Judy
One hundred years of upstream swimming
I often ask others why they’ve chosen a difficult path, why they swim upstream when everyone else is swimming down. It fascinates me, so much so that I wrote this poem years ago on Medium.
The answers I hear range from “I’ve always been a rebel/misfit/outcast” to “my painful personal experience pushed me out of society’s dominant narrative” to “I have no idea, it just felt right.”
There’s also a spiritual element mentioned at times, too: “I followed the crowd in a past life and suffered greatly for it, so this time around I just have an aversion to group-think.”
What I love is that there’s no singular, definitive reason that threads all these answers together, other than “it felt right.”
I want to share with you the reason I swim upstream. Her name is Judy, and in October I was fortunate enough to celebrate her 100th birthday with her in Buffalo, NY.
Back in 1973, when I was seven, my eldest sister married an earnest young engineer from Buffalo. His mother was Judy, a gentle, petite-yet-powerful former concert pianist who tended an enormous organic garden that she had planted years before “organic” was a thing.
She and her husband named their property “Highland Acres,” though it was known to us as “The Farm:” a place where they raised cattle and beefalo, tapped their maple trees to make gallons upon gallons of syrup in the spring, and planted an orchard that was never sprayed yet offered bushels of misshapen, crunchy-sweet apples every fall.
Growing up as I did in the burbs of Toledo and then Cleveland, I had never set foot on a farm. In my world, iceberg wedges were salad, green beans came from a can, and maple syrup was concocted by a woman named Aunt Jemima.
The moment I set foot on The Farm, I felt like a character in C.S. Lewis’s Narnia books. What wardrobe had I stumbled into, that magically transported me to heaven?Who were these kind souls who unhesitatingly welcomed me into their family? And why did I feel so at home?
Judy was the reason, though I was far too young at the time to understand why. That came later.
Judy was a seeker. In the 1940s, she discovered organic and whole foods at a time when virtually no one was questioning the shift towards synthetic fertilizers and pesticides in the early days of industrial agriculture. Around the same time, she embarked upon a lifelong exploration of higher consciousness, her spiritual journey unfolding like a map that stretched far beyond the confines of her father’s Lutheran ministry.
The two currents merged into one contiguous passion. She came to view healing as an extension of soul-growth; they were conjoined like the two snakes encircling each other on the caduceus of Hermes.
By the time she was diagnosed with cervical cancer in the 70s, she had read extensively in both realms and was prepared to employ her knowledge to save herself.
Rather than follow the traditional treatment path of hysterectomy and radiation pressed upon her by doctors, she instead chose non-traditional methods: a version of Gerson’s juicing therapy, plus iridology, combined with spiritual practices that harnessed belief and the power of prayer.
Almost everyone who knew what she was doing thought she was crazy; how could she make such an “irresponsible” choice? She quickly learned to keep her methodology to herself, even after she had healed herself completely. Even years later, she was reticent to talk about how she did it.
The question I’ve always asked myself was, how did she have the internal fortitude to stand up to the pressure of the medical establishment, as well as that of concerned family and friends? I’m not sure, but I like to think that her pursuit of truth — steady, faithful — led her to value the truth of her own instincts to heal her.
Whether that’s correct, I can’t say. Maybe that’s my own bias talking.
I do know that her passion for knowledge never waned. She studied Hinduism, Buddhism, and Taoism, as well as the more esoteric and mystical Gnosticism, Kabbalah, Anthroposophy, and Sufism, attending lectures and study groups, expanding her understanding and deepening her devotion to a higher power.
She delved into sound and light vibration healing, homeopathy, flower essences, home remedies, cell salts, herbal medicine — just to name a few. She grew her own food, made her own sourdough bread, cultured her own yogurt. Nothing got her more excited than a new discovery, a new supplement, a new frontier.
Actually, that’s not true. Nothing got her more excited than sharing those things.
I can remember visiting with her as an adult, chatting over lunch plates dotted with an organic assortment that always included some kind of vegetarian soup, Ak-mak crackers, hummus, goji berries, raw milk cheese, grapes, cashews, homemade kimchi, and the like.
On the table would rest a pamphlet for some marvelous new supplement, device, or therapy, and before lunch was over, she would press the brochure into my hand, her eyes lit with enthusiasm: “let me know what you think!” I always promised I would.
Over the years, any time I was dealing with a health issue, she was the one I turned to. She never failed me. She sent me custom-made remedies, recommended changes in my diet, and lent me books from her comprehensive library. When my mother was diagnosed with lymphoma, Judy was a willing resource and a loving support… though in the end my mom chose a more conventional route, passing away four years later.
I lost touch with Judy for a period of time after her son and my sister divorced, but to my great joy, we reconnected eventually, allowing me to pick up where we had left off — this time as a mother myself. My three young children visited The Farm, too, and delighted as I had in picking apples and riding in the bucket of the tractor.
Judy was my teacher. She was an uncredentialed expert, a practitioner who was never paid, a master healer who never, ever thought of herself as one. In fact, even though she gave talks at a local college about natural healing and nutrition, she downplayed her own knowledge, seeing herself as an eternal student.
Yet because of her, my husband is still going strong after a leukemia diagnosis 20 years ago, and my daughter recovered from Lyme after two and a half debilitated years in high school and is now a professional athlete. Because of her, I always see illness as a gift from the beyond: the universe’s way of letting you know something is not in alignment.
I can’t help but shake my head and smile to hear the national conversation about the abysmal state of our health, knowing that every single issue RFK, Jr. and the Means siblings have raised is one that Judy knew about extensively long, long ago — in some cases, 75 years ago.
When I trained as a Health Coach, there was precious little they taught me that Judy hadn’t already. And there was a lot they missed.
At her birthday party this October, I told Judy’s assembled family and friends the biggest lessons I had learned from her:
There is more to life than the eye can behold or the intellect can comprehend. Open your mind and keep it wide open, trust God, and love what is.
Have the courage to do what you know is right, even if others think you’re crazy. Love everyone, including the ones who do think you’re crazy.
Lead by example the way she did — quietly yet powerfully. Never proselytize; offer your knowledge gracefully, with good cheer, to those who aren’t on board. Share it anyway, in the spirit of take it, don’t take it — no pressure. But here it is, and I love you.
So in that same spirit, I shared with the group this poem I had written for her 98th birthday:
Judy
I walked with her long ago
in pastures of buttercups and daisies,
black-eyed susans nodding solemnly
as we passed;my small hand rested lightly
in her palm
as I led her through paths I had never trod
with the confidence of the very young.When I told her I liked to talk
she said she did, too
but then she just listened
and listened
and listened;Aren’t you wonderful, she said, and
Bless your heart.
I had heard others say those things
but she really meant them.I walk with her now
in fields of green,
the sun on our faces
illuminating lines of laughter
and loves lost;Yes, I am full of wonder
and my heart is blessed
because a great soul walked with me
and does so still~Mary Poindexter McLaughlin, 2022
The next day, I was able to read this poem to her directly, into those eyes of hers that were always bright wellsprings of love. I told her what I believe: that long ago she and I chose to incarnate on this Earth together so that I could learn from her how to navigate these times, to carry her torch into darkness imminent.
“Oh my, yes,” she said, nodding, her spotted hand cupping her cheek, “I think you’re right.”
And that is why, when little me arrived at The Farm in my seventh year on this spinning orb, I felt like I had come home.
Three weeks after her birthday celebration, on November 10, Judy completed this earthly part of her spiritual journey. True to form, without fanfare or grand gestures, she slipped out the back door of mortality in her sleep.
I imagine that after embodying love for a full century, she was ready to return to the Home that awaits us all, following one last time what she knew to be right for her: swimming upstream one last time.
Upon hearing the news I cried, and again in telling my children. But later that day, in meditation, I felt the sparkle and fire of her great soul as she surrounded me, and gratitude filled me head to toe.
How lucky am I that Judy was my teacher? That Judy is my teacher?
A great soul walked with me, and does so still.
Our teachers come in many forms and the lessons they teach us are often not the ones we think we are learning. From my new book Comfort In Darkness about my Jiu Jitsu teacher, Rickson Gracie, and his ongoing battle with Parkinson's and to a lesser extent, our 30 year friendship: "After many of my long and exhausting investigative trips overseas, I would clear customs at LAX, then drive straight to Rickson’s house. I would arrive unannounced, still reeking of wood smoke, dust, and stale sweat. I was eager to sigh a big breath of relief and tell my friend and teacher about my latest discoveries and martial encounters. 'Fala Champion,' he would say with an always-welcoming, but slightly bemused, smile. As he hugged me, like always, he took my measure. Rickson could always sense when I had been running on minimal sleep, adrenaline, coffee, PowerBars, cigarettes, beer, and Valium for weeks on end. Before I could open my briefcase and start my show-and-tell, he would say, 'Take off your boots, let’s play around a little bit.' Sometimes he gave me Gi pants to put on, but often I trained in the same dirty clothes that I had been wearing for days. What I did not realize until many years later was that Rickson sensed my imbalance, and he was using Jiu Jitsu to slow me down, center me, and pull me back down to earth....It took me many years to realize that more than the ability to perform arm locks, chokes, and throws, Rickson gave me the confidence to fight for what I believe is right, speak truth to power no matter the consequences, protect those who do not have the power to protect themselves, and stay calm and improvise when plans A, B, and C fail. This, in short, is “Invisible Jiu Jitsu” and I will carry it with me until the day I die."
This was such a blessing & so much of it resonated with me . 🙏🏽❤️thank you for sharing