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Tag Archives: Change

We Must Never Forget

16 Friday Nov 2018

Posted by Lesley Irene Shore in Healing

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Tags

Awareness, Change, Death, Faith, Family, Growth, Harmony, Healing, Heart, Holocaust, Hope, Journey, Learning, Lost, Love, Memorial, Memory, Prejudice, Prevention, Racism, Remember, Survivor, Witness

1993

I enter the recently opened Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C., join a crowd of strangers and begin travelling through time. Our group moves from one historical moment to the next. We observe Kristallnacht, the burning of books, mass murders, rape, and other Nazi atrocities. Each event brings us closer to Hitler’s “final solution.”

Passing beneath an arching sign, ARBEIT MACHT FREI (work sets you free), I enter Auschwitz—following the trail of my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, cousins, children, countless members of the human family. First, the selection: to the left or to the right, to gas showers or living hell.

To The Left

A scale model of Auschwitz’s Crematorium II depicts the journey too many were condemned to take: down a stairway to an undressing room, and from there to an underground gas chamber. Naked bodies massed together, each struggling to survive. Gold teeth and fillings pulled from corpses as they lay on the ground. Hair shaved from their heads. And, then, their final destination. Ovens.

Wanting to control my emotions while bearing witness, I take a deep breath and steel my innards. The next exhibit displays empty canisters of Zyklon B. (The insecticide that gassed my Grandmother.)

I enter a room of shoes. These shoes survived, but not their owners. A stale musty smell pervades the room, for the shoes carry a stench from the past, reminding me of the horrors they witnessed. (Could one have belonged to Grandmother?)

To The Right

After selection came tattoos. No longer a name, now a number. At least Grandmother was spared this indignity. But like others entering Auschwitz, Grandfather would have been branded on his left arm. And then he would have been shaved.

I stand staring at a display filled with human hair—swatches in shades of black, brown, yellow, white, and grey.

Unable to look at the hair any longer, I read the accompanying placard and learn that the Nazis found a use for everything. They sold their victims’ hair. When soldiers liberated Auschwitz, they discovered 15,000 pounds of human hair in bales averaging 40 pounds each. (Was Grandfather’s hair in one of those bales, or was it sold to make felt slippers or stuffing for a mattress?)

Continuing my journey through time, I view photographs of death marches and learn that on January 18, 1945 about 60,000 prisoners were removed from Auschwitz. About 15,000 died during that march. (Each life precious, one my Grandfather’s.) I stare at a photograph of prisoners with grey camp blankets draped over their shoulders, each barely surviving, yet struggling to continue. (Is Grandfather among them? Which one might he be?)

Moving on to Liberation, I wait my turn to watch a display of film clippings. The first is of Auschwitz and Dachau. I look at haggard faces and emaciated bodies stuck atop toothpick legs. Some survivors are too weak to walk; soldiers carry these skeletons to shelter. (Could one be Aunt Friedl?)

I stand transfixed before one person’s eyes: wide open eyes, haunted, staring. They gaze at me and through me—as if perpetually drowning in an internal sea of horror. Rescuers help and support his body, but his mind appears frozen in time, stuck inside the terrors of his past.

I stare at piles of decomposing dead bodies. A fly moves in and out of one person’s nostrils.

At Liberation, I lose control over my emotions. Pent up feelings erupt, tears stream from my eyes, and my chest heaves with inner sobs. Moving away from the exhibit, I search for a place where I can pull myself together. Luckily I find a bathroom nearby, where I hide inside a stall. My face twitches as tears roll down my cheeks. I struggle for composure, trying to contain my raging emotions and quell my tears.

When my chest eventually stops heaving, I blow my nose and resume my journey. After passing exhibits describing the plight of survivors and their search for a homeland, I walk into an area where a movie is being shown.

The movie consists of interviews with survivors. I sit mesmerized by their stories—poignant moments of hope, bravery, courage, rebellion, anger, faith, and love. Many cared for each other despite deplorable living conditions, reminding me of humanity’s decency. Tears fall from my eyes with each testimony. I wipe the tears away, but am unable to locate a tissue in my backpack and sit sniffling through the movie.

A woman speaks from the screen, saying, “One should never give up. Giving up is a final solution to a temporary problem.” Another man says, “The future—there was none. But we didn’t give up.”

The movie ends with a female survivor asking us all to bear witness, to stand up to every form of persecution, to make sure such atrocities can never happen again. Not to anyone. Not ever!

People around me start leaving the area. Many quietly wipe tears from their eyes. I continue to sit, still sniffling away. The woman next to me leans over and asks, “Are you alright?”

I am initially taken by surprise. (My grandparents were murdered along with millions of other good people. Such suffering! And courage! How can anyone be alright with that?)

Appreciating her expression of caring concern, I smile reassuringly and say, “Thank you. I’m fine.”

A voice announces that the museum will soon close. It is time to leave, but I have trouble pulling myself away from the exhibits.

Finally following the crowd, I drag myself into a hallway, pass beneath a sign that says “Hall of Remembrance,” and enter a spacious place. A flame burns on a coffin-shaped grey slab of granite at the far end of the sky-lit room.

Walking around this six-sided space, I sense six million ghosts swirling above me, behind me, and around me. They are here to remind us of human nature’s dark side. They are here to protect us from ourselves.

WE MUST NEVER FORGET!

 

Community

17 Sunday Sep 2017

Posted by Lesley Irene Shore in Aging, Elderhood, Fox Hill Village, Land, Nature

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Aging, Change, Community, Cooperation, Earth, Elderhood, Growing, Growth, Harmony Farm, Interconnection, Interdependence, Moving, Mycelia, Nature, Network, Plants, Roots, Seasons, Walk, Wisdom

Bill and I planned to live out our lives on Harmony Farm. When we contracted for long term care insurance, we insisted that it cover in-home care. We built a separate building, “the studio”, with our elder years in mind and even investigated whether it might be possible to be buried on our property.

I cherished living in harmony with the seasons. During summer months we slept with windows open, falling asleep to night-time sounds of owls hooting and awakening to our rooster’s loud crowing. We gardened, swam in the pond, walked in the woods, gathered herbs, picked fruit and harvested food. As weather cooled, we moved more inside, yet stayed connected to nature by eating food reaped from our gardens and continuing to care for the land.

As yearly cycles progressed and I anticipated turning 70, I began re-thinking our earlier plan. While Harmony Farm’s natural setting served us well during years of vibrant health and boundless energy, our bodies’ creaks and groans had become increasingly louder. Activities such as chain-sawing fallen trees and shoveling snow had once felt deeply satisfying. We enjoyed the physical work and felt smug about our useful accomplishments. Now inner wisdom screamed “caution,” warning of their price.

It took a while, but we finally admitted that we no longer thrived on the challenges of caring for our land. Swallowing our pride, we hired others to plow the driveway, shovel the snow and handle heavier jobs on the farm.

Concurrently, I began realizing that while the solitude of our home provided respite from the hectic pace of modern life, its isolation might prove too lonely in the years ahead. On my walks through the woods and while sitting by the pond, I reflected on what the future might bring and opened my heart to the possibility of change.

On one of my daily walks, I stopped, breathed in the earth-pine smells and looked around. I noticed abundant ferns growing on both sides of the trodden path beneath the canopy of trees. Light filtered down, nourishing the green world and me.

All of a sudden, a thought flashed into my mind. Like plants and trees, whose roots support and interconnect with one another, I need to live in community during my elder years.

Stunned by the enormity of this idea, I sank to a nearby log. And sat. Just sat.

Enveloped by the aroma of mossy dirt, I contemplated what this change would mean. Moving away from Harmony Farm – could I bear to separate from this beloved land? Adopting a different life style – what might that look like? Downsizing – how to choose what to keep and what to release?

Waves of emotion coursed through my body. The idea of moving, and what that would entail, hit me like a rock. Filled with panic, my heart thumped rapidly

Searching for safety, I hunkered down further to feel the solidity of the log beneath my buttocks and legs. Supported by the log, I focused on my breath, consciously breathing in and out, in and out, in and out.   After quite a while, the surges of feelings slowed, then stilled.

I calmed and decided to tap into the earth below my feet. Sending tendrils of awareness down, I sensed the vast network of mushroom mycelia running underground – between roots and rocks, hither and yon, connecting plant to plant, tree to tree, spreading out like a spider’s web, reaching far and wide.

Reassured by the reminder of interconnectedness, I realized that no matter where I live I would remain connected to Harmony Farm. And wherever I go, I will always be able to connect with nature.

I finally roused myself and slowly walked toward home along the woodsy trail. Passing the pond, I again felt pangs of what would be missed if we were to pull up roots and move. Yet as I watched the water trickle and bubble its way downstream, I considered entering life’s current and seeing where its flow might take me. Anticipating what living in community might bring, a tinge of excitement sparkled deep within.

Returning home, I decided to wait a few days before discussing my insight with Bill. I sat with my feelings and imagined living in close proximity with other people. What might that feel like? Where might that be? What kind of community?

Ideas percolated, feelings bubbled and then I checked in with my gut. Yes, it felt “right.”

When I shared my thoughts with Bill, he initially refused to consider moving from Harmony Farm. Over time, he gradually opened his heart to embrace the wisdom of living cooperatively with others. And so began our next chapter.

 

Change

08 Thursday Sep 2016

Posted by Lesley Irene Shore in Nature, Whole

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Change, Commune, Earth, Growth, Harmony, Harmony Center, Healing, Journey, Nature, Seasons, Spiritual, Walk, Wholeness

We humans alter the Earth to suit our needs.  We impact our environment, often with little thought to long term consequences.

I’ve been blessed to live on 23 beautiful acres.  Harmony Farm’s pond, stream, woods, and fields have impacted every aspect of my being.  Admittedly, we changed the land by building a house, a barn and a studio, but we tried to do so in an earth-friendly manner.  When planting and tending gardens, we did so organically.

While living on this small slice of nature, I spent time each day outside.  My activity depended on the season.  I walked trails through the woods almost every day and when snow covered the ground I did so with snowshoes.  During spring summer and fall, I ate breakfast by the  pond listening to birdsong, inhaling the sights around me.  I also frequently swam in the pond – a delightful sensory experience.

pondlambs-038

Something important happened during the 36 years that I’ve lived on this land.  I changed.  It happened gradually, almost imperceptibly.  By spending time outside each day, I began feeling whole, more complete.  More peaceful and serene.

The land changed me.

Changing Seasons

14 Thursday Nov 2013

Posted by Lesley Irene Shore in Growing

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Blog, Change, Fall, Life, Process, Seasons, Sharing, Summer, Time

This summer I turned 70 and the occasion brought with it many reflections.  I found myself wanting to take life easier and decided not to push myself so hard to do the things I “should” do.

As I focused on what I wanted to do, I ended up spending more time outdoors and less at the computer.  Days moved into weeks, and weeks into months.  In the process, I neglected this blog.

Summer has moved into fall.  I’m beginning to spend more time inside.  As I enjoy the process of putting thoughts into words and sharing them with others, I plan to resume writing this blog.  Recognizing, though, that my posts will be less frequent, I decided not to renew the growingourselves.org website.  This means that this blog will soon revert to: www.growingourselves.wordpress.com.

I hope you will continue following this blog and responding to my posts.  I look forward to sharing the changes ahead as I move through this season of life. 

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