Ah, holy Jesus, how hast thou offended?
By foes derided, by thine own rejected.
Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon thee?
Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone thee. I crucified thee.
'Twas I, Lord Jesus.
'Twas I.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
deeper things - learning to appreciate you ( and me)
I can't say it any better than this (except I would add one more line...)
So every day
I was surrounded by the beautiful crying forth
of the ideas of God,
one of which was you.
— Mary Oliver
the line I would add would be...
...and one of which was me.
So every day
I was surrounded by the beautiful crying forth
of the ideas of God,
one of which was you.
— Mary Oliver
the line I would add would be...
...and one of which was me.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Lessons learned - Go to the grocery store, stock up on necessities, like bananas.
The lesson here...Steven, stop taking everything so seriously...I hope you all had a brief moment of wondering what in the world I was getting at with the title of this post...the title of this post means nothing at all; it was just something I overheard...I enjoy hearing short phrases out of context. Always have. When I was scared and weak, everything seemed so serious. I wasn't hearing anything that wasn't serious. I suppose when one is scared and weak, everything does seem serious. If I get scared and weak again, I probably will think the same exact thing. The truth is, everything is not so serious... I'm not so scared and not so weak today, and it sure helps to lighten up sometimes. The capacity to smile and laugh is a wonderful thing.
I write this as a note to myself...it seems a bit callous, but if we take ourselves too seriously, it can become a very prideful thing...and we become very self-absorbed. Boy, was I. There was no joy in Mudville.
It's so much more winsome to be of good cheer!
It's OK to smile...and to find lots of things to smile about.
My favorite first line of a novel? Here it is:
"In watermelon sugar the deeds were done and done again as my life is done in watermelon sugar." Richard Brautigan
I like that line so much...it always makes me smile...I read that line 37 years ago and still remember it. I've never had the slightest clue as to what it meant. That's part of why I like it so much. It just makes me smile.
I write this as a note to myself...it seems a bit callous, but if we take ourselves too seriously, it can become a very prideful thing...and we become very self-absorbed. Boy, was I. There was no joy in Mudville.
It's so much more winsome to be of good cheer!
It's OK to smile...and to find lots of things to smile about.
My favorite first line of a novel? Here it is:
"In watermelon sugar the deeds were done and done again as my life is done in watermelon sugar." Richard Brautigan
I like that line so much...it always makes me smile...I read that line 37 years ago and still remember it. I've never had the slightest clue as to what it meant. That's part of why I like it so much. It just makes me smile.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Lessons learned - let go of the "old normal", be gentle in transition, and be excited about and embrace the "new normal"
I've spent a lot of time learning this lesson, because I spent a lot of time grieving the loss of "the way I was" with longing and self-pity. I've only recently begun to celebrate "the way I am." Here's a few things I have learned:
There is a type of death that comes from trying to hold on to the past. When my expectations were in line with "the way it was" rather than "the way it is" then I had no joy in what was right in front of me. I missed out on the blessings of the moment and exchanged them for the experience of disappointment and discouragement. The death that comes from trying to hold on to the past is the diminshment of the present and amounts to the refusal to accept change. Trust me, I have seen myself do this again and again. "why can't I...I used to...I should be able to...."
During transition times of sudden upheaval and rapid change, there is such a grieving and shock to our reality that everything is flying about and any sense of "normal" just flies out the window. I think during these times, "embracing the new normal" is just not realisitic... The best I learned I could do was to just be gentle with myself during the ordeal of cancer treatment. Old normal and new normal were just not helpful concepts. Hanging on was about as far as I could go. Nothing was making much sense. At best, being as gentle as possible with myself and entrusting the moment to the care of God (when I could even do that) was as big an accomplishment as I was able to manage...at least for me, it was not the time to be a storm trooper. I'm no hero, and I crawled through that storm on my belly...no, actually, I couldn't even manage that because the feeding tube got in the way...I guess I just hung on for dear life.
Last Friday, our wonderful and amazing cat of eight years, Simcha (Hebrew for "joy"), suddenly, over the course of a few hours, became unable to walk on four legs...she was dragging her rear left leg. The trip to the Vet revealed the bad news - she had a blood clot in her Aorta that moved down to her leg, and cut off all blood flow to the leg, The other back leg was deteriorating as well, and it was likely that over the next 24 hours her pain and suffering would escalate...we could give her pain meds if we felt we needed another few days, but her back leg(s) would begin to swell and become very painful...treatment options all had very poor prognosis, and would likely be accompanied by much pain and suffering, only to postpone the inevitable by a few days or weeks. There was no blood flow at all to the left, and reduced blood flow to the right. Amputation was not possible as the exact location of the clot was unknown. We made the decision to have her put to sleep...and drove home Friday from the vet in shock and grief. It was very sudden and unexpected. It has been a very difficult week as we come home to an empty house and realize how many aspects of our life involved Simcha in small and large ways. We hadn't realized how much she had become part of so many routines and activities that we lived and how much we were involved in parts of her many daily routines. Simcha reminders are everywhere.
At first (while grieving and in transition) the "new normal" was just plain unacceptable. Life would not be OK without Simcha. I opened the door after work expecting to see her slowly walking toward me, stopping three feet away to stretch out and fully wake up from her afternoon nap, then walk slowly and deliberately over to the rug in front of the sink to lie down and wait for me to walk to her to give a proper greeting and petting. At precisely 7AM, 5:12PM and 9:12PM there was no longer the "stare down" as she silently announced the arrival of feeding time. When we brushed our teeth before bed, there was no Simcha on the counter getting her evening drink of fresh water in her own special plastic drinking cup reserved for her nightly drink. When we watched TV, there was no Simcha sitting on the Ottoman across from us, looking back and forth between Kathy and I before deciding which lap she would grace with her presence to get a little evening attention. Reading the morning newspaper, there was no cat trying to squeeze under or over whatever section was being read. Her morning toys, the afternoon game played in our absence (finding the pair of tan socks I daily hid in my closet and bringing them out to leave in the living room or kitchen...to say "I won!") and her nighttime ritual with a green foam ball all were noticeably absent, etc. etc. It simply was not acceptable. We loved her too much to have her gone. Life without Simcha was not going to be OK... It was time to grieve and hold on.
Now, a week later, of course, I find I still often am thinking of her with very happy and fond and loving memories. But...I am accepting the loss...and accepting life as it is today. In fact (and I am a bit ashamed to say) I think in a few months, we will be ready to adopt a new kitty (perhaps two?) into our home. (Anyone have a lead on any Ragdoll kittens?)
Life today, post cancer treatment is so complete and exciting. It is full of new discoveries and new celebrations. It is full of small and large blessings. I am fully alive exactly as life is...not less, not more. Yes, my energy is less than it was, but I sleep better than I have slept in years! No, I can't eat spicy foods...but I had some beef stew this week, and at least the vegetables tasted really good...if I cut the beef up into teensy pieces, it's not too bad, either! Simcha is gone, but oh, how she blessed our lives in ways we will always remember. Weather permitting I am taking walks outside and that is fantastic. Better than ever. The walk is about a third as far as "the old normal" and even slower than my previous slow pace, but I am not "then", I am "now"...and today's walk is wonderful and powerful. For awhile, I was living like I was dying...I actually had this thought..."why learn anything new, I am just going to die anyway... and soon...so what's the polnt!" Now, I am thinking again about taking some classes and I am again loving to read.
To paraphrase some advice given to me by poet Ted Kooser during my cancer treatment...advice I didn't quite get at the time, but I think I get more fully now...he told me to ask myself if I were sick enough that I might die today. If the answer was no, than I need to say to myself...
"...It looks like I'm not so sick that I am going to die today, and I'm not so sick that I will likely die this week, so then, HOW AM I GOING TO LIVE?"
Wouldn't you know that the biggest change through this whole business has not been my health, but, I think, it is in my attitude...I am living more in the present, realizing I am alive today and I have all sorts of choices and opportunities. There is a Hebrew song sung at Passover..."Dayenu." The lyrics recall all that God did for the children of Israel during the Exodus to the promised land. I believe the title means "it is enough." The lyrics state over and over something like..." if He had just done this miracle (or the next, or the next...etc.) it would have been enough and we are grateful!"
Today is enough...and I am grateful. DAYENU!
There is a type of death that comes from trying to hold on to the past. When my expectations were in line with "the way it was" rather than "the way it is" then I had no joy in what was right in front of me. I missed out on the blessings of the moment and exchanged them for the experience of disappointment and discouragement. The death that comes from trying to hold on to the past is the diminshment of the present and amounts to the refusal to accept change. Trust me, I have seen myself do this again and again. "why can't I...I used to...I should be able to...."
During transition times of sudden upheaval and rapid change, there is such a grieving and shock to our reality that everything is flying about and any sense of "normal" just flies out the window. I think during these times, "embracing the new normal" is just not realisitic... The best I learned I could do was to just be gentle with myself during the ordeal of cancer treatment. Old normal and new normal were just not helpful concepts. Hanging on was about as far as I could go. Nothing was making much sense. At best, being as gentle as possible with myself and entrusting the moment to the care of God (when I could even do that) was as big an accomplishment as I was able to manage...at least for me, it was not the time to be a storm trooper. I'm no hero, and I crawled through that storm on my belly...no, actually, I couldn't even manage that because the feeding tube got in the way...I guess I just hung on for dear life.
Last Friday, our wonderful and amazing cat of eight years, Simcha (Hebrew for "joy"), suddenly, over the course of a few hours, became unable to walk on four legs...she was dragging her rear left leg. The trip to the Vet revealed the bad news - she had a blood clot in her Aorta that moved down to her leg, and cut off all blood flow to the leg, The other back leg was deteriorating as well, and it was likely that over the next 24 hours her pain and suffering would escalate...we could give her pain meds if we felt we needed another few days, but her back leg(s) would begin to swell and become very painful...treatment options all had very poor prognosis, and would likely be accompanied by much pain and suffering, only to postpone the inevitable by a few days or weeks. There was no blood flow at all to the left, and reduced blood flow to the right. Amputation was not possible as the exact location of the clot was unknown. We made the decision to have her put to sleep...and drove home Friday from the vet in shock and grief. It was very sudden and unexpected. It has been a very difficult week as we come home to an empty house and realize how many aspects of our life involved Simcha in small and large ways. We hadn't realized how much she had become part of so many routines and activities that we lived and how much we were involved in parts of her many daily routines. Simcha reminders are everywhere.
At first (while grieving and in transition) the "new normal" was just plain unacceptable. Life would not be OK without Simcha. I opened the door after work expecting to see her slowly walking toward me, stopping three feet away to stretch out and fully wake up from her afternoon nap, then walk slowly and deliberately over to the rug in front of the sink to lie down and wait for me to walk to her to give a proper greeting and petting. At precisely 7AM, 5:12PM and 9:12PM there was no longer the "stare down" as she silently announced the arrival of feeding time. When we brushed our teeth before bed, there was no Simcha on the counter getting her evening drink of fresh water in her own special plastic drinking cup reserved for her nightly drink. When we watched TV, there was no Simcha sitting on the Ottoman across from us, looking back and forth between Kathy and I before deciding which lap she would grace with her presence to get a little evening attention. Reading the morning newspaper, there was no cat trying to squeeze under or over whatever section was being read. Her morning toys, the afternoon game played in our absence (finding the pair of tan socks I daily hid in my closet and bringing them out to leave in the living room or kitchen...to say "I won!") and her nighttime ritual with a green foam ball all were noticeably absent, etc. etc. It simply was not acceptable. We loved her too much to have her gone. Life without Simcha was not going to be OK... It was time to grieve and hold on.
Now, a week later, of course, I find I still often am thinking of her with very happy and fond and loving memories. But...I am accepting the loss...and accepting life as it is today. In fact (and I am a bit ashamed to say) I think in a few months, we will be ready to adopt a new kitty (perhaps two?) into our home. (Anyone have a lead on any Ragdoll kittens?)
Life today, post cancer treatment is so complete and exciting. It is full of new discoveries and new celebrations. It is full of small and large blessings. I am fully alive exactly as life is...not less, not more. Yes, my energy is less than it was, but I sleep better than I have slept in years! No, I can't eat spicy foods...but I had some beef stew this week, and at least the vegetables tasted really good...if I cut the beef up into teensy pieces, it's not too bad, either! Simcha is gone, but oh, how she blessed our lives in ways we will always remember. Weather permitting I am taking walks outside and that is fantastic. Better than ever. The walk is about a third as far as "the old normal" and even slower than my previous slow pace, but I am not "then", I am "now"...and today's walk is wonderful and powerful. For awhile, I was living like I was dying...I actually had this thought..."why learn anything new, I am just going to die anyway... and soon...so what's the polnt!" Now, I am thinking again about taking some classes and I am again loving to read.
To paraphrase some advice given to me by poet Ted Kooser during my cancer treatment...advice I didn't quite get at the time, but I think I get more fully now...he told me to ask myself if I were sick enough that I might die today. If the answer was no, than I need to say to myself...
"...It looks like I'm not so sick that I am going to die today, and I'm not so sick that I will likely die this week, so then, HOW AM I GOING TO LIVE?"
Wouldn't you know that the biggest change through this whole business has not been my health, but, I think, it is in my attitude...I am living more in the present, realizing I am alive today and I have all sorts of choices and opportunities. There is a Hebrew song sung at Passover..."Dayenu." The lyrics recall all that God did for the children of Israel during the Exodus to the promised land. I believe the title means "it is enough." The lyrics state over and over something like..." if He had just done this miracle (or the next, or the next...etc.) it would have been enough and we are grateful!"
Today is enough...and I am grateful. DAYENU!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Lessons learned - Endurance, faith & gratitude
Deep calls to deep at the noise of thy waterfalls
Thy waves and thy billows have gone over me.
Let darkness and privation
praise the Lord. Let hunger and pain.
Let snapping turtles in the murk
and ancient things asleep in mud,
let the hawk that takes the gosling,
praise. Let all things made of matter, melt.
Let the heart open, the belly open
to the great Y of the autopsy. Let scars praise,
cancers clap their hands.
Let the world turn like a toppled wheel,
the sea play its tambourines. The deep
calls to the deep. If all the world fell silent,
the stones would speak. Let evening come.
Take off your shirt and let it haunt the chair.
Lie sleepless. Let midnight come, and silence
like the inside of a bell. Let the stars
and the space between them,
our bodies and the space
between them, our breaths and
the space between them,
our lungs with their galleries, our hearts
with their aches and chambers, let longing
let darkness, let grief, let loneliness,
let death, oh praise, oh praise, oh praise.
---- Erin Noteboom
This poem was written by a rather obscure Canadian poet named Erin Noteboom. She is one of those poets I stumbled upon surfing the web...here is her link if you want to copy and paste it in your browser to see her other poetry and writing:
http://www.vividpieces.net/seal_up_the_thunder.shtml
In this poem, she borrows some of her phrases from psalms and other scripture to express something of what I am learning. In times of darkness, when His light seems dim and His love seems absent, when the future appears hopeless...He is still God and He is worthy of praise. He alone is in control of both night and day. He alone is my real and true and lasting security. As I know in a very real way, health may fail... I also know wealth may fail, and, God forbid, even family and friends may fail, so I best not rest my security on these things that are, to varying degrees, of course, so important. Today, when His light is ever so much more apparent to me, it is easier to praise Him than when I was enduring pain. But He is no more God today than when I felt only night. And He was no less God during my night of suffering than He is today. Jesus, you were Lord of my life then, and you remain the Lord of my life now. So heal me or take me home...You are worthy of praise.
My own faithfulness to Him is a fickle thing. I recall nights during this ordeal that I "felt" I had nearly lost my faith, or at least I began having some real doubts...did God really care about me, or even worse...did God really exist? I am grateful for His hold on me, rather than having to trust my hold on Him. Even during my times of doubt...this verse... "your love is better than life" from Psalm 63 that lit up in my head (I do not know how else to express the experience) so strongly as I was driving one day last August before radiation/chemo treatment began, stayed with me. Was this experience a gift from Him to comfort me during my darkest hours? Yes, I think so... Even now, when I think of the possibility of relapse... I remind myself of that moment of revelation/insight/awareness when those words and their truth resonated within me. And I am grateful... oh, praise Him, oh, praise Him, oh praise Him!
So the lesson learned...Life is precious...every day is precious...and His love...which is better yet...never fails.
Thy waves and thy billows have gone over me.
Let darkness and privation
praise the Lord. Let hunger and pain.
Let snapping turtles in the murk
and ancient things asleep in mud,
let the hawk that takes the gosling,
praise. Let all things made of matter, melt.
Let the heart open, the belly open
to the great Y of the autopsy. Let scars praise,
cancers clap their hands.
Let the world turn like a toppled wheel,
the sea play its tambourines. The deep
calls to the deep. If all the world fell silent,
the stones would speak. Let evening come.
Take off your shirt and let it haunt the chair.
Lie sleepless. Let midnight come, and silence
like the inside of a bell. Let the stars
and the space between them,
our bodies and the space
between them, our breaths and
the space between them,
our lungs with their galleries, our hearts
with their aches and chambers, let longing
let darkness, let grief, let loneliness,
let death, oh praise, oh praise, oh praise.
---- Erin Noteboom
This poem was written by a rather obscure Canadian poet named Erin Noteboom. She is one of those poets I stumbled upon surfing the web...here is her link if you want to copy and paste it in your browser to see her other poetry and writing:
http://www.vividpieces.net/seal_up_the_thunder.shtml
In this poem, she borrows some of her phrases from psalms and other scripture to express something of what I am learning. In times of darkness, when His light seems dim and His love seems absent, when the future appears hopeless...He is still God and He is worthy of praise. He alone is in control of both night and day. He alone is my real and true and lasting security. As I know in a very real way, health may fail... I also know wealth may fail, and, God forbid, even family and friends may fail, so I best not rest my security on these things that are, to varying degrees, of course, so important. Today, when His light is ever so much more apparent to me, it is easier to praise Him than when I was enduring pain. But He is no more God today than when I felt only night. And He was no less God during my night of suffering than He is today. Jesus, you were Lord of my life then, and you remain the Lord of my life now. So heal me or take me home...You are worthy of praise.
My own faithfulness to Him is a fickle thing. I recall nights during this ordeal that I "felt" I had nearly lost my faith, or at least I began having some real doubts...did God really care about me, or even worse...did God really exist? I am grateful for His hold on me, rather than having to trust my hold on Him. Even during my times of doubt...this verse... "your love is better than life" from Psalm 63 that lit up in my head (I do not know how else to express the experience) so strongly as I was driving one day last August before radiation/chemo treatment began, stayed with me. Was this experience a gift from Him to comfort me during my darkest hours? Yes, I think so... Even now, when I think of the possibility of relapse... I remind myself of that moment of revelation/insight/awareness when those words and their truth resonated within me. And I am grateful... oh, praise Him, oh, praise Him, oh praise Him!
So the lesson learned...Life is precious...every day is precious...and His love...which is better yet...never fails.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Lessons learned - Learning how to wait
There have been too many lessons learned to elaborate in one post, so I've decided to do a series of posts on what I have learned. Actually, these lessons are not lessons I have learned, but lessons I am learning... and they contain not many new ideas, but rather new experiences I have traveled through which makes for lessons lived rather than learned. I only knew infirmity from an intellectual perspective; now I feel as though I have lived it...and yet, I realize that all over the world, there is suffering that makes my suffering seem small. Nonetheless, these experiences...living out this process...has been new to me.
I have learned to wait.
There has been waiting in pain,
waiting in darkness
waiting in silence
waiting in fear
waiting in loneliness
waiting for doctors
waiting for things to get worse
waiting for things to get better
waiting for sleep to come
waiting for the fog to lift
-----and-----
There has been waiting with patience
waiting in the presence of love
waiting with hope
waiting in peace
waiting in gratitude
waiting upon the Lord.
Aren't we are all waiting all the time for some future event, outcome, or closure?...As soon as we come to the end of something, we see that we are waiting for something else...for the grade, the promotion, the diagnosis, the phone call, the weekend, the baseball season to begin, to end, the football season, the bowl games, the Olympics, the election, the diet, the feast, for the spring, the summer, the fall, (and even...for a few strange people, the winter), to live...to die. When I was able to swallow liquids again, and started drinking Ensure, I started waiting for the day I could eat food again...now, I eat food with sauce, and I find myself waiting for when I can eat a bagel...
At it's worst, waiting has become a trap for me. At times, it holds me captive...It makes the moment, the day I am living, irrelevent. When I was marking the days of radiation with acorns on my window sill, I was waiting for the 35 days to end...and it seemed they never would. There was nothing special about day 17, other than I was a little more miserable than day 16 and one day closer to day 35. Even more difficult, those sleepless nights when I was in discomfort and ill, I kept looking at the clock...2AM...3AM...4AM...5AM... wating for what? Those were the darkest of nights.
Even today...I am waiting...for my saliva to return...for my next cancer exam to, God willing, be a good one...
And yet, I believe, as is written in Scripture that "they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength..." (Isaiah 40:31)
And here is the lesson I am learning...waiting on God is entrusting tomorrow to Him, trusting the outcome to Him, and striving to ACCEPT and live fully my strengths and gifts and appreciate the blessings that are with me and available to me in this moment. While I can't eat a bagel...I can eat lasagna...then let me fully be immersed in that lasagna instead of waiting impatiently for the bagel that sits in the freezer. If my energy level only allows me to see four clients a day instead of six...let me be thankful for the four...or for the three or one...
While it is true I seem to be waiting all the time, it is also true that I have this day to contend with. This day brings opportunities and blessings and challenges for me. When I tie my energy up with some future outcome, I lose track of how precious this day really is. Even a day of pain may be full of meaning in endurance and a day to live well...that is the lesson I am continuing to learn...to trust (wait on) God on the cloudy days as well as on days of sunshine. To see that there is still value and meaning on a cloudy day...and a contribution to make, people to love, God to thank and blessings to be grateful for.
Certainly, this lesson is a hard one; one that I continue to learn and grow in experience...but I think I am living with more gratitude and patience and appreciation for this moment than I have previously known.
I have learned to wait.
There has been waiting in pain,
waiting in darkness
waiting in silence
waiting in fear
waiting in loneliness
waiting for doctors
waiting for things to get worse
waiting for things to get better
waiting for sleep to come
waiting for the fog to lift
-----and-----
There has been waiting with patience
waiting in the presence of love
waiting with hope
waiting in peace
waiting in gratitude
waiting upon the Lord.
Aren't we are all waiting all the time for some future event, outcome, or closure?...As soon as we come to the end of something, we see that we are waiting for something else...for the grade, the promotion, the diagnosis, the phone call, the weekend, the baseball season to begin, to end, the football season, the bowl games, the Olympics, the election, the diet, the feast, for the spring, the summer, the fall, (and even...for a few strange people, the winter), to live...to die. When I was able to swallow liquids again, and started drinking Ensure, I started waiting for the day I could eat food again...now, I eat food with sauce, and I find myself waiting for when I can eat a bagel...
At it's worst, waiting has become a trap for me. At times, it holds me captive...It makes the moment, the day I am living, irrelevent. When I was marking the days of radiation with acorns on my window sill, I was waiting for the 35 days to end...and it seemed they never would. There was nothing special about day 17, other than I was a little more miserable than day 16 and one day closer to day 35. Even more difficult, those sleepless nights when I was in discomfort and ill, I kept looking at the clock...2AM...3AM...4AM...5AM... wating for what? Those were the darkest of nights.
Even today...I am waiting...for my saliva to return...for my next cancer exam to, God willing, be a good one...
And yet, I believe, as is written in Scripture that "they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength..." (Isaiah 40:31)
And here is the lesson I am learning...waiting on God is entrusting tomorrow to Him, trusting the outcome to Him, and striving to ACCEPT and live fully my strengths and gifts and appreciate the blessings that are with me and available to me in this moment. While I can't eat a bagel...I can eat lasagna...then let me fully be immersed in that lasagna instead of waiting impatiently for the bagel that sits in the freezer. If my energy level only allows me to see four clients a day instead of six...let me be thankful for the four...or for the three or one...
While it is true I seem to be waiting all the time, it is also true that I have this day to contend with. This day brings opportunities and blessings and challenges for me. When I tie my energy up with some future outcome, I lose track of how precious this day really is. Even a day of pain may be full of meaning in endurance and a day to live well...that is the lesson I am continuing to learn...to trust (wait on) God on the cloudy days as well as on days of sunshine. To see that there is still value and meaning on a cloudy day...and a contribution to make, people to love, God to thank and blessings to be grateful for.
Certainly, this lesson is a hard one; one that I continue to learn and grow in experience...but I think I am living with more gratitude and patience and appreciation for this moment than I have previously known.
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