Monday, May 18, 2015

Imagine me Zen

For the past few weeks, when I apply any self-reflection, my life feels as if a person has thrown a basket of silverware, high into the air, with the hope that it is all going to land perfectly in place on a swanky table setting. Nearly every aspect of my life is up-in-the-air. It feels chaotic and I struggle to feel grounded. 

Chaos Theory

Ever since I can remember, I have been intrigued by chaos theory. According to www.thefractalfoundation.org, chaos theory is the ''science of surprises, of the nonlinear and the unpredictable.'' They go on to say that by ''recognizing the chaotic, fractal nature of our world can give us new insight, power, and wisdom.'' I, for one, could use more wisdom, personal power, and insight. The part of chaos theory that I am most interested in is often referred to as the Butterfly Effect. Basically, this is the idea that a butterfly can cause a hurricane in China, by flapping its wings in New Mexico. Sure, it may take a long time, but even an seemingly insignificant gesture has the power to alter the course of history. 

This theory affects me in multiple ways. It causes me to want to live a more deliberate, mindful life, so I can decrease, if not eliminate the Hurricanes that I cause in others lives. It also allows me to see chaos as something beautiful, something with raw energy, and endless potential. It allows me to see my up-in-the-air-life with gratitude and hope. It gives me more control over what I have control and less desire to control the things that I cannot. 

Sure, my employment and housing in NYC are undetermined, despite making a conciences effort. However, recently my personal chaos has given me the opportunity to see some amazing cultural things in NYC, spend quality time with friends, go on adventures, meet interesting characters, practice self-reflection, fly to Utah to find my diploma, hang out with family, friends, and Tula, get the flu in a place where I have a mom to take care of me, see Utah at its greenest, attend the funeral of a beloved neighbor, and tomorrow I get to work at the hospital on call before returning to NYC. The more I lean into the chaos and discomfort, the better the outcome. 

But for now, picture me in a Zen-like state, please? 

Sunday, May 10, 2015

My Mother Named Me Cory

Back: Ike, Clint, Cory
Front: Whitney, Elisa, Mom, Tyler
Taken at Lori's wedding - Dad was working
Today is mother's day. For those of you who know me personally, know that I adore my mother. She is one of the most supportive, intelligent, empathetic, hard-working people I have ever known. And she is funny. So incredibly funny! She is shy in social situations, but can also get up in front of large crowds and effectively teach a variety of complex subjects. She taught me to be both systematic and task-oriented, but always to make it fun. I have yet to be able to clean my house without making it into some sort of OCD producing game. (ie: read and work, play cards and work, clean one area and than pick up 25 things). The source of her disappointment while I was growing up, was always when we were unkind to others. She has no tolerance for unkindness, especially when her children are the ones being unkind. To this day, she still asks me if I am being nice. She is the kind of person who walks up to a perfect stranger who is crying in a hospital and gives them a hug and offers words of encouragement. There isn't anyone I'd rather cry or laugh with...and sometimes we do both simultaneously. When people ask me about my family dynamics, I always say that it basically consists of myself and my five siblings vying for my mother's attention. The best spot to sit, is right next to my mom, weather you are watching a movie, driving in the car, on a roller coaster, or at church. 

Recently I had the opportunity to attend The Moth in Brooklyn. The Moth, it is a podcast/radio program that is taken from live storytelling events. Prior to moving to NYC, I had gotten really into them, as I love stories. The thought of telling a story in front of a live audience terrifies me, but I decided to write a story anyhow. It needs some editing, but I am posting it here, as my mom is one of the subjects of my story. Enjoy.    


MISS CORY

When I was seventeen years old I was diagnosed with Idiopathic Thrombocytopenic Purpura, also known as ITP. I can still clearly remember going to our family physician’s office with my mom, convinced that my head to toe bruising was caused by anemia, having been a vegetarian for two years. My mom, who happens to be a nurse, was convinced that I had leukemia, something that she failed to mention prior to the appointment. We were both thrown a curve ball that day and presented with ITP, an autoimmune disorder that causes one’s immune system to attack blood platelets, the body’s clotting factor. Maybe it was my naivety or my flair for the dramatic, but I left my doctor’s office in hysterics, knowing that my life would never be the same. Meanwhile, my mom was practically overjoyed that I didn’t have leukemia. At least that is how I remember it. I ended up going to a specialist who confirmed the diagnosis of ITP and immediately started on high doses of prednisone, a steroid that suppresses the immune system. I tend to be quite sensitive to medications and even low doses of prednisone send me into a physical, emotional and mental tailspin. At that time, they were giving me 80 mg of prednisone. I was a wreck! The best way that I can describe it is feeling like I could run a marathon but being so physically exhausted that I could barely move. I felt like I could crawl out of my own skin. Historically during prednisone treatments I would find myself mopping my kitchen floor at 3 am, not being able to sleep for more than an hour at a time. When I was seventeen, the prednisone caused some weird hallucinations. My favorite hallucination was feeling like my teeth were huge and I was tiny. My oldest brother still calls me Chicklet teeth to this day.

After being on the prednisone for a few weeks, there was a significant increase in my platelet count and they began to taper me off of the medication, only to have my counts plummet. They decided that they would perform a splenectomy within a week of my high school graduation. I was convinced I was going to die. I believed that I was going to go into surgery and never wake up. This belief was further validated by the fact that my sweet mother started giving me my Christmas gifts early, something that I jest with her occasionally to this day. During this time I missed a lot of school. Often I would stay at school for half of the day and leave early to take a nap. I was emotionally exhausted and scared.

Marlene
My parents are amazing people. I am the fourth of six children. My dad is a movie buff and I have a younger sister who is named after a song sung by Robert Redford in Paint Your Wagon. Once, as a child, when I was complaining about having a boy’s name, my mom informed me that I was actually named after two women. Cory, she informed me, was a character from a movie called The Reivers, based on the book by William Faulkner and Marlene, my middle name was from her best friend in high school. I am a pretty inquisitive person, however I never felt compelled to watch The Reivers. On one of those days when I was home sick, or maybe just emotionally exhausted, I was laying in my parent’s bed flipping thorough channels. And there it was—The Reivers, a very 1970’s looking film, starring a young, handsome Steve McQueen. In the movie, Steve’s character and his friend steal his father’s car (the only one in the county) and drive it into town to visit, Miss Cory. The first thing I noticed about Miss Cory is that she had very 1970s style feathered hair. The next thing that I noticed is that Miss Cory happens to be a prostitute and she lives at a whorehouse. For the second time in a year, I knew that my life would never be the same. I didn’t wait to finish the movie. I immediately picked up the phone, and called my mom, who was at work. “Seriously?” I accused. “You named me after a prostitute!” No apology. She simply replied, “But she didn’t want to be, she wanted to get married and have a family.” In that moment I think that I still thought that I was going to die, but there was a part of me that also knew that I needed to live—this knowledge was too great to not be used to my advantage—as much as humanly possible!  

Miss Cory
I survived the splenectomy, and I have survived the more-than-I’d-like prednisone treatments that I have had over the past eighteen years. I survived the bone pain associated with an exploratory treatment. I still allow myself to cry every time I have to start another prednisone treatment. Sometimes I handle it better than other times. Sometimes I am braver than other times. And sometimes I don’t think about it at all. But every time someone calls me Miss Cory, which happens more than one would guess, I smile. It reminds me that I am alive. That humor exists through hardship. That sometimes we are given what we need at the exact time that we need it, and that I would not have survived this far without my sweet, AMAZING mother.

Saturday, May 2, 2015

Saudade

"Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us 


yesterday, separate, in the evening." 



Today I experienced a beautiful NYC spring day. The sun was shining, an occasional chilly breeze, and the constant need to put on layers only to take them off minutes later. I spent the majority of the day outdoors with people I love and enjoy being around. As we all went our own ways, I decided to walk back to Brooklyn Heights instead of taking the subway. I felt good as I meandered through a Hasidic Jewish neighborhood on a sabbath day. For the majority of the time I spoke with my mom on the phone. She reminded me that I only have two responsibilities right now; finding a job and finding a place to live. 


As I neared the place that I am staying (for the next 18 days), I started feeling a pang in my heart. I challenged it. "Today has been a good day. I don't have anything to feel sad about." But there it was and it didn't appear to want to depart. So, I sat with it for a moment and the thought came to me, "I wonder if life will always consist of missing one thing or another." I texted my mother and she brilliantly replied, "Oh yes! But life is good!" In Portuguese (the language of the gods, according to my dad) there is a word that refers to this melancholic longing or yearning. Saudade is more than just missing something. It evokes a sense of loneliness and incompleteness. 

In 2006 I had the opportunity to work at the largest women's shelter in Seattle. Naively I entered a world that was raw, desperate, and violent, and I fell in love. I loved those women. I loved their honestly. I loved their stories. I loved their ability to demonstrate compassion and humor in times of adversity. Due to a bout of kidney stones that ended in surgery, I returned to Utah. For weeks I cried because I longed to be back in that space that was so wildly different from anything I had experienced prior to or since. My secret wish was that somehow Seattle and Provo could geographically collide so that I could live where I had family support, while continuing my work at the shelter. There was such a longing to be in both spaces. Physically impossible, I was forced to miss one, which I did desperately for longer than I am willing to admit. 

I am entering my third week of officially living in NYC and I am feeling this pang in my heart, this loneliness, and incompleteness. This desire for so many geographic locations to collide so that I can be close to all of the people that I love simultaneously...and of course Tula. It hurts. Sometimes it feels irreconcilable. Occasionally it stops me dead in my tracks and I feel like I can't breath. Often I just want to sleep so that I can avoid have to choose. So, will we spend our loves missing one thing or another? "Oh Yes! But life is good!" 


"Separation isn’t time or distance

it’s the bridge between us

finer than silk thread sharper than swords." 




Tuesday, April 28, 2015

208 East 13th Street NYC

Half the fun of travel is the aesthetic of lostness.

(Ray Bradbury)


Last night my brother game me the following advice (multiple times), "Just don't freak out." Today I may not have taken his advice. I have been living in NYC for just over one week. Despite having an amazing set up (I'm temporarily living with amazing friends in NYU law professor housing in a beautiful neighborhood), it has all been far more emotionally taxing than I had imagined. I have uprooted all aspects of my life, and feel completely ungrounded. I feel lost...learning how to navigate a new city, relationships, employment, housing. 

My "freak out" included a strong desire to want to become physically lost. I hoped on the F train and got off at Rockefeller Center. After walking around for a few minutes, I realized that I needed to go on a quest. I decided to find the tenement house that Emma Goldman lived in from 1903-1913, without using Google maps. 

Exit

54th st. to 13th st. (this is where my journey begins):

As I was walking the 41 blocks to my destination, I passed numerous people who were panhandling. As I walked past each person, I started thinking about the Sermon on the Mount. This led me to think of my fear of becoming apathetic and less concerned about the suffering around me. Just then an older man called out, "I'm hungry." I passed him, stopped, and turned around. I cannot remember the last time I was truly hungry. I gave him a couple of dollars and then I remembered something that I had read years ago about how our secret sorrow is the want to be enveloped in a raiment of real response. We started talking. He told me that it had been a rough day. I said that it had been for me too...and then I burst into tears. We talked for a few minutes. He asked me if I had a job. When I said that I didn't, he quickly responded, "Why the heck are you giving me money for?" He told me that sometimes it is important to vent to strangers. He became teary too, which I feel was for my benefit so I wouldn't feel so silly. We wished each other the best and I went on my way. 


STOP Police Brutality: 

As I approached Union Square I saw dozens of NYC police standing around. There were a bunch of people gathered for a rally organized to support all of those in Baltimore and those who have been killed by law enforcement. One of the passers by joined us. His dad had been shot in the head by a NYC cop in his own home. Another woman had been in Baltimore over the weekend and told in detail of her experiences there. Uncharacteristically, I went around with an orange bucket collecting donations for a legal campaign to support the forty New Yorkers who had been arrested at a demonstration on April 14, three of which were high school students. www.revcom.us 

Hare Krishna:


As I was leaving Union Square I came upon a group of Hare Krishnas sitting on a blanket chanting. One of them approached me. He told me that if I am ever feeling stressed out I can chant/sing what is written on the card above, and I will feel better. We talked for a minute about the Krishna temples in Utah and then he invited me to sing with them. At first I declined...but somehow I ended up sitting with the devotees and singing, "Hare Krishna Hare Krishna...". After about ten minutes I attempted to make an exit, but the devotee said, "Please don't go. We still have a half hour." So guess what folks, today I spent at least 40 minutes singing with a group of Krishna's on Union Square and the devotee was right, it did lift my spirit. 

Emma Goldman:

Just before sunset, I arrived at my destination.



Free love? As if love is anything but free! Man has bought brains, but all the millions in the world have failed to buy love. Man has subdued bodies, but all the power on earth has been unable to subdue love. Man has conquered whole nations, but all his armies could not conquer love. Man has chained and fettered the spirit, but he has been utterly helpless before love. High on a throne, with all the splendor and pomp his gold can command, man is yet poor and desolate, if love passes him by. And if it stays, the poorest hovel is radiant with warmth, with life and color. Thus love has the magic power to make of a beggar a king. Yes, love is free; it can dwell in no other atmosphere. In freedom it gives itself unreservedly, abundantly, completely. All the laws on the statutes, all the courts in the universe, cannot tear it from the soil, once love has taken root.” 






Friday, March 13, 2009

Sri Lanka Guardian

What Does It Mean To Follow Jesus Christ Today?
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 18, 2008 LEAVE A COMMENT



by Cory Bushman

(October 19, Washington, Sri Lanka Guardian)Christ’s teaching to live each day as if it were your last is much smarter than the world’s teaching to get more and more money for the future. Both sides will die, but only one will die prepared and happy. Disciples of Christ will be poor, but that does not mean that they will be sad. It may mean that they will live out on the land or sleep under the stars, that they will be hungry three times a day (just before each meal), that they will be so tired at night that they will fall asleep easily and sleep right through the night, that they will use their time to listen to and help others, and that when they die, their death will have meaning.” --Leo Tolstoy (What I Believe)

Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.
D & C 18:10

THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT

The late American novelist and humanist Kurt Vonnegut expressed the importance of The Sermon on the Mount in his last work, A Man Without A Country. Vonnegut wrote, “How do humanists feel about Jesus? I say of Jesus, as all humanists do, If what he said is good, and so much of it is absolutely beautiful, what does it matter if he was God or not? But if Christ hadn’t delivered the Sermon on the Mount, with its message of mercy and pity, I wouldn’t want to be a human being. I’d just as soon be a rattlesnake.”

In A Man Without A Country, Vonnegut tells of a man by the name of Powers Hapgood who was born to a middle-class family in Indianapolis, Indiana. Hapgood became involved in organizing to gain better pay and safer working conditions for his working-class brothers. Powers Hapgood was arrested in a picket line and brought before a judge. The judge, knowing Hapgood’s history asked, “Mr. Hapgood, here you are, you’re a graduate of Harvard. Why would anyone with your advantages choose to live as you have?” Hapgood answered the judge: “Why, because of the Sermon on the Mount, sir.”

Recently I was given a gift of a small box with the words, “Plans for the Overthrow” wood burned into the top. Inside of the box is a copy of The Sermon on the Mount. These radical words literally tell us exactly what we must do in order to overthrow chains of oppression and follow Christ.

“Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloke also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain. Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away. Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you; That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust.” (St. Matthew 5:38-48)

Aware of the label of insanity given to those who chose to live the teachings of Christ literally, Tolstoy wrote, “What will sound most crazy in the future will be when they tell how we had a Teacher who showed us clearly and simply what we needed to do to have a better life, and we all said that his rules were too difficult.” We have read, reread, shared and committed to memory the Sermon on the Mount, but has it penetrated our hearts? Has it caused a stirring of the soul and a desire to change the way we live and to obey the teachings Christ? In the Book of Mormon, the prophet Alma asks us this same question.

“And now behold, I say unto you, my brethren, if ye have experienced a change of heart, and if ye have felt to sing the song of redeeming love, I would ask, can ye feel so now?” (Alma 5:26)

THREE SAINTS

Kurt Vonnegut referred to saints as “people who behaved decently in a strikingly indecent society.” We are surrounded by saints. In Anne Applebaum’s Pulitzer Prize winning book, Gulag, she includes an account of Margarete Buber-Neumann’s arrest and imprisonment at the Butyrka prison. A fellow inmate had been arrested while wearing “a light summer dress which had turned to rags”. Applebaum tells of Margarete and her fellow cell mates determination to make this woman a new dress. They used rough towels, and burnt ends of matches to mark the pattern. Lighted matches took the place of scissors, and the thread used to sew the dress together was removed from existing clothing. Margarete wrote of the finished product; “The towel dress...went from hand to hand and was beautifully embroidered at the neck, the sleeves, and round the bottom of the skirt. When it was finally finished it was dampened down and carefully folded. The fortunate possessor slept on it at night. Believe it or not, but when it was produced in the morning, it was really delightful; it would not have disgraced the window of a fashionable dress shop.”

Emma Goldman, a famous Jewish anarchist and outspoken atheist, had a similar prison experience, which was recorded in her biography, Living My Life. “Christmas was approaching and my companions were in nervous wonderment as to what the day of days would bring them. Nowhere is Christianity so utterly devoid of meaning as in prison.” Due to their circumstances, few of the women had outside family and friends who would remember them on Christmas day, but Goldman stated that her inmates “clung to the hope that the day of their Saviour’s birth would bring them some kindness.” Long before Christmas, Goldman began to ask “family, comrades, and friends” to send her gifts including; bracelets, earrings, necklaces, rings, brooches, and other trinkets. Goldman was allowed to store these items in her cell and on Christmas Eve, while the rest of her prison mates were attending the cinema, the gifts were distributed, with the help of three of her neighbors and the prison matron. Goldman recorded, “When the women returned from the cinema, the cell-block resounded with exclamation of happy astonishment. “Santa Claus’s been here! He’s brung me something grand!” “Me, too! Me, too!” reechoed from cell to cell.” Goldman wrote of that Christmas in the Missouri penitentiary as the Christmas which brought her “greater joy than many previous ones outside.” She continued to express her gratitude for friends who allowed her to “bring a gleam of sunshine into the dark lives of (her) fellow-sufferers.”

Another saint, who was caught “behaving decently in a strikingly indecent society” was President Spencer W. Kimball. During one of his many layovers at an airport, he noticed a young pregnant woman with a small child standing in a long line. The woman had been advised by her doctor not to pick up her child unless it was absolutely necessary, which caused onlookers to criticize her parenting skills. President Kimball, then an Apostle of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was the first to ask the woman if she needed assistance. President Kimball not only arranged a flight for the woman and encouraged others in line to assist her, but he also took the time to pick up the child and calm her. When all was made right, President Kimball moved on.

This is an experience that President Kimball most likely did not remember, until he received a letter years later from a returned missionary. The letter told the story of the airport, that he was the baby that the expectant mother gave birth to, and that through President Kimball’s kindness and example, the family became acquainted with the LDS church. Mother Teresa said that, “following Jesus is simple, but not easy. Love until it hurts and then love more.”

The women of Butyrka prison, Emma Goldman and her cellmates, and our beloved Prophet Spencer W. Kimball are all great examples of saints. It is important to note that their actions, their great acts of service, are all things that each one of us are capable of. We can all behave decently in a strikingly indecent society.

ENTERTAIN STRANGERS

In Hebrews 13:2 it reads, “Be not fearful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” In September of 2003, I saw a young boy sitting on the sidewalk, in the shadows of the Salt Lake Temple, holding a sign which read, “talk to me.” The boy wasn’t accepting food or money, just conversation. I was struck by the loneliness and isolation that the world offers, that would cause one to beg for human interaction on the street.

On moving into an apartment in a populated area, I was given a packet of community information. Included in the packet was a pamphlet discouraging residents to give to panhandlers. I was struck by the information found in the pamphlet, and immediately my thoughts turned to The Sermon on the Mount and what the Savior would think of the promotion of neglecting His children. Mother Teresa stated that “In the poor we meet Jesus in the most distressing disguises.” It is easy to help those who we feel deserve help or who we can relate to, but that is not what Christ has asked us to do. Catholic Worker Dorothy Day wrote, “The true atheist is the one who denies God’s image in the ‘least of these.’”

DEATH WITH MEANING

Leon Gieco urgently wrote, “All I ask of God is that I not be indifferent to suffering, that parched death does not find me empty and alone without having done enough.” We should all have such fear, fear that we will not do all that God has asked of us, that we will not relieve the suffering of the world, that we will find ourselves having not done enough. We will all die. We are all mortal beings. Each of us must make the choice to live a life that will give our death meaning. It is that simple. There is a Russian peasant saying which states, “If you drink, you’ll die, and if you don’t drink, you’ll die. Better drink and die.” This is what it means to follow Christ today, to drink of life, to walk in the path of Christ, and to live a life which will give death meaning. We must learn to live lives of meaning, lives that not even death can destroy. Tolstoy said that if Christ were here today he would plead, “For thousands of years you have been doing it your way. Now try my way.”

Even when they call us mad, when they call us subversives and communists and all the epithets they put on us, we know we only preach the subversive witness of the Beatitudes, which have turned everything upside down. —Oscar Romero.

Sri Lanka Guardian

Saturday, February 21, 2009

YOU'RE IT

God
Disguised
As a myriad of things and
Playing a game
Of tag

Has kissed you and said,
"You're it--

I mean you're Really IT!"

Now
It does not matter
What you believe or feel

For something wonderful,

Major-league Wonderful
Is someday going
To

Happen.

--Hafiz