Category: Sanctuary Blog

I am learning what it’s like to be one of those Dutch children who sticks their finger in the dike. In this case, the breaking dike is truth, decency, and respect, things I was taught were necessary, even if I sometimes forgot them.

I have a front-row seat on this ugly social and technological revolution.

And yes, I will fight it to the end and challenge it when it comes to me. I want a part of my legacy to be that I fought for truth, which is now a losing battle in America.

At least I didn’t lose quietly. I’ll go down with the ship. And I’m sorry, I’ll never love a whiner or complainer.

Earlier this week, Maria and I recorded the first video in a new series, “This Is Us,” about our life together. Many people wrote to say they appreciated the video and thanked us for sharing our lives. We enjoyed it.

Then, others (see below) wrote to call me a thief or Frankenstein or to say they heard loud lip-smacking sounds from me in the video, which ruined their experience. Why didn’t you stop the Dry Mouth?  Your Lip-Smack ruined it for me. Could you just make it go away?

Maria and I reviewed these messages on our phones or computers. Here are some of the early ones. These and some. of the others made me sick and angry.

For those who might like to understand the issue rather than demand it go away instantly, Dry mouth, also known as xerostomia, is a condition in which my salivary glands don’t produce enough saliva.

This results in a dry, often uncomfortable feeling in my mouth, making it sometimes difficult to chew, swallow, or speak properly. It can usually be caused by certain medications, dehydration, or underlying medical conditions.

It’s not a deliberate choice. I have no wand or switch to pull.

At the outset, I will acknowledge but never apologize for having a “Dry Mouth,” probably caused by one of those super medicines I am taking for diabetes. We don’t hear the sounds on our tech equipment, but others listen to them on theirs; most don’t.

Here’s how some responded. My case is mild and is somehow amplified by computers that aren’t connecting to mine. It is not curable but can sometimes be controlled, like diabetes itself.

Here are some of the first messages:

“Just a tip-Maria sounds great, but you constantly smack your lips, and it’s extremely distracting. If possible, you should be aware of that and try to get it under control because it seriously detracts from what could otherwise be an enjoyable experience.”  – Pauline.

Pauline, my response is this: get lost. Can you imagine having a Dry Mouth and not knowing it? I’m not eager to be an “enjoyable experience” for you. Try TikTok.

Then from Sylvia: “You’re stealing a trademarked title from an extremely popular TV show, which seems unimaginative. Maybe find another, more original one?”

Instead of writing obnoxious and offensive messages, Sylvia might go to Google and ask for “Dry Mouth.” This took me about four seconds to find. I’ve never heard of your TV show, Sylvia; titles cannot be copyrighted. Why not find out the truth rather than blow smoke out of your ass?

Then:

“There’s a weird audio sound in the background – it sounds like someone is constantly making a kissing noise with their lips. Can you just adjust it so we don’t hear that? It could be a setting on your camera. It makes it hard to understand you.” – Donald.

I’m the weird audio sound, Donald; it’s called getting older. And no, I can’t erase my condition because it suits you.  My camera has nothing to do with it. It’s a lot more complex than that. And most people had no trouble.

Then, there was  David,  the inevitable defender of the Social Media Secret Police And Whining Association: “It doesn’t bother me much, but to be fair to your commenter, the sound is neither soft nor occasional – it’s constant and pretty loud. Maybe it sounds different on different speakers.”

If it doesn’t bother you, David, and you’re not breaking my heart, Please mind your business. I don’t need to be fair to Donald; you can do it. I’m busy working.  And yes, it differs on different speakers, making it almost impossible to eliminate.

I shouldn’t leave out the bulk of the messengers I received: the courteous and appreciative non-whiners like Susan. “I have always loved Maria’s Monday Morning Videos. What a treat to finish the week with you both!Many thanks !👍“

About 80 percent of the messages said they loved it and enjoyed seeing us talk together. At least, at first, I did, too. Then I remembered that this is America in 2025 – nothing is good.

You are most welcome, Susan. I give thanks for people like you.

And Chris: “What pitiful lives if that’s what a few people got out of your very enjoyable video. I’m a nurse practitioner, and I didn’t notice it. I hope your delete button gets a lot of use. Please remember all the joy you bring to so many by sharing your lives. ”

I appreciate Chris’s message.

I will never look or sound as good as Maria. That hasn’t stopped me, and it won’t. Nor would she want it to. But our partnership comes through in our videos, and we are proud of them.

When push comes to shove, it’s often about what we hear, not what is said. I’m beginning to sniff something I’ve never experienced: contempt for the old and seeing them as disgusting and gross, something to be fixed out of sight and dismissed.

My simple blog triggers one bizarre struggle after another. Our beautiful country is crawling with broken people.  For example, I was once assaulted for daring to give an apple to a farmer’s horse. (I give him one every week, and the farmer loves it.)

Then there was the battle over euthanizing a dying horse, and then Zip; I was accused of being a murderous abuser for not bringing him into the house every night to sleep but getting him a heated Cat House out in the barn instead.

My misspelling of a flower caused weeks of outrage, not to mention the Spelling Correction By Spelling Addicts who don’t like my Dyslexia. A Massachusetts art class and professor led an assault on the way I used “still life.” That went on for days.

I hope the people with medical disorders who blog don’t quit. I won’t.

Now I’m in trouble for Dry Mouth. A big problem in America is that too many people have nothing to do but send nasty messages to strangers. As is evident, I have little respect for these people.

Screenshot

Social media is transforming our culture, sometimes for the better and often for the worse.

It’s never been easier for fools to jump to conclusions or imagine their truth. Respect for honesty is evaporating. Social media is a gift to the lazy, the whiners, and the complainers. They take up so much space.

To my surprise, ageism lives on and thrives on social media, as elsewhere. You can’t appreciate this until you are older.

People who are ill or aging are constantly defiled and defined as being disgusting or repulsive or ridiculed on TV or in Hollywood, as if aging could be eliminated technically at any time. Boy, are these people in for a surprise.

All my life, I’ve heard talk of the pain of bigotry. I never imagined I would be a victim or target of it. Going after the elderly is simple; they rarely have a chance to respond. I have a chance, and I will use it. I’m no victim, but I’m looking at it differently now.

I never whine, complain, or make demands of others about their work, especially if it’s free. And I never ridicule or complain about physical problems, not for Dyslexia, not for Dry Mouth.

To people online with illness and disability, hang on. There are lots of good people out there and lots of support. You will get cruel and obnoxious messages as I have. One cliche I’ve learned is true is this: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

_____

Here is some truth and a dose of reality for those who care – and there are many of you blessedly.

I am 77 years old. Maria and I have been posting videos for years, and we do not hear this loud and continuous lip-smacking. Neither do many of our readers and followers. I occasionally hear some of it, but it is neither noisy nor continuous.

We will investigate these complaints, but don’t kid yourself—different computer browsers and phones have different audio systems. Nobody can fix all of them at once, surely not me.

My usual Lip-Smacking is not loud; I can’t control any devices but mine. In the meantime, your choices are to put up with it or skip it. Nobody is putting a gun to anybody’s head. I hate whiners and complainers; I’m allergic to them, and my tongue hasn’t killed anyone yet.

If people can’t bear my voice, which is more often praised, then that’s your problem, not mine. Nothing worth having in life is ever completely free.  I hope to be worthy.

I’m not going to hide who or what I am. Next Friday morning, Lip-Smacking and all, Maria and I will post our videos; the third version of “This Is Us,” I’ll be sucking on one of those Biotene Mouth Lozenges. I’ll be as soft as a summer breeze, and thanks.

If people have been abused as children, almost anything they see or hear can trigger awful images of the past and bring the victims right back to it – anywhere, any time. At the moment, our politics are a trauma all their own, and the mind doesn’t distinguish between violent abuse or vicious politics.

(Above: The Bedlam Farm Canine Meditation Unit. They are essential.)

We work in a volatile world of social and cultural abusers; there is hardly a day without feeling their impact on our psyche or well-being. I’m not accepting that life but changing it to meet the sad but very real new reality. I always thought of my country as a safe place. I hope it will return to that one day.

Maria and I both share an experience of abuse, and we talk about it ourselves, but rarely to anyone else. It’s not how we identify ourselves, but how we understand the pain and confusion of traumatic memory and our daily lives. The Buddhists call this “inappropriate attention” because it takes away from the present moment and brings us to a place of old- but excruciating –  suffering.

The shrinks agree this is dangerous and say we must pay attention to it; we use the new ways to deal with the sorrow, fear, and suffering that can suddenly arise and sting; it’s everywhere. They are overwhelmed by people seeking help.

These times are rough on all of us, especially abuse and trauma victims, which is getting to be almost everyone, red or blue. In our country, I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say millions of people are being traumatized – and yes, abused – every day. And by both sides of the spectrum.  I choose not to be abused by either one of them.

Our civil life seems a daily trigger that leaves millions of people frightened and worried about the future. I chose to work to put that kind of trauma behind for now; it is unhealthy for me and my work and also for my mental health.  But you can’t escape it all in America, not with our bodies bombarded by shock, anger, and disruption.

I decided instead to leave arguments behind and focus on the many good things in my life. I also want to teach myself not to live on or be a battlefield but exist in the love and meaning around me. I have a good life, but it doesn’t deserve what is happening around it.

I don’t tell others what to do, but I will share what I have learned in case it might be helpful. This recurring abuse trauma can be dealt with; it just takes patience and discipline. No trauma survivor will ever be at peace when awful, cruel, and disturbing news is fired their way 30 or 40 times a day. I stopped that and felt better instantly. I will never be without anxiety at times, but I can mostly be happy and content.

I am always more or less informed of and aware of the day’s news, but there are many other ways to do that than to check and pick up an Iphone many times a day (or even one long time a day) and keep those old images bubbling and showing themselves. I choose where and what to listen to; I don’t leave it to pundits holding computers.

Pain is inevitable; suffering is a choice.

The world suffers plenty; they don’t need me to add. That is a choice, and an unhealthy one. I don’t care to go back to awful things; I prefer to live in the good ones I have worked hard to have in my life. No politician will take that away from me, red or blue. We all have the right to be happy, not constantly frightened or upset. That is a choice, not something that is inevitable and necessary.

Therapists all over the country report record numbers of people seeking help – it seems our civic life has become about a trauma all of its own, a kind of social and media abuse, and a trigger as well, especially disturbing to people who were disturbed as children.  Sadly, that is a lot of people, including our President. I learned to breathe in and out when triggered and have a couple of mantras I use. It works for me.

When I feel the fear or anger surging, I remind myself where the suffering comes from. The triggers can be troubling in their own right, but the awful feelings of anxiety and helplessness are often embedded in us; they are memories and traces of the past. I don’t live in the past. I live in now.

I told myself this old suffering is only a geography, an image. I work myself back to the reality of now (a new and different kind of suffering). I choose to live in the now, not the past. And believe me, it is a choice. I never speak poorly of my life or anyone else.

Where do we want to go with this critical and timely haunting?   Spiritualists like the famous Monk Thich Nhat Hann have this idea, and it has worked for me and many others:

“With the energy of mindfulness,” he writes,” we recognize that our old suffering is only an image; it’s not reality. And we can see that life with all of its wonders is here, that living happily in the present moment is possible.”

This is true even with all kinds of triggers, trauma, and cruelty erupting around us.  I’m getting older; I want my life meaningful and peaceful. I believe I’m learning how to do it

I have heard an increasing number of people predict that our century will be a century of spirituality.

People I follow and respect say this is necessary for us to prosper and survive in peace and meaning. Some say it is essential for us to survive at all. Our society is filled with suffering, anger, hatred, despair, and confusion. Wondering how I could survive just by watching the awful news, I decided to embrace this idea and look for a Third Way, a better way, perhaps the only way that makes sense in our fractured culture.

Spirituality taught me to listen, not hate. It taught me to ground myself by making meaningful choices that bring me peace of mind, even happiness. I don’t hate, and I don’t wallow in fear. I work to be a better person who helps his neighbor and the lost people with nowhere to go. I am so glad to help the Cambrdge Food Pantry instead of obsessing over the same troubling news 40 times daily.

I am embracing the idea of a new time of spirituality, a revival of truth, honor, and compassion. That’s where I want my life today, not stewing over the awfulness of politicians. I feel it coming into my blog and my life. I admit to believing not only that this is beginning to happen but that it must happen. Come along; we are now an official outpost of the Spiritual Revolution, the Spiritual Century. I’m taking the rest of the day off; learning how to rest is one of my pledges.

When Donald Trump came to power, I was surprised and sad to realize just how much he seems to hate people like me, even though I’ve never met him. He called me and people he called “woke”  some of the cruelest names—corrupt, dishonest, evil, elite, and devious.

He said we were ruining the country. I can’t hate him because we don’t know one another, and many people who know him say he can be charming and fascinating to speak to. I’m great at annoying people but hopeless when it comes to hatred. I don’t know how to feel it.

I hoped he might soften his cruelty and shed his lies for my sake and the country’s future. But there is an awful street of hatred in him, and it won’t go away.

So many people getting hurt again. The country has had enough of hate and fear. I wondered if he might try to be my President took.

A curious thing happened in 2016 and again now. President Trump made me a better person. I could feel it.  The more Trump hated the idea of me, the more determined I became to be a better human.  And the more good that I did. The more hatred there is, the more good there is.

I’ve realized that I don’t need Mr. Trump to make me hate or fearful.  Hatred does no good; good does a lot of good. I won’t be dragged into that hole.

As he has, done I can be the person I choose to be. My blog is already a safe place; I need to build on it and make my life meaningful and joyful, even as the storms rage. Good people are getting the message.

The Cambridge Food Pantry is my answer, my place of God, my argument that people want to do good and should be given my chance. In an odd but very human way, Mr. Trump is the Godfather of my Sanctuary  Blog.I pray for him to be kindler and gentler, and I still have no idea how to pray: mystery and hope.

Day by day, I’m getting there. Over this tense time, I’ve started to become the person I wanted to be. Out of fear and hatred, hope and choice. I choose not to hate or rage but to work hard every day to be a better human being. For that, I am grateful for him.

Others feel this way. I’m getting a strong and beautiful response to the idea of the Sanctury Blog. That is my revelation, my guide, and my future.

I thought of the message below when I started working with the pantry. I considered this place a sanctuary, a place to love and do good without anger and hatred. I am becoming the man I wish to be.

I don’t respond to every message; I believe in letting ideas live for a bit before other ideas swarm them. This one got to me and was especially relevant. The messages are coming in; they will not be disturbed but allowed to breathe.

Thanks for this, Steph. I hope to receive more messages like this. They keep my spirits high.

A Hopi Nation (Arizona) Prophecy For Hard Times.

This is the hour.

“You have been telling people that this is the eleventh hour.

Now you must go back and tell the people this is the hour.

And there are things to be considered.

Where are you living?

What are your relationships?

Are you in the right relation?

Where is your water? Know your garden. It is time to speak your truth.

Create your community. Be good to each other.

Do not look outside of yourself for the leader.

This could be a good time!

There is a river flowing now very fast.

It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid.

They will try to hold onto the shore.

They will feel they are being torn apart and suffer greatly.

You should know the river has its destination.

The elders say we must let go of the shore,

push into off into the middle of the river.

Keep our eyes open and our heads about water,

See who is in there with you.

And celebrate.

At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally.

Least of all, ourselves.

For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth

And journey comes to a halt.

The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves!

Banish the word “struggle” from your attitude and your vocabulary.

All that we do know must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.

We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.

The Eldlers/Oraibi, Arizona/ Hope Nation.

From Leslie: Holy Moly. Prayer as “a dimension of the daily” struck home for me. Deeply. To quote another brilliant observer (poet Mary Oliver) of all things worthy of prayer and holy, “.. in a vacant lot .. or a few small stones .. just pay attention.” Thank you. I am paying attention and am grateful every day for your insight and the inspiration you share that helps me do so.

Thanks, Steph and Leslie. You inspire and encourage me. These messages are beautiful and give me a lot to think about. This is what a sanctuary feels like.

Many people ask us about White Hens’s health; we have no answers, no drama.

This is animal chicken hospice; we’re not looking for cures. We are not trying to save her or keep her alive for months or years. We’re just making her comfortable. She’ll die when she is ready.  No vets, no medicine, no investigation, no hand-wringing. We are very fond of her, but she is an animal, and people worldwide suffer.  I always keep that in mind.

She looks better every day, but not dramatically. I have no doubt she is near the end. She spends the day in the stall with food and water, and at night, hops up on the railing to spend the night.  She eats for herself.

She has no interest in going out, and there is a foot of snow on the ground anyway, so that is not a choice. She continues to get excited when she sees Maria, and I believe the two are communicating. She sat perfectly still for her nail trim.

I love our dogs; they are always curious and rushed in to see her, and she was calm and at ease when they did. I don’t expect her to live until Spring.

See no evil, hear no evil, do no evil. The posse showed up together.  Everyone showed up to see what was happening with the White Hen. I told them to get lost. They did have a worried look, but it could be my imagination. The dogs have never harmed any of the chickens. Zip annoys them and steals their food when we aren’t around, but he’s never tried to hurt her. They reminded me this morning of relatives visiting a loved one in the hospital. Thank God Bud was inside the farmhouse; there was too much snow for him, and he didn’t like chickens.

Maria clipped her nails, which were getting way too long. White Hen was calm around Maria. They seemed to talk to one another, and she let Maria pick her up and move her around. She was getting to the food and drink herself.

One last hug and back in the stall.