Clean Streets For Empty Souls

I have observed the homeless from several angles.  I was once the student who gave her lunch away to the homeless guy at the bus station every day and never told her grandma until after I left that school.  I was once a ‘suit’ that passed them on my way to work every day wondering why they didn’t have a job.  I was once the shelter volunteer that saw how difficult it is to keep a job when you are homeless….and how 80% at least had a mental illness or life situation of some sort that made them unemployable.  I was once the Vice President on a Board of Directors working the political angle of the issue, working the numbers in how much homelessness costs society in crime, illness etc.  I was once or twice the girl that packed what she could into a car and hoped for the best, realizing experientially how quickly and easily that situation can come.  

Things for me have turned around and I find myself living in the heart of downtown Brantford, right on the main drag.  It’s old, rusty and often joked on as the ghetto.  Police are at my apartment building often and there is always someone getting evicted.   My neighbour and I chatted once coming down the back steps as he was running from the police while carrying a gun after threatening to murder the parents of the mother of his week old infant.  We talked about the weather.  The police jumped my armed neighbour while I stood not 1 foot away from him.  He and I were shoulder to shoulder.  Just to give you an example.

My landlord is one of the good guys.  He spends money to keep us safe and will kick someone out at the first sign of trouble. We found a syringe sticking exposed out of the ground around where my dog runs around—he cheerfully picked it up and disposed of it. He was busy installing a very expensive secure mailbox (as all our mail was being stolen) –he walked away for a minute and came back to find his drill stolen. 

He shovels and cleans inside and out constantly.  He even cleans off our cars!!!! Do you know what it means after a snow to come to my car in the freezing morning and find it completely wiped off with a path leading to the door???? Its like gourmet ghetto –I hate to leave it. 

He is one of the landlords responsible for bringing a new energy to the downtown.  I see the shift.  Everyday there are more people, less parking.  Good signs.  It’s a different quality of people walking around as well.  It’s very uplifting to see.   I have been seeing less and less homeless people….that’s good right?  The guy that used to sometimes sleep in my stairwell hasn’t been around….maybe he’s off the street right?

Then my landlord was telling me (as he’s picking up the syringe) that the police are doing their best to really clean up the neighbourhood and we’ll be seeing a huge difference soon.  That sent a chill through me. 

I remember Mississauga on my Board of Director days.  Mayor Hazel was publicly boasting of the fact that there were no homeless people in Mississauga—the city was doing that well.  A Mississauga resident at the time, I had to admit, I had never seen one.   Around the same time I began volunteering in a local grassroots thing where every night a different church would open its basement to the homeless (as there were no shelters) as long as security and staff was provided.  A local minister drove around the streets in a mini-bus picking up strays.  Every night we were full to capacity….. many, many, many of them were from Mississauga.   

The police would kick any loiterers off the streets.  It may be depressing to see a homeless person sleeping under a street lamp—but that is a safety issue.  If you leave them to alleys and under bridges, they become prime targets for rape, theft, and violence—and not always by other homeless people.  It’s usually drunk assholes after the bar.  Because they weren’t allowed to be on the street, it was hard for the Minister to find them—forcing him into alleys and dark parks and under bridges.  TERRIBLE!

Its living under this constant terror that facilitates things like schizophrenia to manifest—further decreasing the likelihood of this person getting off the street, and increasing the likelihood of that person committing a crime or getting sick which then costs taxpayers money.  It’s the same with prisons.  Citizens demand harsh punishments…society asks that we deprave criminals not understanding the way they live now—constant terror at times—causes an angry soul to become venomous…we let it fester and percolate in them for years as we keep them in a cage, then we let them loose and wonder why they re-offend. 

A few days ago I found myself going through a drive through bank machine at about 11pm. A couple I recognised from my building that I haven’t seen for a while (who appeared to me as sweet but clearly mentally ill) were standing about 20 feet away holding a ‘hungry & homeless’ sign.  They certainly looked it.  I would have to pass them in order to leave the parking lot.  At first I was afraid—there was two of them and no one anywhere to help me if there was trouble.  I motioned for her to come over anyway and as I reached in my purse,  suddenly a police cruiser pulled up around the corner and her husband pulled her behind a dumpster as if they were hiding from the Gestapo.  It was sheer terror.  I heard him say “It’s the cops” and she cried “Oh God…” as they hid behind a wall. The cop kept going and I was able to talk to her—she even remembered my dog’s name—yet I didn’t know her name.

Then there is the Karma angle.  Citizens are relieved when this stuff is taken out of their faces.  If we don’t see it, we can pretend it doesn’t exist.  But it does exist, and we need to heal it.  Otherwise we are just empty souls…wasted bodies filling space but cultivating no compassion-- But the streets will look pretty. Is that a fair trade?

We force these people under bridges and behind railroad tracks where anyone a little stronger or crazier can do them in just for fun…where they have no chance in hell of scrounging a few bucks to eat…who probably havn’t slept in months….and we let it continue, and we look the other way and get excited that the neighbourhood now looks pretty…then we wonder why these people rob us or hurt us.  Why wouldn’t they? That’s exactly what we are doing to them.  And what are we turning our police force into? We are asking them to be callous.

Bad karma….bad karma….one way or the other, it’ll kick us in the ass.  I’m not saying to allow people to set up tents on the sidewalk…I’m saying heal the problem in the first place.  Don’t sweep these people under a rug…heal their life situation.  Not just for them, but for society as a whole.

 We all do well when we all do well.

At the risk of sounding harsh (as I am often accused of,) I have to clarify a few things in regards to my recent article Real Women Don’t Drink Beer From Bottles.

I have been called selfish and ‘me’ centred.  Well of course its ‘me’ centred, that’s why it’s under the heading of ‘personal reflections,’ it’s a reflection of my personal experience.  If readers are not interested in my personal reflections, then they would do well to avoid the articles in that section and stick to the parts that are of interest to them.  

Secondly, that article was written to give the perspective of an adult child of divorce based on my own experience, for those that may relate.  I am only sharing one perspective, from my own personal experience.

Readers have been concerned about my lack of understanding for the divorcees.  Truly, I tell you, the divorcees have done very well thinking of themselves, and making sure its all good for them. 

So, is it OK that I have to be forever inconvenienced and pulled apart because I’m obligated to consider how they feel?  As soon as I try for once, to put my own emotional health first, after being put in the middle my whole life, I’m selfish?  Call me selfish. Call me whatever you want.

In terms of my mother, she is one of my best friends, we speak 5-6 times a day, she named the article and suggested I write it, despite the difference of opinion we have on the subject.  As a matter of fact, it was our difference of opinion, and our hysterical laughter over someone calling her a ‘machismo cave man’ that inspired the whole thing.

Rest assured, I love my mommy.  Do you talk to you’re mother 5-6 times a day? So before making assumptions on how I feel or don’t feel, people should step back.

All I said was that because my parent’s don’t speak, it puts a huge strain on my time and energy. That’s it. This article was for the children of divorce, not for the divorcees. Apparently it’s selfish to state the obvious.  Too bad. 

Daniela Siggia

Real Women Don’t Drink Beer From Bottles

My Mother, in her good old-fashioned sensibilities, can make the Taliban look like a bunch of feminists.  But then again, considering the fact that her mother still doesn’t believe that a woman can make a good doctor, and complains that society went to hell as soon as they gave women the vote, I can’t expect too much.  Compared to my nonna, my mom has come a long way, baby! 

I never quite got it: at 14 she was willing to buy me condoms, and take me to get the pill, but would never forgive me if she caught me driving a pick-up truck, or smoked a cigarette while standing up or walking—as these are un-lady like mannerisms. Only butches drive pick up trucks, according to my mother.

I had a female roommate once, and my mom had the nerve to ask me if I was a lesbian because she noticed I didn’t carry a purse or paint my nails.  Those were her EXACT words.  I couldn’t believe it! By that point, I had lost count of how many men I had had in my life, and she’s thinking I’m gay????? Because I don’t paint my nails???????? I had to laugh, and still do thinking about it!

When my parents divorced, I was very little, and my mom made every effort to conceal any animosity.  As far as I was concerned, my dad moved out, but my parents were best friends.  It really seemed that way too.  My dad would visit, and we’d all hang out together.  I was lucky, in that as a child, I didn’t have to witness much grief between them.

My mother and Godmother however used to talk about this guy “Jack” all the time, and not in a nice way.  When I asked them who he was, my godmother said it was ‘some asshole at work.’  I didn’t realize until my teens that ‘Jack’ stood for ‘Jack-ass’ and they were referring to my dad. 

Although no one ever asked me to pick sides, and both did their best to divide time fairly and openly, subliminally a ‘who do you love more’ game began.  When I learned the truth of the marriage break-up, and all the sordid details of what happened, both put extra pressure on me.  One expected complete unquestioned loyalty, the other expected harsh judgment levied on the other.  At least, that is how it felt. 

As soon as I was old enough where communicating for parental reasons was no longer necessary, my mom ended all communication between her and Jack.  That was a great time for me! As an angry teen, it is easier to play both sides, when both sides aren’t speaking!

Many judge children for the ‘playing both sides’ game, but in my opinion, parents ask for it as soon as the situation is presented as ‘sides.’  If parents have drama between them—that is your problem.  As soon as you make your adult problems, the problem of your children, you deserve to get played. 

If only it ended with adulthood! I dedicate this, to the adult children of divorce:

To all divorcee parents who wonder why the kids really deep down haven’t got over it already, when you have long ago…..it’s because YOU WON’T LET US!!!! You guys have each moved on, living in denial of the other, because you have severed them out of your life like the tumour that they were to you.  I’m sure the other would feel the same.  But the kids are stuck with you both! And when other kids get the visits ‘over with’ in one shot, we have to endure the same questions, tensions and resentments twice over.  4 times if their new partners are equally a pain in the ass!

God forbid you are also a person making life choices that both parents feel compelled to comment on.  Any way it comes, you are screwed.  When both disagree, you spend the day defending yourself and getting criticized on repeat.  You get nagged in stereo and seemingly its everywhere you go, and every time your phone has a long distance ring.  It’s enough to make you want to pluck your eyes out.

Or one agrees and the other doesn’t.  Then you get conflicting advice that just leaves you discombobulated. 

Anyway it comes, it screws you.

My birthday: They both want to do something and see me on that day…..they live an hour apart, and over an hour away from me……….both want more than 5 minutes, but neither willing to make the trip. I have to go, on my birthday, to placate them. 

Let’s take holidays as an example: My dad is really big on everybody getting together for the holidays; he has no qualms with laying out the pressure.  Holiday gatherings are a non-negotiable subject. That’s easy to resent, and so easier to live with than the guilt my mom lays out.  My mother slaps me instead with English’s most dreaded and cursed words, “I want whatever makes you happy.  If you are happy, I am happy, so you go wherever you want to go.”

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

All this grief because they can’t grit their teeth for 3 hours in a crowded room to just eat a polite meal and then leave.  I have to divide my time between 2 families, and end up frazzled, overextended and neglectful to everyone else in my life that is actually there for me every day and not just on special occasions. 

What happens when a significant other appears, that also has family? I dread it.  I need to marry an orphan.  It’s the only way I’ll survive.  Last Christmas I avoided the province and spent Christmas ALONE—I’m not kidding when I say it was the BEST Christmas I have ever had!!!!

What if I have a kid one day?  Will I have to throw 2 different birthday parties to accommodate both sets of parents? Nope. Who ever shows up, is welcome.  End of discussion.  The same goes for holidays.   

What parents don’t realize is, as we get older and more powerful, we evolve past the addiction to stress and guilt.  We start to love and honour ourselves enough to say enough! Pretty soon, all this pressure to cling onto this exclusive unity is actually driving us out.  I’m ready to start my own tradition, holidays alone! That way I can be guilt free.  I never choose one over the other, I choose me over both.

This article was inspired when today my mother called me appalled at a situation where someone she knew was having a party for her children’s grandmother (her X mother in law that she is still close to,) and invited the X and his wife to attend.  My mom found it highly inappropriate…the new wife better not pull up in a pickup—and hide the beer!

I told her I thought it was awesome that they could be that mature, for the children’s sake.  Imagine how much healthier those kids will be psychologically for it!  No one is saying you have to be friends or have weekly Sunday dinner, but major holidays, just to make it easier….why not?  Why should the kids suffer because you can’t get you’re shit together enough to be civil?

I have a friend with divorced parents (both remarried) that attend holiday celebrations held at the daughter’s place.  It’s all good.  When I told my mom, based on her reaction, you’d think I told her that they were having an orgy!

I personally have huge respect for these people! I envy my friend’s situation.  If only it could be that easy for everyone!!!

As soon as you decide to breed with someone, on some level, you have decided to be connected for life…deal with it…you messed up the bed, lie in it.

Daniela Siggia

danielasiggia@yahoo.ca

Blessed Be Empty

How Peculiar:  Just last night I was trying to make the best out of being hungry.  Hunger is a sad and lonely experience when it comes from poverty.  Tonight I was blessed and got stuffed on a can of sardines (which I normally love) and bread.  An hour later, I still feel full and feel terrible!

Last night I was hungry  (which sucks,) but I felt physically great enough to stroll and star gaze for hours, and I felt very holy.  Tonight, I’m just weighed down and bloated.  I see it even in my skin. 

The Sufi’s say, “To be close to God, keep an empty stomach.”  I think I get it now.  Food (although necessary in small quantities) actually lowers your vibration.  For lunch I ate raw carrots, cucumber and peanuts.  I felt great.  Tonight I ate fish corpse and bread—I feel dirty.  I feel the difference in resonance between the two meals, and I feel the effects not just physically, but psychically as well.  Now I know why Jesus only ate things he could pluck off a tree.

I used to be supremely annoyed with people that ate ‘vegan,’ only, I think, to become one.  Hmmm…….something to think about.  

The Plight of The Poor

Several years ago, I had a collection agent come after me.  After getting sick of dodging her relentless calls, I finally decided to level with her.  I told her I had lost my job, and things went from bad to worse.  I explained that I was living in a factory in trade for labour, and had no money coming in-at all.  In effect, I told her, I was homeless.  It was the truth.

She said, “Aren’t you worried about your credit rating?”

“Credit rating? Credit Rating?” I bellowed, “I’m homeless and you think it’s my credit rating I need to be concerned about you dumb bitch?!”

The last time I was in this situation, I was making the best from a catastrophe.  This time, my lack of abode came by conscious choice.  It’s a personal living study of the plight of the poor.  So far, I’m not impressed.

When I volunteered in local shelters, I learned that at least 80% lived with severe mental illness that made them unemployable.  Even if you are employable, what address and phone number do you put on a résumé?  What do you tell your potential boss, I park my car around the corner? I’ll park in the parking lot, so you know I’ll always be on time.  If I sleep in, just bang on the windshield! How do you explain your raggedy appearance? On behalf of all the poor and homeless, to all you “just get a job” mentality holders…f#@$ you!

Unless you have ever struggled, maybe it’s hard to relate, so let me enlighten you.

Keeping your hands clean is almost impossible.  Your nails are always black and grubby.  Not healthy, physically and psychologically.

Going to the bathroom…the trick is to find parks with public washrooms, hard to find in the city.  There are a few problems with fast food bathrooms—you have to be a paying customer to use one and it’s not a guarantee that a homeless person will have enough money to buy something every time they have to pee.  I found myself not drinking liquids (therefore dehydrating myself) just so I wouldn’t have to pee.  I wondered how many other homeless people deprive themselves the same.  Considering keeping yourself well hydrated is the best way to control body temperature, and for the homeless, body temperature is a priority, they are screwed if they can’t drink water because a) they can’t afford it, and b) even if they afford the water, then they can’t afford to pee.

After only 2 days outdoors (even though I had a place to shower and sleep, I looked the part.)  My hair was windblown and gross from being outdoors, my clothes were dirty, and my fingernails black.  I was wearing about 5 layers to stay warm. I looked like scraggly shit and I could tell that it was noticed just by the looks I got.  By the end of day 2, I did everything possible to avoid being seen.  How many others feel the same?

Food…3 take-out meals a day is approx $25.  A homeless person cannot buy and keep groceries, take out is your only choice, besides soup kitchens, which are humiliating and full of nice caring people that suck you dry with “the look.”  You almost have no choice except take out.  Besides being unhealthy, it’s expensive! Most working people can’t afford take-out as their exclusive diet, so how can we expect homeless people to do it?

Then there is the need to avoid “the look.”  It’s worth going hungry or peeing your pants just to avoid it.  I call it ‘the pity face.’  It’s an expression of overwhelming compassion/pity at your circumstance.  This extra potent look of love many (volunteers especially) pour onto the poor in deluded kindness, remind the person that their existence is pitiful.  Sometimes you could be having a great day, relishing in your personal freedom, then you get “the look” and it’s like “Oh, wait a minute, I got distracted by the nice weather, and I forgot, my life sucks.  Thanks for reminding me.”

For the lucky homeless that live in cars, the dilemma arises; where do I park where cops and thugs won’t harass me or where a passer by won’t humiliate me?

I have learned that being homeless is a full time job that every human should experience (even if just for a couple of days) if only to make you appreciate what you have, and to learn to respect those that don’t have.

I love smug little bastards in designer clothing that look at the homeless as weak or lower than them.  I’d like to take that same asshole and strand him with nothing on the streets and see how easy he finds it.  It takes a blessed soul to survive pilgrimage.  These souls should be honoured for their courage to keep on living despite their hardships.  For those that do not honour them, remember, God is watching.

 Jesus said,

 “Whoever turns a beggar from his door, will not be visited by the angels for 7 days.”

Ghazali, Abu Hamed.  From Jesus in The Eyes of The Sufis by Dr. Javad Nurbakhsh

I believe it!

Daniela Siggia

danielasiggia@yahoo.ca

http://spaces.msn.com/members/danielasiggia/

Conspiracy Against Alone Continues

I dropped my grandmother off at a wedding and had several hours to kill before having to pick her up.  It’s been ages since I could afford to take myself out, so at the last minute, I decided to stop at a posh local bistro for a fancy dinner while I worked on an article I was almost done with. I was looking forward to some quiet time alone and really looking forward to my ‘Spanish Stewed Rabbit.’

The restaurant was subtly lit, and the perfect vibe.  As soon as I asked for a table for one, the hostess seemed almost uncomfortable, or like she felt sorry for me.  I brushed her off thinking ‘dummy’ and made myself cozy.  Soon after, as I was scribbling away, the owner came to the table and said ‘Are you eating alone?’ as if he was worried about me.  When I affirmed that I was, in fact, dining alone, he said ‘why?’ as if it was the saddest most terrible thing in the world.  What did he think, that I need someone to cut my meat for me? Was I ever pissed off!!!!  Was the owner really that ignorant, or do not that many people take themselves out alone?

I love going out alone, dinner, movie, sometimes both.  I love it! By all means, cherish your time with loved ones, but don’t forget to spend time with yourself, and not just when you are running errands.

Restaurant Owners Remember:

For $8 I could go to a drive-thru, fill up on yummy, in the comfort of my car, listening to my tunes, and not have to put up with shit.  So, if you expect me to dish out $30 for something I could have made better myself, then you better make me feel like ‘da bomb’ and not ‘da loser.’

Totally feeling as though drive-thru would have been better, and trying to mentally turn my wasted money into a lesson learned, I retreated to the comfort of trees in a local park near the banquet hall. I parked my car at the far end of the trail and walked along the tree line marvelling at the view.  Within minutes, a police cruiser pulled in, and made its way straight to me.  The friendly copper rolled down his window and asked if I was O.K.  I had to laugh.  Nice of him to ask, but why wouldn’t I be?  Again, came the comment of ‘you’re alone?’  Don’t people spend time with themselves anymore? Is it so uncommon to see someone strolling alone? Also, how did they know to come so quickly? Was it coincidence or Big Brother surveillance?

Three times in three hours it was noted that I was alone.  Something is wrong with that.  This tells me that people don’t often spend time outside alone or there wouldn’t be such frequent reactions.  People need to start taking themselves out on dates more often! I call it ‘goddess night.’  I lavish and pamper myself with the best of what I love. Just I and I.

As I have already discussed in my article ‘Tricks of The Darkness,’ there is a base energy permeating our collective unconscious that subtly dissuades us from going within fully.  We are constantly distracted.  I too am a victim.  I came out to the park to meditate.  Just as I was getting centred, the police cruiser startled me.  Instead of meditating after they left, I wrote this article.  Productive? Maybe. But nothing is more productive than meditating, and it’s 8:55pm and I have yet to do it today. 

We must be disciplined in our personal and spiritual practices! Your resonance depends on it! Your resonance, affects the resonance of the world.  Don’t doubt it—we are all connected!

Daniela Siggia

danielasiggia@yahoo.ca

http://spaces.msn.com/members/danielasiggia/  

Psychic To The Stars

Many people ask why I choose to work so often with celebrities, especially since I’m the type of woman that detests all the gilded trappings that come with ‘celebrity’ life.  I have no desire to be famous, but I want to positively influence the masses.  If I can help celebrities elevate in vibration, they will automatically elevate the vibration of the social consciousness.  Thus, I have slayed the dragon that kept an incarnate elemental (as most performers are) from fulfilling their dharma in these Last Days.

When I refer to The Last Days, I don’t mean the end of existence.  I mean, that these are the last days of this age.  A ‘New Age’ of love and peace are about to emerge, and I am focussed on the transition.

The ‘darkness’ subliminally undermines the evolution potential of humanity, by silencing those meant to elevate them.  If I can expose the darkness, it can be healed.  If celebrities get healed, they can affect humanity by blessing the masses with their new peace and wisdom. Celebrities can do great and beautiful things with their fame that can literally make the world a better place for all.

Then I can retire to my peaceful, invisible and private life, resting having known I changed the world.

Daniela Siggia

danielasiggia@yahoo.ca

The Curse of Carcass

For me, the whole issue of fur or animal products isn’t a question of morality, but one of resonance.  Fur resonates at a frequency of slaughter.  Yes its warm, but so is hell- it doesn’t mean its good for you.

I cannot stress this enough—EVERYTHING in this universe resonates at different frequencies, some high, some low.  Everything that touches, enters, or surrounds your being affects the way you personally resonate.  The higher you resonate, the easier it is to feel connected to a spiritual realm and the less likely you are to create drama.

By draping yourself in carcass, you are resonating with the frequency of a carcass.  Just so ya know! 

Daniela Siggia

danielasiggia@yahoo.ca

Champions Neglected: The Voice of The Elderly

It’s easy to forget the power these individuals once yielded, when we see them daily in old and simple frailty.  Sometimes the universe is kind enough to humble you back to clarity.  My spiritual slap in the face was gratefully received at a local art gallery.  It was mid-afternoon and the place was empty.  An elderly volunteer hostess greeted me.  She was sweet and dainty, in her late 70’s. 

We connected instantly, and she talked to me of the phases women go through, throughout the decades of her life.  She said that the 20’s are for making mistakes and often giving away your power, 30’s were for finding your power, 40’s were learning to be O.K. with it, and the 50’s are great, because then you are just living your power, no thought or effort required.  She says that freedom from yourself comes at 50.  Everything is just automatic.  She seemed wise to me, but still old and simple.

She asked my age at that point, and I said 30.  She glowed and said “Oh yes! My 30’s!  I went to The Congo to help in the gorilla movement.  I was only going for the summer, but stayed for 5 years in the cause. It was a crazy time, and very scary but I loved every second of it!”

I was instantly and firmly put in my place, gaping jaw and all!

From that point on, I began observing my 77 year old grandmother, myself with her, as well as those around.

One thing she has pointed out to me, is that she always has to double count the change she’s given at stores, as many give back wrong change because they think she is too old and stupid to notice.  I have since observed it happening to other old people, and I’ve seen it happen to her once since.

I even saw her BANK TELLER try to rip her off of a VALUABLE collector currency, offering to replace the valuable $20 bill with a current $20 bill, from her own purse, because she said she wanted to give it to her kid.  Shame on her for trying to rip off an old lady, especially since she had just seen her bank balance and saw that she isn’t rich.  Shame.

Many I know, myself included, are not much better. It’s easy for us ‘now adults’ to sometimes laugh off her Catholic fanaticism, or giggle at her simple politics or crankiness. The reality is, she survived the Second World War in Europe.  She told me of being punished as a little girl in school, for not having memorized the pledge to shed blood for the fascists that was to be recited at enrolment, after having paid your tax to them in order to attend class.  She told me of running to the shed as they were being bombed, as her village sat between two drop-zones.  She told me tricks she learned to hide in order to be protected from bullets and mortar.  She learned this at the age of fifteen.  Her mother, a vocal opposer to Mussolini, would bake thin strips of bread, and they would go to the passing trains full of Prisoners of War and sneak the bread through the air slits.  She repeats all the time “quanta paura ho avuto da piccola” or “I suffered so much fear as little girl!”

As a broke adult in a new country, she worked three hellish jobs, 7 days a week, and still took care of the house, husband, children, and grandchildren.

At one point or another, she has saved the ass of everyone in my family, be it financial or emotional.  She is always there.  She has survived tragedy after tragedy in 77 years, and you rarely see her shed a tear.  Her biggest gift, is the ability to assist the sick, dying and hold together the family being ravaged by the disease.  She’s always the one they call.

All that is easy to forget when you need to lecture on diet, or whatever comes up as time goes on.  I remember one-day years ago, I was preaching at her to do something and she said,

“Are you my mother?  Don’t forget, I wiped your behind.  You don’t know what I’ve seen and done in my life.  If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be here. You should be coming to me for advice.  Know your place.”

That shut me up, and deservedly so.

The roll of the elderly is severely undervalued in today’s society.  After everything they have lived through to get us here, they have a right to slow down, and feel safe about it.  The elderly come with layers and layers of experience over decades, that we could glean much wisdom from.  Maybe their lives are simple today, but ask them of their power years. 

I have begun interviewing my Nonna, and I’m learning that she is a hell of a lot more than just a cooking and cleaning machine.  I feel sorry for my little cousins who have only known the “old Nonna.”  Not to mention, how can they really get to know her, when they don’t even speak her language? I was lucky to know Nonna and her language in her ‘power years.’  She is a strong woman.  Back in the day, her nickname was ‘The Tower of Power.’  After someone took her purse, she swore that if any man tried anything like that again, she’d take away his manhood with her knee.  Fearless. That’s the Nonna that raised me.

After all she’s lived through, she still has an unshakable faith.  Her prayers for others get answered, yet those same people laugh at her for doing it.

How many other strong, powerful and contributing people, trapped in failing bodies, are treated with the indifference we give our elderly?

To everyone over 20: Our children will only know our parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles as ‘old and feeble’ if that’s all we allow them to see.  It is up to us, as responsible adults, to embrace the life stories of those that came before us, aside from the expectations you may have projected on them as caregivers, and share that with the younger generation. 

Educate them on the wisdom, power and experience hidden behind the wrinkles and forgetfulness.  Maybe they forget as the only way to endure the weight of their memories.  The parts of their personalities you don’t want should be studied.  Figure out what perceptions or life choices made them that way, then be vigilant in your own life not to repeat the same mistakes.  Every moment spent with an elderly person, is an opportunity to learn and so create a better elderly experience for yourself one day.

Be mindful of the jokes and criticisms you make in the presence of children.  Despite all you teach in manners, the lack of respect does get transmitted in the way these children speak and act towards the elderly when you aren’t around. 

Imagine how devastating it must be to know how powerful you really are/were inside, and to know all you’ve seen, done and survived, only to be treated as someone who knows and does nothing.  Imagine the gnawing deflation in their day-to-day lives!

While meditating, I got that the rate of suicide among the elderly is alarming.  Karmically/energetically speaking, this is embarrassing.  It is a brutal expression of how poorly we are resonating as a generation.  We should be ashamed.  We give them no reason for being.  We are driving the elderly to suicide.  Shame. Shame. Shame.

Remember: If we are lucky, maybe we will get to live that long, and we better hope to God somebody loves us.  Or, we can all work now, to change our perception and treatment of the elderly and infirm, to reflect an inclusive, respectful love to those that made the way for you and I to be.  Maybe then, we’ll have it a little bit better, with a little more compassion, than we are currently offering.

Daniela Siggia

Social Commentator, Psychic and

Author of:  For The Love of Self

http://spaces.msn.com/members/danielasiggia/

danielasiggia@yahoo.ca

Country Bumpkin Out After Midnight

 It was about midnight, as I enjoyed my nightly pre-bed walk n’ bake session.  I was in a major city, on a main drag.  The sidewalk however was just far enough away from the road to provide discretion, especially with the help of mature maples providing a canopy.  The moon was bright and the wind still.  Perfect.

 Suddenly a young man (about 22, a surfer type with a gentle benign spirit) sped up behind me on a bike.  He stopped to apologize for startling me.  I grinned and said “its all good.” 

 He proceeded to speed off when he stopped suddenly.  He turned around and very gently and mildly, more curious than judgemental, said, “Hey, I have to ask….why are you walking alone so late…. I mean….all by yourself and all?  You know what I mean? Because, you know……its late…and I mean…..your all alone.” 

 I giggled and said “Why, are ya gonna hurt me?”

 He chuckled, then again asked, “So, tell me, why are you risking being out so late alone?  Aren’t you scared? What could possibly make you want to be out here alone?  I mean…. you’re a young girl (bless him) ….you are young and alone…. and its late.

 I said, “I don’t know, I like walking at night.  Its one my favourite things to do, it helps me think……I just like to.  I really believe the universe has me covered.  Like I said ‘its all good.’

 So sweet. 

Am I that naïve?  I mean, OK shit happens, but is it that bad where women are under curfew?  Where do I go? I’m trapped indoors?  I can’t be alone?  Is that Satan’s smoky way of subliminally ensuring people cannot connect in nature alone any more?  Hmm…

 I want stats.  How many violent crimes occur from a stranger in the average week on single pedestrian women walking after dark in city/suburban environments that are on the benign end of the spectrum.  Who do I call for that? 

 This fear is causing corrosion in the lives of everybody.  If things are so bad that the fear is actually warranted, then something has to be done.

I, for one, will not tolerate it.  We are the first to judge countries that have laws prohibiting the travel of women, yet we live in a society that puts the same restrictions on us.  So the law may say I’m equal and powerful, but life tells me that I can’t walk outside after dark, not without a chaperone.  Creepy.

 Where does a single woman find safe sanctuary in the city?  Where? 

 When I’m in the country, I walk at 1-2 am if I choose.  My only concern are stray ninja cats that are beastly aggressive.  I feel safe walking alone at night in the country, but then again, until tonight, I felt safe in the city to.  I figured, a well-lit sidewalk on a main drag, what’s going to happen?  Even after midnight…it was still busy.

 This guy made me think twice.  I mean, he was a hip, cool guy, so for him to be that shocked to see me and to be curious enough to turn back and ask?  He definitely wasn’t hitting on me; he was genuinely amazed to see a single girl out alone…in a very decent part of town I might add.  

 Are things really that bad?  I don’t want to believe so.  We all have a right to take midnight walks and not be afraid, women as well as men.  Maybe women should be allowed stun guns or crowbars.  Something, anything.  More police presence doesn’t make me feel comforted either, it makes me feel occupied. 

 I should be able to walk around after midnight alone and not be bothered. Period. 

 I’m praying on this one.  This might require divine intervention.  Angels, we could all pray for more angels, at least to start.   

 In the meantime, I would welcome you’re thoughts and feelings on this issue.   Women especially, do you feel safe walking alone late at night?  If so, do you live in the city or country? How often do you do it?  Guys…do you feel safe alone at night?

 Wishing you all safety, security and peace,

 Daniela Siggia  

Author of ‘For The Love Of Self’          danielasiggia@yahoo.ca

My dog was in pain, and I ran to the drug store hoping to find something to make her more comfortable until I got her to a vet. I admit that I looked like shit, and didn’t even comb my hair.  I had crawled out of bed, into a tracksuit and took off.  The pharmacist wasn’t sure what to recommend and I panicked and almost started to cry.  Her condition was not an emergency at all, but I’m a suck when it comes to Roxy and I didn’t want her in any pain if a Tylenol would help. 

 The pharmacist gave me directions to the local vet.   I asked if they took payment plans as I had less than $20—period.  This customer came out of nowhere and blasted me in front of everybody accusing me of not loving my dog.  She looked me up and down with a loathing expression on her well coiffed head and said, “I can tell you are one of those people.”  I still don’t know what ‘those people’ mean.

 I was stunned. Taken off guard I replied “Lady, if I had the money, I’d give it all to help her.  She’s like my kid.  If I don’t have it, I don’t have it.  You have no right to judge me—you don’t even know me, or my life situation.”

 She sanctimoniously replied “Well, I can’t help it if I love animals.”

 I said, “f*** you” and stormed out.  In the car, I began to cry and then a vile hatred grew in me.  I had to be consciously aware not to send it her way.  I didn’t like how I felt and instantly knew that this exact physical sensation, this reaction to sudden overwhelming negativity, is the cause of Cancer.  Its times like these that your body freeze-frames in toxicity. 

 The colon instantly petrifies what it was passing through it at the time you went ‘toxic’ and continues to do so until you get ‘over it.’  As a matter of fact, all toxic substances in you’re bloodstream, urine etc. that are in your body, get accelerated in frequency and absorb into your molecular structure before you have the chance to eliminate it.  Once the damage is done, its done.

 If you add up all the times people get annoyed, pissed off, jealous, mad, or negative in general and view each incident as a dose of cancer, its no wonder so many are getting sick!

 I realized that maybe the same way life had situations that kept me from having vet cash, or any cash, life also had situations that caused her to become a hardened b****.  I didn’t want to be the cause of more hatred in the world, and I certainly didn’t want to carry the poison I just participated in creating. 

 I drove back to the drug store and waited for her outside.  I visualized myself verbally chewing her up and spitting her out.  My heart was racing so fast I thought I was going to have a heart attack.  I decided I didn’t like that feeling either. I remembered that anger is the leading cause of heart disease.

 To know more about the mind/body connection:

 More anger in the world is the last thing we need.  I stood there and silently prayed.  I called on my higher self and my angel to bring me gentle wisdom.  Then I prayed to her guardian angel asking for help communicating with her.

I took assessment of my physical self and noticed my heartbeat felt back to normal, and I was calm. My stomach no longer rotted.  This was all good.

 When she came out I approached her and said, “That shouldn’t have happened in there, I reacted because my feelings were hurt by those accusations.”

She said “I love animals and it pisses me off when I see people like you that don’t.  If you loved your dog you would have $600 set-aside just in case.  You look like the irresponsible type.”

 I replied, “Sometimes life gets in the way of good intentions.  You have no idea what may be going on in my life, or in what emotional or mental state I may be in, and still freely lash out that horribly? I came back so that we could have a mutual understanding.  I didn’t want to spend the rest of the day sending you negative energy.  I thought maybe if we started over, you could show some compassion. Do you want to be a b**** on purpose or are you that out-of- touch with the reality that some don’t have it easy?”

 She looked me in the eye and smugly said, “I don’t care about anyone’s life or problems, and I don’t care if everybody in the world hates me.”

 I said, “That’s a good thing, because with you’re attitude, everybody probably does.  I came back and tried to be human, so I can walk away in peace, knowing I tried at least to do the right thing.  I’m going to pray that God softens you’re heart, so you won’t have to suffer life humbling it.” Then I walked away.

 She yelled after me “If you loved you’re dog, you’d be taking her to the vet instead of talking to me.  Keep your prayers.”

 I got back to the car and thought, was it all a waste?  I listened to my body.  Despite the rejection and hostility she spewed at me this second time, I was calm and peaceful.  The fact that I tried, enabled me to release all that pent up negativity. I still got emotional, because I was sad to see someone so riddled with hatred and spiritual bile, especially since it was directed at me.  But the physical sensations of that negativity were gone—cancer free.

 Get it out, deal with it, starting with prayer.  It doesn’t matter whether the asshole comes around or not, you will be free and clear!

 Daniela Siggia                              danielasiggia@yahoo.ca

Well, I knew I'd ruffle a few feathers along the way, and my article Ode to Herb certainly did. Although the critique was ignorantly archaic, she did bring up a valid concern to the message it may give young readers.

I have included my reponse to her comment below to clear up any misconceptions in regards to my message to youth: