Vincent van Gogh was born in 1853. In July 1880, he wrote to his brother, Theo,

It’s true that occasionally I’ve earned my crust of bread, occasionally a friend has given it to me in charity. I’ve lived as I could, as luck would have it. It’s true that I have lost the confidence of various people; it’s true that my financial affairs are in a sorry state; it’s true that the future is just as gloomy; it’s true that I might have done better; it’s true that I’ve lost time in terms of earning my living; it’s true that my studies are in a rather depressing and hopeless condition, and that my failings are greater – infinitely greater – than my achievements. But is that “going downhill”? Is that “doing nothing”?

You will perhaps say, “But why didn’t you continue as they wanted you to, and go to the university?” My only answer is that it cost too much and besides, that future was not much better than the one which I now face. But I must continue on the path I’ve taken. If I don’t do anything, if I don’t study, if I don’t go on seeking any longer, I am lost. Then woe is me. That’s how I look at it: what is necessary is to keep going on.

But you ask, “What is your definite aim?” That aim becomes more definite, will stand out slowly and surely, as the rough draft becomes a sketch and the sketch a picture – little by little, by working seriously on it, by pondering on the first vague idea, the first fleeting and passing thought, so as to fix it. You should know that with evangelists it’s the same as with artists.

His brother, Theo, an art dealer, provided Vincent the financial support that allowed him to continue painting, though his work did not sell!

Here is excerpt from another letter:

As you – Theo – will remember, when you were here, you said that some day I should try to send you a little drawing of a “saleable” nature. However, you must excuse my not knowing precisely when a drawing is of that kind and when it is not. I used to think I knew, but now I see day by day that I’m mistaken.

I thank Vincent van Gogh for his persistence. I thank Theo for his brotherly love and support.

These quotes are from the book, A Kind of Bible, Vincent van Gogh as Evangelist, by Anton Wessels.

If you would like to learn more about Vincent, my favorite documentary is an animation entitled Loving Vincent available on YouTube. You can see it here.

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How could I drive by him?  He looked so vulnerable!  Nonetheless, I drove by him. I couldn’t look at him.  I needed to pay attention to the traffic. I took a left, then maneuvered into the right lane.

“That’s the problem,” I thought to myself.  “Always a reason.  I always need to pay attention to something.  I’m always busy.  One time it’s not safe; another, I’m late; and then there is the feeling that the issues are so complex….  Why even try?.….. 

A vision of humanity in the process of becoming flashed into consciousness.  In one micro-second: “We’re not done yet. We are becoming something better. We are what we do.”

I reset my frame of reference. I wasn’t the “fixer.” All that was needed was to be true in my actions to the vision, a vision of harmonious life.

I instructed myself, “The question isn’t whether I can ‘fix’ anything.  The question is whether I can relate to the context of another human being.”  

It wasn’t too late.  How could I just drive by?  I could go back.  

My ‘rational’ voice persisted with a new objection: “But I would be driving in circles…”  

Hearing that startled me.  I laughed!  

What did I think?  Did I have the illusion that I was going somewhere? As if my life wasn’t one circle after another.   What cost was a moment and a few dollars to me versus the value another may receive simply by being seen? 

I took my right turn, and looked.  I paid attention. The way was clear.  Nothing to hinder me from making a u-turn.

I drove back into the parking lot.  I stood before him.  “Excuse me,” I said.  He opened his eyes and lifted his head.  I pressed some cash into his hand.  He looked at it briefly, and then at me. 

His eyes were remarkable, thin rims of a blue as deep as the Colorado sky.  He started speaking.  His speech sounded like some ancient prophet, chanting psalms of thanks and praise.  His words made me smile.  

The lines I remember were riddles.  “His name is I” and “My name is You”.   I laughed and said, “My name is You, too!”

As I was leaving he said something like, “Pay attention to the vowels:  a, e, i, o, u!   Ae, i o u.  All lower case.”

I’m happy I took a u-turn.  Sometimes turning back is the way forward.

αμήν αμήν αμήν αμήν αμήν αμήν αμήν

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that is my butt.

As I tried to do

the standing-on-one-leg-with-the-other-stretched-at-a-right-angle,

I realized I have this huge

muscle I never use!

Starting with infinity…

How are we to understand God?

My remembrance last night when going to bed --
that saying my prayers wasn't "to please God", 

that is, wasn't because I am "supposed to," 
but rather because 

Saying them changes me.

I rolled over onto my knees.  

Suddenly I realized I was in "rabbit" position!  

That is the yoga position I like so much, 
the one that energizes me.  

This is the 
One that opens 
the spaces 
Between my vertebrae

I’m sharing this YouTube “short” because it carries a nugget of truth.

In The Archaeology of Mind: Neuroevolutionary Origins of Human Emotions, co-authors Jaak Panksepp and Lucy Biven describe the RAGE circuit as an “energized feeling.” Energized, indeed!

Photo by Sander Sammy on Unsplash

The nugget (and the photo above) showcase what I consider the “misuse” of anger - biting your own fingers.

Anger has its positives. Anger activates energy. It focuses attention. It signals the need for some sort of change. The RAGE circuit has a purpose in survival. Anger is a natural emotional reaction governed by the sympathetic nervous system, a subsystem of the autonomic nervous system.

The question isn’t whether anger is right or wrong. The question is what you do when you find yourself angry.

To me, the nugget of this short is the paradoxical negative consequence of holding onto anger.

Holding it is corrosive - to your heart, your health, your creativity, your well-being.

On the other hand, redirecting the “energized feeling” towards positive change allows the energy to flow.

The trick is to become aware. To become aware that you are angry.

Why? So you can use your awareness to direct your thoughts away from the explosive feelings and towards “how can I use this energized feeling creatively?”

We intentionally redirect our thoughts to do this. That is the executive function of consciousness. All we need to do is reactivate our parasympathetic system.

Why? In the words of Stephen W. Porges in his book, The Pocket Guide to the Polyvagal Theory: The Transformative Power of Feeling Safe, “The physiological states that support defense are incompatible with those that support creativity and expansive [thinking].” In other words, to come up with plans to remediate an unwanted situation, start by activating the parasympathetic system.

A hint: Deep belly breathing activates the parasympathetic nervous system. This happens automatically. Some of the vagus nerve endings that trigger the parasympathetic system reside in the lower diaphram.

By the way, the parasympathetic nervous system is also known as the system that promotes health, growth and restoration.

We are actually wired for well-being. Wonderfully made, aren’t we?

Cat comforting Sam after his fall.

Jazz don't happen cuz
        notes are wrong
                                      or right
(There’s rhythm, too, 
                                   and blues)

What notes come after?   
                That’s the key, (don’t you see?)
       Catch the play, tune the song, 
                      jiggle jong,
                                           take flight!

And that again 
          through darkest night
                swirling deep….
                       sweeping wide….
                                 sing the song....
                                        longing drawn...
                                                        carried on…
 By love                    
                       to light.                                    

Cat and Sam

I had never met Mary. All I knew about Mary was the following:

1. It had taken Mary forty years to complete her high school diploma. She had learned she could finish it through a correspondence course. She received her diploma in the mail on January 31, 2024.

2. Mary was one of the first employees of the business Dr. Rona and her husband, Dr. Perry Tankard, had opened, named to honor Dr. Rona’s father, William A. Reeves, the first Black male nurse in North Carolina.

3. A decade later, when the Tankards had closed the business, Mary called Dr. Rona every day and to ask if they had re-opened yet. Mary called every day. For five years. For five years, she called every day.

4. It is when the Tankards re-opened the business that they discovered the difficulty in finding trained nurse’s aides. They founded the W.A.R. Memorial Nurse Aide 1 Training Academy to add to the supply.

Cause and Effect

If Mary hadn’t called Dr. Rona Tankard every day for five years, I wouldn’t be in a Nurse Aide training program now.

I love the program. I love the content of the material. I love the kindness, patience and good humor of our instructor, Ms. Shavonne, RN. I’m inspired by the leadership and encouragement of the Tankards. I am learning from the enthusiasm, companionship, and life experiences of my fellow students.

I asked for a poem to express my appreciation to Miss Mary. Here is the poem.

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Today is the day
We follow the way
We follow the path to love.

We see on the way
The places to play
The smiles that come down from above.

Come down from above
In fresh streams of love
To water our wandering hearts.

For wandering hearts
Is where it all starts
Love another as One.  Many parts.

And what is this love
Beaming down from above
We see in the eye of another?

The eyes of each other
Shine love from above
Love found in each sister and brother.

How can we see this?
And come to such bliss?

As we seek to see Christ in each other.
As we seek to see… 
As we seek to see Christ in each other.

See Christ in each other?
As sister and brother?
And daughter and son and mother?

Just look for it, Dear
For love, it is near.
It grows where it flows…..   Let it flow here.

Your love lights the beam 
       in the other.
Your love lights the beam.
Your love lights the beam 
       in each other.

She lay with head at the foot, kicking her legs over the covers of the unmade bed, crying.   She had just turned sixteen, but her sobs were those of a petulant child.  She wanted it her way, and it wasn’t happening.  She was angry at G-d.

Tears brought no relief.  Her mind was racing.  It dashed from possibility to possibility, like a young chick trying to find an opening large enough to squeeze through a fence.  Or a child rattling doorknobs in hopes of finding one that opened.  She was looking for a strategy, a plan of action.  How could she get around all the precepts and laws?  She wanted it her way!

Her face was towards the wall.  She saw the aging wallpaper covered with flowers detailed in greyed hues of blue, green and brown, twining in a pattern that climbed and enfolded.  Her cheeks were damp with salty tears, but her sobs were dry, forced.  Tension filled her chest.  She became still, clenched.

“There must be a way!” she thought.  “There must be a way I can outsmart G-d!”

Then she heard her thought.  “Outsmart G-d?  What am I thinking?”  Suddenly, everything became clear.  She understood. She laughed, amazed at her silliness.  The tension subsided.  She felt copasetic.

Grandfather and granddaughter, heads titled towards the sky

Much later she learned a word for this kind of understanding.  It was ineffable, an understanding that can’t be put into words.  It can’t be put into words because it is the source of words.  It can’t be known because it is the source of knowing. 

She didn’t understand how this worked, but it explained things in a way that was meaningful to her.  It explained strange things that she felt to be the pillars of well-being, for herself and all that was around her.  Things that seemed to float in categories that were hard to define.  Things that she was able to think about without understanding.  Things like infinity and love and forgiveness.  These things seemed to work. She just didn’t understand how.

She liked things that worked.  She had spent her childhood paying attention to what worked and what didn’t.   Sometimes things worked in her family, and sometimes they didn’t.  Sometimes it was like heaven, and sometimes it was crazy and frightening with no relief in sight.  In the morning, it seemed that there was always forgiveness. 

She craved understanding how to keep it in the heaven-like flow all of the time.   She experimented to see what worked and what didn’t.  She got her ideas from bits she picked up from her parents and teachers, and from the books she read.

She didn’t understand many of the things, but they were repeated often enough that when she came to experience them, suddenly she would remember and come to an idea of how they worked and their significance.  Things like, “Honey attracts more flies than vinegar,” “To thine own self be true,” “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” “Blowing out someone else’s candle doesn’t make yours shine any brighter,” “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again!” “A stitch in time saves nine,” “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” 

She read lots of books.  Her favorites were by authors like Frances Hedges Burnett, George MacDonald, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Louise May Alcott, Elizabeth Coatsworth, Madeline L’Engle, Kate Serady, L. Frank Baum, J. R. R. Tolkien, and the Brontë sisters, Emily and Charlotte.  These books traced stories whose characters behaved in ways that were guided by something hidden, something that remained even when seemingly completely absent. 

To follow this invisible guide seemed fantastic.  She wondered how it worked.  She experimented during the moments of chaos, the times emotions were high and violence was roiling.  She tried it when healing was needed. 

It was simple.  All she needed to do was to take another’s perspective, to consider what was driving them, and to feel sorry for their terrible angst.  She found it worked, so she kept up her experiments.  She didn’t know how it worked, but the results were enough.  The information became data.

Long before, she had found a place in which she could deposit data.  It was where she kept open questions and vague, half-baked ideas.  The place was expansive.  She had come upon it the night she had discovered why she couldn’t understand infinity.  She was a five-year old then, standing on a dark beach in Southampton on Long Island.  Stepping out of the family circle of light, her father had come to check on her.  “Are you cold?” he had asked.

Together they marveled at the star-filled sky.  “It goes on forever,” her father had said.  “It stretches to infinity.”  This was a new word and a new idea.  How could it be?  She had peered deeper and deeper into the night sky, trying to imagine how infinity could have no end. 

Her father returned to the merry circle of family reunion chatter.  Puzzled, she had stood alone in the steady sea breeze, smelling the salt air, listening to the lapping of the waves, feeling her skin grow thick with goose bumps, gazing at the stars.

Eureka! Suddenly she understood why she couldn’t understand.  It made her laugh.  Her father came back to gather her into the warmth of the circle.  Excited, she told him.  “Daddy!  I understand why I can’t understand!  It’s because my head ends here,” she exclaimed, indicating its outline with her hands, “And infinity stretches on forever.  It’s too big to fit in!”

With that, she had discovered a method to understand things she didn’t understand.  Call it “successive approximation.”  It was a satisfaction with “good enough” that allowed her to use ideas whose contours and boundaries were not yet clear.  In using them, she could experiment, look for what worked and begin to discern small differences.

Over time she had continued to explore, assembling facts and feelings, bits of knowledge and an increasing number of open questions.  The aim was integration, to make sense of all of her experience together.  The method was something like the superposition state.  It was an indeterminant way.  She had neither to discard information she couldn’t comprehend, nor to stop in her tracks before continuing.  It was a way of living with “suspended disbelief.”  She could be strangely attracted to things like paradox without understanding why.  To her, the notion of G-d was of that ilk. 

No wonder she laughed when she realized that she had been trying to outsmart G-d! As the Prophet Isaiah asks, “Does the clay say to the one who fashions it, ‘What are you making?’ or ‘Your work has no handles’?”  She had grokked that no matter what image she was able to conceive, it would be her own creation.  Coincidently, that was also the definition of an idol.  She wasn’t interest in idols.  Nope, she was the thing in the process of creation.

Trails of dried salt crinkled her cheeks.  The desire to deal with the mess she had made stirred.  Tickled by her silly ploy, an event already transformed into a lesson of liminal goodness, she felt no waft of shadow.  Rather, the sense of light as present Presence.  A new and deeper understanding of something beyond all she could imagine.

There was no competition with G-d.  The challenge was not outside.  The challenge was within. 

Greetings and welcome to A Living Thing. Here I share a fabric of connections between the sciences, philosophy, and experience to empower your imagination to envision how we may make meaning together in better and better ways.

It’s a view of Life, common life, yours, mine, and the global Geist flows through which we wade through the lens of Energy, Imagination and Time.  Offered with kind intention and invitation for your response.

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