that it was given to Gov. Brown with very little time for her to read it, and that Gov. Brown signed off on it without a careful review.

          Although future readers who are not living our current ordeal will be astonished that the Oregon Health Authority ignored the well established science that compromised mental health also compromises our immune system, current readers get it.  From a spiritual standpoint, I also see a bigger picture.  It is time to leave the World of Commercialism, to enter into our “hiding places,” rediscover what really matters in life, and to confront the Spirit of Fear.  We can only have Victory over Fear if we face it head on, and we are in the best position to do so, if we are in our “hiding places” and listening within to our own whispers of mystery.

          My post is double the size of my usual ones, and I’m only now beginning to touch on the heart of my message.  Psalm 91: 10-11 promises to we who find refuge in the Lord Most High, “no evil will befall you, no plague will approach your tent. / For He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.”  In coming days, I’ll write more, but for now, I’ll wrap up with the completion of the poem:

Nature brought forth a pandemic

Man brought forth isolation

God will use them both to teach us all

We mystics know what few do:

The Divine Order

permits not a peril of Nature so dangerous

that to fight it,

we must compromise our mental well-being

Oh you of little faith,

says Jesus to his disciples

when they cry out in a heavy storm

with waves filling the boat nearly full

while Jesus is sleeping in its stern.

We are protected

We need not fear

But God will also teach us from our fear

And as we retreat into our homes and “hiding places”

we will discover, speaking directly to us,

the whispers of mystery

Other Pandemic Posts:

Cocoons and Koans
Way of Zen through the pandemic

Jasmine's Journal: The Five Stages of Grief in Forbidden Love

Jasmine's Home, October 1, 2011

Dear Spirit,

           

People say, “It’s better to love and lose than to never love at all.”  What about to love at a distance and to never get close enough to “lose”?  What would people say about that?  A month and a half has passed since I shared with You how it feels to be like a fisherman who makes the catch of his life and the captain says, “That fish is protected.  You have to throw it back.”  This fisherman is not done grieving yet, Spirit.  According to Elisabeth Kubler Ross and David Kessle, grieving people go through five stages of grief: (1) Denial, (2) Anger, (3) Bargaining, (4) Depression, and (5) Acceptance.  Are there five stages of grief for people like the fisherman too?  For forbidden lovers?  You know the type, Spirit, the old-fashioned ones, the ones who are not permitting themselves a true expression of their love.

            If you ask Google, forbidden lovers don’t get the stages of grief.  I asked and got nothing. I googled for “Five Stages of Grief” or “5 Stages of Grief” AND for “Forbidden Love.”  Google popped up the usual list and also links for stages accompanied with “break up.”  But break up does not touch the unique quality of forbidden love.  The grief of break up is over a love that had been and was then lost.  The grief of forbidden love is over a love that could have been, but never gets to start. 

            Of the usual five stages, at least two appear to be the same for forbidden love, so I’ll begin with those: Anger and  Bargaining.  Are you ready, Spirit, for my “Anger”?  Why didn’t You introduce me to Davie ten years ago?  Why, Spirit, did you allow us to each get married before we met one another?  Why did you dangle the most amazing treasure of our lives right before our eyes only when it’s too late, and tell us, “I know you love this more than anything you’ve ever seen or experienced, but you can’t have it.”  Why?

I know part of Your answer is that we wouldn’t have chosen each other ten years ago.  True.  Ten years ago, in my insecurities over “thinking at odds,” Tim was the stable force I was seeking.  A straight-forward, simple, here’s-how-it-is thinker who was both confident and self-assured, but also charmed by my complexities, was exactly what I was looking for ten years ago.  Today, I’m proud to be thinking at odds.  Tim was great for me ten years ago.  And I still like him today.  But You have helped to transform me into a stronger woman.  I don’t need Tim now like I did ten years ago.

Yes, Spirit, I get why I chose Tim.  I get why I might not have chosen Davie a decade ago.  And I get that I would not have wanted to wait until my 30s to find a man.  All right, that releases at least some of my “Anger.”  But it brings me straight to “Bargaining.”  You’ve heard my Bargaining: How close can I get to him?  When and where can we be alone?  As close as our souls are, shouldn’t we get at least a little private time – that cherished feature for every couple who feels the way we do? How physically close can we be?  Is it okay to hold hands?  Can we be arm in arm?

I bargain and bargain for something, anything, that opens a window into what could be.  If we weren’t forbidden, what would we be?  Can’t we at least take our index finger to the curtain covering the window to open up a peek, a glimpse through the window of what could be?

Please, Spirit, hear the irony: normal couples date and do everyday life things together.  They go grocery shopping together, and they make dinner together, and they eat it together – after burning it together and having an argument over that.  Real life.  Normal couples do real life.  They do their laundry and clean the house, and they overstuff the washing machine and it goes bonkers, kicking and jolting and making a ruckus so loud they think a bomb hit the house.  And the vacuum cleaner gets so clogged with cat hair, the vacuum’s stuck, it won’t budge, and they try to force it, and it screeches at high pitched torture, then it goes silent.  Dead.  And they scream, first at the machine, then at each other.  Real life.  Normal couples do real life.

Spirit, please hear me: forbidden lovers need real life too.  We need it more.  Real life tests the couple.  Not all couples meet the test.  Some fail.  In real life, some couples discover they are not meant for one another.  We are forbidden.  Doesn’t that mean we are also not meant for one another?  If not, then let us find out!  Let us face the tests of real life.

Bargaining is a non-stop “stage” for me, Spirit.  All through the other stages Bargaining pokes its head; it’s there; it never was not there, and it never leaves.  Does that happen for people grieving loss too, or does that make the process different for forbidden love?  Will it still pop in during “Acceptance”?  Right now, I cannot imagine Acceptance.

Then we have the other two stages, the first and the fourth: Denial and Depression.  For forbidden love, these two are there, but are these the right words? Again, this is forbidden love that is not pursued.  I’m not writing about the forbidden lovers who have an affair, then repent, and then go through the normal Five Stages of Grief when they part ways.  I’m talking about the forbidden lovers who don’t have an affair, who don’t let themselves discover what could be.  We’re an endangered species, but a few of us still remain.  Is “denial,” then, really the right word to mark the first “stage” for us?

For us, it’s not a denial that something bad has happened.  It’s a denial that something good cannot happen.  That gives it a very different shape and color.  Instead of a denial that is intermixed with sharp pangs of loss, it’s something else intermixed with sharp pangs of love.  It’s intermixed with joy, euphoria, celebration, and the inexplicable elation of being in love.  When you’re in love, everything looks brighter.

Until you realize you can’t pursue the one with whom you’re in love.  Until you realize he’s the fish who’s “protected” and has to be thrown back into the sea. That’s more than “grief.” That’s “anguish.”

So what kind of “denial” marks this type of anguish?  Could another word replace “denial” that captures both the celebration of being in love and the anguish that it cannot be pursued?  Something like “illusion,” the magician’s magic trick.  “Magic”: that’s another word that captures it.  Maybe both are needed: Magic and illusion.  Yeah, both are needed.  That’s what I’ll call the first “stage”: Magic and Illusion.

How about “Depression”?  Again, for forbidden love, “Depression” doesn’t quite capture it.  But English has a word that does, one that has been celebrated by the poets of days long ago precisely for the application of forbidden love: Melancholy.

Yes, the “Five Stages of Grief” do look different for forbidden love.  Since Google presents no list, I’ve created my own.  These, Spirit, are what I’ll call the Five Stages of Grief in Forbidden Love:

(1) Magic and Illusion

(2) Anger 

(3) Bargaining

(4) Melancholy

(5) Acceptance

I’m trusting You, Spirit, for that last stage, Acceptance.  I cannot imagine it, but I pray You bring me to it.  Amen.

© 2020 by karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use with permission or a citation that links to this blog.
Continue to Always the Thorn?

The power of words in 2020

Last week, on the morning of February 5, the following whisper of mystery arrived:

2020 is a year of testing,

a threshing like the one John the Baptist described.

For many, the test will be a test of words.

Then the whisper reminded me of a previous whisper during my Summer in the Twilight Zone:

Do you remember in 2005 when I whispered to you,

“It’s time to ante up?”

Then I clarified the ante up is for your words:

“The time is near when every word spoken will hold power.

Get ready for it and ante up on your words now.”

Since that time, I have watched the truth of this message grow ever more each year.  In 2005, only a very few people were on social media or even texting.  But we were literally at the dawn of a great new phenomenon that significantly upped the ante on the power of our words.  And, unlike me, most people had not been warned.  I certainly also had to learn the hard way.  Meanwhile, many discovered the hard way again and again and again that they’d better watch each word they speak, e-mail, type into a social media group, or text, and they’d better be on their game to make sure their auto-correct function doesn’t destroy their message too!

Thankfully, we’ve been given some grace during these first years of “anteing up” on our words, as most of us have built up a great sense of humor over it.  Many enjoy poking fun of these new troubles on youtube videos and even with songs like the hilarious, “I lobe you” song with its chorus, “I lobe you,” teasing the singer’s mis-text to his girlfriend.

            But today, February 5, 2020, the Spirit whispered an update to me:

This year, 2020, is when My message of 2005

to “ante up on your words” is especially true.

Yes, it’s been building each year.

Yes, the 2016 Election brought the power of words up to a new level.

And, yes, the new power of words is here to stay.

It won’t go away or diminish after 2020.

But this year, 2020, is a year of threshing.

Everyone will be tested -- and tested more powerfully.

Yes, 2020 is a year of Vision.

But Vision comes with testing.

While the testing will take a variety of forms,

for most, it will involve their use of words.

One’s reactions, particularly in one’s use of words, will be more pivotal.

For some, the test of words will be

more about how they respond to the words of other people.

Authority will also be given to those

who look to Me for their use of words

and follow My guidance in their speech.

© 2020 by karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use with permission or a citation that links to this blog.

Clean Vision

Jasmine's Home, September 16, 2011

            Jasmine has just cleaned her glasses for the 11^th time today.  What would she do if she didn’t have glasses?  She needs something mindless for her hands to do that also makes her feel better, that feels rewarding and carries the resemblance of an accomplishment.  Of course, there’s no accomplishment in the 11^th cleaning once 10 have already been accomplished the same day, but it’s the resemblance of the accomplishment that matters.  She thinks maybe she should clean the kitchen counter, but that would mean going through all the stuff piled all over it, and that’s real work, not mindless.  She’d clean the dishes, but she’d first have to put the other ones away, and she’d have to scrub the pasta out of that pan.  Besides, she doesn’t have any time  for “real” cleaning; she just needs to distract herself for a moment, and then go back to planning tomorrow’s lesson for her fifth graders.  No, Jasmine needs something simple.  So she keeps the eyeglasses cleanser industry in business and is always sure to have clean glasses.  Does it give her clean vision too?  She’d like to think so.

            At least she doesn’t smoke.  Jasmine marvels at how much smokers spend, and they don’t even get the resemblance of an accomplishment.  Unless slowly turning their lungs black counts.  Jasmine recalls those Truth videos she saw in Health class in high school that scared her pants off.  But they worked.  Had she not seen them, maybe she would have become a smoker.  Of course, cleaning her glasses calms her only when she’s cleaning them, while smokers say they’re calmed not only while they’re smoking but also for a while afterward.  The nicotine enters their system and physically calms their nerves.   Getting that kind of stress release sounds enticing.  Jasmine gets why they do it.  Holding her glasses in her hand she tells them, “But I don’t want my lungs to go black, so you are going to get really clean.”

            She’s trying anything she can to quit overthinking her first ever USTA Tournament – both her loss and her unexpected win. Jasmine may have played in high school tournaments, but a US Tennis Association tournament is quite another experience.  She was feeling the pressure of an actual USTA Tournament, the pressure to please her Mixed Doubles partner Davie, the pressure from the crowd, and even the pressure of a crowd rooting for her opponents.  It’s hard enough to hear the crowd cheering for their opponents’ winning shots or to hear silence when they make powerful, strategic plays, but this crowd was even doing something tennis crowds don’t do: they were clapping at opponents’ “wins” that came from her unforced errors.  Maybe they didn’t know that, for her, those errors were unforced?  Maybe they thought the opponents had great shots that she should not have been able to return?  Jasmine couldn’t shake wondering whether they were just being rude, or whether they were insulting her by their ignorance that her misses were unforced – shots she would normally get.  And, the more she was bothered, the more unforced errors she made.  She wasn’t upset with her opponents; they were good sports.  Nor was she even really upset with herself; she could forgive errors coming from the pressure of a first USTA Tournament.  She was upset with the crowd.  This was her first tournament.  Couldn’t they wake up, learn that, and give her a break?!  Between court swaps after each odd game, Jasmine impulsively cleaned her glasses.  This time, her obsession gave her a chance to coach herself: Get clean vision, Jazzie.  Don’t look at them.  Don’t listen to them.  Just watch the ball and have clean vision and clean shots.

            To Jasmine’s wonder, Davie responded exactly the opposite as the crowd.  Any time she made an unforced error, he approached her with encouragement, assuring her of “No worries” and a pat on her shoulder to say, “Good going.”  He even started giving her a High 5 when she lost a point, which he could see troubled her.  “You’re doing great.  This is your first tournament.  Go easy on yourself.  You’re doing good.”  No matter whether they won a point or lost one, Davie was flirting with her the entire time.   When they won one, he made sure to give her a High 5, and their High 5s kept lingering longer and longer.  Toward the end of their match, every High 5 ended with a squeeze of the hand, and those began to linger longer too.  Jasmine may have lost the match for them; she may have lost the crowd who were clearly against them; but she won Davie’s attention.  She came away from her first USTA tournament with an ironic thrill for her loss.

            By the time of their first mixed doubles tournament, three months have passed since Davie caught her eye.  At first, it was his physique that caught her attention, then it was this mysterious deja vu that she somehow knew him.  It turns out she did.  As the youth pastor at her church, he’d spoken a few times at their church, and she was always mesmerized and inspired by his messages.  Still, as inspiring as they always are, his messages are still a little safe.  He doesn’t push the envelop too far on what traditional churches seem to want their parishioners to believe.

So Jasmine really perked up at Davie’s refreshing reply to Gentry’s question at the Alley about whether it’s okay to assassinate a terrorist, as Obama had just announced he had done of Osama bin Laden.  While Davie didn’t have an easy answer to this question, he did have a clear stand against capital punishment.  Jasmine found it a relief to find a pastor take what she perceived as the “pro-life” stand against the death penalty, as she couldn’t wrap her head around the typical support for it among those who attended churches like hers.  Jasmine returned home that day wondering if Davie, like her, was a closet progressive.

“Closet progressive” was Jasmine’s phrase for herself with her journal.  As a “closet” progressive, she protected herself with her journal and her silence.  Throughout her teen and college years, her family taunted her for thinking at odds.  To escape the taunting, she buried herself in her journal and posed her questions straight to the Spirit: Why should we favor the death penalty if we’re pro-life?  And why should we support war?  And why shouldn’t we protect our environment?  Spirit, am I missing something?  Jasmine didn’t stop at these questions in her journal.  She asked more, straight from the Bible.  Why did God “harden Pharaoh’s heart” and then send atrocities to the people after God Himself was the one to do the heart-hardening?  Why not soften hearts instead?  And why didn’t God try to soften hearts before He drowned the whole world?  Most especially disturbing to Jasmine was this one: Why, God, why did You command Joshua to commit genocide?  This last one especially enflamed Jasmine.  What kind of a God are You?  Should I really be worshipping You, the One who commanded genocide?  The Spirit sometimes whispered back to her.  Trust Me, child, trust Me.  In time, I will answer your questions.  For now, trust My love for you.

Although she still doesn’t have answers, at least now Jasmine sees her questions into her journal like cleaning her glasses.  They’re therapeutic and, maybe, she hopes, they help her to have clean vision too.  Since Davie entered her life, she’s also gained encouragement that her questions are valid.  By now, she’s certain Davie is also a closet progressive.  Not only that, he’s muscular, athletic, and gorgeous.  Add to that, he’s a youth pastor with a strong spiritual life.  If that isn’t enough, he winks and smiles at Jasmine.  And now, they are USTA mixed doubles partners and he is noticeably flirting with her.  Can there be anything wrong?

            Oh.  Yes.  He’s married.  So is she.

© 2020 by karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use with permission or a citation that links to this blog.

Continue to Standing up to God

Silence. Eyes without Words

Driving home from Mixed Doubles Night, February 16, 2012

            By now, Jasmine knows she had not been imagining what she observed that night of Davie coaching her from the sidelines.  He wasn’t watching her only because they were about to compete in their first USTA Mixed Doubles Tournament.  His 30^th birthday sure clinched an answer to that one.  Of course, the signs had been there for a long time.  From the first day they played together, their connection has been electric.  Both married, and he the youth pastor at her church, they had to be careful.  High fives and lows, smiles, eyes, teases, a wink here, eyebrows raised there, a pat on the arm, a tap on the shoe, a whisper in the ear, a lifted earring, a shirt tugged, and no words.  Silence.  Eyes without words.

Even still, at the time of Davie’s attention to her from the sidelines, she might not have wondered as much had they not played singles the week before.

Glendale Racquet Club, Thursday, August 4, 2011

Fourteen players showed up to the Yoga Room, where the Mixed Doubles players stretch before their 7 pm court time.  The “mixed” numbers were barely mixed that night with 11 men and 3 women.  Traditionally, the group would have chosen to have one court of mixed doubles, a second with three men and one woman, and a mens’ singles court.  But that night, Davie suggested a mixed doubles court, a mens’ doubles court, and a singles court for him and Jazzie.  Since he and Jazzie had just registered for their first USTA tournament as mixed doubles partners, he explained, they could use the chance to drill some shots.

            With Davie’s suggestion approved, Jasmine now faced Davie as her opponent.   But not immediately. Their warm-up was longer; they rallied backcourt to backcourt, aiming for less than a foot from the baseline; and they drilled volleys, overheads, serves, and service returns.  Davie gave Jasmine special coaching on a specialty of his: backhand volleys.  Most players don’t do them very well, but Davie uses a blunt angled technique that usually wins him the point– at least until his opponents catch on to him and rush the net when they see he’s getting a backhand volley.  Now he has another trick up his sleeve: a sturdy volley down the alley backcourt, if he’s in the ad court, or straight down to center backcourt if he’s in the deuce court.  Davie spent considerable time with Jazzie training her on each of these backhand volley shots, and it was one of those that won Jazzie and Stephen their set the following week.  Davie’s coaching worked.

            After warm-ups and drills, the two still had time to play a full set and then a mini-set to win four games, winning by just one game.  Not that that mattered.  Jasmine took only one game for each to lose at 6-1, 4-1.  But how proud she was of the two games she won.  Mostly, she beamed at his attention to her.

            Most sweet was her second winning game.  It was Jasmine’s serve; the score was deuce.  After putting Jasmine on the defense with a sliced lob to her backhand at back court, Davie thought he was well-positioned for a weak cross court shot, but Jasmine cut off the lob and volleyed her return with a sharp fast down the line shot.

            “Where did that come from?!” Davie exclaimed, after his racquet failed to reach it.

            “You surprised?  You think I couldn’t do that?”

            “I don’t remember a shot that brilliant,” he teased with a smile.

            “Don’t you underestimate me, David Grayson.” Jasmine smiled, then immediately served.

            While returning her serve with a drop-shot, pulling Jasmine to the net, Davie chuckled.  “My mom used to call me by my full name, except she used my middle name too, which—” he smiled, “I won’t tell you.  I knew never to underestimate her when she did.”

            “So you know not to underestimate me either,” Jasmine smiled back, while slamming an overhead center backcourt shot to win the next point. 

            Davie approached the net, where Jasmine was still standing, victorious.  “Never Jasmine Greene, do I or will I ever underestimate you.”  He looked into her eyes while his eyes danced his promise.  Jasmine smiled back.  “I’m going to hold you to that.”  Davie lifted his right hand in a vow, nodded his affirmation, and they shook hands, slowly, letting their hands linger.

            A song on the car radio interrupts Jasmine’s reflection.  It’s one of the 80s Classics she hasn’t heard for many years: Phil Collins and Marilyn Martin’s “Separate Lives.”  Stephen Bishop wrote the song after a break-up, and Jasmine has never listened to the song in any other way.  But the words mean something much more to her now.  Little had she ever realized how much the song also applies to forbidden love.

You have no right to ask me how I feel

You have no right to speak to me so kind

We can’t go on just holding on to time

Now that we’re living separate lives

Well I held on to let you go

And if you lost your love for me, well you never let it show

There was no way to compromise

So now we’re living

Living separate lives

Ooh, it’s so typical, love leads to isolation

So you build that wall

And you make it stronger.

Well you have no right to ask me how I feel

You have no right to speak to me so kind

Some day I might find myself looking in your eyes

But for now, we’ll go on living separate lives

Yes for now, we’ll go living separate lives

Separate lives

Just after she’s been cast from their church for being his object of temptation and on his first night away from Mixed Doubles Night, could a song capture their relationship any better?  Did Stephen Bishop consider the other ways his song could be understood?  Did he consider its perfection for forbidden lovers?  Davie is married, so Jasmine has no right to ask him how he feels, nor does he have that right with her, also married.  They have no right to speak to one another so kind.  They have no right.  If either lost their love, they never let it show.  There’s no way to compromise.  So they build that wall.  And they’ll make it stronger.  And they’ll go on living separate lives.

A missed night without a text.  No right to speak so real.  No right to speak so kind.  Silence. Eyes without words.

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