Expectation

From Stuart McDonald

I dedicate these sentiments I wrote (see below) to the people I know who find that they, too, may be beset by doubts, fears and anxieties beyond number, and who find themselves in a place of darkness, shadow and a woefully uncertain future. We live in our present because it is the only now we have.
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Don’t Think That of Me (Stuart McDonald)

You cannot for a moment think of me as this person,
This man,
This wretch or this weakened idiot and fool you think me to be.
For in me, inside of me, as a man of this earth, as torn as the next and as sunken beneath the weight of my own heart as the next,
I am something else.
I am the thing you fear the most,
The faithful one
The determined and recklessly hopeful one.
Yes, quite possibly the most to be feared am I —
He who hopes even when he has none left to himself.
Emptied.
All self gone, all hope gone,
Empty.
Hollowed.
Hardly an echo of hope remains.
Hollow.
And yet I choose to still have something,
Something,
Some foreign and familiar thing
Drifting, floating and sinking within me.
Most to be feared am I.
This shell,
And this husk,
And this body burnt to a crisp.
For you would have me believe that
My fragile shell
Hollowed like a tree trunk carven an eternity ago
Struck down by lightening’s gleeful potency,
Is impotent.
And yet.
And yet, I hope.
My tears stream down my face and I hope.
In spite of my sunken soul and
This withered hand that reaches for someone else’s strength,
And wrapped in the cold blankets of the longest of winters,
I somehow choose some kind of hope.
It is not the kind I am use to.
Not me, my richest of dreams scattered in the winds like ticker tape in days gone by.
No, not like that.
And you think you can crush me?
Perhaps you can.
And perhaps even until the very last minute
I can look outside, beyond the claws
Beyond the mighty pressing weight you claim to possess
And which I certainly feel,
And perhaps even then … When all is fire and heat, and ice and stone all at once,
Even then,
I can gaze beyond this here
Beyond this now.
Even the hopeless can hope.
And I am that man.

The Crocodile Farm

There once was a crocodile farm that had two swamps for the crocodiles to enjoy; one great big one, and one teeny tiny one (that a frog barely fit into).

The crocodile farmer had two beautiful crocodiles who loved to lay in the sun beside the great big swamp to get warm. When they got too warm the two beautiful crocodiles would slide down the bank and into the cool murky water to cool off.

The two beautiful crocodiles loved their great big swamp; they loved sharing it together; they loved it when visitors to the crocodile farm came to look at them from over the fence.

One morning a truck drove up to the gate in the fence, which kept the crocodiles in and the people out. The two beautiful crocodiles, lying in the sun, didn’t move, but kept watch to see what would happen.

The gate opened…and two more crocodiles were taken out of the truck and left inside the fence, with the farmer’s two beautiful crocodiles. One of the new crocodiles was very similar to the two beautiful crocodiles, almost the same size even. The other of the two new crocodiles was HUGE! ENORMOUS! Very Impressive!

The two beautiful crocodiles thought it would be great to have the HUGE! ENORMOUS! Very Impressive! crocodile in their great big swamp with them. They thought that visitors to the farm would love looking at them even more with this HUGE! ENORMOUS! Very Impressive! crocodile sharing their swamp.

But the first-of-the-new-crocodiles was a bit skinny. The two beautiful crocodiles thought he didn’t look strong at all and also thought it was best if this one shared the teeny tiny swamp with the frog.

The HUGE! ENORMOUS! Very Impressive! crocodile enjoyed sunning himself on the bank of the great big swamp and sliding into the water when he got too warm. The two beautiful crocodiles were very glad he was in their swamp, surely the visitors to the farm would love seeing two beautiful crocodiles and one HUGE! ENORMOUS! Very Impressive! crocodile all together.

The first-of-the-new-crocodiles enjoyed being with the frog. They became great friends. But this crocodile couldn’t enjoy the teeny tiny swamp. There wasn’t even enough room or water for the frog and definitely not enough room or water for the crocodile. Some times the first-of-the-new-crocodiles became so hot that he got sick because he couldn’t slide into the murky water of the swamp to cool off. But the frog would sit beside him and they would share stories together about all the swamps and farms they had lived on and about their families. They were very great friends.

One day the crocodile farmer brought some visitors to look over the fence at his crocodiles. The visitors watched the two beautiful crocodiles and the HUGE! ENORMOUS! Very Impressive! crocodile sunning themselves on the bank and sliding into the murky water. These three crocodiles heard them saying how much they liked being able to see them there.

Not many visitors looked over the fence at the first-of-the-new-crocodiles and the frog. But they were happy being friends and the first-of-the-new-crocodiles began to sing while the frog jumped a dance to his song.

When the visitors to the farm heard the first-of-the-new-crocodiles sing they moved to his end of the fence to listen. They loved hearing the song and watching the frog dance.

After the farmer and the visitors left, the two beautiful crocodiles had a think.

They thought that the visitors liked seeing that they were beautiful; and seeing the HUGE! ENORMOUS! Very Impressive! crocodile; and enjoyed hearing the first-of-the-new-crocodiles’ song; and were amused watching the frog dance.

So, the crocodiles and the frog all decided that they would share the great big swamp because they each were special – beautiful, HUGE!, musical and funny.

They all became friends and they all had visitors come to see and hear them at the crocodile farm. Which made the farmer very pleased.

 

6/7/2014

Gina Marie

 

 

The Seed

A seed was planted in good soil, unseen by anyone, in a personal act of love by one who desired to watch it grow and flourish and become what it was designed and planted to be.

The seed began to shoot and sprout up through the soil that had been prepared by the sower.

The sower then employed a variety of people to feed and nurture and protect and make space for the seed. The seed, once dead, now alive with fresh green growth, full of vibrancy and enthusiasm to become and produce all it was designed and destined to be.

 

The bank manager knew that growth comes from financial investment. So he surrounded and covered the small green shoots with money. But the sun could not break through to give the shoots the vital nourishment they required to continue to grow.

The librarian knew that growth comes from reading and gaining new information. She loved books of good quality so she surrounded and covered the small green shoots and the money with fine leather-bound books full of knowledge. But the rain could not penetrate the beautiful leather to moisten the good soil and nourish the seed with its roots beneath the surface, which was necessary for its growth.

The vermin controller knew that growth comes when protected from predators. So he covered the small green shoots and the money and the books with wire and a baited wooden trap to keep at bay and catch any that would come to devour the shoots or dig up the seed before it could grow to maturity. But the shoots were smothered and had no space to feed and grow.

The agronomist knew that growth comes with the absence of weeds. So she sprayed over the small green shoots and the money and the books and the wire and wooden traps. But the good soil became poisoned and made the roots and shoots sick.

 

And beneath all the good intentions, the new plant began to wither.

 

The sower was watching the seed he planted and those he employed to feed and nurture and protect and make space for the seed to grow…

…and his heart was breaking.

The sower had prepared the soil, the space, and the nourishment for the seed to grow to maturity as it was designed to, but chose to share the joy and fulfillment of contributing to its growth with others.

 

The sower called together the bank manager, the librarian, the vermin controller and the agronomist to discuss the withering of the plant.

To the bank manager, the sower explained the need for sunlight to reach the shoots to nourish them. Though he meant well, the new plant was malnourished.

To the librarian, the sower explained that the beautiful books prevented the rain from moistening the soil. Though she meant well, the new plant was dying of thirst.

To the vermin controller, the sower explained that the protective measures were smothering the plant. Though he meant well, the new plant was suffocating.

To the agronomist, the sower explained that poisoning the weeds in turn poisoned the soil in which the seed was planted. Though she meant well, the new plant was sick with poison.

 

“I chose each of you for the good you might contribute to the growth of this seed I have planted. But you have each been working independently instead of interdependently. The librarian can contribute to an informed approach to vermin and weed control, plant and soil nourishment. The bank manager can contribute to financial provision and management for this education and the necessary resources. The vermin controller and agronomist can use their new education and resources to promote the plant’s growth instead of its demise.”

 

As each one stepped back and observed the tender plant, they were able to recognize what its needs might be. In turn they also enquired each of the other to learn from observations they may not have recognized, or had prior knowledge of to have even been considered.

Most importantly…

…as a team in constant communication , those employed for service to the growth of the new plant – in fact to service of the plant itself – began to listen for and hear what the little plant was telling them. They heard and could see when the plant needed moisture, or sunlight or protection or space; because they were attending to the needs of the seed instead of what they wanted to give or to do.

 

The little plant grew tall and strong and was borne of new seed so that more plants could grow, providing clean air and beauty to enjoy.

 

The workers and the sower lived with much joy and with a profound and unfathomable sense of accomplishment as they witnessed the growth, and maturity, and provision, and beauty of the little seed, which became great.

 

Gina Schmidt 26/6/2014

Today

The sun came up today and…

Showers fell around and…

Children ate their meals and…

They’re tucked in bed just now.

 

Today we all stayed dry and…

Today we all are warm and…

Today we all kept company and…

Not all alone and scorned.

 

I thought, today, that I had needs and…

Desires, today, which must be filled and…

How, today, might show a spotless house and…

Today, I and family, appear as billed.

 

But, today, we’re fed and watered and…

Today, have family and home and…

We’ve air to breathe, plans to conceive and…

Heart and mind and soul.

 

I may not be whom I imagined and…

Life may not be as I had prayed and…

I may wish for something different but…

I am who I am TODAY.

 

 

 

 

Holistic Medical and Educational Practice

From a Facebook post of Stuart McDonald, Exercise Physiologist :

…when a person comes to you, you are not treating depression or addiction or mania, nor are you treating a broken leg, a broken marriage or a ligament injury. You are working with a person – a full, embodied, thinking, feeling, well-stocked-with-resources person who will most likely see things differently – and who knows what that means or what they need to see? – just because they have come to be with you for a while.

The rigidity and the harm that this rigidity does to patients concerns me greatly. Locking them into a diagnosis, branding them as this or that, being certain that if there are these symptoms or those then it must mean that such and such an outcome is the only likely – or even possible – one.

The greatest of my clinical teachers (Daryl Hobbs, Anthony Lett, Peter Thorneycroft, David Wilson) have shown me the wondrous world of grey and multicolour. The world of waiting without assumption and watching with curiosity as to how this experience may play out in their life today. Or tomorrow. Or maybe last Tuesday.

There is a need for concrete – and there is a need to dance in the leaves once the concrete is set.

The same could be said of education. Unfortunately ‘blanket’ systems appear to be the most efficient, but usually don’t attend the whole therefore making the efficiency only an illusion.

This, Too, Is Ok…

One of my children had a favourite type of toy; a series of multiple sized plastic fish, in a scoop shape so that they stacked together. These ‘fish’ went everywhere. They were the best kind of favourite or security toy as they were able to be washed regularly throughout the day – in the bath, in the sink. Whenever washing of the child took place, so did washing of the fish. Although the washing had to be taught as part of the bathing etc. process, it was not automatic. As I said, the fish went everywhere. Learning to climb the ladder of the slide was done, fish in hand. Swinging was done, fish in hand. The fish went to kindergarten, to church (and tapped out the rhythm of the songs), weddings…everywhere.

It turned out, that the ‘scoop’ shape was a large part of the attraction. As the scoops from the ground coffee made their way into the toy collection, they became favourites as well. As did the washed scoops from the laundry detergent, and eventually we moved on to egg shells. Not plastic, real out-of-the-bum-of-a-chook egg shells. Every time I/we cooked with eggs, the most complete halves of the shells were washed and left on the window sill to dry. As one shell broke, it was replaced with another from the window sill. Eventually, vegetable peelings were the go, and as this one would fall asleep in the car the peelings would collect beside and behind car seats and on the floor.

Though none of these things were a bother to me in themselves (as my son with hair clips and nail polish were not, nor my girls wearing tiaras and wings to church or weddings, and one with band-aids on clothes), I was concerned that some learning was actually hindered by the constant presence of something in the hand, about an obsessive attachment to the objects themselves (which was in the nature of the child in question) and perhaps a few other considerations. So we embarked on a progressive process of experience and detachment.

One step we walked through was to leave the fish in one’s bag at kindergarten, and take them out again for the trip home. Once we got to egg shells, this particular child was part of the cleaning process (though probably only once in a while, I did most of this). We then began to use whole eggs to play with in a bowl. We would practice cracking them open into the bowl with, hopefully, two whole halves. Then my child was allowed to ‘play’ with it all, swishing hands in the raw egg, stirring etc. Once the play was completed, to end the experience the shell was crushed and stirred in as part of the fun. The shell was then known to have been destroyed and told that it could not be repaired. The shells on the sill were still available for a time while this play continued. Eventually I told this child how many shells were left on the window sill, and that once they had all been broken I would not be leaving any more up there. They were counted down as we went through them, giving fair, advanced notice of the time/day when they would no longer be available. The plastic toys were still available until the child grew out of the desire for them, as children usually do throughout their development.

This all happened over some years. It was not accomplished in a week, or a month. It was not begun because I, or someone else, was uncomfortable or embarrassed with this child’s preferred method or objects of play. It was not attended to so that this child would conform and be like any other child (or, heaven forbid, any adult). We took this child’s personality and temperament, age and interests, foreseeable future needs and potential desires into account. Then thought outside of the square, while looking into the child and our own family life.

And the result…a practically grown, independent, well-adjusted young adult – who just doesn’t happen to be able to see.

Don’t fret, be creative and imaginative… this, too, is ok.

Yes I’m Okay.

Guest post poem written by my daughter, Emma-Mae Schmidt. 1/9/2011.

 

Some may not think this,

but lots certainly might.

How do I get on with life,

without any sight?

So I think I’ll sum up,

in a fun kind of way,

exactly what is wrong,

with the sighted world today.

“How are you darl,”

you often say.

Wow, that conversation really made my day!

Please understand,

I’m not three years old.

Oh how many times,

do you have to be told?

You say I’m smart, amazing and clever,

blah blah blah,

yeah righto,

whatever.

But don’t you get it?

I’m just like you.

Every-day things aren’t that hard to do.

And every day,

or nearly every day.

“Are you okay?”

you often say.

Oh just how can I politely say,

yes I’m okay,

please go away.

 

And when you speak in that childish tone,

oh sometimes your heads are as hard as stone.

I want to shout “JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!!!”

How hard it is to speak in a patient tone.

You just assume it’s help I need,

no matter how I beg and plead.

You take me in your direction,

like a criminal arrested for inspection.

I tell you for the millionth time,

yes I’m fine.

And my body’s mine.

 

What is it? Are you half awake?

How long will all this learning take?

Just give it a break,

for goodness sake!

 

Please, I don’t need your sympathy.

It doesn’t matter that I can’t see.

You’re so thick and you irritate me,

sometimes I wonder,

if it’s you that can’t see.

 

Now the aim of this rave is not to offend,

no. It’s merely to warn you my friend.

My blindness I’d be happy to lend,

if it would make you comprehend.

You ask “how do I live without sight?”

I really don’t want to put up a fight.

So I’ve moaned and groaned the day away,

now it’s time to have your say.

“Are you okay?”

you often say.

Yes I’m okay,

well I am anyway…

But are you okay?