What Really Matters, pt. II [Titi Fefi]

¡Hola! Everybody...
Today is a repost. I was thinking about her once and decided to keep her memory alive. Last night, she came to me in a dream...

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-=[ Gratitude ]=-

Can you walk on water? You have done no better than a straw. Can you soar in the air? You have done no better than a fly. Conquer your heart; then you may become somebody.

- Ansari of Heart

I will forever be indebted to my elders -- my predecessors. From the men, especially my father, I owe the gift of love for knowledge. It is fashionable, in our shallow, consumer-based society, to look down upon learned people, but I will be forever grateful to my father and the rest of my family for helping instill in me a thirst for knowledge. Philosopher means lover of knowledge. It was through the masculine aspect of my upbringing that I was given my mind, the ability to construct and deconstruct logic, the skill of asking questions, the knack for intellectual discovery -- these were all gifts. I am not saying these are essentially male traits. I do think that penetrating awareness is a masculine aspect (which we all possess).

For a long time I thought that it was through the mind that one evolved, but I was only half-right, there was something else I was missing. The other gift, bequeathed to me by the women-warriors in my life, was the gift of the open heart. It was through the feminine aspect of my upbringing that I learned that true liberation cannot happen until the mind and heart are integrated. In some Eastern cultures, there are no separate terms for the mind and the heart -- they are perceived as one and the same. It was mostly the women in my life, through the power of their example, who taught me genuine unconditional love. Many people speak of unconditional love, but few truly know jack shit about it. I am not saying that the domain of the heart is essentially female (it isn’t). I do think that the heart is part of the feminine aspect of our psyches.

I think a large part of social problems today stem from the deconstruction of the concept of the family. What social conservatives today call “family” is really a downsized version of what family has meant for thousands of years. The nuclear family -- the so-called basic family unit consisting of Mother/ Father/ Sister/ Brother -- is new. For most of our shared history, family included aunts, uncles, cousins, non biological (“adopted”) members of a larger social network, and sometimes even whole communities. It was within these extended family structures that one learned about unconditional love, community responsibility, and connectedness in ways that can never be possible within our downsized, alienated, and hectic times.

What are social networking sites but a modern attempt to reclaim the larger, more expansive meaning of family and community? It is as if we sense a loss of connection in our materially richer but increasingly insular, and sometimes desperate modern lives, and we reach out...

I was fortunate enough to be raised in a large, extended family. We were close because we had to be -- my parents and their siblings were first-generation Puerto Ricans thrust into a hostile society that neither cared for nor welcomed them. So we stuck together: most of us lived in the same building and/ or city block and my cousins and I were raised more as sisters and brothers rather than dispensable family members. I often joked that if a bombed were dropped on 704 E. 5th St., the Rosarios would have ceased to exist. Our extended family shared resources, pooled money, served as social safety nets for one another, and the responsibility of raising the children fell on everyone.

However, there was one woman who sacrificed the most. My paternal aunt, Josefa, or as we all affectionately called her “Titi Fefi.” She raised everyone’s children. All the adults would work, but Titi Fefi’s central role was to take care of the children, make sure they were dressed, prepare hot breakfasts and lunches, soothe scrapes, and mediate arguments. In effect, Titi Fefi was everyone’s surrogate mother -- she was a universal mother.

She never asked for anything in return and carried her burden mostly without complaint. I can honestly say that without her contributions, our family would have been hard put to survive. I could also say that most of our successes were partially (and often almost fully) connected to Tit Fefi’s sacrifices. As the children got older, she would eventually work as a washer-woman and her raw hands, the outer layer of her skin often stripped from over exposure to laundry chemicals, were often the reason why Junior could buy books for college, or I could have those shoes she wanted, or Jaimito got a Christmas gift. We sometimes never even knew it was Titi Fefi’s doing, I honestly believe Titi didn't see it as giving, her generosity of spirit came as natural as breathing. It was what was done, period.

Eventually, as is often the case with upward mobility, the family would disperse to different parts. First, it was my uncle, Jaime, who moved to a Jersey City house on earnings culled from years toiling at a factory job. Then my older cousin, Junior, would finish college (a first) and move his new family and mother, Titi Sylvia, to a small upstate community. Little by little, everyone left our Lower East Side enclave, eventually leaving Titi Fefi alone. Well, actually, my father and I lived with Titi Fefi, but most of the family moved on.

We were always close as a family and the holidays were often celebrated at Titi Fefi’s house because her love was such a magnet for good feeling. No matter how successful the rest of the family became, the older generation always made it clear that family came before individual success or material gain. They never forgot how important cohesion was for the family’s survival in those early days and they kept that message alive.

In time, the elders passed on, falling victim to old age and disease. As the younger generation moved farther away, the family reunions became less frequent. The children of the second generation didn’t grow up with the same values or with the experience of an extended family, and soon we all separated into little units, apart from one another. There were no more huge and festive family reunions, and Titi Fefi would now often spend the holidays alone (at the time, I was more interested in chasing insanity).

Eventually, I would leave too, traveling, my quest -- despoiling maidens, pillaging, and plundering my way through life. I was exploring the margins of sane living and I was usually in and out of her life, meaning Titi Fefi was mostly alone. Most of us, including myself forgot -- we forgot the raw hands, the sacrifices, and the unwavering love. Titi Fefi never had children of her own, but we were all her children.... somehow. Yet many of us forgot. Or maybe we didn’t forget, perhaps we were too busy, I don’t know. Life sometimes does that, you know, we forget about the important things. Sometimes we are so busy trying to make a living, we forget to live.

She never complained; never uttered words of regret. She did what she had to do, just like breathing, it was for her.

I am no angel in this drama. I used Titi Fefi’s kindness for my selfish needs and often exploited it. Titi Fefi’s home was my main base, the place I could always come to when I needed a place to live and her door was always open for me. I always had a key. And when I would appear out of nowhere, the only question asked when I entered through that door was if I was hungry. Eventually, my life would change and I would enter into a stable and loving relationship, but I would always visit Titi Fefi, at least once a week.

Oh, how her face would light up when I would come visit! I’m certain that even if I were a sexually motivated serial killer Titi Fefi would still love me just as much. That was who she was -- she was love incarnate, Everybody’s Mother.

By the time I divorced, Titi Fefi was in her late 80s and suffering from various infirmities, one of them being the onset of dementia. She had lost some cognitive functioning to the point that the family was concerned with her safety. I moved in with her, thinking it would help both of us.

Big mistake! LOL

For the last two years of her life, I lived with Titi Fefi and it wasn’t easy. It was almost like taking care of an unruly child. It sucked up my life and sometimes I was so resentful. Sometimes she would wake up in the middle of the night and accuse me of plotting to take over her apartment. Other times, she would become disoriented and ask me where she was. Still other times she would have long discussions with me thinking I was my deceased father (whom she raised as her own child). It wasn’t easy and I was losing heart.

There were good times too: her feigned outrage when I would ask her about her sex life, for example. She would laugh at that. And we would spend hours talking about our family history. Folks, if you have an elder in your life, take the time to ask them about your history. I guarantee you, it’s a whole lot better than any of those fuckin’ idiotic “reality” shows.

Then one day I found her crying. And she talked, and talked, and it was as if she was doubting the sacrifices -- if they had been worth it. No one remembered her, no one visited her, she said. And all my anger and resentment about taking care of her dissipated and I knew right then that if I were to have carried her on my back for the rest of her life, I still wouldn’t have repaid my debt to her. So we stayed together, Titi and I. One day, I went out and stayed out the entire night (it got so I didn't have a social life) and I got a phone call the next morning that Titi had fallen during the night. She spent the entire night on the floor until her home health aide arrived in the morning. I felt fucked up about that.

Eventually I would become resentful and angry with my family for abandoning her, so I had planned to make this speech at Titi’s burial. When I explained my idea, she asked me to promise her that I would not say anything negative. She made me promise that I wouldn’t start any shit at her burial. She taught me that day that for some people, that’s as it good as it gets and sometimes they suffer a great price for not being a little deeper. She taught me that you give because it is as natural as breathing, not because you’re doing something, or expecting something in return.

Not knowing what to do, but knowing that there was something important here, I asked her, “If there is message for the family that you have, what would it be? Because, like it or not, I’m going to say something when they bury your ass.” After crossing herself and admonishing me for speaking of such things, this is what she said:

“I want this to be my message to my family that I love so much: Tell them that family is the most important thing in life, that no matter what you become or what you do, it means nothing if you don’t have family. Tell them that.”

This was her message and her life's work and I give this message to you today because, while it might not be deep, or earth-shattering, and you might not even get it, it is the most important message you will ever hear and you will never understand it fully until you become that message.

Her last admonition to me was to leave her alone because she was tired and she didn’t want to answer my teasing questions (“Titi! Do you use condoms?!!” “Are you practicing safe sex?!!”). I was surprised that she refused to eat the pizza I had brought (her favorite treat). Sensing her tiredness, I kissed her cheek goodnight and she rolled over to go to sleep.

She smiled…

She passed away during the night and the next morning, when I went to wake her up, she had that same look on her face.

This is for all of us who have known, and will know, the pain of loss, and for those of us who have disconnected from our hearts. There are some today who may not have anyone, or whose family is far away or gone. There are many of us confused about this world gone slightly mad and deep inside perhaps we despair, uneasy smiles on our faces.

My aunt’s power of example was that the only sane response to such despair and uncertainty is to love -- to reach out and become engaged, enriching the lives of those around us in the process.

May you all find it in your hearts to give gratitude and cherish the gifts we are all given.

Though you may not know it, you are loved. You are loved for being who you are, right now this moment, and you will always be loved in that way.

Eddie

Sunday Sermon [Grace]

¡Hola! Everybody…
My readers are probably already familiar with my sickening claim that this moment is perfectly unfolding, right? I mean, I only mention it at least once a week. Today, however, I’m going prove my point beyond a shadow of a doubt. I first heard this at a conference several years ago and ran into again recently. Every once in a while I repost this, mostly just to remind myself to maintain some measure of gratitude. Grace isn’t something imposed by a God-in-the-sky fabrication. Grace is the manifestation of the cultivation of gratitude.

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-=[ Perfectly Unfolding... ]=-

Yes, follow your bliss, but (dammit!) seize your passion!

Whether you want to own up to it, not -- whether you’re aware of it, or not -- literally thousands of things go right for you every day, beginning the moment you wake up. Yup. For starters, through some magic you really don’t understand, you’re still breathing and your heart is beating, in spite of the fact that you’ve been unconscious for many hours. You wake up and breathe in the air that is a mix of gasses that’s just right for your body’s needs, as it was before you fell asleep.

You open your eyes and you can see! Light of many colors floods your eyes, are registered by nerves that took billions of years to perfect. Furthermore, the interesting gift of these beautiful colors comes to you courtesy of an unimaginably huge globe of fire, the sun, which continually detonates nuclear reactions in order to convert its body to light and heat and energy for your personal use.

Do you realize that the sun is located at the precise distance from you to be of perfect service? One inch either way and you would either burn or freeze. And here’s another blessing -- and this is really good for those of us pining away for a partner or “soulmate” -- everyday, the sun appears to rise over the eastern horizon right on schedule everyday, as it has long before you were born. Talk about trustworthiness and commitment!

How about the day you were born, do you remember that? It was a difficult miracle that involved many people who worked hard on your behalf. No less miraculous is the fact that you have continued to grow since then, with millions of new cells being born inside you to replace the old ones that die. And check this out: it happens automatically! You don’t even have to think about it!

Amazingly, the water your body needs so much of comes out of your faucets in an even flow, with the volume you desire, and either as cold or hot as you desire. It’s pure and clean; you’re confident there are no parasites lurking in it. There is someone somewhere making sure you will continue to receive this gift of water without interruption for as long as you require it.

Look at your hands. They are beautiful. They’re amazing creations that allow you to carry out hundreds of tasks with great force and intricate grace. They relish the pleasure of touching thousands of different textures, and they’re beautifully perfect.

In your closet there are many clothes you like to wear. Have you ever stopped to think who gathered the materials to make the fabrics they’re made of? Who infused them with color, and how did they do it? Who sewed them for you?

In your kitchen, there’s tasty food in secure packaging waiting for you. Many people you have never met worked hard to grow it, process it, and get it to the store where you purchased it. This bounty of food is unprecedented in the history of the world.

Your appliances are working flawlessly. Despite the fact that they work on a power that would kill you instantly if you were to touch it directly, you have perfect confidence that you’re not in danger. Why? If I may say so, your faith in the people who designed these machines is impressive.

Wait! There’s more… much more! At this very moment, gravity is working exactly as it always has, neither pulling too much or with too little force. How did that little piece of magic ever come about? It doesn’t matter, because it will continue to function with amazing efficiency whether you understand it or not.

At the same time, a trillion other elements of evolution’s design are expressing themselves perfectly this very moment. Plants are growing, rivers are flowing, clouds are drifting, winds are blowing, animals are reproducing. Though you may take it for granted, you relish the ever-shifting sensations of light and temperature as they interact with your body.

There’s more! You can smell odors, hear sounds, and taste tastes, many of which are quite pleasing. You can think (well.. some of us can). Though some of us don’t use it, we have the extraordinary gift of self-awareness. You can feel feelings! Can you even begin to understand the magnitude of being blessed with that mysterious and wonderful capacity? Moreover, as a bonus you’re able to visualize an infinite array of images, some of which represent things that don’t exist.

You have the gift of language. Millions of people have collaborated for untold centuries in order to cultivate a system of communication that you understand well. Speaking and reading gives you great pleasure and a tremendous sense of power.

Want to travel to some far off land? There are a number of machines to choose from in order to get there. Cars, planes, buses, trains, subways, ship, helicopter, or bike -- whatever you choose, you have the utmost confidence that it will work efficiently. Multitudes of people who are now dead devoted themselves to perfecting these modes of travel. Thousands more still alive devote themselves to ensuring that these benefits will keep serving you.

Sure, we are now aware that in the future shrinking oil reserves and global warming may impose limitations on your ability to use cars and other machines to travel. But you also know that many smart and idealistic people are right now diligently working to develop alternative fuels to protect the environment.

Perhaps you own an MP3 player, a fantastic invention that has dramatically enhanced your ability hear a vast array of beautiful sounds at low cost.

Let’s say you have been awake for a couple of hours. At least a hundred things have already gone right for you. If three of those hundred things had not gone right -- your toaster was broken, there was no hot water, or your car didn’t start -- you might feel today the universe has conspired against you, that your luck is bad, that nothing’s right and life sucks. Yet the fact remains that the vast majority of everything is working with breath-taking perfection and consistency. Taking this into consideration, you would be a deluded creature to think that life is primarily an ordeal.

Love,

Eddie

Three Thanksgiving Dreams

Class: I decided it's TIME to check-in. I have Three Thanksgiving Dreams to share with you.

I'm still rocking it, and every now and then I peek-in on you. Yes, I EVEN read your posts. Not everyday--but every now and then when I need a good laugh. You're good, so good. You make me proud!

Feeling less abandoned? There...there! I'll always return to you, my naughty students.

Since the holiday of gratitude is nearly here, it feels appropriate to show up and post.

However, my desire is to whine and complain.

Seriously--don't you want to bitch a little too? Must we follow protocol and eat turkey & dressing with cranberry sauce and be such Good Little Bloggers?

Nah! Not us! Not my followers and readers! We're a bit different, eh?!

If you're like me, you've either got family or extended family/friends going through some hard times right now. Or maybe you're experiencing your own challenges?

If you're like me, you might feel like kicking a little a**.

If you're like me, you want the crazy to go away--for good! Or at least for 1,000 years.

If you're like me, you wanna order "snickers with hot fudge gravy". Just for the hell of it.

Amongst many subjects which are troubling/irritating/surreal/disgusting/bizarre/infuriating:

TSA...banks...money...cholera...bullies...foreclosures...poverty...famine...wars
...and last but not least, Dancing With The Stars! I mean...seriously!!!! WTF!

Thanksgiving is *supposed* to be a time for counting our blessings and feeling gratitude, right?

Yes, I feel grateful as I'm healthy, fabulous, gorgeous, sexy, rich, generous, kind, loving, blah blah blah. No, I don't feel grateful for the misfortunes of others and the state of the world. Since we're all ultimately connected as the Internets have so clearly confirmed, how can I be happy when there's so many desperate, disowned and discouraged people?!

What can bloggers do besides sign online petitions, vent, disclose, donate and whistleblow?

If we bloggers are indeed the agents of change we imagine ourselves to be, isn't there something more we can do? Let me know your thoughts in the comments.

Oh yeh, I forget. Most of my readers don't comment. Instead, my devoted students email me because they don't want their names to show up on my blog. *Fear* Heh heh. I get it.

Nevermind.

Back to the topic at hand...

My Thanksgiving Dream is for everyone to have their own Oprah Santa.

My Thanksgiving Dream is for all to be free, be fed, be loved, & be fully, outrageously ALIVE!

My Thanksgiving Dream is for celebrations to spread across the lands as we Break On Through To The Other Side and Remember Who We Truly Are.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Oh, and don't forget:

Free Report: The BIG Solution to All Your Problems

Just kidding...

Three Thanksgiving Dreams

Class: I decided it's TIME to check-in. I have Three Thanksgiving Dreams to share with you.

I'm still rocking it, and every now and then I peek-in on you. Yes, I EVEN read your posts. Not everyday--but every now and then when I need a good laugh. You're good, so good. You make me proud!

Feeling less abandoned? There...there! I'll always return to you, my naughty students.

Since the holiday of gratitude is nearly here, it feels appropriate to show up and post.

However, my desire is to whine and complain.

Seriously--don't you want to bitch a little too? Must we follow protocol and eat turkey & dressing with cranberry sauce and be such Good Little Bloggers?

Nah! Not us! Not my followers and readers! We're a bit different, eh?!

If you're like me, you've either got family or extended family/friends going through some hard times right now. Or maybe you're experiencing your own challenges?

If you're like me, you might feel like kicking a little a**.

If you're like me, you want the crazy to go away--for good! Or at least for 1,000 years.

If you're like me, you wanna order "snickers with hot fudge gravy". Just for the hell of it.

Amongst many subjects which are troubling/irritating/surreal/disgusting/bizarre/infuriating:

TSA...banks...money...cholera...bullies...foreclosures...poverty...famine...wars
...and last but not least, Dancing With The Stars! I mean...seriously!!!! WTF!

Thanksgiving is *supposed* to be a time for counting our blessings and feeling gratitude, right?

Yes, I feel grateful as I'm healthy, fabulous, gorgeous, sexy, rich, generous, kind, loving, blah blah blah. No, I don't feel grateful for the misfortunes of others and the state of the world. Since we're all ultimately connected as the Internets have so clearly confirmed, how can I be happy when there's so many desperate, disowned and discouraged people?!

What can bloggers do besides sign online petitions, vent, disclose, donate and whistleblow?

If we bloggers are indeed the agents of change we imagine ourselves to be, isn't there something more we can do? Let me know your thoughts in the comments.

Oh yeh, I forget. Most of my readers don't comment. Instead, my devoted students email me because they don't want their names to show up on my blog. *Fear* Heh heh. I get it.

Nevermind.

Back to the topic at hand...

My Thanksgiving Dream is for everyone to have their own Oprah Santa.

My Thanksgiving Dream is for all to be free, be fed, be loved, & be fully, outrageously ALIVE!

My Thanksgiving Dream is for celebrations to spread across the lands as we Break On Through To The Other Side and Remember Who We Truly Are.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Oh, and don't forget:

Free Report: The BIG Solution to All Your Problems

Just kidding...

Sunday Sermon [Love]

¡Hola! Everybody,
It’s still summer… ::arches eyebrow::

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-=[ Love ]=-

Love is a remembrance

Yup. You read that right: the Big “L.”

The word we all are scared to admit to it even when we’re feeling it in the very fiber of our being. Some people will go for most of their lives and hardly ever utter the word to those they most love. It’s even scarier in romantic relationships.

We worry and go strategic:

What if I tell her I love her? Will she reject me? Will she use it against me? Will she think me to clingy? Will he say he loves me too? And what if he doesn’t say it?!!

Yup. The Big Hairy Nasty Obscene “L” Word.

We’re all afraid to say it. Or if we do say it, we’ll play semantics with it.

We’ll draw distinctions, for example, between loving someone and being in love. Apparently, there is a difference. LOL! No, I’m not that dense. I realize that when people make that distinction, they’re pointing out the difference between the attraction of the feeling of love and actually committing to it and letting it flower.

Or maybe not. I don’t know.

Personally, I’m a complicated man and so I have to keep things simple. For me love is an action word, it’s something you do. When I tell you I love you it means I’m going to work at loving you. It means I am committed to loving you by acting – by my behavior. That means that I will attempt to accommodate your feelings, be considerate, protect you, make love to you, compromise with you, do the things I know makes you feel wanted and valued (and yes, probably drive you to distraction *grin*). That’s what the Big “L” word means to me. When I tell you I love you, it means I’m walking alongside you on this journey called life and all that that implies.

So, I don’t know if there’s a huge difference there for me between love and being in love. For me it’s like being pregnant: you’re never half pregnant. You’ll never hear a woman say, “I’m pregnant, but not in pregnant.” That’s why I stopped making that distinction. When I love, it’s with my soul, nothing held back, caution thrown to the wind. Believe me, in this life it’s the only risk worth taking. Of course, it doesn’t mean I ain’t shitting in my pants the whole time because, yeah (duh!) it’s fuckin’ scary opening up like that.

To make things worse, I become unbearable because sometimes I really want to sabotage the whole thing and in that way not have to do it. I jump, then in mid air, I’m screaming like a bitch because I’m thinking: why do I do this love shit, GODDAMIT! And yet I still take the risk because if I outlast my usefulness and they finally come for me to put me in some decrepit nursing home where the nurses will refuse to wipe my ass for hours, I don’t want to be laying there in my shit regretting that I didn’t love in that way -- that I didn’t take the risks.

I think the core issue with love is that it will enter into any mind that truly wants it. Your task is not to seek love, but instead undo the barriers that you erect against it. I’ve heard it said that “Love waits on welcome, not on time.” When you want only love, you will see nothing else. If you could agree with me that love is in part a form of sharing, then how can you find it except through itself? I say, offer it and it will come to you because Love is attracted to itself. Offer hostility or contraction and love cannot exist, for it can only live in a space overflowing with peace.

I have learned that Love is already in me and that I need only to extend it outward. Going back to my perspective on Love as an action for a moment -- that is the action: extending what is there already inside of me. As M. Scott Peck defines it, love is an act of will for the benefit of another. What a fuckin’ awesome revelation.

Love is the most sacred mantra you can ever chant, for Love is the Divine and you could never know one without the other. Integrated, you could never again be unaware of love and Love would never fail to recognize you. And in this recognition, you will live in grace because Grace is the acceptance of Love within a world of hate and fear. In Love you will find gratitude because gratitude is the ring bearer of Love. Where there is one the other must be found.

Love laughs at the foolishness of my defenses for that’s what they are. Love demands we lay down all our weapons. Love without trust is impossible. People always ask me about my motivation for writing in this way. I guess my aim is to offer an example of remembrance -- of reminding people to remember what they really are -- to emphasize that there is no difference between your essence and Love.

If all you did today was catch a glimpse of that remembrance you will have advanced on your path in an immeasurable way. Seek the Love in you, and you will see it everywhere because it is everywhere.

Love,

Eddie

Doing it the Eddie Way

¡Hola! Everybody...
First, no, this post isn’t about anal sex. Get that out of your mind for one second (but hold that thought. LOL).

I wrote the following while going through a particularly challenging period in my life. Just as love and respect attracts safety and creativity, fear and hate attracts needless suffering. Therefore, I’m going to take the lead and post on gratitude. I usually don’t this tagging bullshit, I find it boring. However, I feel this one is worthwhile. This is how it works: if you read this (in whatever form), you have been tagged -- in other words, you have to post a blog (or write in a journal, or present, etc.) on the things you’re grateful for. If you don’t do it, I will use emotional blackmail (or haunt your dreams) or otherwise use whatever tactics to make your internet experience a less than pleasurable one. ::grin::

You been tagged, muthafuckas, now get to expressing gratitude! LOL

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-=[ Gratitude ]=-

“Don’t say such changes cannot happen. A vast freedom could live inside you. A loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth for the table is just an object, but inside the human body, it becomes gladness for being alive!”
-- Rumi

It should go without saying that if you wanted to get somewhere, a good map or accurate directions is a good place to start -- it can make the difference between arriving at your destination with ease, or becoming hopelessly lost. Imagine, for a moment, if a friend raves about a restaurant or club and when you ask your friend for its location, she says, “Just visualize the restaurant clearly. Post a sign on your refrigerator door that says, ‘I can easily and joyfully find any restaurant I want!’ That’s all I need to do!”

I’m sure most people would think such a statement ridiculous -- and they would be correct. But what if my destination is “self-acceptance”? What if all I wanted was to reach a state of inner wholeness that I have never experienced before? Like the restaurant in the above example, I may have heard wonderful things about it, but I had never been there and didn’t know how to get there. Perhaps many of us can relate having been told to, “Just do it. Just accept yourself.” That’s a lot like being told to “Just go to the restaurant,” without the benefit of directions.

Let me just state it as plainly as I can: today, I am grateful for having that direction in my life, for the luxury of getting to and experiencing self-acceptance.

Let’s try another example. What if you ask how to get to a restaurant and you’re told that before you can even begin to find this restaurant you need to spend several months, or even years, thinking about how bad your own cooking is. You need to explore the reasons why you aren’t happy with your own cooking and why you have this need to go to the restaurant. In addition, before you can visit this restaurant, you also have to understand how you became such a bad cook. I would say this is sillier than the previous example.

A common belief is that if we understand a problem well enough, it will simply disappear. Yet in my life, at any given moment, I could’ve articulated the intricate psychodynamics of my $300-a-day heroin habit and still not be able to change.

Today I am grateful for the freedom from the tyranny of thinking and the over analyzing that was the prison of my life -- literally and figuratively -- before I became free.

My life is not about affirmations or positive thinking. Shit, I have tried many times to overcome my limitations by sheer will power -- trying to act or feel different, telling myself over and over that I would be different. But I discovered that is approaching the issue from the outside in -- it’s trying to rearrange the same furniture in order to create something new. It’s a lot like taking pain medication for a broken bone: you might feel better for a little while, but the core issue, the broken bone, hasn’t been addressed.

Today I am grateful for the many people who have helped me do the “inside job” of creating a lasting transformation.

Most of all, I am grateful for having an underlying sense of wholeness and well-being whether or not things are going well in my life in the moment. Even when things seem to be falling apart, I feel resourceful. I have had this experience numerous times and slowly it has become my default way of being. I am grateful for developing and maintaining an inner sense of self, well-being, and wholeness and perhaps a connection with something beyond myself, that sustains me in difficulty as well as in good times. I am grateful for the awareness that this inner sense of fullness and integrity, and a strong resourceful self is available to each of us, and is our own birthright.

I ain’t all that well, believe me (LOL!), and have times of sadness, frustration, of anger and irritability -- that’s part of being human. But I am equally grateful that even in those times I can still have an underlying sense of joy in my ground of being. I have an inner knowing that I have the resources to weather the storms, an unbeatable sense of optimism that I will come out on the other side of my difficulties not only intact, but also wiser and stronger.

What more could I ask of my life?

All of us have personal limitations we have struggled to overcome. With some of them, it seems that no matter what we do, they won’t go away. Most of us turn away from those parts of ourselves we don’t like. We feel shame and try to repress feelings we don’t want to have. We try to “think positively” and push away negative thoughts. These approaches will never work -- they never seem to create natural, lasting change. Maybe I can appreciate so-called negative feelings such as sadness because I learned the hard way that not feeling -- of being numb physically, emotionally, and spiritually -- is a worse fate than any genuine sadness. Perhaps having experienced that numbness, I am grateful for being able to feel.

Most of all, I am most grateful to be able to emody the message that the way to happiness is through our limitations.

Love,

Eddie

Sunday Sermon [Prayer]

¡Hola! Everybody...
So get this: I start out to attend a friend’s daughter’s 16^th birthday celebration, only to realize, after travelling for about an hour, that I forgot my phone (with the location details) at home...

SMDH

* * *

-=[ My Prayer ]=-

If I actually prayed, my prayer for you would be that you have the opportunity to live a life in which you would be able to discover and engage that which you are most passionate about -- making it your life’s work. That you would able to reap the fruits of that passion and be filled with joy for that work. My prayer for you would be that what you love most would be the vehicle for your creative expression, for it is what you were born to do. This is what I would pray for you...

Love,

Eddie

Today's photography by one of my faves, Michael Kenna

Redemption Song

¡Hola! Everybody...
I usually post this around this time of year...it's a Thanksgiving tradition of sorts.

* * *

-=[ Awakenings ]=-

My life is my message

The cliché that life is stranger than fiction is true enough. I guess that’s why they are clichés -- they are true, if nothing else. And believe me, my life has been pretty strange.

Thanksgiving Day has its own personal meaning, as I’m sure it does for everyone. Actually, Thanksgiving Day has layers of meaning. First, there is the “we’re thankful for the help you gave us, but we killed all your people and took your land” meaning, and we should never forget that...

On another level, people of Puerto Rican descent have traditionally taken US holidays and used them as opportunities to express their own cultural identity. For example, Puerto Ricans will eschew the traditional holiday fare of turkey and potatoes and substitute lechon and pasteles, Puerto Rican culinary staples. If we do cook turkey, we cook “pavo-chon,” a turkey prepared in a manner that makes it taste like lechon (pork suckling). Therefore, Puerto Ricans subvert Thanksgiving and give it our own meaning. And humans that’s what we do best, we create meaning.

Thanksgiving Day is also now primarily identified as a secular all inclusive day of expressing ones appreciation for life and having gratitude for the things we need to live a happy and healthy life. As a Latino the cultural values of extended family ties and Thanksgiving evoke childhood memories of large (and totally insane!) family get-togethers.

However, for me Thanksgiving holds its most significant meaning on a very personal level. You see, it was around this time nineteen years ago that I experienced the first of a series of “spiritual awakenings” that would change my life. The exact date is November 26, 1990 and this

year it happens to fall on Thanksgiving Day. Shortly before then, on a cold, drizzly November day, I was so overcome with despair that I attempted suicide. It’s actually a little funny: I tried climbing over the rail on the Brooklyn Bridge’s pedestrian walk, but I was so skinny from malnutrition and years of substance abuse that a strong wind knocked me on my butt. I saw this as the ultimate insult, not even being able to kill myself, which gives you an idea of my state of mind at the time.

I walked away from that incident my to chase another bag of heroin. Trapped inside my warped thinking, I had this fear that I would botch up my own suicide and merely succeed in paralyzing myself, damning myself to chase drugs from the disadvantage of a wheelchair. I decided I would make someone else put myself out of my misery.

And though I speak lightly today of that time, I was very miserable. I don’t believe in a God in the traditional Christian/ Judeo sense, but back then I would pray each night that some Higher Power would find it in their mercy to kill me in my sleep. Yet, every day I awoke to my misery. I would always wake up broke, but still manage to spend $300 by the end of the day, feeding a merciless heroin habit.

How does one spend $300 a day, you ask? I took to ripping off drug-dealers, never a safe proposition. One day a drug dealer, a victim of one of my swindles, threatened me with a gun. I grabbed the gun by the barrel, put it to my forehead, and begged him to shoot. All I asked was that he made sure to kill me because, “You would be doing me a favor.”

This was in broad daylight in the middle of a crowded New York City street. I remember a crowd forming and people screaming; but what I remember most was thinking that this was my way out. “Do it,” I yelled. He pulled the trigger and…

Nothing happened.

I don’t know if the gun jammed or if it wasn’t loaded, but for whatever reason, the gun failed to discharge. My would-be assistant “suicider” freaked out, yanked the gun from my hands, and walked away, calling me crazy. I called at him, let him know he could get another chance. That’s how much I wanted to die...

I thought I could do nothing right.

That wasn’t the worst of it, my life continued to bottom out until November 26th, 1990 when I experienced an incident so traumatic it would change me and my world in an inexplicable way. Actually, most people would consider the events that transpired on that drizzly, dreary November day as a defeat.

Very simply, after being released from prison for only fourteen days, I was re-arrested. It was also that last day of my active addiction -- the last day I took a drug.

I didn’t know it then but it was the beginning of a new life: a life that today is far from perfect, that has suffering, illness, death, and many challenges, but also a sense of joy at its core. This is part of the reason I do the work that I do. I know even the worst of us have the potential to liberate ourselves from our own self-made prisons. And let me be clear: we’re all “doing time” in some way, we all wear shackles. We all have patterns of behavior or baggage.

No, I am not a religious person. My personal view is that religion is for people who are afraid of hell and spirituality is for those who have already been there. I simply try to be the best person I can be on a daily basis and oftentimes I fall short of the mark. However, my intent are usually good and my direction orderly -- I try to live a life centered on spiritual or personal growth.

On that day, nineteen years ago, I had no way of knowing of the joy I would experience today. It’s a joy independent of any person, place, or thing. I can be sad, happy, angry, disappointed, disgusted -- I can be experiencing any number of attachments -- but at the center, at the very core of me, there is an invincible joy greater than any drug-induced high I have ever experienced. And believe me, coming from me, that’s saying a lot.

On that day, sitting there in the midst of failure and utter humiliation, I came undone. And that was a good thing, because in being obliterated I became open and willing. In emptying myself, I came to see that what I perceived as emptiness was in reality my innate potential as a human being.

I am genuinely grateful. This past year, as with all years, has been a challenging. I have experienced sadness, frustration, happiness, rejection -- the full catastrophe! I could easily

surmise, if I were so disposed, that my life, that life itself, sucks. But that’s a coward’s lie. Life is a gift -- probably the most precious of gifts. And at the very least there is nothing worse than that day nineteen years ago. Today I woke up and I am me... and for that I am most grateful.

May you all have as much to be thankful for…

Love,

Eddie

The Butterfly Effect

¡Hola! Everybody...
My online interactions will noticeably decrease as I struggle to catch up on paperwork I’ve ignored for most of the year. I will be posting (though not as often as in the past), but the debating/ comments part will be curtailed... This here is a repost.

* * *

-=[ The Butterfly Effect ]=-

Feelings aren’t facts...

Think about it: how much time do we spend agonizing over things that, in the long run, are inconsequential? I submit that about 99.999999% of the shit we sweat in our lives is totally unnecessary. But sweat we do -- all the time.

Reminds me of a story. I love stories, so bear with me. A great teacher famous for teaching that life was all illusion was discovered sobbing uncontrollably by one of his followers. He was grieving because his son had passed away. Shocked, the follower asked his teacher, “Don’t you preach that all life is an illusion?” The teacher turned to his disciple and said, “Yes it is true that all of life is an illusion, but this is a big illusion.” LOL

And so it is with life: feelings aren’t facts, but it’s a fact that you feel. Some issues are graver than others and we can get stuck, but the real heart of the matter is how long we stay stuck. If we spend our lives feeling betrayed, angry, resentful, or insulted, then where is the time for living? You will blink your eyes one day and years have passed and realize they have been wasted fighting off a swarm of butterflies.

This is not to say that we shouldn’t be considerate of the way other people feel, or that our relationships are meaningless. I know I have made some genuine connections here on the ‘Net over the years and I am grateful for them. I happen to consider some as friends, but I have seen others show their real side. There are many people who engage in cruel behavior on here and in “real” life and rationalize it by saying some bullshit like, “It’s just the internet.” I submit that if you’re capable of cruelty here, then that potential exists somewhere in you.

Of course we shouldn’t proceed as if nothing mattered because that’s the other extreme and it’s called nihilism. What it does mean is that we choose our attitudes and reactions all the time.

There are plenty examples to go around. How many times have you caught feelings over a miscommunication and as a result exchanged insults. It’s happened to me. Some of us resemble out and out psychopaths, resorting to all kinds of stupidity. This happens for several reasons, but the main reason is that there is anger in our hearts. The tragedy (and comedy) in the grand scheme of things is: what did it matter? Not much is often the honest answer. But it matters that people feel insulted and disrespected, misunderstood and ridiculed.

Now, before anyone here begins commenting, let’s all be honest and just say we have all experienced similar events in our life, okay? I see it and hear it all the time. Most of the time, it’s not even worth it. That means you and I.

Shit happens: we lose jobs, grow out of relationships, get hurt, and betrayed. Shoot, I live in a city where pushing and jostling is considered OK. I run up against sweet old ladies who act like All Pro NFL linebackers when getting on and off the subway. LOL! The thing is that life is like that. There’s shit happening all the time. If you’re waiting for the perfect moment, with the perfect love (“The One”), at the perfect job, or location -- if you’re waiting for all that in order to smile and smell a flower, then you will have wasted your life waiting, because, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but there’s no Santa Claus, no Tooth Fairy and life is hard.

Life is hard and full of suffering. However, it’s also beautiful and amazing, the most precious gift, and the one true choice you have -- the one card you can play -- is whether you will face it all with a smile or a frown. This is it, people. I mean, I see all the wise quotes, but can you find the serenity within the chaos? Can you walk the walk? Can you sit in the midst of life and face it with joy and love -- all of it, not just the good shit?

Love,

Eddie

The Gift

¡Hola! Everybody...
The names and physical characteristics have been changed in order to respect confidentiality, but the following is true… I share it because I believe we sometimes forget why we’re here and what it is we’ve been promised.

* * *

-=[ Mr. Mario ]=-

I don’t remember how it was he first came to me -- whether it was through my former director or immediate supervisor. Whatever the case, the first time I saw him, he was wearing these dark wrap-around sunglasses, the kind prescribed after cataract removal. When I asked if he had had the procedure, he answered in the negative, stating that he just liked the way they looked.

Then he did something that would come to define him in some ways: he squinched his eyes and grinned that disarmingly boyish grin I would become all too familiar with.

He was in his mid-to-late 60s by the time we met, having been just released for a twenty-year-to-life prison sentence under the Rockefeller drug laws. Believe me: I’ve been around the block a few times times -- this man was no drug kingpin. During his sentence, he suffered a stroke that partially paralyzed his left side and impaired his short-term memory. He was a Colombian national who was released with no papers -- he had nothing: no social security card, no official ID -- nothing. He was in desperate need of medical services and a host of other things, but he had nothing. He was living with a cousin nearby my office, but his cousin was threatening eviction if he didn’t do something financially.

I couldn’t think of a more difficult case. If you sat here with me and attempted to create the most difficult case scenario, I doubt we could come up with something more difficult than Mr. Mario.

At first, I considered referring him to another organization since I really didn’t have any expertise with helping senior citizens and when I suggested an organization, he did something he would do again and again: he practically begged me to help him.

“You’re the only one that can help me, Mr. Rosario,” he insisted.

I told him he didn’t have to call me Mr. Rosario, that I preferred to be called Eddie.

“But Mr. Eddie,” he persisted, keeping the honorific, “you have to help me. No one else will help me and I heard you are the man that can help me!”

No matter how much I tried to impress upon him that he would be better served by another organization, he insisted that I was the best man for the job. “I know you can do it, Mr. Eddie,” he encouraged.

I didn’t even know where to start, but something about him touched me. I think it was partly his unwavering faith. I mean, this guy was in some deep shit and he was telling me everything would be fine. What's not to admire? LOL I finally relented and agreed to help on the condition that if I could find someone better suited than I, he would move on. He agreed to that condition, but with a confidence that it would never be needed.

It took us months and, honestly, there were days I have to admit dreading seeing Mr. Mario, as we would come to call him. But even on my worst days, when I was most busy, he would somehow melt my heart. When we would come up against an obstacle, or something seemingly impossible, Mr. Mario would assure me that I would find a way. Once I asked him, “Mr. Mario, tell me how we’re gonna do this because right now I don’t have a clue.” His answer? “Well, that’s why I come to you!”

The first issue we addressed was his short-term memory. We agreed that he would always carry a little notebook and that he would write important dates and information in that notebook. He was pretty good at that, though I think his short-term memory issues were sometimes selective. So, he would write things down in his little notebook and that took care of a lot of problems except when he would forget the notebook, which wasn’t often. One time, he lost the notebook and he was terrified. He kept at me in my office for about over an hour on that one.

Whether you believe Mr. Mario deserved such a harsh sentence or not is irrelevant, what most bothered me about Mr. Mario’s situation was the complete apathy with which the state dealt with his predicament. For example, one day Mr. Mario came into my office with a huge bruise on his leg and one on his face. He explained that he had slipped on some ice and had fallen on his way to a parole appointment. I was shocked that he was even being forced to visit his parole because he had a genuine medical condition. When I called his parole officer to inquire, her response was that I didn’t know “these people” how they always try to “get over.” When I informed the parole officer that I had copies of his medical condition and that he could probably sue the state if he got hurt, she calmed down a bit. Right after that conversation, Mario informed me that parole called to say they would be making house visits in the future.

My question was, and still is, what was Mario doing on parole to begin with? What harm could he cause? He could barely walk!

And that’s how we fought these battles, Mr. Mario and I. We would take one thing at a time because there were so many problems. And when we would win a battle, he would come to my office and proclaim, squinching his eyes, his face radiant with gratitude, “Mr. Eddie! You are the best, best, best, best friend I have! You are so good to me, Mr. Eddie!” He had this way of screwing his eyes shut and expressing this total gratitude that would make me forget everything-- all the battles, the injustices.

The ladies at the doctor's office loved him. Working together, somehow we managed to get Mr. Mario much-needed treatment before we were able to resolve the problem with documentation. The girls advocated for him and between us, we were able to get his medicare.

Eventually we were able to get his social security and that was a whole other battle in itself. I didn’t want him walking around with cash in his pockets, so we had his check direct-deposited. I taught him how to work an ATM, but he could never really remember all the instructions, though I had him write it down. So when he needed money, he would come to my office and make me walk with him to the nearest ATM and withdraw money for him.

That was a battle…Eventually, he would learn to work the machine. He would take so much pleasure in the little things. Like the time I bought him a slice of pizza. He told me he hadn't had pizza in so long, he forgot how it tasted. He really liked pizza...

One day, I promised Mr. Mario that we would organize a trip and we would all go to the movies. He hadn’t been to a movie for more than twenty years. Imagine that... I remember how happy he became, screwing his eyes shut and telling me how much he would love that. Sometimes Mr. Mario would show up at my office because he had nowhere else to go, and eventually, we got him to join with a senior citizen club, but he didn’t like that too much.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to deliver on the one thing Mario most wanted: to have his parole relocated to Florida where his elderly parents still lived. His mother was a retired academic, his father a retired doctor. We tried different strategies: using our own parole contacts with the higher-ups, drafting letters to different state departments, meetings with his parole. No matter what we tried, or who we called upon, nothing ever happened. We couldn’t get Mario’s parole relocated to Florida even though his parents owned their home and his brother and family would be able to take better care of Mr. Mario.

It was very frustrating for me and it was a cause of much stress and fear for Mr. Mario. That was the last battle and while we weren’t doing too well on that front, Mario would never tire of reassuring me that we would succeed. Then I didn’t hear from him for a few days. I became worried and when I called, I was informed by his cousin that Mr. Mario was moved to a nursing home. Apparently, Mario started a small fire when he forgot to turn off the stove.

I was devastated.

A few days later, a social worker called from the nursing home asking me if I could come visit. It seems that Mr. Mario’s condition worsened and he was falling into a depression. Could I please come by, she asked. He was telling everybody I would help him.

A few days later, I went to visit Mario and as soon as I walked into his room, Mr. Mario did that thing he always did, scrunching his eyes and that fuckin' smile, as if his savior had come into the room. I sat and talked with him for little while and all the time he was plotting a strategy to get out of the nursing home. “We can do this, Mr. Eddie!” he hushed.

It was one of the saddest things. To see a man institutionalized yet again. For Mr. Mario, the nursing home was prison all over again and it was the cruelest act, the hardest hit. I had to look at Mr. Mario and let him know that I probably couldn’t help him. I remembered with a sadness that we were never able to go to the movies...

I left the nursing home crushed.

I didn’t see Mr. Mario again for a long time. I couldn’t bring myself to see him at the nursing home because a part of me knew that it was offering him a false hope. We would talk on the phone occasionally and all he would talk about was the possibility of his living his last years with his parents in Florida. I couldn’t crush his hope, but I couldn’t honestly tell him that I could help either and that’s what he wanted hear.

Time, as is the case, passed and then one day one of my co-workers told me she had seen Mr. Mario nearby. After work that day, I passed by his cousin's house -- I was sure it was a case of mistaken identity. The last time I spoke to the social worker, Mr. Mario had taken a turn for the worse, suffering another stroke and his depression deepened.

Well -- fuckin’ Mr. Mario!! -- he somehow managed to get his parole relocated to Florida after all. At least that’s what his cousin told me before slamming the door on my face.

I stood there laughing like a lunatic. Mr. Mario had pulled it off. All I could think of was Mario basking in the Florida sun, squinching his eyes and that look of total gratitude on his face.

Love,

Eddie

Sunday Sermon (Gratitude: Titi Fefa)

¡Hola! Everybody...
This is a repost. I was thinking about her once and decided to write something in her honor. For some reason, she came to me in a dream last night...

* * *

My Aunt, Titi Fefi (l), with my mother (r)

-=[ Gratitude ]=-

“Can you walk on water? You have done no better than a straw. Can you soar in the air? You have done no better than a fly. Conquer your heart; then you may become somebody.”

- Ansari of Herat

I will forever be indebted to my elders -- my predecessors. From the men, especially my father, I owe the gift of love for knowledge. It is fashionable, in our shallow, consumer-based society, to look down upon learned people, but I will be forever grateful to my father and the men in my family for helping instill in me a thirst for knowledge. The word philosopher means lover of knowledge. It was through the masculine aspect of my upbringing that I was given my mind, the ability to construct and deconstruct logic, the skill of asking questions, the knack for intellectual discovery – these were all gifts. I am not saying these are essentially masculine traits. It’s just the way it happened...

For a long time I thought that it was through the mind that one evolved, but I was only half-right, there was something else missing. The other gift, bequeathed upon me by the women-warriors in my life, was the gift of the heart. It was through the feminine aspect of my upbringing that I learned that true liberation could not happen until the mind and heart are integrated. In some Eastern cultures, there are no separate terms for the mind and the heart -- they are perceived as one and the same. The women in my life, through the power of their example, taught me genuine unconditional love. Many people speak of unconditional love, but few truly know jack shit about it. I'm not saying that the heart is is essentially feminine. It's just the way it happened for me...

I think a part of the problem today is that social conservatives have deconstructed the concept of family. What we call “family” today is really a downsized version of what family has meant for thousands of years. The nuclear family -- the so-called basic unit consisting of Mother Father Sister Brother -- is fairly new in history. For most of our shared history, the family included aunts, uncles, “adopted” family members, and sometimes even whole communities. Within these family structures, one learned about unconditional, community responsibility and connectedness in ways that can never be possible within our downsized, hectic times.

What are social networking sites but a modern attempt to reclaim the larger, more expansive meaning of family ad community? We feel the loss of connection in our increasingly insular and often desperate lives.

I was fortunate enough to be raised in a large, extended family. We were close because we had to be -- my parents and their siblings were first generation Puerto Ricans, thrust into a hostile and unforgiving society that neither cared for nor welcomed them. So we stuck together: we lived in the same building and/ or city block and my cousins and I were raised more as sisters and brothers rather than dispensable family members. Our extended family shared resources, pooled money, served as social safety nets for one another, and the responsibility of raising the children fell on everyone.

However, there was one woman who sacrificed the most and got the least in return. My paternal aunt, Josefa, or as we all affectionately called her “Titi Fefi” paid the ultimate sacrifice: she raised everyone’s children. All the adults would work, but Titi Fefi’s job was to take care of the children, make sure they were dressed, prepare hot breakfasts and lunches, soothed our scrapes, and mediated arguments. In effect, Titi Fefi was everyone’s surrogate mother -- she was a universal mother.

She never asked for anything in return and bore her burden without complaint. Without her, not one us, no one, would have succeeded. As the children got older, she was able to find work as a washer-woman and her raw hands, the outer layer of her skin often stripped from over exposure to laundry chemicals and washing, were often the reason why “Junior” could buy books for college, or Cynthia could have those shoes she wanted, or Jaimito got a Christmas gift. We sometimes never even knew it was Titi Fefi’s doing, for her it wasn’t even giving, for her this came as natural as breathing, it was what was done, period.

Eventually, as is the case in our modern times, the family would disperse to different parts. First, it was my uncle, Jaime, who moved to a NJ house on earnings culled from years at a factory job. Then my older cousin, Junior, would finish college and move his new family and mother, Titi Sylvia, to an upstate community. Little by little, everyone left our Lower East Side enclave, leaving Titi Fefi alone. Well, actually, I lived with Titi Fefi as a young man, but most of the family moved on.

Oh, did I mention that Titi Fefi, barely a teenager herself, raised her younger brother, my father, during the height of the Depression in Puerto Rico, shortly after being orphaned?

We were always close as a family and the holidays were often celebrated at Titi Fefi’s house because her love was such a magnet for good feeling. No matter how successful the rest of the family became, the older generation always made it clear that family came first before individual success and material gain. They never forgot how important cohesion was for the family’s survival and they kept that message alive.

In time, one by one, the elders passed on, falling victim to old age and disease. As the younger generation moved farther away, the family reunions became less frequent. The children of the second generation didn’t grow up with the same values or the understanding of an extended family and soon we all deconstructed into little units, separated from one another. There were no more huge and festive family reunions, and Titi Fefi would now often spend the holidays alone (or with me, a young man at the time more interested in the hunt).

Eventually, I would leave too, traveling, despoiling maidens, pillaging, and plundering my way through life. I was exploring the farter reaches of insane living and I was usually in and out of her life, meaning Titi Fefi was mostly alone. Most of us forgot, folks -- we forgot the raw hands, the sacrifices, and the unwavering love. Titi Fefi never had children of her own, but we were all her children... somehow. Yet we forgot. Or maybe we were too busy, I don’t know. Life sometimes does that, you know. We are so busy living, we forget.

She never complained; never uttered words of regret. She did what she had to do, just like breathing, it was for her.

My lifestyle was such that Titi Fefi’s home was my main base, the place I could always come to when I needed to and her door was always open for me. I always had a key. No questions were asked when I entered through that door, only if I was hungry. Eventually, I was to enter into a stable and loving relationship, but I would always visit Titi Fefi, at least once a week. Oh, how her face would light up when I would come visit. I’m certain that even if I were a sexually motivated serial killer Titi Fefi would still love me just as much. That was who she was -- she was love incarnate, Everybody’s Mother.

By the time I became divorced, Titi Fefi was in her late 80s and suffering from various infirmities, one of them being the onset of dementia. She had lost some cognitive functioning to the point that the family was concerned with her safety. I moved in with her.

Big mistake! LOL!

For the last two years of her life, I lived with Titi Fefi and it wasn’t easy. It was almost like taking care of an unruly child. It sucked up my life and sometimes I was so resentful. Sometimes she would wake up in the middle of the night and accuse me of plotting to take over her apartment. Other times, she would become disoriented and ask me where she was. Still other times she would have long discussions with me thinking I was my deceased father (whom she raised as her own). It wasn’t easy and I was losing heart.

There were good times too: her outrage when I would ask her about her sex life, for example. She would laugh at that. And we would spend hours talking about our family history. Folks, if you have an elder among your midst, take the time to ask them about your history. I guarantee you, it’s a whole lot better than any of those fuckin’ idiotic “reality” shows. LOL!

Then one day I found her crying. And she talked, and talked, and she was doubting if her sacrifices had been worth it. No one remembered her, no one visited her, she said. And all my anger and resentment dissipated and I knew right then that if I were to have carried her on my back for the rest of her life, I still wouldn’t have repaid my debt to her. So we stayed together through thick and thin.

Eventually, I would become resentful and angry with my family for doing this to her, so I had planned to make this speech at Titi’s burial. When I explained my idea, she asked me to promise her that I would not say anything negative. She made me promise that I wouldn’t start any shit at her burial. She taught me, that day, that for some people, that’s as it good as it gets and sometimes they suffer a great price for not being a little deeper. She taught me that you give because it is as natural as breathing, not because you’re doing something. So, not knowing what to do, but knowing that there was something important here to relate, I asked her, “If there is message for the family you have, what would it be? Because, like it or not, I’m going to say something when they bury your ass.” After crossing herself and admonishing me for speaking of such things, this is what she said:

“I want this to be my message to my family that I love so much: Tell them that family is the most important thing in life, that no matter what you become or what you do, it means nothing if you don’t have family. Tell them that.”

This was her message and I give this message to you today because, while it might not be deep, or earth shattering, and you might not even get it, it is the most important message you will ever hear and you will never understand it fully until you become that message.

Her last words to me were to leave her alone because she was tired and she didn’t want to answer my teasing questions (“Titi! Do you use condoms?!! Are you practicing safe sex?!!”). I sensed her tiredness and when she rolled over to go to sleep, I kissed her cheek goodnight.

She smiled…

She passed away during the night and the next morning, when I went to wake her up, she still had that same look on her face.

This is for all of us who have known, and will know, the pain of loss, and for those of us who have disconnected from our hearts. There are some today who may not have anyone, or whose family is far away or gone. There are many of us confused about this world gone slightly mad and deep inside perhaps we despair, uneasy smiles on our faces.

My aunt’s power of example was that the only sane response to such despair and uncertainty was to love -- to reach out and become engaged, enriching the lives of those around us in the process.

May you all find it in your hearts to give gratitude and cherish the gifts we are all given.

Though you may not know it, you are loved. You are loved for being who you are, right now this moment, and you will always be loved in that way.

Eddie