What is your inner home like? By Ruth Eckles

“As you practice building a home in yourself, you become more and more beautiful.” -Thich Nhat Hanh, from the book “How to Love” I was listening to a podcast the other day and the speaker was talking about “the habitual tone in which we live.” She was talking, basically, about the relationship we have with ourselves—the way we communicate with ourselves, the voice inside our head, the energetic quality of our continual inner dialogue. It was fascinating to think of this as a “tone,”, a sort of background energetic quality, a general vibe. It’s interesting to think about what that tone is like. Is it harsh? Is it friendly? How do we treat ourselves? How do we react when we make mistakes? How do we react when we don’t meet our own expectations? All of these things play a role in setting the internal tone in which we live. For me, it’s interesting to think about it in terms of a house. If I think about the trouble (and expense) we all take to make our homes a nice place to be—a warm place to be, a welcoming place to be, a beautiful place to be, a comfortable place to be. There’s art on the walls, colorful rugs on the floor, soft couches. There’s things to do—TVs to watch, books to read, games to play; something inviting cooking on the stove, enticing smells coming from the kitchen. All of these things help to set up a warm and welcoming home environment. As I play around with the concept of my inner vibe/tone as a home, an environment, a context, I’m asking myself: how welcoming is it, how warm is it, how comfortable is it to be there? Is it a harsh environment? Is it severe? Is it judgmental? Can I relax there? Can I take refuge? Can I be myself there, without judgement? Can I feel free there? Can I have fun? Is it a context where I can thrive and grow? If not, how can I begin to shift that? What might my ideal internal environment feel like, simply as the energetic vibe that I buzz around with in the world? This isn't an intellectual thing...it's basic being. It’s also interesting to think about the actual home environment where you grew up, and the “tone” that it had, the vibe; the stew that formed you. Because often, we’ll create that same energetic quality that it had, as our inner emotional environment. But it doesn’t have to be that way (if it happened to be not-so-happy or ideal). I watched the Bob Dylan documentary on Netflix this weekend (highly recommend—Martin Scorsese did it) and Dylan said “We don’t find ourselves, we create ourselves, and we create things.” I liked that. Perhaps (despite our programming) we can intentionally create our internal homes like a work of art, always changing, shifting, evolving into an environment, an energy, that can support, nurture, welcome, and hold ourselves and the people and communities we are blessed to have in our lives. On Friday, July 3, 2020, 12:26:20 PM EDT, Michael Smith wrote:

Nancy Gilbert's memories of early moves, from New Orleans to Hot Springs, Ark., and more. First Draft

EARLY YEARS; BIG MOVES...

MOVE 1

When I Iived with Papa and Mama in New Orleans my best friend and neighbor was

Anne Soule – I often went to Sunday School with her. Then there was real school. In first

grade I didn’t know what recess was. When the kids started running outside I thought it

must be lunchtime so I went home. (I think I was returned to school). Second grade was

much better – the school books featured Bob and Nancy and lots of cutting and pasting.

Suddenly my whole life turned around. We were leaving the city and moving to Hot

Springs. I recall being quite upset that I would have to give up my bed...a twin bed just

like Susie’s. It also meant that I couldn’t play with Anne any more.

My mother, unimpressed by the Arkansas public school system, signed me up for third

grade in a Catholic parochial school. I can’t remember much about the classroom topics.

However I was allowed to skip the daily catechism teachings. Sister Roberta let me

doodle while she droned on.

I lived across the street from a classmate who showed me the ropes: how to use holy

water and explained the stations of the cross. I learned “Hail Mary full of grace” by heart

and added a few to my five “Now I Lay Me Down to Sleeps” along with a list of God

blesses for all the family members. I prayed every night at bedtime...carefully spreading

my hair on the pillow so I would look nice if I should die before I woke. I think it was the

prayers that most disturbed my mother.

I missed my old New Orleans home and school and kept a paper bag under my bed

stocked with some snacks and clean underwear – ready to go if I decided to run away.

MOVE 2

Then the family moved out to a big house in the country and I was transferred to the Hot

Springs Public School for fourth grade. We never met Mr. Hendricks, owner of the

house, and a prominent member of the highway commission who had used state funds to

build his dream home. He dammed the stream that ran through the property creating a

lake (stocked with bass) and built a lovely walkway with weeping willows along the

edges. Mrs Hendricks lived in a basement apartment while he was spending his days in

jail. She was very welcoming to me and Susie. We liked to help her make butter with a

glass churn. We were allowed to turn the wooden blades until the cream turned into

butter. Very exciting. The butter was put into a wooden case with a sliding top and

refrigerated.

She also a one-eyed handyman (Charlie?) who took care of everything – including a few

cows. When one of the cows gave birth the calf was named NanSue after us.

It was a happy time for me -- I loved being in the country. There was Susie, Bobby, Terry

and baby Michael to be looked after. No one paid much attention to my excursions. I

crawled across the stream on a fallen log and hiked up the Ozark hills. I discovered a

 

little cave with a stalactite hanging down. Further up there was a cabin of friendly

hillbillies. I found a fenced-in area with a stile...just like in picture books. I climbed over

it and discovered berry bushes – Boyson berries. I found pecan and holly trees. Beautiful

slim sumac trees – I could peel the bark for wands. I thought maybe I’d grow up to be a

naturalist.

I knew little about Bradley’s work for “Hot Springs, the Nation’s Spa.” I just remember

the drive into town with him every day with “Good Morning Breakfast Clubbers” on the

radio. We were always late ...it took me a long time to understand why the teacher always

greeted my arrival with “Merry Christmas, Nancy.”

I suppose I had picked up some information about God and His requirements from the

catechism classes. I began to truly resent Him when I learned that he was always spying

on me -- even when I picked my nose or went to the bathroom. I missed my privacy.

The house was built on a large grassy area and one afternoon there was a fierce

thunderstorm. Pounding rain, great, loud bolts of thunder and lightning. I ran out to the

yard shouting “I don’t believe in you GOD! Go ahead and strike me down!”

Nothing happened. I was free. I was ten.

There was a hammock hanging near the pond where I spent many hours with The Swiss

Family Robinson. I also loved and wept with Little Women.

Two young men lived with us....renting rooms in the big house. They were known as The

Boys. I was especially fond of Dick Slater, a Canadian who was called home to join

Canada’s war effort. I can only remember the first two lines of the awful poem I wrote

for the occasion: Oh, Dick has to go to War. Isn’t that a terrible bore!

Clearly I didn’t know much about war. But not long after Dick left, Japan bombed Pearl

Harbor. I had no notion of what that meant but I could tell that it was serious. I can still

picture Ma and Bradley leaning close to the radio to hear FDR’s speech announcing the

attack and declaring the U.S. at war. December 6, 1941 – A date that will live in infamy!

That year there wasn’t money for Christmas decorations but we dipped used flashbulbs

in glue and glitter. I thought they were beautiful.

I had a black board and loved to draw. I invented Sylitherine. a chalk version of a

beautiful princess. I never wanted to erase her. I also drew a bathtub after Bradley

requested that I draw him a bath. Not sure if I was being creative or stubborn.

MOVE 3

Bradley found a (photo-journalism) job with Click magazine in New York. I’m sure I

finished 4 th grade in Arkansas and began 5 th grade in Freeport but have no memories of

the move to Long Island – maybe Susie and I went to N.O.

 

Houses I remember

I was born in NYC; - we moved to a house near Baton Rouge (where Susie was born). I

think Papa and Mama were involved with some kind of good works??

A house on Maple St. in N.O. It sat on brick piles – \

The little boy next door and I could crawl under the house.

It was where Katherine came to help care for Susie who had undulant fever.

I remember Papa excitedly catching a Luna moth for his collection.

Another house on Walnut St.

I started school _ not sure about kindergarten.

House in Hot Springs...could walk with classmate to school.

House in the country near Hot Spirngs.

It was huge.

House in Freeport, L.I. – 229 Whaley St.

A big house: room for parents, Josie and Daddy, a room for Nancy and Susan,

A room for Terry and Michael, and finally a small room for baby Sharon.

Archer Street School 5 th and 6 th grades

Next to Freeport schools....7 th and 8 th grades

Then 9 th and tenth grades.

Grades 11 and 12 at Oakwood\

Most summers included a month in N.O.

 

Connecticut – Dinglebrook Farm

We all lived in the large Dinglebrook Farm house until after I was married. It was

wonderfully big with a fireplace, barn, chicken house, pond and many acres of woods.

Grades 11 and 12 at Oakwood\

Most summers included a month in N.O.

Excerpt from Chuang Tzu, Basic Writings, trans. Burton Watson, The Secret of Caring for Life (Columbia Univ. Press, 1964), p. 46-47.

Cook Ting was cutting up an ox for Lord Wen-hui. At every touch of his hand, every heave of his shoulder, every move of his feet, every thrust of his knee - zip! zoop! He slithered the knife along with a zing, and all was in perfect rhythm, as though he were performing the dance of the Mulberry Grove or keeping time to the Ching-shou music.

"Ah, this is marvelous!" said Lord Wen-hui. "Imagine skill reaching such heights!"

Cook Ting laid down his knife and replied, "What I care about is the Way, which goes beyond skill. When I first began cutting up oxen, all I could see was the ox itself. After three years I no longer saw the whole ox. And now - now I go at it by spirit and don't look with my eyes. Perception and understanding have come to a stop and spirit moves where it wants. I go along with the natural makeup, strike in the big hollows, guide the knife through the big openings, and follow things as they are. So I never touch the smallest ligament or tendon, much less a main joint.

"A good cook changes his knife once a year-because he cuts. A mediocre cook changes his knife once a month-because he hacks. I've had this knife of mine for nineteen years and I've cut up thousands of oxen with it, and yet the blade is as good as though it had just come from the grindstone. There are spaces between the joints, and the blade of the knife has really no thickness. If you insert what has no thickness into such spaces, then there's plenty of room - more than enough for the blade to play about it. That's why after nineteen years the blade of my knife is still as good as when it first came from the grindstone.

"However, whenever I come to a complicated place, I size up the difficulties, tell myself to watch out and be careful, keep my eyes on what I'm doing, work very slowly, and move the knife with the greatest subtlety, until - flop! the whole thing comes apart like a clod of earth crumbling to the ground. I stand there holding the knife and look all around me, completely satisfied and reluctant to move on, and then I wipe off the knife and put it away."