My Police Record

            

Seems like everyone around me these days has a police record….
What gives, I wonder?
What’s up with that?!
My record is basically lily white and at my age and temperament,
it is likely to stay that way.
Or so I thought...

As I pondered this oddity, it came to me, a bit belatedly,
that I actually had had a couple of early run-ins with the law!
I actually had a police record! I indeed!
So much for thinking I was above the rest...
Once more, the joke was on me…

Now, this was not a record that a criminal would be proud of...
Oh no…not at all!

And so, donning the lens of judiciary perception, I began to recall
a rather lengthy and disorderly history of run-ins with the law
that I had conveniently banished to the recesses of my subconscious.

I’m pretty sure, given the time span involved, that I can no longer be held accountable for these crimes due to statute of limitation laws.

So it is safe to confess my crimes at long last...
The list runs as long as my 3 year old arm…

I started out breaking out of jail at the earliest opportunity....
jail being my parents’ home.
I would sneak back in for meals and sleep, but I needed to be certain at all times that I could break free again.
I had places to go...things to do!
From time to time, I would get caught.
I gave my folks a terrible fright now and then!
They put their heads together in an effort to contain me.
They installed more and better locks, they reinforced windows, the works!
I made it my business to outwit them at every turn.
I practiced constantly, honing my skills, primarily those of disguise ie: wearing my mother’s dresses and heels, subterfuge (I could spell it at that tender age),  accepting bribes of candy from the night shift factory workers with whom I visited in the pre-dawn hours, duplicity and breaking and entering upon my return. 

My criminal behavior escalated, however, when I followed the milk
delivery van by our house very early one morning.
Thinking that I might bribe my folks with a gift of milk if caught,
and mimicking my mom’s borrowing of a cup of sugar, etc. from the lady next door, it seemed reasonable enough to borrow the neighbor’s milk jug.

The theft of that milk bottle landed me in the emergency room with shards of evidence embedded in my arms after I fell forward from the weight of it.
The punishment seemed to fit the crime and I was released with a stern warning.

There was a period of peace after that....even reform, once the nuns
got hold of me in Catholic school-the Penitentiary of earliest reckoning.
 
But, as I said, I was reforming myself pretty handily.
I had made a bold turnaround and was bent on becoming Saint Debbie before something worse could happen.
But it wasn’t long before I found myself in the back of a police cruiser, headed back to jail once again!

“Er…Mr. and Mrs. Rouse? Is this your daughter?” intoned the burly officer.
Wide-eyed and gape-mouthed, my folks alternately glared at me
and made confused gesticulations toward the good officer.
They had no idea that I was pounding pavement at 5am on a frosty
Green Bay morning.
“I was just on my way to church!” I cried woefully.
"Was that against the law?!"
Apparently I appeared to be on the slippery edge of somebody’s law!
Discussions regarding jurisdiction ensued!
Whose law prevailed? The city ordinances, my folks or God’s?
They, being unprepared for this level of complexity, faltered ever so briefly.
There was a moment’s pause-a costly mistake, from which I snatched the victory!
From that time forward, my folks had to let me attend 5:45 am daily Mass and the police agreed to keep an eye out for me.
From time to time, my patience and my parents’ exasperation were tested when an officer, new to the beat, would pick me up for questioning and the scene would once again be repeated at my parents’ house. 

But, each time, the law held firm.

Keeping my record clean these days…


Debra Robinson / skydancer@ij.net

Every Now and Then...

There I lay, wide awake at 4:18 am on a Sunday morning in Brooklyn, New York. 
It was my only day off and I had planned to sleep in, but I could tell that there
would be no more sleep.
So instead of struggling, I savored the quiet…or relative quiet of the sleeping city… 
a brief respite from the constant clamor and restlessness. 
4:00 AM is a very inspirational time for many of us.
The noisy planet goes quiet and subtle feelings and thoughts can emerge for a time
for those who listen.

I had no particular plans for the day ahead.  
I sat up and sensed the feelings inside me. 

It felt like a day to move…to really mooove.  It was a  ‘get out of town’ day.  
Even more, it felt like a  ‘run away from home ‘  kind of day.  

Those were rarer… and terribly important when they come. 
A day like that comes as more of a summons. 
A day like that can save your life…or set the stage for the next chapter. 
I have experienced both.  
 
A day like this possesses all kinds of magic…

I got up quickly, pulled on jeans, sneakers and a comfortable sweater
and slipped outside to my car.  I inhaled the early morning air. 
I felt the thrill of freedom.  It was almost conspiratorial.  
I suddenly remembered with an almost wicked grin that I have always loved
running away from home.

All I had to do was pick a direction.  Where had I not ventured?  South!!   Done!  
I would worry about the reasons later.  What mattered now was that I hightail it
out of Brooklyn and head for open road.  I needed to breathe new air! 
The day would come to me as it came…

I left town after town behind me.  South and south and south.... 
State line by state line.   And it all felt so good….  So right…

The sun was rising full in the morning sky. 
The further south I went, the happier I felt.  
I wondered how long I would drive and where I would end up. 
As the morning warmed, I smelled jasmine and pine and salt coast… 
and sweet, sweet freedom.

No one knew where I was.  Just me…free of everything. 
Free of routine and expectations.  Free forever if I chose… 
and, if not…completely free for this day.

I ventured off the main highway and took to the hilly back roads. 
It wasn’t long before I was completely lost and winding through
the most enchanting and rustic landscapes. 
I smelled morning mist and wood smoke.  I heard unfamiliar birdsong. 
There was rustling in the undergrowth… raccoons and possums. 
Then I came upon foraging deer.  It was another world… the real world. 
It broke the city trance that I had been caught up in. 
And I was grateful…

The world was timeless once more. 
I meandered as a child might, heedless and simply happy. 
I stopped near a clearing, fetched a blanket from my car and spread it out on the ground. 
I laid down and watched the sun light sprinkling the leaves overhead. 
I dozed for awhile, overcome by the intoxicating forest air and the warm sun.

I woke gently as the sun dipped over the mountain leaving all in shadow and coolness. 
I stretched and yawned and shook off any remnants of city life still clinging to me. 
As I gathered up my blanket and headed back to my car,
I realized for the first time that day that I was hungry. 
I wasn’t sure where I was or how to find the highway again, but other than being hungry,
I didn’t much care. 
I got back in my car and continued to wander through unmarked roads. 
Suddenly I rounded a tight bend and caught the scent of ham…and more. 
I had stumbled on an old diner... an ancient log cabin with a faded sign that read  
‘Biscuits, red eye gravy, grits’.   
The parking lot was filled with pickup trucks and old cars that had seen better days. 
This was definitely my kind of place!

I stepped through the screen door as confidently as I could, knowing that all eyes
would be on me...the unlikely stranger. 
I felt like I had crossed the border into a foreign country that didn’t much care
for outsiders...even less for city dwellers. 
A hush came over the diner. 
 
God, how I wished I hadn’t brushed my hair or put on clean blue jeans.  
It was useless to attempt to be unobtrusive.
The waitress sized me up warily... 
After a long minute she sauntered over with a pot of coffee and a menu
and gruffly stood by, waiting for my order, acting for all the world
like she had better things to do. 
The patrons watched the exchange approvingly. 

But I knew that once their curiosity was satisfied that they would return
to their conversations and it would be my turn to study them.

I ordered the platter with absolutely everything, imagining myself as a food critic…
from New York City, no less. 
I would have to sample it all.  They could think what they liked...  

When the food arrived, I was truly amazed!
Never had I seen breakfast on such a scale! 
Before me was spread a mountain of food… an all day breakfast! 
Fried pies, stewed apples, biscuits, sausage gravy, muffins,
cheesy scrambled eggs, country fried potatoes, pancakes, two kinds of ham,
red eye gravy, three kinds of sausage, fried chicken, every kind of pork
one could imagine…and last, but not least…grits. 
 
It would be hard to even sample everything. 
But I know good home cooking when I see it and this was worth the trip. 
 
Welcome to the South! 

I knew I had reached my destination..the pinnacle of this day’s experience. 
I dined for three hours, slowly savoring each offering…delighting in an experience and place I would never see again. 

The casual abundance of a simpler life... 
Foods prepared by hand… hands that were not hurried… 
hands that took the time to do things right...  

I took in a whole new world that day.  

I drove slowly back north, changed in so many ways by all the gifts of that brief journey.  

Every now and then, no matter where I’m living, I still drive South for breakfast...

Moving the Circle.....thoughts on giving .... by Debra Robinson

There is a wonderful and valuable teaching that comes from the First Peoples of western Canada. 

This is good medicine for anyone who is in a helping role, whether by circumstance or profession. 

This story has to do with the women’s moon lodge…

The moon lodge was a time set aside for women… the monthly gathering during the menstrual cycle.

During this time, it was believed that a woman was more sensitive to spiritual realities.  

It was a special time for soul-searching, prayer and reflection.  It was also a time of rest in keeping

with the cycles of nature.

There, one could seek advice from the other women of the tribe.

Mothers, daughters, wives and elders were taught many things through stories and songs.

One such gathering involves the ‘talking feather’.  

A talking feather is passed around the circle of women.  One by one the women hold the feather. 

As she holds the talking feather, she may share an experience or talk about a problem she is having.

While she is holding the feather, everyone else listens silently and without interruption. 

When she is finished speaking, she will lay the feather down.

The women in the group will consider her words and offer their wisdom to her.

It is hoped that she will take their good advice to heart and act upon it.

Then the feather passes on to the next woman.

 

But an interesting thing happens if a woman returns to the lodge month after month

with the same complaint and problems...

If she returns with the same complaints 3 times, the other women simply and silently rise up

and move the circle to the other side of the lodge.

They leave her to sit alone to think about her errors and they reconvene without her. 

They do not shun her, but they show her that they will not waste any further advice and wisdom on her.

When they give of their time and attention and offer their wisdom, there should be something to show for it.

If she is not doing her part and simply comes to complain again and again, she is not worthy of their further involvement.

When she makes use of their advice and resolves her problem, she returns to the circle

and takes her place with the women once more.

 

I have a Taoist Chinese friend who taught me something valuable along these lines... 

He said that not only are we to give, but that it is equally important to give wisely.

We have a spiritual bank account in terms of our actions or deeds in life.  

When we do a good thing in a good way, we add to our bank account.

But if we give unwisely, not only do we not add to our bank account, but we suffer loss. 

 

If we pay closer attention to these matters, we can actually feel the loss or the gain.

If we give to a relative or friend and the outcome is wholesome, we have a sense of enrichment. 

But if the outcome will not be good, we correspondingly feel a sensation of sadness, worry, irritation

or even resentment. 

We have to ‘make’ ourselves do what we would rather not.

We try to give people the benefit of the doubt, but we get hurt repeatedly when they

fail to live up to our expectations.

Generally, time goes on to prove us right… again and again. 

We may try to rationalize to ourselves that we gave in a good spirit and that the

outcome is not our concern, but we still suffer loss.

 

A good rule of thumb that I have learned from Spirit is to wait.  Sleep on it.   

Give it some thought... Weigh the options... Meditate... Ask for guidance.   

Test your feelings in response to the idea of saying yes and saying no.

You will know in the pit of your stomach what feels good or ill. 

That is your inner guidance come to assist you, whether your mind understands fully or not.

“Trust your gut” is always appropriate.   The understanding will follow in time.

 

Even when you feel it is alright to give...always wait.  Never assume. 

People and situations are always changeable.

On the importance of waiting… NO business that demands or urges a decision “right now”

is ever good business.  It doesn't matter if it's a car, a loan, a hot date or a business deal.

It is a hustle, plain and simple and should be rejected immediately.

When you do give, give a little….and wait before giving more. 

Wait to see what effect it will have on the recipient.  

Will that person pay you back or be responsible for what you gave, be it advice, money, friendship?

Or will they show themselves to be a little less than trustworthy?  Make excuses?  Ask for more? 

Has your gift helped them or has it made them more reliant on your energy or resources?

Is it bringing out the best in the person or the worst?

 

For your own sake, as well as for the other person, you must be honest about what is happening. 

If the effect is not good- bow out immediately.  

Do not let guilt or manipulation sink its hooks any deeper into you. 

Your guilt or theirs-it doesn’t matter.

Do not be bullied into explaining yourself beyond a simple sentence or two. 

Ideally, a “yes” or “no” should do, but it may take time to get that clear and strong.

If you mean it, they will get the picture.  If you waver, they will sense that, too, and move in for the kill.

Extricate the hook, the person and the situation for everyone’s sake.

That is often the best real help that can be offered.

This is another way of moving the circle.... 

They can receive the help or not...  That is for them to work out... You have done your part.

 

Closing Time

It was closing time at the bookstore.
I had just finished a long day and was eager to go home for the night.
I was closing out the cash register and had knelt down behind the counter to put
the day’s receipts away when suddenly I heard the bell ring as the shop door opened.
“Why hadn’t I locked the door first?!  I should have known better!, I thought with a groan.
This was Brooklyn, New York for heaven’s sakes…and it was well after dark.
I should’ve locked the door!  But it was too late now!  I tensed and waited.
I heard a man’s voice calling out. “Is anybody in here?”
I called back, “We’re closed for the night!”
Completely ignoring my remark, he yelled back, “Where do you keep the men’s wallets?”
What kind of a question was that?  Couldn’t he see that he was in a bookstore?
“We don’t sell wallets here! “
“ Please! I need a man’s wallet!”
“ I told you, we don’t have any wallets!”   I couldn’t believe this guy!
He persisted. “ I gotta have a wallet! “

“I can't help you!  I just told you we don’t have wallets and we’re closed!”

 What was the deal with this character?!

I finally scrambled to my feet and confronted the man.
I held out my arms gesturing around the length and breadth of the store.
“This", I explained with mock patience, "is a bookstore. We sell books here! Not men’s wallets.”
"But I saw all the leather covered books… “
I cut him off... “These are bibles, sir, not wallets.”
“Well,"  he stammered, " I just thought you might have a man’s wal…. “
I stood to full height and gave him the look that said I was getting ready to reach for the phone
and call the cops.

But then he stopped in midsentence and looked at me in a curious way.
“Wait a minute…don’t I know you?”
I looked closely at him and said  “No, I don’t think so.”
The man standing in front of me looked like any other New Yorker.
Dark wavy hair, pale skinned with a faint olive tone, all nervous energy…most likely Jewish.
He persisted. “I really do think I know you!”
Not likely I thought.

“What do you do for living,” I asked.

“Well, it depends… My last job was teaching English.”
There was something in the way that he pronounced the word 'English' that caught my ear.
What was that accent? It was exotic, earthy. “Israeli,” I thought.
It stirred a faint memory...something  from long ago.

He continued to study me.  I remained at a loss. “We’ve met before… I know it.”
Then we started asking each other random questions…stream of consciousness…
“Where did you live before this?   Have you traveled?   Where were you born?”
He pressed on in his, by now, characteristic way... “Yes, I’m sure of it!  I know you!”
I was as sure as he was that I didn’t know him.
He persisted and we had a little rapid fire exchange of our histories.
How long we’d been in New York…that yielded no clues.
Our travels to various places…still nothing.
We started going back in time, tracing our various routes…all misses.
But though it seemed hopeless, he still didn’t let it go.
I then thought back to my Cape Breton days when I had run a youth hostel

from an old farmhouse nestled between the mountains and the ocean.

It had been a refuge for many.  It had been a refuge for me, too in the beginning.
Backpackers from all around the world, as many as 40 a night, had stayed in my home.

So many people had passed through my life back then....

Then suddenly, as if the Fates smiled on us, we stumbled onto something..

It was his faint Israeli accent...

A memory came flooding in....   Oh, but it was impossible!    
Could it be him after all these years?! 

I asked an improbable question… “ Have you ever been to Cape Breton Island?”
In the same moment he made the connection, as well.

His eyes lit up and he grinned broadly….”Are you sure you don’t remember me?”
I am Avi !!   Do you remember me now!?   The soldier…”

I drew in a sharp breath.    Impossible!    This was completely surreal… Could it be?    It was…

“Yes! I remember you!”  Tears sprang to my eyes.  My heart skipped several beats.
The memory emerged full blown.  It had been more than 10 years.
“You stayed at my hostel!”
“Yes! Yes! You saved my life…. Did you know that?”
“Oh my gosh! I always wondered what happened to you!
Wha..what are you doing here?”  I stammered.
“Where have you been all these years?  What have you been doing with yourself?”
I was overjoyed at seeing him!
“After I left your place, I travelled around America for awhile and then I came here to live.

You know, I could not bring myself to go back to Israel for a long time.

I’ve been living in New York for several years.

Actually this is my last night in New York… and my last night in America.

I return to Israel in the morning… to begin my life again."

“I can’t believe we found each other!”

We didn’t have much time and there was so much to tell.

He had been living as a poorly paid social worker and had been volunteering
in his spare time teaching English to inner city kids.

He had been staying with a family all this time and he had wanted to give a small gift

to the father before going away...a wallet.

I had thought of him so often through the years and here he was, standing in my store
at closing time…
10 years and more than a thousand miles from where we first met! 
How could it be?!
Like finding the proverbial needle in no ordinary haystack…

The man that stood before me was so changed.

When we first met, he had been recently discharged from the Israeli army.

He was hard-edged, terse, abrasive.

I remembered him dressed in camouflage fatigues and his tough, lean look.
He was impenetrable, silent and remote.
There was a dangerous air about him...

This night he was softer...still intense, yet his eyes were alive and he seemed even joyful.

The change that had come over Avi over the years was profound.

I still remembered the solitary figure at the time of our first meeting.

He arrived by motorcycle just before sunset on a late summer evening.

I could tell he had done some hard traveling.

I offered him a place in the bunkhouse, but he wanted to know if there was a quieter place

to pitch a tent.  I offered him a spot near the house and another one at the far edge of the farm.
He chose the far spot that offered privacy and solitude.
He paid for several nights and then walked away without a word. Just a simple nod of the head.
He seemed so terribly serious.
Whatever he was, he was not your ordinary tourist.

He stayed for a week… and then another...and then another.
We never spoke.   He didn’t have breakfast with us in the mornings

and he never joined the other travelers around the campfires at night.

He kept strictly to himself...an enigma.

He appeared to be a little older than the others, but he seemed far more spent.
So serious.  Deadly serious, it seemed...
Little did I know at the time how true that was.


*For those of you who might not know what a hostel is…

a hostel is an inexpensive bed and breakfast for backpackers.  
At my hostel, 50¢ got you both.

Hostels had a 3 night limit and then you had to move on.
 
I made exceptions from time to time.    I did for this one....

He was on a very personal mission.  He stayed on without a word.

Each day he just sat gazing at the ocean for hours.

I understood on some level.   This place had been a similar kind of refuge for me.

I made sure that no one intruded on him.

His time was spent between the ocean, the mountains, and the wild sky.
Several weeks passed this way.

Then, one morning I saw him packing up his tent.   He was moving on.
My heart caught for some reason.  I had sensed his great pain but he was unreachable.
I turned away, blinking back tears, wishing there had been more contact...a chance to know him. 

A little while later there was a knock at my door. The stranger named Avi was standing there.
He had brought a small gift of homemade jam… a token of his thanks.
I invited him to come in and sit down.
“Have a cup of tea before you go.  I just baked bread .”
I poured tea, grateful to have a few moments with him before he left.

He was ready to talk... 

He thanked me for giving him the space and the time to rest.

His had been a long and difficult journey.

He had been serving in the Israeli army through several conflicts.

At first he was idealistic and loyal to his nation’s cause

but as time went on and he experienced the horrors of war,
he began to realize what he was caught up in.

He saw and participated in things that no one should ever experience.

Things that threatened to destroy his soul.

He poured out his heart and emptied his mind finally of many of those horrific scenes.

The one I remember most clearly was the one where he had been ordered to bulldoze
the bodies of wounded and dying people into mass graves.
When he tried to resist, his own life was threatened.
His face twisted in pain as he confessed his actions...
He could not believe that his own army would engage in such inhuman acts.
It was more than he could bear. There was no escaping the guilt.

After his discharge he was unable to face his loved ones or to resume a normal life.
He called off his wedding engagement, refused to see family or friends.
He sought counseling but it seemed that nothing could touch the depth of his pain and guilt.

He was so deeply tormented.   He left Israel, vowing never to return.

He traveled, trying to outrun the pain.   He travelled east to India in search of answers
and continued farther to Thailand, Indonesia, and Japan.
From there he sought to lose himself in San Francisco, the Pacific Northwest and finally, Canada.
He had traversed thousands of miles in search of relief.
He was nearly out of land when he reached the remote point on Cape Breton island
that I called home.
It was the literal end of the road for him.... He had to deal.
He could not go on living and he couldn't outrun the pain.

Then he told me that he had planned to take his life there....in my woods.

His plan was to rest there for two days and on the third he had planned to shoot himself
through the temple and forever put an end to the pain.

With a look of wonder, he told me that some 'thing'  had prevented him from taking his life. 
'It' rooted him to that spot.   'It' kept him from ending his life...more than once
Day after day, he sat.

The pain welled up and began to break beyond bounds. 
Layer by layer ALL the pain surfaced.

He wept finally for the first time in many years.
He wept.   He raged.   He despaired.    He cleared his soul.


I understood. There was something about that place… and it was enough…


Avi was not ready to go back to Israel, but he was ready to live....
and life had brought him to New York City.
He had purged his soul over time by giving back...'Working for the good side'  he said simply.
He was becoming whole again...ready to go back to rebuild his life in Israel...
and leaving for good in the morning.

And here we were on his last night in America, standing face to face by some curious design...

Spirit had arranged for us to meet one more time.


Godspeed  Avi...wherever you are now...