Wherever You Go, There You Are

Since we’ve all been (rather) homebound these last two+ years, flying on an airplane and going somewhere new feels like a big adventure. I’m on my way home after spending 5 days with an old tai chi friend on Whidbey Island, offshore Seattle. Getting there, and back, was the most complex part of the trip. 

Paine Field Airport, the closest to the island, opened as a commercial airport just before the pandemic hit. It’s an upscale joint, more like a fancy hotel lobby than an airport with three gates, serving one airline, and restricted in the number of flights/day it can process. Since it is a small, almost elite, airport, customer services are limited.

I arrived five days ago. After waiting 90-minutes, I caught the shuttle to the island, and my friend turned up on the same ferry. She’d finished her dentist appointment in Seattle early, and hurried home. She texted me as the ferry departed the dock, asking if I was in the shuttle bus on the ferry. When I replied affirmatively, she said she was in line just a few cars behind us. After the ferry got underway and we were free to move about the ferry, she came up and sprang me and my belongings from the shuttle. We stopped at Rocket Tacos (Freeland WA) for a spicy lunch of street tacos, the local variation of charro beans, and a locally made ginger beer as we made our way to her beautiful waterfront home.  

That first afternoon we walked 3+ miles (round trip) across one of the narrow parts of Whidbey Island, from her home on Penn Cove to the campground closest to Fort Ebey State Park on Puget Sound. It was a glorious introduction, really a reminder, of the rich, damp, evergreen forests of the pacific northwest, and a cold, grey, drizzly reminder of why the vegetation is so rich. I brought home a tender spot that would blossom the next day into a blister on one heel from walking in my new boots. A quick stop by Walgreens for blister care pads and moleskin and I was good to go again. I did spend a day in my wooly socks, without shoes, as the blister settled back down.

We balanced out touring the sights around the island with her necessary work tasks, most of which were zoom calls with clients. I read, and sat in front of the fireplace, watching the water and the sky, and the birds. On her deck, she has 3 seed feeders, one suet feeder and one hummingbird feeder. We were constantly entertained by a variety of birdlife. Bald eagles, Canada geese, ravens, and herons also visited the Cove, trees and green space around, and in front of, her home. I’m sure there were owls too, we just didn’t see them.

I also learned the rudiments of the game of Euchre, and played a couple games with two of her card-playing friends. We also watched a little Netflix – some of Brene’ Brown’s Atlas of the Heart sessions, and the two Hannah Gadsby shows. Both memorable for different reasons. 

My one uncertainty was getting back home. I had a reservation at the hotel closest to the airport that had a restaurant. None of the hotels had shuttle service to the airport. It was a customer service that disappeared with Covid and isn’t likely to return. As a customer, I miss the easy convenience of it.

Last night when I arrived on the shuttle, I called a taxi. The young woman driver had a baby stroller in the trunk. We chatted on the way over to the hotel. She was a young mom with two kids at home, and was saving to buy a car of her own. When I called to request a taxi to return to the airport this morning, I complimented the young woman to the dispatcher. She informed me that she had fired the woman last night because she’d taken ‘her’ taxi home, rather than returning it to the base. The next driver had been unable to make his runs without a car. This was not the first time this had happened. Her firing was not ‘bad luck’. We do get what we create.

Next? 

https://brenebrown.com/articles/2018/05/24/the-midlife-unraveling/

When I early retired from my totally engrossing day-job of 24 years, I moved to a different state (in the US) so that I wouldn’t be (as) tempted to get called back to work as a contractor. (A previous manager did eventually call, but by then I was entirely immersed in my next thing, and not willing to disrupt what I was doing.)

Now I’ve been at this ‘next thing’ for a while. How long depends on when you start the clock. If you count when I started volunteering virtually full-time, I’ve been at it most of 12 years without more than two or three days away at a time, and no appreciable vacations. If you count when I started getting regular honorarium-style paychecks (total dollars/hours worked = less than minimum wage), I’ve been at it 7 years. This is no one’s fault. I did it to myself, on purpose. Most of the time I love what I do, and I’m a bit worn out.

My contract authorizes two weeks of vacation every year, and a month-long sabbatical every five years. That five-year mark was 2020. We all know what 2020 was like. In the panic of those early days, there wasn’t any point in taking a month off, I couldn’t go anywhere, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to, anyway. The people I worked with at the time were also a little freaked out, so I wasn’t in a hurry to leave them. 

I had also started up an online daily meditation practice that I hosted, to give people a chance to connect and spend 30-45 minutes together six days a week. I ran that for over 450 days, and finally hit the wall. I kept the (zoom) room, but other people needed to take turns facilitating the practice. A hard-core 10-12 individuals have continued, with another handful of folks dropping in when the mood strikes them. I still show up and lead the practice one day a week. They’ve been great looking after each other, and taking turns being the leader.

Last December, I took a couple days off in the middle of the week and went to the closest US beach (6.5 hrs away by car, a little more than an hour away by airplane, not counting waiting time everywhere, and driving time from the airport). While I was there, I sprained my ankle walking around the botanical garden on a flat, mostly level surface. When I came back, I told my board of directors that I needed to start taking some of my authorized time off. They encouraged me to do exactly that. On my first day off, I ended up in the emergency room throwing up blood from a tear in my esophagus, which was probably the result of long-term stress. (None of the typical causes made any sense. I appear much too healthy to have this happen to my body.) 

The other chronological thing that happened about this same time was that I turned 65, and went on Medicare, which meant I was officially old. I’ve never thought of myself as old, so this came as a bit of a shock. 

Then, after a morning pulling weeds, and hauling lumber back to a big box store, I got a therapeutic massage, which was lovely. That evening I twisted funny retrieving a book off a shelf and tweaked the muscles of my mid-back. I spent the next week under a heating pad, and it got progressively better, but not well. Finally, in the middle of the night I asked the question, “What am I missing?” The answer was instantaneous. “Are you going to take that sabbatical now?” 

That next morning, I started making arrangements to be out-of-the office and away a month. It starts next week. The board of directors, and other leaders in the organization have been reticent, but willing, to take on various aspects of what I typically do, and I’ve brought in special guests to cover other pieces that were unique to me. They’ll be fine. 

Which brings me to Brene’ article. My first unraveling was in 2008, when I quit my day job of 24 years. I’ve continued to unravel at a slow pace over this last 12 years, but I have a feeling I just got a booster.

Hide The Ball

I don’t know if you remember that old magician’s trick with the usually three upturned cups and the ball that seems to magically move from cup to cup, and the observer never quite knows where the ball is, or how it got there. In one of our Practitioner classes years ago, a dear friend said, “I play hide the ball with myself all the time, and it frustrates me!” When she said it, I realized I couldn’t imagine a more appropriate way to describe how we keep ourselves from knowing ‘stuff’ that we claim we want to know. Most of us do this, at least sometimes. This is not a criticism. I think it’s an aspect of being human.

I’ve been using this pandemic cloistering period to work on my writing practice in a world-wide community of writers. The way this program is set up, everyone has a page of their own as a place to show their work. It’s a little cumbersome until you get the hang of it (like most things are when they are new), but it’s really not hard to find your own page. I’m watching one of my writing friends do his darnedest to keep himself from writing, and letting himself acknowledge that he actually writes well and beautifully. He’s a smart guy. He’s got a successful day job. And he’s got this other side that’s creative, poetic, profound and astoundingly lyrical in its beauty and depth. 

This morning I noticed that he’d written an extraordinary piece of incredibly touching poetry on someone else’s ‘page’, and sheepishly admitted that he didn’t know how to find his own page. We’ve been in this writing program for fivemonths. Twice I’ve offered to zoom with him on his computer to show him how to find his own page. I know of two other people, moderators of the writing program, who have also offered to assist him. Someone even made him a ‘how to’ sheet of directions, and he persists in hiding the ball from himself. I just wanted to cry when I saw his commentary this morning.

If we, or someone else, don’t want to know something, there is nothing that can be done to force them or us to see, and know. It’s not like having a puppy and rubbing their noses in it when we catch them peeing in the house. We don’t learn that way. Once we finally do wake up to the game and see, and are willing to own our own ability, agency, autonomy, authority, responsibility and power, there’s nothing that stands in our way.  

Being part of a world-wide writing community is both exciting and terrifying. I was telling one of my artist friends about it, and she was horrified at the idea of showing her work to others as it was in process, specifically so that other people could comment on it. I told her it was really quite fabulous, because one of the rules of engagement in this group was that commenters were required to be constructive, and kind. Early on when I joined this online writers’ group, I noticed the moderators, quickly and decisively, removed two people who didn’t know how to be constructive and kind. 

It serves each of us to have a small group of supportive friends, who we trust and who actually have our best interests in mind and heart, and who will help us see our blind spots.  Without that, it’s easy to just keep playing ‘hide the ball’, and we don’t learn and grow.

The Writer's View, 3Dec19

For some reason that still puzzles me, I signed up for, and participated in, a book-writers' boot-camp this summer.  The two dudes who ran it promised that if you did the exercises and activities when, and as, they described them, you would end up with a true first draft of a book by the end of four 8-hour days of constant writing.  Apparently, I thought the nudge would be worth it, and so I sent in my (non-refundable) full tuition payment, made my airline, hotel and rental car reservations, and cleared my calendar.  

I didn't enjoy the process, because I hate feeling pushed, and that's exactly what they did. The entire program was delineated into 6-minute increments.  Six minutes to brainstorm possible titles. (There was a little bit of guidance on the types of titles that generally are picked up by bookstore buyers, and by consumers.)  Six minutes to describe everything you know about, even stuff you don't think matters.  Six minutes to define your target audience.  Six minutes to come up with five chapter headings. And so on, ad nauseum.  And it did, indeed, work. 

One of the things about the week that I enjoyed was getting an increased awareness of the breadth and depth of stories I have in my own personal history. We all do, if we're paying any attention to the moments and interactions of our days. One of the leaders talked about his own process of practicing his story-capturing skills by challenging himself to write a story every single day and publishing them all on a blog.  By the time he stopped his daily activity, he'd written and published (if writing on a blog is publishing, which it is, sort of) 646 days straight.  Granted, they aren't all riveting and mind-expanding, but they are stories of his daily life, and remembrances of childhood that could be used to illustrate a point.  

One of the questions 'up' for me right now is how to mentally think about individuals who, for no apparent reason, walk out of my life. When asked about their departure, there are no hard feelings, and nothing is amiss. It's just over. They feel like they've changed. The whole conundrum does leave me puzzled though. And it reminds me of a story.  

On the first night my taiji group was in Fiji, the locals welcomed us to the island with sweet-smelling Plumeria leis and a welcoming ceremony. The younger women danced a stylized, formal dance while the men played drums, and some of the older women prepared this milky white beverage that was served to us in coconut shells, family style.  All the tourists who wished to drink this beverage were encouraged to do so.  It tasted like I imagine dirty socks would.  Fortunately, it didn't smell like them.

Several days later, I was sitting on top of a picnic table at dusk, after a long day of strenuous taiji practice, enjoying the night sounds of the insects, the sights of the fruit bats flying low, and sounds and scents of the waves crashing on the rocky beach. A couple local men who served as security guards for the small resort stopped by the table to make small talk. We talked about the weather and the beauty of their island, both of which were glorious. I asked them about the welcoming ceremony. The older man replied that it wasn't made up for the tourists, that it was used by the locals to include the tourists in their extended family for the duration of their visit for their safety and protection, and then, after the tourists had gone home, the locals did a second ceremony to remove the tourists from their protection.  

I wonder what sort of disconnection ceremony I might do for this one who has walked out of my life, and I wonder what impact that might have?  I'll have to give that some thought. 

The Orange and The Green

A bunch of years ago, when I was on an extended job in the UK, I was asked to accompany a young woman that I worked with to a girls' prep school to talk about atypical careers for women, or some such. It happened to be St Patrick's Day, which is not a 'major holiday' in the States, unless you happen to be Irish or live in Boston or Chicago or something like that.  Mostly, it's an opportunity for many of the States to drunk too much (green beer or Irish Whiskey), sing bawdy songs, and eat corned beef and cabbage and belch.  (Apologies to any  for whom this is a major/serious/meaningful holiday.)

In any case, I was pretty clueless about the importance of the day and the importance of wearing the green, etc.  I had only the wardrobe I brought with me for this month-long stay, so I rummaged through my suitcase, and found my least-wrinkled, most-reputable outfit, and put it on.  It happened to be a silk-linen pantsuit that was orange-sherbet-colored. 

I felt like my reception at the girls' school was a little stiff and stilted, but just assumed it was because I was a 'yank' and obviously not of their social standing or class, and thought nothing much of it.  It wasn't until we were headed back to the office that the young woman who asked me to accompany her asked me if I had worn orange on purpose on St Patrick's Day.  My naive reply was, "no, why?" She then informed me of a little bit of the history (as she had understood it) of the holiday, and the long-standing dissention between the Northern Irish Catholics and the Northern Irish Protestants. 

In reading a little of the history of Ireland, it seems that Patrick went to Ireland well before there were Catholics or Protestants.  He went to Ireland to convert the pagan Irish to Christianity.  And that's another story all together. 

There's so much that we don't know, even when we think we do, and so many ways we are unconsciously unaware.  It's not a bad thing.  It just is.  

The Dog and The Trash Can

Yesterday a dog tipped over the trash can at the office.  When I went outside to see what the noise was, he was totally nonplussed.  He didn't even move away when I walked up to him, nor did he respond at all to any of my 'chasing away' sounds, or movements.  He had a collar and a tag, and he was healthy enough looking, I imagine he belonged to someone at the city park that is just down the street.  Since I heard no one yelling for him, I assume it is normal for them to let their dog run the neighborhood.

Of course, he wasn't satisfied to tip over the cans.  He wasn't a hooligan with the objective of destruction.  He pulled most of the bags out of the can and ripped them open looking for something edible.  The humor of it for me was the primary thing in the trash was leftover Valentine's Day candy.  There was no chocolate, I don't waste chocolate, and only buy the kind I like, but there was probably five pounds of hard, and not too hard, red bits of compressed sugar, some flavored and some not.  I just imagine when he returned to his humans, with his mouth, teeth and tongue brilliant red, they wondered what on earth he had gotten in to.  Then, if they smelled his breath, it was likely to reek of cinnamon, red licorice or fireballs. It wouldn't surprise me if he had some physical reactions to eating that much sugar.  I certainly would have, which is why I dumped it all in the trash. Hyper dog, anyone? 

While I was finding my gardening gloves this morning, I was fantasizing that the owners would go looking for the source of the red coloring and would come upon his mess and clean it up.  But no, it was still strewn across the side yard in all its glory this morning.  I left most of the sugar on the ground and picked up the remainder.  It didn't take long, and it wasn't too distasteful, since it wasn't gooey trash.  

So what's the moral of this story? Heck if I know.  Maybe it's that cause and effect is seldom a simple linear thing.  It's more like Russian nesting dolls, or interlocking Venn diagrams.  If the owners had kept their dog on a leash.... If the owners had trained their dog that it wasn't OK to forage for scraps in trash cans... If I had disposed of poison, antifreeze or paint in the trashcan, which I know is illegal, and I imagine that people sometimes do.  If the dog had been aggressive to me, I suspect I would have called Animal Control.  If the javelinas, coyotes or bobcats had decided the spread-out trash was a potentially interesting food source for them, the mess would have been greater.  (Apparently they know better.)  If, if, if, if...

So, I guess I'm back to the Stoic view, which dovetails nicely with the one espoused by Don Miguel Ruiz in The Four Agreements.  Take nothing personally.  (The Stoic version of that: Manage your own self and don't worry about what other people/beings do.  That's none of your business.)  It is enough.

Just Be There - 22Jan19

I had the luxury of traveling away from my present hometown for a quick 36-hour trip to take care of a little business and visit with two friends that I hadn't seen in 15+ years (other than on FaceBook). Fifteen+ years ago, we spent a fair bit of time together several times a month, and then life happened, people moved away, interests changed, people just did 'people stuff', and life moved on.  We stayed tangentially connected because of social media, which sometimes feels more intimate than it actually is.  Sometimes it does serve a degree of intimacy.

With one friend, it was a treat to be able to sit face-to-face sharing a meal of good Tex-Mex and just catch up.  We'd talked for well over an hour, suddenly noticing how easily we fell back into that camaraderie that we used to share, and took completely for granted. So many stories we re-told, and so many were left unspoken.

With the other friend, we sat in her living room, in adjacent comfy chairs with her cats exploring as they chose, and the same magic happened.  Real people, real life, real stuff.  Clearly time had passed, but it was an illusion that the passing of time made any difference at all.  What a joy.

Then later in the day, I was in the airport terminal having a lovely meal before heading out and I watched the people walking by.  Since I used to live in this town, part of me wondered if I'd see anyone I recognized.  No, and that was OK.  

There was one young couple that caught my attention for several minutes, he was leaving and she was not.  She did the obligatory recording of him waving goodbye, interrupted by a farewell kiss and hug, she watched him as he made his way through the security checkpoint.  Who sang the song, about it being easier to be the one leaving than the one left behind? I'm sure I could find out, if it mattered enough.

Maybe that's what we are here to do.  Just be there. Be present and support each other in any way we can. That's quite a good gig.

Who Do You Listen To? 19Sept18

Lots of people want to talk with me.  Lots more say they want to, and then don't quite follow-through for a variety of reasons.  Sometimes, people just need to hear themselves speak out loud about their concerns, worries or issues to a listening and compassionate ear, and then they figure out for themselves their best way forward.  Sometimes they really do need to speak with someone who has ideas or suggestions of books they could read, or actions they could experiment with, that help them find a beneficial or productive way forward.

I'm going to make an assumption (risky, I know) based on conversations with everyone I have ever had in any circumstance, with every book about psychology I have ever read, and my own personal experience, each of us has an internal dialog that goes on constantly within our minds.  And that internal dialog bears a lot of similarities with, but may not be exactly the same as, the exchanges that happened in our homes as young children. If you had critical parents, as I did, then that internal voice can have a strong bias towards being critical and judgmental.  It wasn't their fault. Critical parents raised them too. Further, there's a commonly-held belief based in fundamental Christian and parenting methods at the time, that children were all hedonists at heart and needed structure, rigidity and control, so that 'they would grow up right'.   

As a result, many (all?) of us have this critical voice that resides in our minds. The first challenge is to recognize that this voice is part of our history and the story we tell ourselves, and that it is not who we are.  Once we are aware we have this critical voice, we can recognize that we get to decide whether to listen to it and try to satisfy it (impossible, by the way), ignore it by numbing out (effective, but not ultimately useful), try to outrun it, argue with it, or make some peace with it. Running away doesn't work, this critical voice is like our shadow, always present. Arguing with it, while sometimes effective, tends to create an argumentative point of view towards life, so that's no fun at all.  So how do we make peace with this critical voice?  

Thich Nhat Hanh, in his little book How To Love, shares these thoughts, As long as we're rejecting ourselves and causing harm to our bodies and minds, there's no point in talking about loving and accepting others.  With mindfulness, we can recognize our habitual ways of thinking and the contents of our thoughts.  Sometimes our thoughts run around in circles and we're engulfed in distrust, pessimism, conflict, sorrow or jealousy.  This state of mind will naturally manifest in our words and actions and cause harm to us and to others.  When we shed the light of mindfulness on our habitual thought patterns, we see them clearly.  Recognizing our habits and smiling at them is the practice of appropriate mental attention, which helps us create new and more beneficial neural pathways.

Self-kindness and compassion is a great place to start.  And sometimes, that's enough.  It we want to increase our management of our interior world, we decide to choose how we want to treat ourselves, rather than just acting out our default programming.  (I'm carefully avoiding the 'c' word, control, because even the thought of control empowers the critical voice.)  Another action we can take that increases our interior awareness is to practice meditation.   As one of the basic spiritual practices that we teach (and practice), CSLT provides many opportunities for learning, experimentation, and practice. If you don't know how to meditate, don't know who to ask, or would like support in this, please ask me, or our practitioners.

This blogpost was inspired by 'World Suicide Prevention Day' (September 10th).  Have a look at this powerful article (qz.com/1381952/suicide-hotlines-really-do-save-lives-i-know-because-one-saved-mine/) written by Corrine Purtill, who reached out when she was suicidal and spoke with a compassionate person at a suicide hotline.  That action saved her life.  We never know how we can help ourselves, and others, by being kind and listening with an open heart.  

"You Spot It, You Got It" 12Sept18

There are a couple things I really despise about being on this path of becoming more awakened or more conscious.  The first one is probably 'If You Spot It, You Got It'.  I have no idea where I heard that first.  I know I've heard the idea over and over again, through the years. It lurks in the back of my mind, just waiting for me to be irritated at someone or something, or annoyed because someone else doesn't do what they say they will, or live up to some agreement that I think they/we made.  One of my hottest hot buttons is when I feel like someone is acting 'out of integrity'.  If I'm present enough in the moment of the situation, I stuff my momentary reaction until I have a chance to mull it over in depth and detail.  What I usually discover, upon reflection, is that whether another is acting in integrity or not, that's not in my control.  What is in my control is when I become conscious that I have acted out of integrity or out of alignment with my values and ideals, and that is what is in my control to change. Ahhh....  That self-responsibility clause that is just so ...  freakishly annoying, and so ever-present.

This week, one of the shipments that showed up in my mailbox from Amazon was a book calledThe Family Virtues Guidewritten by a couple of psychologists, published in 1997.   When I opened the package, I wondered what I was thinking when I had so intentionally clicked that 'buy now' button.  So, I skimmed through it last night, marveling at how even the notion of virtues seems to have gotten lost, or at least significantly transformed, in the last 20 years.

This book lists 52 virtues and a way that a family, or any group I suppose, could work with one each week and pay attention to how they enact and experience the highlighted virtue during the week.  Is there something quaint or archaic about ... caring, cleanliness, compassion, confidence, consideration, courage, courtesy and creativity as virtues, or values?  Is it that the prospect of living out of our virtues-- requiring a certain amount of familiarity with, and trust that, life is for us, for our benefit--seems to be in such short supply? What about tact, thankfulness, tolerance, trust, trustworthiness and truthfulness?

Part of me wonders if we still have the capacity and wherewithal to be that present to/with ourselves. The rest of me knows that we do, and we get to continuously and perpetually choose and re-choose whether to live from that consciousness, or not. This isn't a new issue, though it seems like it. A snippet of a poem by William Wordsworth, written sometime between 1800 and 1850, came to mind.  It will be familiar to you, too.  "The world is too much with us, late and soon.  Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!" and from our old friend Henry David Thoreau (in the chapter "Economy" from Walden), "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. ... A stereotyped by unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind.  But there is no play in them..."

I know that we do have the capacity within ourselves to be self-reflective, to recognize the good of the many also serves the individual good, once we get a broad enough perspective, and own up to our own selfish tendencies and motives. Dr Martin Luther King spoke/wrote, in his sermon Loving Your Enemies(you'll recognize this too), "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction. ... Have we not come to such an impasse in the modern world that we must love our enemies -- or else?"  Of course, he was writing during the Cold War, and we seemed on the abyss of worldwide annihilation.  Perhaps, still true. 

And yet I see lights in the darkness when I choose to look for them and focus my intention and my resolve on upholding them, enlivening them and becoming them.  One such 'light' is Liz Kleinrock, who taught 4th grade in a charter school in Los Angeles and taught her kids about how to be an ally or an advocate instead of an uncomfortable or unconscious bystander.  (www.karmatube.org/videos.php?id=8195)  From Stoic philosopher Seneca, "The rational soul is stronger than any kind of fortune -- from its own share it guides its affairs here or there, and is itself the cause of a happy or miserable life."  So let's hear it for continuing to be attentive to our own lives, and striving to become the kinds of individuals who intentionally create the lives they choose.   

Wherever You Go... 26May18

I haven't written here for a long while. A lot has changed.  And in some ways, nothing has changed. Just like life. Superficials change.  Deep content changes much more slowly, if at all.

Seth Godin wrote in his blog today, "You can't please everyone.  We know this.  Each of us knows it. From experience. From logic. By doing the math. It can't be done.  Okay, fine.  So, what are you doing about it?  When you're creating something, are the possible reactions of the people you can't please weighing you down? And when you inevitably end up disappointing someone, how do you react or respond?  It doesn't do any good at all to know that you can't please everyone but not use that knowledge to be bolder, walk lighter and do better work for those you can please."

I woke up this morning contemplating 'running away from home'.  This is nonsense of course, because there's nowhere to run to.  John Kabat-Zinn wrote (and he probably wasn't the first), "Wherever you go, there you are."

The last time I remember really having this thought for more than a second, I was trying to decide whether to apply for a job out of the country.  It would have been outrageously exciting and new, a challenge for sure since I didn't know the language and it was a huge stretch for my skill-set.  I knew I could do it.  I wasn't sure I wanted to.  It was pretty clear though, since I was pondering it, that there was something 'there' for me to look at.  

That night I had a dream.  In that dream, I was riding the biggest, baddest wave I have ever imagined on a short stubby surfboard.  And I was doing it successfully.  Mind you, I can barely swim, so the notion of riding a wave like this is really beyond my tolerances.  Then the dream shifted, as dreams do, and I was looking at myself in a scene that was ... well, simply dull, boring and utterly normal.  The thought that rose up in me was that I could do whatever I desired to do, be and become, regardless of where I was.  Place didn't matter.  Circumstances didn't matter.  Situations didn't matter.  The bulk of  'my work' is internal, my primary work on me and how I chose to engage with my world, no matter how it appeared.  

I'm giving a talk tomorrow.  It's called 'Freedom's Price'.  I think I'm going to be talking about the perceptions of ourselves we have to give up in order to live as full expressions of ourselves as divine beings, or children of the divine (if that is an easier concept to wrap your mind around).  We live and move and have our being in, of, as and through (our experience and expression of) the divine, as us.   

In order for me to be free, I have to give up my stories that say otherwise.  I have to give up my story of being helpless, small and insignificant and somehow victimized by my life.  I have to give up the story that the stuff has happened to me, has happened tome, and I've had nothing to do with its creation.  I also have to give up blame of others, blame of myself, any sense of shame and any belief in guilt.  These are very tall orders.  That's the price of personal (and collective) freedom. 

In Spiritual Economics, Butterworth wrote, "You are an unborn possibility of limitless life, limitless intelligence, limitless substance, and yours is the privilege and responsibility of giving birth to it."

In The Four Agreements, Don Miguel Ruiz wrote, Be impeccable with your word, Don't take anything personally, Don't make assumptions, and Always Do your Best.  Many of us have studied this text more than once.  These four 'simple' agreements seem to be impossible to consistently achieve, and yet the primary benefit is in their practice.  In The Companion Book to the Four Agreements,Ruiz wrote, "The Four Agreements are a tool of transformation, leading you to stop judging, mainly yourself, and to start practicing another way of life.  They lead you to stop to guilt, the shame, and the self-rejection; they help you break the agreements that limit the expression of your creativity, and replace them with new agreements that facilitate the expression of your love."

I'm game. Are you?

Is That True?

I've been thinking a lot about the archetype of the orphan child these last few days.  In classic literature, the orphan has to have the experience of abandonment in some form or another (vis-a-vis: Harry Potter, Luke Skywalker, two more recent popularized orphans), in order to experience strength and self-reliance.

In the study of Caroline Myss' Sacred Contracts, everyone is born with a child archetype that they work with as part of their 'contract'.  Orphan is one that is often chosen because many, if not most, people recognize that they have repeatedly felt abandoned over the course of their lives.  The dark side of the orphan is either about creating needy surrogate family situations or pretending to not need anyone (the "I am a Rock, I am an Island" scenario, sung by Kenny Rogers and others).  A healthy orphan experiences a strong personal sense of self-reliance, including the awareness of successfully working, living and succeeding solo, and at the same time does not shut others out.  An orphan working with light attributes finds themselves more in the realm of interdependence, capable of comfortably working singularly, and also capable of working interconnectedly, but without demanding excessive participation from others. 

One of the stories told by orphans is that life is hard and they have to struggle to obtain or achieve anything that they might desire. The funny thing about orphans is that they can be wildly successful, and they have had to really, really, really work hard at it.  Nothing can ever come easy to an orphan, because .... well, it just can't.  Nothing is allowed to be easy, because then the orphan story might be recognized as the story that it is, and not the truth that it isn't.

I had a challenging and somewhat disconcerting interview this past week and was wildly successful (see the bread crumb trail?).  As I settled in for the night, I was ruminating on that particular series of events, because I also know that as a spark of the Divine Mind, I create or at least co-create every event in my life.  In the wee hours of the morning, I awoke with the sudden and overwhelming realization that the orphan story, which has been a predominant story in my life, was just a story and was not actually the truth.  The truth of my being is that I am a beloved child (or adult) of God and that all things work together for my good, no matter what I may have previously experienced or thought. 

So I got busy reframing my story, recognizing myself, first and foremost, as a divine spark, one for whom the world is a joyful open book with loads of cool possibilities and luscious opportunities.  I was even mostly able to remember that when the cable company managed to delay the installation of my high-speed internet, again. 

And so it goes...

Chapters, 26Jun12

Yesterday I went over to Casa Grande to the last charity quilting day at Kokopelli Quilts.  Sandy is closing up the shop, moving back home to Missouri to be nearer her biological family, to play with her grandkids and great grandkids and watch them grow up. It was a bittersweet day, commemorating so many happy times, such joy, such sharing, community and bonding among these women who gathered monthly to work on quilts to give away to people who they would likely never know.  When I heard that the day had finally arrived, which we all knew would come eventually, I told Sandy that I'd move heaven and earth to be there.  I did and was.  I gathered my partially completed give-a-way quilt, additional fabric bits, and my portable sewing machine; I also tossed in my current crochet project that has to be completed by this Saturday for a baby shower.  As I drove the 80+ miles to the shop, I reminisced about the many days, weeks and months, all the many quilts, and all the camaraderie that lives in my memory from those days. 

The night I made an offer on my Arizona City house, I was at loose ends in Casa Grande and wondered whether any of the local quilt shops had open sewing on Thursday nights like they did back in Houston.  I drove by Kokopelli Quilts and the lights were on, so I stopped and went in.  A dozen ladies were sitting around, talking, laughing and quilting.  Sandy asked, "May I help you?"  I said I was a quilter who had just bought a house locally.  She said something to the effect of "Where have you been, we've been waiting on you" and I knew I had found myself a community, right then and there.  All I had with me that night, since I had flown in, was a crochet project.  So it was fitting on the last project day that I have a crochet project in tow. 

As we shared the potluck lunch, Mary gathered emails and phone numbers, so that she could re-engage each of us, once she finds us a new location for our gatherings.  Once she finds us a new home, the Kokopelli Quilters will continue to make quilts to give away to those in need for comfort, remembrance and solace.  The quilters will continue to have a rollicking good time doing it.  And yes, the baby quilt will be finished in time for the shower on Saturday.  

"I Love the Now"

Every time I hear Jimmy Buffett sing "I Love the Now" I remember that I always live in choice.  I, like everyone else, have the perpetual opportunity to live in this present moment, this right now, or to live in the past and operate as though the experience I am in the middle of right this minute is exactly the same as something that happened before.  Its easy to relive a memory and say "this is the same as that" because our minds like to pigeonhole events, circumstances and occurrences.  It's easy to do that.  Some would say it is even natural and appropriate.  If you are trying to avoid getting eaten by a saber-toothed tiger, or stomped by a Brontosaurus, it makes some sense to remember how one set of circumstances seems very similar to a previous set of circumstances.  In fact, even subconsciously translating or projecting from someone else's story might save your life if you are operating in survival mode. 

Our bodies react to our memories exactly as though they are actual real-in-the-moment events.  In a recent Spiritual Thought from our Sunday Celebration Services, Ernest Holmes (from A New Design for Living, p. 130) says "In whatever aspect of living we desire a betterment - be it in respect to health, abundance, or happiness - we have to know that it is ours now.  We establish the pattern now, we accept what it is now, we know that it is our experience now.  There is no difference between thought and thing.  There is no time element in Mind, nor need there be in out mind.  Whatever good we desire must be accepted as the present reality of our experience.  Only now can it exist."

If I create a fear situation in my mind, my body acts fearful, releasing adrenaline and cortisol, and my body gets ready to fight, flee or freeze.  Basic physiology again.  The bad news, according to the physicians and psychologists who study such things is that this internalized fear state, which may have been created by something completely imaginary, causes an internal physical-chemical stress on the body, and has a long lag time before the body can even begin to come back to its own balance, equilibrium and well being. 

What if "this is not that"?  What if this apparently threatening situation isn't really inherently threatening?  What if the Universe is predominantly a safe place and that all the events in my present experience can be viewed from a positive and supportive perspective?  This doesn't mean I'm going to be stupid and step out in front of a bus to see what happens, but it can mean that I don't automatically interpret a conversation, and impression, or a look as antagonistic from the start. 

Feels like a happier way to live to me.  

I Think I Can, I Think I Can, I Think I Can...

We each remember the story of The Little Engine That Could, that we first read as children and then some of us read it to our children  (and some even grandchildren) with the not-so-very hidden message that no matter what the obstacle, if I think I can overcome it then I will put my muscle and mind into it and I will succeed.  We tell ourselves and our children this story, and it is a true story.

Holmes tells us this again and again.  It is one of the main operating principles in the Science of Mind.  "Law of Life is a law of thought -- an activity of consciousness -- the Power flows through us.  The Spirit can do for us only what it can do through us.  Unless we are able to provide the consciousness, It cannot make the gift.  The Power behind all things is without limit, but in working for us it must work through us."  (SOM 141.2)

The way I read these words, and ponder that dear old childhood story is that I recognize that I choose what and how I wish to experience my life.  We all do, whether we know it or not. 

Patanjali said, “When you are inspired by some great purpose, some extraordinary project, all your thoughts break their bonds: Your mind transcends limitations, your consciousness expands in every direction, and you find yourself in a new, great, and wonderful world. Dormant forces, faculties and talents become alive, and you discover yourself to be a greater person by far than you ever dreamed yourself to be.”

I'm going for an ever yet greater, more expanding, joy-filled life ... and I 'think' I can.  How about you?

Where I Look From Determines What I See

Say what? 

When riding to a work site with a colleague, he was bemoaning how nothing was working the way he wanted it to and how unfair life was.  It was his favorite litany, his well-worn groove, describing how he experienced his life.  The next thing I knew, a sparrow fatally dive-bombed itself into the windshield of our rental car.  Startling to say the least, it reinforced my colleague's perception about everything wrong in his life.

While stopped at a red light today, I saw a single dandelion growing in a sidewalk crack.  It was perfectly formed, tall and proud.  Glorious.  It brought to mind an incident with the homeowners association (HOA) where I used to live.  Texas was having a drought then too; we were on water restrictions.

One November day, I got a nasty-gram from the HOA about the weeds in my front flowerbed.  I looked.  It did need weeding, so I did.  In December I got another nastier nasty-gram on the same topic.  That letter I ignored, because I had weeded and thought it looked pretty good for a flowerbed in winter.  In January, I got a very irate nasty-gram which said that they were going to send someone out to weed my flowerbeds, and send me the bill, because obviously I was ignoring them.

So I went outside and looked again, determined to see what they saw.  Eventually it hit me.  They weren't recognizing my flowers as flowers because they were different than everyone else's flowers.  What I was recognizing as native plants, they saw only as nasty weeds.  I went inside crafted a letter, letting them know I wasn't ignoring them, I had in fact weeded in November upon receipt of their first letter.  I also explained that I had worked with a horticulturist who specialized in native plants that could prosper in the absence of supplemental irrigation, since we had been limited in our water usage for a while.  I offered to have this horticulturist speak with them about plantings that would be better for the environment, if they were interested.  The silence deafened.

I also recognize the truth of this viewpoint when it comes to interpersonal situations.  If I believe someone is basically on my side, then I am more likely to take any apparently challenging comments as useful and if I believe someone does not have my best interest at heart, I am much more likely to take it badly.  Its just human nature, and at the same time, its a decision over which I have huge choice about.

As Master Teacher Jesus said, and Holmes so often quoted, "it is done unto you as you believe".  It is this perspective that I strive to look from and my belief about the world and how it works that determines what I see in my world. 

Is this true for you, too?

If the Phone Doesn't Ring, Its Me, 11Jan12

There's a line out of this old Jimmy Buffett song that I finally understood last night, "If it takes all the future, we'll live through the past.  If the phone doesn't ring, it's me."  That lyric has always puzzled me.  I wondered if it wasn't some kind of curious time-space continuum problem.  Last night, I glimpsed what the Caribbean songmeister was singing about.  We are each and all always reliving our past, and thinking that the present experience is the same as what we have previously experienced.  This is the same as that, right?  If our remembrance of the previous experience was a positive and supportive one, then our interpretation of the present day experience (which in itself is inherently neutral) is also likely to be, at least initially, positive.  As we know, "it is done to us as we believe", therefore we perceive, create and interpret the present experience in light of what we believe about and selectively remember or reconstruct from our past experiences.

This morning I'm at the car dealership getting my car serviced.  For two years after I moved to Arizona, I got my car serviced under warranty, at the dealership in Phoenix and they took exquisitely good care of my car, and by extension, me, and were attentive to my curious questions and peculiar concerns.  I felt valued by them.  When I moved to Tucson, I chose to shift my car servicing to the local dealership and really did expect to receive the same level of care.  I was shocked to discover that they didn't have the same level of customer care, nor did they really seem to care that much.  Finally, I pressed the point hard and received virtually the same service for the same monetary exchange, but I could tell that it was offered under duress.  When we completed the agreed number of services for the agreed number of dollars, they were clear that the offer would not be extended.  So today, I'm back at the dealership because I initially purchased extended warranty coverage for 100,000 miles.  When that coverage ends in 15,000 miles, I'll see what happens.

So what's underneath that?   What's the old belief about myself that I am reliving, again and again and again, until I get a new perspective on it?  On some level, do I feel like I need to work or "fight" for how I want to be treated?  Sometimes.  In my much younger days, I would seldom stand up for myself, and I would say 'please and thank you' for whatever came my way.  And I allowed some exquisite unkindnesses to just steamroll through my life, claiming all the while that these nasty things had to be for my highest good.  At the same time, I also repeatedly experienced massive and extraordinary kindnesses.  So, what's the basic recurring, repeating, reinforcing storyline in my head?  Is the universe a predominantly safe and friendly place, or do I need to fight for what I feel is mine?  Do I automatically assume those I come into contact with are against me, or that we are working on the same quality of life?  I choose to think of my universe as friendly.

I just love manifestation in real time.  The new young service rep just told me that they would take care of 'the thing' that had been niggling the back of my mind for about 10,000 miles.  Cause and effect.  Perhaps this reframe is about speaking up for myself without feeling like I need to fight for it, and allowing the universe to give me what I claim, which then frees me up to stop living the past, pulling more of my energy into present time, and live more fully in the Now.

Sunday, 3:11am - Shut up and Drive

In the wee hours this morning I was reflecting on a conversation with a friend when I blurted out "Shut up and Drive".  It wasn't intended to be offensive.  I wasn't even intending to say it.  I thought the quote "Shut up and Drive" was from the movie 'Thelma and Louise'.  It isn't.  It's the title of two very, very, very different songs, neither of which I ever remember hearing.  I feel like somehow we are each being sandpapered and polished to do *great works* that only we can do.  And only we can each do them.  I don't like that thought and yet, at the same time on some level, I feel like its time.  And it's right.

It sounds incredibly big-headed, too big for my britches and some part of me just wants to shrink over to the corner and vanish into the wallboard instead of doing *this thing*, whatever it is.  There are times that I feel that Marianne Williamson quote (about being frightened of our own light, our own brilliance) taunting me, chasing me down the street, pointing and laughing.  I don't like it at all and I'd just as soon go iron a shirt, clean a toilet, or something incredibly, routinely and safely, mundane.

And yet...

One Sunday morning some years ago, I spoke at a Spiritualist Church in Houston.  A friend had asked me to speak on the Harmonic Concordance and I said, "Sure, why not?"  I didn't even know what it was, but I figured I could pull stuff together.  I had taught 7th grade earth science for two years, I could certainly do this.  So I started reading and studying and thinking and gathering information and nothing, absolutely nothing would come together.  There was no flow, no form, and no sense.  As the date got closer, I intensified my striving.  Finally the weekend of the talk rolled around and I still had nothing but jumbled words and I was beginning to really sweat over it.  The night before the Sunday morning talk, I had only the barest hint of anything and I felt like it was garbage.  The morning of the talk, I cobbled together some things, disjointed but adequate and I went and did the talk.  I was only relieved when it was over. 

And then, being a Spiritualist Church (a completely unknown commodity to me), the host, my friend, asked if anyone had received any messages for anyone else.  Several people stood and delivered messages.  I became fascinated, completely curious, about what I was observing.  Then this diminutive man in this three-piece brown polyester double-knit suit stood up with a message for me, the speaker.  So i stood up, as I had seen others do and he said something to the effect of, "You had three angels standing with you when you spoke; the biggest guardian angel I have ever seen, a scruffy drunk Irishman angel and a little blue haired fairy angel.  The Irishman angel was shaking his head sadly and said something like, 'she's never going to just trust and speak, that she will always have the words she needs.'"  I sat down dumbfounded and wrote his words down precisely.  I still have the feeling in my body.  Holy cow.  I heard that challenge, and responded.  Never again did I massively prepare a talk - even technical ones.  I'd do the charts and graphs and the ubiquitous Powerpoint slides, so I could show people what I had seen, but I never, ever wrote another talk.  And it has always worked.

Two owls are hooting outside with each other at this moment.  The cadence: one-and-two, three four ... who are you not to be?  As soon as I write these words, they stop talking to me.  This feels like a similar challenge and I don't know presently where it is headed.  With a knot in my stomach, I say 'yes'. 

You?

Because we can, 2Dec11

For some unknown reason, I was thinking tonight about a boss I had years and years and years ago.  He had just done something that affected our customers, and I didn't understand the reasoning behind what he was doing.  Being the bright young impetuous thing that I was back then, I asked him why.  He looked at me somewhat incredulously, shook his head sadly and said, "because we can."  I knew what he had set in motion wasn't illegal, immoral or 'wrong' (per se), but it just didn't sit very right with me.  And I clearly still didn't understand what was going on, and was also fairly certain I wasn't going to get a different reply even if I asked again.  So I let it drop.  Or at least I thought I had.

What I've come to realize is that I've taken his dismissive "because we can" and I've turned it around many, many times over the years since that day.  Most of the time, I remember that I have a choice how I handle any given situation or circumstance.  I always have a choice.  Even if I don't remember that I do, I still have a choice.  I have a choice whether to react to an incident in haste, or step back a minute and respond instead.  The tai chi practitioner in me knows that if I react thoughtlessly, they just 'got me'.  I have a choice whether to instantaneously feel disrespected or devalued, or try to see what's really going on from a larger viewpoint, a higher perspective.  

This doesn't mean I let people use me as a doormat, or that I go along with everything presented to me, because that would be silly, could be dangerous, and is often counterproductive.  It means, to the best of my ability, I pay attention and know what I am choosing and that I am choosing. 

And more often than not, I choose to respond kindly, or thoughtfully.... "because i can."  And I like that.  A lot.   

What if it's just feedback? 10Oct11

At a seminar I attended on Saturday, there was this one exercise that purportedly was about figuring something out, but in fact it was about how receptive we each were to receiving personal feedback from others to achieve a particular goal when we ourselves were stuck.  Most of the time I think I'm reasonably good with receiving feedback, heaven knows there have been plenty of opportunities.  This one particular activity though caught me by surprise.   When everybody else was getting help solving the puzzle, and lots of people were cheering and clapping as different people figured it out (always with help), I was trying not to notice that I wasn't in the circle, I wasn't figuring it out, I wasn't getting help and I was the last to complete the puzzle.  I wasn't happy about any of this.  When the seminar leader came over to where I was sitting and working alone and offered help, then within seconds of focusing on the guidance, the solution showed itself clearly.   The intended impact, though, had already landed because of my internal tension around this 'exercise' was massive.  And it got me thinking about my (sometimes) response to life in general.

What if it's all just feedback, information, or innocuous data?  It doesn't automatically imply anything about ability or competence or worthiness.  Shifting the perspective to neutral, rather than some historically-based judgment, it is just data.  Or as Johnny-5 (E.T.) would have said 'hmmm, input'.  Without any hooks, shame or blame, it becomes just information, just feedback for my expansion, awareness and growth.   That's a whole different take on the subject.

Hmmm.  Input!