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Dane Allred examines the "Abundance" of the universe in his list of "1001 Thanks"
Episodes
Monday Dec 27, 2010
Monday Dec 27, 2010
Bright Space
Work
by Dane Allred
As we work side by side
Trying to get back to that Bright Space
We all shared
We organize ourselves to do our best
We try to experience all there is
So when we go back we will know all there is to know.
I circle in my sphere
Completing my tasks
And you complete yours
While circling in your sphere
And sometimes our paths cross
When we meet in this way we find we are doing the same work
Working in our own way
But accomplishing the same thing.
We recognize that Brightness for a moment
And remember that we must remember all of this
So when we are together again
We can share all that we have learned.
You must do those things you are to do.
I have my list as well.
But unknown to us is how our works
Will complement each other
When all is done that must be done.
You and I will have many stories to share
And we will remember the time our spheres connected
For a moment
And we recalled the Bright Space
That Bright Space we left to be here on our own
When all we had ever known was being together.
We came here to find out what we could never know together
And will return to share
And again we will be all there ever was, ever is, or ever will be.
Pay attention to those moments when our worlds coalesce
Remember that Bright Place which still connects us.
And then we will go our separate ways again.
You work in your place
I work in mine
But the work is important
It all works together even though it seems random
It might seem unimportant
It is the most important thing we can do.
Though there seems no order in what we do
Though chaos seems to dominate all we see
Our plan to find out all we ever could
Brings us closer to being together in that Bright Space again.
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Monday Dec 27, 2010
Monday Dec 27, 2010
CHEMICAL HAZARDS
I guess one of the reasons I don't take my injuries too seriously is that I have seen real suffering up close. Anything I have been through is nothing compared to the pain and stress of cancer treatment. I don't think I could put on as brave a face as my wife when she had cancer fifteen years ago.
The bone cancer was discovered. She went through two major surgeries and the recovery process, and was now missing parts of three of her ribs. But the worst was yet to come.
Chemotherapy is designed to kill cancer cells lurking in your body, but it almost kills the patient, too. She was on a special protocol designed by the top doctors in the world, and after the first treatment she was so sick she almost quit.
We called the doctors and they decided she could probably get by on a reduced dose, but she would still have to go through six courses of treatment.
Even getting ready for the chemotherapy involved surgery. She had to have a sub-dermal catheter which would stay in her body for the course of treatment. It looked like a doctor's stethoscope end, and they buried it under her skin just below her right clavicle. It was a bump about an inch around, and when they wanted to administer the chemotherapy, they would strap a fanny pack full of the chemicals to her hip and run a tube from it to her catheter. She would then go back to school and teach the rest of the day as the chemical coursed through her body.
Here's the strangest thing anyone said to us during the chemotherapy ordeal. Since she would be carrying around the treatment with her during the day, the oncology nurse said, "Don't get this on your skin."
The nurse was worried she may spring a leak during the day and have the chemicals get on bare skin. Now think about this for a moment. During chemotherapy you are pumping deadly chemicals throughout your body which are not supposed to get on your skin?
It made us both laugh out loud. It seemed so insane that this was the way where you could kill cancer, by almost killing the patient.
Getting the chemo was the easy part. Enduring the effects was so hard that Debbie wanted to quit several times, and almost couldn't make it through the entire treatment.
After the first treatment, her hair fell out. It would come out in clumps into her hand, and she just tossed it into the garbage can. By the end of the week she was mostly bald. The hairdresser shaved off the rest.
Guys can have a bald head and no one thinks anything about it. But as soon as I see a bald woman I now think chemotherapy. I even think this if I see a woman wearing a scarf which completely covers her head. But the good news is that Debbie has a beautiful bald head.
The chemotherapy treatments would so devastate Debbie's body that sometimes she would need to go to the hospital for fluids and monitoring. She would also sometimes need to get Nupogen treatments to boost her white blood cells.
Here's a strange medical twist. If you are getting chemotherapy, you can't get the treatment if your white blood count is too low, which is one of the purposes of chemotherapy. So if the chemotherapy is working, your white blood count goes down. But if it gets too low, you can't get the treatment.
So cancer patients get a treatment to raise their white blood cell count, so they can go back in later and get chemotherapy which will lower their white blood count again. There must be an easier way to do this.
One time Debbie had an especially bad reaction to the fourth or fifth treatment. She was in the hospital in a lot of pain, and I think the staff had given her too much morphine. She was struggling to breathe, and several times she stopped breathing.
I would gently shake her and tell her to keep breathing. There was equipment in the room which would have alerted the nurses if I hadn't been there, but it was one moment in this miserable process when I felt like I was actually helping.
About the only other thing I could do was give her ice chips when she was in the hospital, which ended up being 10 or more trips. The doctors and nurses did a great job, organized and prepared in a way which is truly amazing to see.
When I think about the advances in science, medicine, and technology, I can’t wait to see what the future will bring. Join me as we journey into a future of possibilities.
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Monday Dec 27, 2010
Monday Dec 27, 2010
Leo
Character Central, this is Leo speakin’. Who you lookin’ for?
Dane
Could I speak to W.C. Fields please?
Leo
Just a minute. W.C.?
Forrest
You need to go to the bathroom?
Leo
No, not the water closet, you moron. Go get W.C. Fields.
Forrest
Okay Lieutenant Dan.
Leo
Stop calling me Lieutenant Dan! Just go get the old drunk.
Forrest
Yes sir, drill sergeant sir!
Leo
That nut is goin’ drive me crazy. Can I tell Mr. Fields whom is calling?
Dane
Yes, I’m Dane Allred calling for Abundance.
Leo
Abundance? You ain’t gonna get no abundance here, pally.
Dane
No, the program is called Abundance.
Leo
Oh yeah, that crazy guy who goes on and on about all the good t’ings in life.
Dane
Yes, that’s me, Dane Allred.
Leo
Well, I got your Abundance right here! Who is dis being billed to?
Dane
Can you use the same card as last time?
Leo
Let me look. Abundance, abundance, use Bill Gates lost credit card?
Dane
That would be fine.
Leo
Gotcha. Here’s W.C. Fields. But don’t talk too long cause I ain’t gonna stand here and prop him up. He’s pretty wobbly today.
Dane
Okay.
Leo
And thank you for using Character Central, your source for the formerly famous. Here’s the phone, you old booze-hound.
W.C.
Thank you my good man. It’s not a fit night out for man nor beast.
Dane
Is this W.C. Fields?
W.C.
Speaking. And how can I help you my good man?
Dane
Well, today on Abundance we are talking about organization. Do you have any organizational tips for my audience?
W.C.
Ornamentation? I’m in favor of it.
Dane
No, organization.
W.C.
Oh, organization. That reminds me, a woman drove me to drink and I never even had the decency to thank her.
Dane
So you’re suggesting making a list of people to thank? Any other suggestions?
W.C.
I never drink water because of the disgusting things fish do in it. Water; that’s the stuff that rusts pipes. Excuse me for a moment, I must have a drink of breakfast.
Dane
You don’t drink water at all?
W.C.
I never drink water. I’m afraid it may become habit-forming.
Dane
Well, speaking of habits, do you foresee a time you will ever stop drinking alcohol?
W.C.
Now don't say you can't swear off drinking; it's easy. I've done it a thousand times.
Dane
You have quit drinking before. Was there an organized program?
W.C.
Yes. Once during Prohibition, I was forced to live for days on nothing but food and water.
Dane
Any other times you’ve quit?
W.C.
Reminds me of my safari in Africa. Somebody forgot the corkscrew and for several days we had to live on nothing but food and water.
Dane
Do you have any other preferences you’d like to share with us?
W.C.
On the whole, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.
Dane
You don’t like living there at Character Central?
W.C.
No. Some weasel took the cork out of my lunch.
Dane
But, really, Philadelphia. I’ve never heard you speak well of that town.
W.C.
I once spent a year in Philadelphia. I think it was a Sunday.
Dane
Seriously?
W.C.
Oh, yes. Last week, I went to Philadelphia, but it was closed.
Dane
So, Mr. Fields, any other advice for our listeners about trying to get organized?
W.C.
If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There's no point in being a damn fool about it.
Dane
Well, that is sound advice. Thank you W.C. Fields for speaking with us today on Abundance.
W.C.
I thought we were talking about ornamentation.
Dane
No, we’re focusing on organization on the program called Abundance. I believe in celebrating the abundance all around us.
W.C.
A man’s gotta believe in something, and I believe I’ll have another drink. And like I say, if you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull. Good day to you, Mr. Gates.
Dane
No, its Dane Allred, we just use this card I found…
Music interruption.
Dane
Thanks to Mr. W.C. Fields who joined us today on Abundance from Character Central.
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Sunday Dec 26, 2010
Sunday Dec 26, 2010
Colorblind
by Dane Allred
So organizing’s over-rated
What if my pants and socks aren’t mated
Green, lemon, red, scarlet
Grey, crimson, violet
Aren’t colors equally created?
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Tuesday Dec 14, 2010
Tuesday Dec 14, 2010
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Romeo And Julia
by August Strindberg
One evening the husband came home with a roll of music under his arm and said to his wife:
"Let us play duets after supper!"
"What have you got there?" asked his wife.
"’Romeo and Julia’, arranged for the piano. Do you know it?"
"Yes, of course I do," she replied, "but I don't remember ever having seen it on the stage."
"Oh! It's splendid! To me it is like a dream of my youth, but I've only heard it once, and that was about twenty years ago."
After supper, when the children had been put to bed and the house lay silent, the husband lighted the candles on the piano. He looked at the lithographed title-page and read the title: Romeo and Julia.
"This is Gounod's most beautiful composition," he said, "and I don't believe that it will be too difficult for us."
As usual his wife undertook to play the treble and they began. D major, common time, “allegro giusto”.
"It is beautiful, isn't it?" asked the husband, when they had finished the overture.
"Y--es," admitted the wife, reluctantly.
"Now the martial music," said the husband; "it is exceptionally fine. I can remember the splendid choruses at the Royal Theatre."
They played a march.
"Well, wasn't I right?" asked the husband, triumphantly, as if he had composed "Romeo and Julia" himself.
"I don't know; it rather sounds like a brass band," answered the wife.
The husband's honour and good taste were involved; he looked for the Moonshine Aria in the fourth act. After a little searching he came across an aria for soprano. That must be it.
And he began again.
Tram-tramtram, tram-tramtram, went the bass; it was very easy to play.
"Do you know," said his wife, when it was over, "I don't think very much of it."
The husband, quite depressed, admitted that it reminded him of a barrel organ.
"I thought so all along," confessed the wife.
"And I find it antiquated, too. I am surprised that Gounod should be out of date, already," he added dejectedly. "Would you like to go on playing? Let's try the Cavatina and the Trio; I particularly remember the soprano; she was divine."
When they stopped playing, the husband looked crestfallen and put the music away, as if he wanted to shut the door on the past.
"Let's have a glass of beer," he said. They sat down at the table and had a glass of beer.
"It's extraordinary," he began, after a little while, "I never realised before that we've grown old, for we really must have vied with Romeo and Julia as to who should age faster. It's twenty years ago since I heard the opera for the first time. I was a newly fledged undergraduate then, I had many friends and the future smiled at me. I was immensely proud of the first down on my upper lip and my little college cap, and I remember as if it were to-day, the evening when Fritz, Phil and myself went to hear this opera. We had heard 'Faust' some years before and were great admirers of Gounod's genius. But Romeo beat all our expectations. The music roused our wildest enthusiasm. Now both my friends are dead. Fritz, who was ambitious, was a private secretary when he died, Phil a medical student; I who aspired to the position of a minister of state have to content myself with that of a regimental judge. The years have passed by quickly and imperceptibly. Of course I have noticed that the lines under my eyes have grown deeper and that my hair has turned grey at the temples, but I should never have thought that we had travelled so far on the road to the grave."
"Yes, my dear, we've grown old; our children could teach us that. And you must see it in me too, although you don't say anything."
"How can you say that!"
"Oh! I know only too well, my dear," continued the wife, sadly; "I know that I am beginning to lose my good looks, that my hair is growing thin, that I shall soon lose my front teeth...."
"Just consider how quickly everything passes away"--interrupted her husband. "It seems to me that one grows old much more rapidly now-a-days, than one used to do. In my father's house Haydn and Mozart were played a great deal, although they were dead long before he was born. And now --now Gounod has grown old-fashioned already! How distressing it is to meet again the ideals of one's youth under these altered circumstances! And how horrible it is to feel old age approaching!"
He got up and sat down again at the piano; he took the music and turned over the pages as if he were looking for keepsakes, locks of hair, dried flowers and ends of ribbon in the drawer of a writing-table. His eyes were riveted on the black notes which looked like little birds climbing up and down a wire fencing; but where were the spring songs, the passionate protestations, the jubilant avowals of the rosy days of first love? The notes stared back at him like strangers; as if the memory of life's spring-time were grown over with weeds.
Yes, that was it; the strings were covered with dust, the sounding board was dried up, the felt worn away.
A heavy sigh echoed through the room, heavy as if it came from a hollow chest, and then silence fell.
"But all the same, it is strange," the husband said suddenly, "that the glorious prologue is missing in this arrangement. I remember distinctly that there was a prologue with an accompaniment of harps and a chorus which went like this."
He softly hummed the tune, which bubbled up like a stream in a mountain glen; note succeeded note, his face cleared, his lips smiled, the lines disappeared, his fingers touched the keys, and drew from them melodies, powerful, caressing and full of eternal youth, while with a strong and ringing voice he sang the part of the bass.
His wife started from her melancholy reverie and listened with tears in her eyes.
"What are you singing?" she asked, full of amazement.
"Romeo and Julia! Our Romeo and our Julia!"
He jumped up from the music stool and pushed the music towards his astonished wife.
"Look! This was the Romeo of our uncles and aunts, this was--read it--Bellini! Oh! We are not old, after all!"
The wife looked at the thick, glossy hair of her husband, his smooth brow and flashing eyes, with joy.
"And you? You look like a young girl. We have allowed old Bellini to make fools of us. I felt that something was wrong."
"No, darling, I thought so first."
"Probably you did; that is because you are younger than I am."
"No, you...."
And husband and wife, like a couple of children, laughingly quarrel over the question of which of them is the elder of the two, and cannot understand how they could have discovered lines and grey hairs where there are none.
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Tuesday Dec 14, 2010
Tuesday Dec 14, 2010
Pain and Suffering
We were once together in that bright space
But now we spin in our separate spheres
Sometimes distracted by pain
Other times worried by the suffering we endure ourselves
Or the problems others face.
When we look at one another
Really look deeply at that other person
And consider the difficulties they may be undergoing
We may wonder if there is a way we can help
With all the trouble we seem to encounter in our own lives.
But the lesson from that Bright Space is that we are all on this journey together.
You are learning what you need to learn,
And I am here to help you learn.
But I am also experiencing all the joy and sweetness,
Suffering and pain contained in this world.
And you are here to help me make it back to that Bright Space
Where we all will share all that has been learned.
Pain, trouble, suffering, and distress
Are all a part of this experience we desired
A desire so strong we left the Bright Place
So we could be all that ever was, ever is, and ever will be.
We will also experience all the joy, beauty, and happiness
Offered us in this wondrous place.
We are here together now
Trying our best to learn all we can.
And we are here together now
To help each other learn all we can.
When we look closely at that other person
No matter who, or when or where
We can still feel that connection
And know we are here for each other.
I can help you
You can help me
And when we decide to unite and work together
Heal together
Rejoice together
There is nothing we cannot overcome
There is no obstacle to stand in our way
And we will understand
We are learning all there is to learn,
And we cannot do it on our own.
Reach out today and see that connection
We once shared
That we now share
With everyone, everywhere.
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Tuesday Dec 14, 2010
Tuesday Dec 14, 2010
Sheepherder Translation
As per usual, I got stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I am trying to get to a stand of pine trees to cut into pine poles and posts. I had backed down the road in the beautiful mountains of Utah at the ripe age of 17, and put my left rear tire into mid-air on the dirt road. My truck was belching blue smoke, and the sheepherder nearby thought there might be a fire. As he rode up on his horse, I have never been so glad to see another human being. There really is no desperation quite like being stuck in the top of the mountains, especially when you think no one else who can help you is closer than 50 miles away. The old man listened patiently to my stupidity, and then said he thought if he tied his rope to the back of the truck, his horse could pull the rear end of my truck back onto the road.
I was out of ideas and welcomed the help. He was right. As he pulled the rope backwards with his horse, I put the truck in reverse and one cloud of blue smoke later I was back on the road. I jumped out to thank him and he invited me to come to his trailer for coffee.
This man had just saved my life, and I was obligated to at least spend a little time with him as payment. A sheepherder goes up to the mountain in the spring and has little human contact the entire summer, mostly just getting supplies from his employer and going to town once in a while. It would have been the height of rudeness to refuse his hospitality, especially after his rescue of me and my truck.
I decided to play it by ear and at least show the respect of spending some time with him.
The very first thing he did was pour the coffee and hand it to me with a smile.
I found out that this man was from Colorado, and that he had two sons who drove trucks for some company up there. After we talked for a few more minutes. He confessed to me that he didn't read English all that well. Spanish was his native language.
He pulled out a letter and asked me if I would read it to him. He indicated that a girl he had met at a dance in town a couple of weeks ago had sent it to him (what would the address be?) and he couldn't read it.
He asked if I would read it for him.
He had rescued me from the mountain. He had offered the hospitality of coffee in his trailer. It didn't seem like an outlandish request, but remember, this is a personal letter from a woman to a man.
I had no idea if there would be suggestive or other language in the letter, but I decided I better read it to him and then excuse myself - before he had me write a reply.
It was actually a sweet moment after all. The woman wrote to him about how she had enjoyed his company and hoped she would see him again. The awkwardness of the situation seemed to fade, but for anyone else who may have happened by, they would have seen a young man reading a love letter to an old man while they sat having coffee in a sheepherder's trailer. I can still see it in my mind.
The old man sat there patiently listening while I read the words of a woman that he couldn't read himself. It was so personal and so involved that I found myself detaching from the situation and ignoring the words. I vanished from the scene and it was just this old man and a woman who cared for each other communicating in the only way they could.
I finished the letter and stood abruptly. I was uncomfortable, but the old man was only grateful. We had helped each other out, and the debt was paid. I excused myself and thanked him for the help and the hospitality, and I never saw him again.
We spent perhaps 30 or 40 minutes together, but this memory is one that will always warm my heart. I think it is only when we are reaching out to one another to help in any way we can that we fully live. Even if it is just reading a love note to someone who can't read it. Or just pulling some dumb kid's truck back onto the road with your horse.
I wonder why it's the little things like this that make us feel truly a part of humanity. Good luck on your next dirt road.
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Monday Dec 13, 2010
Monday Dec 13, 2010
An audio only version is available below.
Negotiations
by Dane Allred
The best kind of negotiations
And the various machinations
Is where each side thinks
The other deal stinks
And they got the best obligations.
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Tuesday Dec 07, 2010
Tuesday Dec 07, 2010
This is the complete episode of "Abundance" called "Movement" from December 5th. Click on the banner to advertise on this podcast, viewed more than 1000 times last month.
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Tuesday Dec 07, 2010
Tuesday Dec 07, 2010
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The Touch of The Master's Hand
by Myra Brooks Welch
It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
Hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice,
Going for three". . . but no!
From the room far back a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as an angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its bow.
"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of the Master's hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
Much like the old violin.
A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on,
He's going once, and going twice -
He's going - and almost gone!
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd,
Never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul, and the change that's wrought
By the touch of the Master's hand.
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