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BUT ARE THEY TRULY HAPPY?After reading the article submitted on August 16, 2007
“How Wal-Mart Killed America's Golden Goose”by Stephen Pizzo , it brought home how close we all are to the poverty I and so many other Americans currently suffer from. I am not as alone in my dilemma as I once thought. One of the comments, made by elliemae entitled “Why I Can’t Afford to Buy at Wal-Mart”, particularly hit home. I can truly sympathize with her (I am assuming this is a she as most women do the shopping). Although I am no longer raising my children I am still on a fixed budget that does not allow me to purchase frivolous items, which is most of everything. Even clothing has become an item that must be carefully considered before buying and it is usually purchased at the Salvation Army or other ‘not new’ shops, where, if careful, I can find some nice items with a lot of wear still left in them. It “taint nuthin’ but a thing”, as an ex boyfriend used to say.Lately though, I have been finding several items that should have found their way into the trash bin instead of the clothing racks with surprisingly high price tags on them. I can only surmise that people are not donating as many usable items as they once did. Could this mean that people are not replacing them as often, wearing them until they have worn them out? With most of my income going to housing cost, and I dare say this applies to most of the population now, there is very little left over for luxuries. I have learned over the years how to do without. I have always been frugal, even when my children were growing up; I made many of their clothing items. I tried to instill in them the ideals of ‘waste not, want not’. If something was usable I used it, turning it into something else. Yet, I wanted my children to have what I never had as a child. And, for the most part, they did. Did they appreciate it? I doubt it. You don’t appreciate something until you no longer have it.
I haven’t always been in this situation. At one time I live the good life with horses grazing in the pasture and lazy days of fishing in the lake in the back yard. That was before the divorce, before the injury to my back, with the crooked insurance companies trying to rip me off of a much deserved claim against the company who used inferior materials, causing me continued years of constant pain. I was stupid then. I learned how things work the hard way. The results being that I now live on an income that is way below the lowest poverty level set by the Government’s Standards. Many would wonder how I do it. These are the people who think nothing of running to the store to buy the latest in techy devices they have just seen advertised on the TV. That’s the problem with the rich people of today, (and yesterday, and more than likely tomorrow.) They are never satisfied with what they have, always needing, wanting more.
I wonder how the people at the top, who get all the tax breaks, think the 95 percent of the poor at the bottom, are going to be able bearing the burden of the increased taxes when the money runs out. “There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Henry, dear Henry”, and the bucket ain’t gonna last through any more patching. Why is it that people need to have millions of dollars anyway? It isn’t going to buy their way into Heaven. Money sure doesn’t buy happiness. Oh, sure, it makes living a hell of a lot easier but it does not make you happy. The rich worry all the time, have just as many heart attacks from stress, plenty of problems with over indulgence of rich foods, and their share of other health related problems. But, are they truly happy? I doubt it.
Here I am, poor as a church mouse, with what could only be called meager possessions. Yet, I am happy. I am content, with a ready smile on my face each day, even though I face each day with a continual barrage of accumulated aches and pains from previous injuries. I have learned how to deal with this minor inconvenience. I don’t worry about things anymore. Over the past few years, having dealt with the ignorance of several stupid doctors employed by my HMO, who convinced me that my life was to be limited to just another six months. Don’t get me wrong, I was sick, I just wasn’t as sick as the idiot doctors thought. Three months into my ‘death sentence’, while preparing for my fast approaching ‘death’, I transferred to another hospital, mainly due to the fact that the nurses caring for me were stealing my pain meds. However, after transferring to the other hospital my case was examined by ‘better’ doctors who notified me that a mistake had been made and my ‘death’ was being postponed. The funny thing was, I already knew.
You see, before the doctors approached me to let me know a screw up had been made, I had experienced a most profound event few people can ever imagine. I was lying there in my hospital bed viewing a painting on the wall, lamenting the fact that I would not be able to paint any more. I would not get to see my grandchildren grow up, plus other rambling thoughts. And, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a brilliant blue light beginning to form beside my bed. Now, bear in mind that I was completely conscious, fully awake and cognizant of my surroundings. I was not hallucinating.
However, somewhere in my mind I knew not to look directly at this emerging light. I ‘watched’ as it grew to be approximately 3 feet in diameter, its glow emanating a wonderful sense of peace. While staring straight ahead at the painting, my peripheral eyesight watched as a young boy with auburn hair stepped out of the blue light and proceed to walk around my bed, his little fingers ‘walking’ along the mattress, until he reached the other side of the bed. At which point he turned, pausing to tell me, “Don‘t worry, Grandma. Everything is going to be alright”. And, then he returned to the blue light and was gone. He left me with a profound sense of well being and peace. I was so elated I could have floated right up off my bed. He'd called me Grandma. Yet, I didn’t, at that time, have a grandson that looked like him. That is, not until the next day when my daughter gave birth to a little boy with wisps’ of red hair. (I know in my heart that it was the same child; A special visit from him the day before his birth, and no one can convince me otherwise.) So, here I am, four years after I was supposed to die, a better person, at peace with myself.
This experience has left me a changed person. I no longer worry over the petty things of life. I don’t worry about whether I will have enough to eat or clothes to wear. I know that whatever I need I will have or it will come to me. Even money seems to drop into my lap when I am short. Not a lot, mind you, but I don’t need a lot, just enough to get me by. I have what I need the most. I have peace of mind.
I feel sorry for those that do not believe in God. I feel sorry for those that seek material items when the most precious thing of all is within their reach and they aren’t smart enough to reach out and take it. I used to want for all the things that the rich take for granted. I used to pity myself for being poor. Not any more. Now I feel like the richest person in the world. I feel sorry for anyone who isn’t me.
I am saddened, though, by what the rich corporations are doing to the Earth’s spirit, killing it slowly but surely all in their quest for wealth. But, their day is coming. And, their downfall will be great and sudden. When it happens the 95 percent of the world will cheer in a roar so loud it will reverberate against the stars. Only then will we be able to start rebuilding, repairing the damage they have done.
Be at peace fellow poverty dwellers, the end is drawing near and…. the end is only the Dawning of a New Day.
