Jigga BeeddlingEssay Preview: Jigga BeeddlingReport this essaySpecifically in the area of relationship, we have the potential to be happy with the people that we are with, whether it is a partner, child, parent, co-worker or friend. Our happiness does not depend on something they do or say to us, or our ability to change them. Our happiness lies in how we deal with the present moment, whether we are resentful, guilty, afraid, angry or simply grateful. It is the gratitude that can bring us right into the present moment, and open the door for happiness.
I have known most of these 14 teenagers since they began their education together in kindergarten. If they were to come to our home to ask me the question of what brings lasting happiness I would answer quite simply. For me being aware of the potential to be grateful in any given moment has brought me so much happiness. In the act of being grateful, I feel connected to an energy higher and more expanded than my own human mind. In the act of being grateful I feel loved.
Perhaps the worst time of my life was when I was 20 years old and lay dying in the Columbia University Hospital, where I was a nursing student. I had septicemia and a spiking 106 degree fever of unknown origin. I lay packed in ice, with all sorts of tubes being inserted into me. My clothes had all been removed and I lay fully exposed as medical students, residents, and top medical doctors came and went from the room. Before I slipped into unconsciousness, I was aware of conversations that went something like, “I hope her mother comes soon, I dont know how much longer she will live.”
There I was in a strange and uncomfortable place, away from everyone I knew, stripped of all dignity, perhaps dying and feeling absolutely horrible. Then from somewhere within me I remembered that I could be grateful. I started thanking people for everything that they did to me, whether it hurt or not. In the act of thanking the nurses, attendants, and doctors I felt a power flow into me, and in a strange way felt that I was in control of my energy, even though I had no control over all the many things they were doing to me. Inside myself I began to be thankful for anything I could think of. The more I was grateful, the more I started to feel loved by an unseen presence. The hospital staff began to
The nurses, and staff on the site, were a tiny part of the community that was touched by things that went on in this place.
I went into the hospital with my head set on my body, covered in bruises and the pain was constant. The hospital is a tiny hospital in a poor city, where there is no electricity, which we were told to stay away from. I just walked among the patient waiting for a doctor to pick me up and take me to the surgery room, without seeing me or even asking me one question as to why it took so long, let alone how long it took, to do that. The nurses told me I just needed to sleep and did it. The nurses told me I needed to sleep.
In a strange and uncomfortable place I was given a little more food, coffee, my usual water. I did, after I got settled in, but nothing like it had been in a long time. I didn’t realize the significance of what I was doing until some of the hospital staff started bringing me food from the hospital, as well as something that they told me about the family heirloom. After getting off the bus, a nurse asked me if I was okay, and by then I was not. I didn’t remember anything of what had happened that day for a few weeks, since I am not in the hospital and cannot think, or talk.
I looked at some of the medics and asked for help because I was feeling dizzy from the night I died. I had to push myself to stay conscious, to get my head to stay in the hospital, but I wasn’t. I got up and went upstairs. In my apartment I had a little bathroom. There was the nurses who made the phone calls, but I couldn’t even remember what they were doing. I got up and took some pictures of myself and my mother.
The nurses said they looked after me, and I walked down the hall of the hospital without them being seen. I was never able to recall what they would have done to me if I had died, because they were afraid that something terrible would happen inside me. I could not remember what I had just done. It was a very strange feeling, but I remember going to sleep. I think the nurses told me I was supposed to cry some more. This was my first time taking morphine, and so it was very cold. There are other things I didn’t know about morphine that I was never even aware of.
The nurse told me that the nurses wanted me to have surgery. I went to see the doctors there, and when I finally did visit the doctor (as though it were an emergency), he admitted that he had taken me to the ER
The nurses, and staff on the site, were a tiny part of the community that was touched by things that went on in this place.
I went into the hospital with my head set on my body, covered in bruises and the pain was constant. The hospital is a tiny hospital in a poor city, where there is no electricity, which we were told to stay away from. I just walked among the patient waiting for a doctor to pick me up and take me to the surgery room, without seeing me or even asking me one question as to why it took so long, let alone how long it took, to do that. The nurses told me I just needed to sleep and did it. The nurses told me I needed to sleep.
In a strange and uncomfortable place I was given a little more food, coffee, my usual water. I did, after I got settled in, but nothing like it had been in a long time. I didn’t realize the significance of what I was doing until some of the hospital staff started bringing me food from the hospital, as well as something that they told me about the family heirloom. After getting off the bus, a nurse asked me if I was okay, and by then I was not. I didn’t remember anything of what had happened that day for a few weeks, since I am not in the hospital and cannot think, or talk.
I looked at some of the medics and asked for help because I was feeling dizzy from the night I died. I had to push myself to stay conscious, to get my head to stay in the hospital, but I wasn’t. I got up and went upstairs. In my apartment I had a little bathroom. There was the nurses who made the phone calls, but I couldn’t even remember what they were doing. I got up and took some pictures of myself and my mother.
The nurses said they looked after me, and I walked down the hall of the hospital without them being seen. I was never able to recall what they would have done to me if I had died, because they were afraid that something terrible would happen inside me. I could not remember what I had just done. It was a very strange feeling, but I remember going to sleep. I think the nurses told me I was supposed to cry some more. This was my first time taking morphine, and so it was very cold. There are other things I didn’t know about morphine that I was never even aware of.
The nurse told me that the nurses wanted me to have surgery. I went to see the doctors there, and when I finally did visit the doctor (as though it were an emergency), he admitted that he had taken me to the ER
The nurses, and staff on the site, were a tiny part of the community that was touched by things that went on in this place.
I went into the hospital with my head set on my body, covered in bruises and the pain was constant. The hospital is a tiny hospital in a poor city, where there is no electricity, which we were told to stay away from. I just walked among the patient waiting for a doctor to pick me up and take me to the surgery room, without seeing me or even asking me one question as to why it took so long, let alone how long it took, to do that. The nurses told me I just needed to sleep and did it. The nurses told me I needed to sleep.
In a strange and uncomfortable place I was given a little more food, coffee, my usual water. I did, after I got settled in, but nothing like it had been in a long time. I didn’t realize the significance of what I was doing until some of the hospital staff started bringing me food from the hospital, as well as something that they told me about the family heirloom. After getting off the bus, a nurse asked me if I was okay, and by then I was not. I didn’t remember anything of what had happened that day for a few weeks, since I am not in the hospital and cannot think, or talk.
I looked at some of the medics and asked for help because I was feeling dizzy from the night I died. I had to push myself to stay conscious, to get my head to stay in the hospital, but I wasn’t. I got up and went upstairs. In my apartment I had a little bathroom. There was the nurses who made the phone calls, but I couldn’t even remember what they were doing. I got up and took some pictures of myself and my mother.
The nurses said they looked after me, and I walked down the hall of the hospital without them being seen. I was never able to recall what they would have done to me if I had died, because they were afraid that something terrible would happen inside me. I could not remember what I had just done. It was a very strange feeling, but I remember going to sleep. I think the nurses told me I was supposed to cry some more. This was my first time taking morphine, and so it was very cold. There are other things I didn’t know about morphine that I was never even aware of.
The nurse told me that the nurses wanted me to have surgery. I went to see the doctors there, and when I finally did visit the doctor (as though it were an emergency), he admitted that he had taken me to the ER