Everybody Wants to Rule the World: A Haiku

Here is a photo I took of our fox terrier, Cowboy, reigning as top pet in the house. Below is a haiku inspired by the photo. Please share a haiku that comes to you as you view the photo. (A traditional haiku is 3 lines: 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables.)

I rule this house. Snarl

At dogs; bite cats; it's hard work!

You can pet me now.

P.S. If you or someone you know has lost a pet, please join us for a night to remember and celebrate the lives of our animal companions this Wednesday, April 3 in San Rafael, California. For more details, go to the Classes webpage.

Seeds of New Life

About a week ago we planted various seeds for our first garden here in California: swiss chard, okra, bush roma beans, butter lettuce, arugula, sweet corn and leeks, to be adorned with marigolds and zinnias. Seeds are now pushing their way through the soil toward the beckoning light. I can't help but ponder the timing of these rising seeds. This is known as holy week in the Christian tradition with its theme of Christ's death and resurrection. Whether or not this is your tradition, the message is universal. Something is always dying, and this death is necessary so that something new can be born. For a seed to sprout, it must be buried and left for dead in the earth. This surrender is necessary for new life to break through.

In the Biblical stories about people encountering Jesus after his resurrection, there is a common theme. They don't recognize him. He appears to be a gardener...a traveling stranger...a beach bum. Then suddenly, their eyes are opened and they see Christ. The Christ of their expectations, the Christ they could control and predict, the Christ they could confine to one human body, had to die. Then they saw the Christ, the divine...everywhere. Their eyes were opened to a world of wonder. The seed planted within them had sprouted.

What in your life needs to die? What needs to be surrendered so that something new can emerge? Is it that tired story you retell that needs to be laid to rest so that you can birth a new narrative? Is it an outdated image of the divine so that something truer can emerge? Is it an addiction to control and perfection so that something surprising and uncontrollably alive can spring up? Is it a prejudging of a person or group that must be sacrificed so you can start to see the divine, see something sacred and precious, in more and more faces? (Of course, no aspect of us totally disappears but rather is accepted, transformed and integrated.)

Whatever needs releasing, the first and only required step is a willingness to surrender it. How does that willingness to let go actually result in letting go and then give birth to something new? That no one knows. It is a mystery called life.

P.S. If you want to let go of what no longer serves so that something new and alive can be born, join us on Tuesday nights, starting April 16, for a weekly gathering called Tuesday Night Live.

The Body Mantra

I've been noticing a number of bad equations circulating in my head. These formulas equate two things which are, in truth, not the same. But I often act and feel like these formulas are valid. Here are a few of my untrue equations:

Someone is disappointed = I've done something wrong.

Someone is pleased = I've done something right.

GLEE still = good television worth watching.

Everything got completed and was done correctly = I'm a good person.

Things did not go as planned = I screwed up.

The script of any Twilight movie = ...Wait a minute, they had scripts?!?

What untrue equations still operate in you? Often I don't even realize that I'm being run by one of these faulty formulas until I've made myself, and most likely those around me, miserable.

I have, however, found a reliable way to change my operating system so that I'm running on a truer equation that yields better results. In last week's post, I wrote about living from a place of "belovedness", from the sense that I am already and irrevocably loved, and I am eternally ok.

I'm discovering that the key to living from this belovedness is physical, not mental. I can't think my way into belovedness. Instead I rely on my body. When I have felt in my bones, down to my core, that I really am all right...in those moments I sensed a warm, vibrating, open peace. Rather than try to reason my way back there, I get still and focus on returning to that same felt sense. It's not so much the feeling that I'm going for, but the shift in perception because everything looks much different from a felt sense of "all is well".

It's much like meditating with a mantra. A mantra is a word or phrase chosen before meditation begins. When the chatty-Cathy mind inevitably starts to wander, focus returns to the mantra as a way to re-center. When I drift off into a Sea of Bad Equations, my body feels tense, closed, cold and agitated. By shifting my focus back to that space of "all is well" within me, I use my body as a mantra that resets my entire way of interacting with life. My body becomes the sacred path back to reality.

Those false equations still float around within me, but I don't have to be run by them anymore. My body tells me so.

P.S. If you'd like to practice creative ways of resetting your old equations, join us on Tuesday nights, starting April 16, for a weekly gathering called Tuesday Night Live.

Stratego: A Poor Strategy for Life

My Uncle Frank came to visit my grandparents every summer when I was growing up. He and I would play games and cards hour after hour. I particularly liked Stratego, a board game in which two players pit their armies against each other. I developed a strategy that I employed every time, which almost always resulted in a win. Basically, it was a defensive posture focused on protecting my flag and setting traps in which the parts of my defenses that seemed weakest actually obscured hidden dangers.  I rarely went on the offensive, trusting that the way I set up my army usually guaranteed victory before the first move was even made. By the time my uncle figured out where my flag was, he usually did not have enough resources left to capture it.

Looking back now, I realize that I also began to employ this same strategy with life. Prepare thoroughly in advance, survey the board and plan for every possibility, control everything you can, and then trust that things will go your way because they should go your way. For the most part, this strategy worked well in school. (Isn't school essentially a prolonged board game?)

When entering the world of work, relationships and adult problems, however, this strategy simply did not work anymore. There were too many variables. No matter how hard I prepared and planned, the unexpected happened. Life turned out to be a Mystery that could be neither controlled nor understood.

Somehow this didn't seem fair. Why shouldn't life function like Stratego? If I did my part, shouldn't the world do its part and cooperate? Through all my hard work, have I not proved my worth and earned some sort of reward?

My resentful attitude reminds me of a character in a story Jesus told, which is commonly known as "The Prodigal Son". Both sons in the story are actually lost. The younger son wasted his inheritance on partying. The older son stayed behind on the farm as he thought a good boy should, yet he resented how his life was turning out. He worked hard every day, followed the rules, and was the poster child for responsibility, yet no one seemed to notice. No one even gave him a "like" on his Facebook page. Yet, his irresponsible partying brother comes home, and his father throws him a ginormous party. And the kicker: the older son stays out in the field all day working while the party is underway. No one even bothers to tell him about his brother's return and the shindig.

The father's words to him as he sulks in the unfairness of it all still resonate for me today: "All I have is yours already." This is the message the older son and I both need to hear:

By all this hard work, you are trying to earn what is already yours. You are innately worthy and beloved. No amount of strategy or work can earn what must be received as a given. Receiving your "belovedness" as a given, life starts to feel more like a gift and less like an imposition. A joyful balance of responsibility and freedom emerges. Yes, your brother needs to learn responsibility, and you need to learn freedom. Wholeness is the balance of both. And the balancing point is compassionate self-acceptance.

Life is far more mysterious, complicated and glorious than a board game. Perhaps the greatest mystery is that I am already worthy and forever ok without doing anything! Living from a sense of being irrevocably loved, that resentful sinkhole of compensating for the feeling that I'm never enough...that sinkhole starts to fill from the inside out.

I'm learning a new approach to this board game of life, and living from my "belovedness" may turn out to be the riskiest yet most rewarding strategy of all.

P.S. Beginning in mid-April, a new group will meet every Tuesday night to experience and explore together this mysterious freedom and "belovedness". For more information, go to: Tuesday Night Live.

Supernova Cat: A Haiku

Here is a photo I took recently of our beloved cat Bebe. Below is a haiku inspired by the photo. Please share a haiku that comes to you as you view the photo. (A traditional haiku is 3 lines: 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables.)

Luxurious fur

Clothes supernova halo

That is Life Itself.   

P.S. If you or someone you know has lost a pet, please join us for a night to remember and celebrate the lives of our animal companions on Wednesday, April 3 in San Rafael, California. For more details, go to the Classes webpage.

Lord of the Dance

My prayer time and meditation practice has felt rather stale and empty lately. The emptiness I'm ok with because I want to be emptied of all my silly stories and ego patterns. Yet, even in this necessary spaciousness, I've sensed that something essential has been missing, though I could not put my finger on it. Well, they say that when the student is ready, the teacher arrives. My partner Herb recently gave me a lovely miniature bronze statue of Shiva Nataraja. Nataraja means "Lord of the Dance". This figure symbolizes the heart of both Hinduism and of our human experience.

The statue depicts the contradictions that define our lives. In Shiva's upper right hand is a drum that beats the sound from which the universe was born. In his upper left hand is fire, which destroys creation, reminding us of the constant cycle of birth and death, creation and destruction. The ring of fire represents everywhere that this dance occurs, which is the whole of the universe. And the statue sits on a lotus flower, symbolizing that the whole of the universe rests in the human heart or consciousness.

What Herb and I find most intriguing is the only moving part: Shiva's hair. The hair strands winging out to the side of his head look like a halo and are reminiscent of the Biblical character Samson, whose locks gave him great strength. The tradition is that Shiva's hair, usually wrapped up in a pyramid atop his head, starts to unravel and flails with reckless abandon as the dance becomes wild and ecstatic. He is fully embodied, sensuous, and on fire with life.

Oddly, Shiva's face is impassive. His expression represents that tranquil nothingness out of which all creation springs, reminding me of the emptiness I've been experiencing in meditation. It identifies neither with the joy of creation nor the pain of destruction, but rather holds it all with an accepting perspective. His gaze is eternity; his dance is the temporary, fully-engaged rhumba of the here and now.

I am realizing that this symbol speaks directly to my own spiritual path. I have focused so much on the gaze of eternity, that I've been missing the dance of life. Both are essential experiences. So, I'm starting to experiment. My morning devotional time still features quiet, but I'm also incorporating movement, vibrations of a singing bowl, images from my dreams that lead to inner dialogs, St. Francis' prayer spoken aloud while standing, and the warming beams of the sun's early rays. The silence and the sensuous are starting to spill over into the rest of my day, enabling me to experience that tango between the infinite and the finite.

While I don't have any hair to fling wildly in ecstatic dance, I am sensing the drumbeat of the universe in my own heart...and in my spontaneously tapping toe.

Freedom vs. Safety

"Those who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety." Benjamin Franklin

Since the founding of our nation, the balance between liberty and safety has been delicate. Our history is rife with examples where liberty was sacrificed for temporary safety. From the Alien and Sedition Act in the late 18th century to the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II to the indiscriminate surveillance of Muslim Americans today based solely on their religion, the perceived threat of potential miscreants and anarchists has led us to sacrifice the very values we were trying to protect.

In the post 9/11 era, our government has declared a war on terror. The irony is that terror has declared war on us. I'm not referring to the legitimate threat of Al-Qaeda, but rather to our own internalized fright. Terror's true victory is not a horrible plot that reaches fruition, but rather a people who cede their liberty and abdicate their commitment to justice for the semblance of safety.

Into this vacuum of fear step political groups and industries looking to profit. For instance, the domestic drone industry is projected to grow to $90 billion in the next decade. The FAA wants to ramp up the licensing of these unmanned surveillance aircraft that fly over U.S. airspace. Drone manufacturers also seek to offer local and state law enforcement officials the ability to add non-lethal weapons to drones, such as tear gas and rubber bullets. While domestic drones could be a valuable tool for public safety officials (e.g., assisting first responders with locating survivors after a natural disaster), the scope and implications of this program are slipping past the radar of most Americans. Will government entities have to obtain a warrant before using a drone to monitor a citizen's actions? Will domestic drones be weaponized? These questions remain unanswered.

Private companies will also be able to receive permits to fly over our residences, schools, parks, places of worship, and anywhere else we go. With over 10,000 drones expected in our domestic airspace by 2020, one has to wonder if these agents of security will erode freedom and privacy and unwittingly make us less safe. Citizens have successfully prodded officials at the local and state level to enact limits on how drones can be used. Legislation and policies are currently being drafted at the federal level as well. Make your voice heard.

Of course, all of this is just one example of the ongoing tension between freedom and safety.  The external debate mirrors our internal struggle in which we seek to balance our biological inclination toward self-preservation with the impulse toward authenticity, free expression of the truth as we experience it, and risk taking for the sake of that truth. Whether the debate is about government surveillance or personal integrity, I hope that we will find a sustainable balance between freedom and safety...and even tip the scales toward freedom.

Balancing on the Paradox Rope

"If it's not paradoxical, it's not true." Shunryu Suzuki

Life is a balancing act. When we walk across a narrow piece of wood or concrete,  we naturally extend our arms in opposite directions and find balance in the middle.

As we walk through life, we experience equilibrium when we simultaneously hold all of our conflicting ideas, habits, desires, emotions and thoughts. When we deny or obsess on some part of our human experience experience, we fall out of balance.  Focusing on certain aspects as "good" and repressing others as "bad" eventually leads to a fall. When we, however, welcome our paradoxes, those experiences and parts of ourselves that are true yet nonetheless contradictory...when we hold them all with compassion, we are walking that thin line of balance, truth and wholeness.

Here are a few paradoxes I've been playing with lately:

• Selfless service to others requires I practice selfish self-care. Otherwise I fall into resentment and burnout.
• Thinking repeatedly about my problems almost never yields new, helpful thoughts.
• A bird in hand is worth two in the bush. Do I really want the bird that wasn't smart enough to stay in the bushes?
• Accepting things as they are is the first step toward making effective change in the real world. Making effective change requires a refusal to accept things as they are.
• We rarely find answers to life's biggest questions through isolated navel-gazing. We are, after all, social creatures. Yet, the answers we seek are only found within.
• The Pearl of Great Price, however you define that in your life, is worth your every waking moment's attention. Yet, even when that Pearl is in plain sight, it is usually tossed aside without looking inside the ordinary shell where it lives.

And a few more that go a bit deeper:

• When I start giving to myself what I yearn for others to give and do for me, I find that the essence of what I've been seeking is already within me. Ironically, when I tend to my needs, I notice a blessed bonus: others start freely giving me what I used to try to get through manipulation.
• The more I resist those parts of myself that I don't like or that make me feel uncomfortable, the more those parts tend to dominate my thinking, my feeling, and my doing. The more I have compassion on those same parts that seem so dark and wrong, the more they ease up and actually find a constructive purpose.
• When I let go of my attachment to this limited human experience, I fall into the purity of limitless Spirit. Spirit only tastes the pure essence of being alive through me living my limited, imperfect human experience.
• A dog is man's best friend. A cat is its own best friend. A true friend is both.

What paradox have you noticed? How does holding that tension create balance?

Mountain Labyrinth: A Haiku

Here is a photo I took of a labyrinth in Fairfax, California with a view of Mount Tamalpais ("The Sleeping Lady") in the distance. Below is a haiku inspired by the photo. Please share a haiku that comes to you as you view the photo. (A traditional haiku is 3 lines: 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables.)

Mountain calls: "Higher!"

"More!" But I come full circle

And find heights within.  

Reflections of the Divine

Last week I attended an early morning contemplative service with hypnotic Taize-style chants. Just as mesmerizing, however, was the rainbow of reflected light emanating through the stained glass windows. As the sun rose, its rays painted an increasingly vivid palette of Monet-esque colors across its canvas of plastered walls. I feel like those walls. I see reflections of the divine scattered across my life. My partner's smile. Our cat "making biscuits" on my lap. My feet spontaneously tapping to the rhythm of a catchy new tune. A walk on the ridge near our house where I catch sight of a darting jackrabbit. I see these reflections of the divine, but I can't see the Source of those reflections.

What is that Source? A being? A presence? An energy? An evolutionary process?  I can't see through the window to know.

For many, of course, these questions are irrelevant. They savor the reflections with little thought given to their Source. While I honor and appreciate that straightforward approach to living, I've yearned for intimacy with that Source Itself. I've craved more. I've longed for more felt connection, more clarity about who/what the divine is, more of a deep sense of knowing, and, yes, more mountaintop ecstasy.

Instead what I experience are these reflections, disparate rays catching my attention, if only I am paying attention. And I'm wondering if that might be what's needed after all. Much like a committed human relationship, maybe it's not about grasping for that honeymoon or first kiss experience. Maybe it's about paying attention to and savoring the "blessed normalcy" of life together. Yes, there are peaks and valleys, but most of the relationship is marked by ordinariness that only nourishes when noticed and treasured. And in that noticing and treasuring is the connection, the intimacy and the seeing.

So, I am going to try an experiment. When I notice "reflections", I'm going to stay with them just a tad longer to appreciate them and let their sacred ordinariness be enough. I'm also going to honor my longing for more and notice if in that longing itself, I feel more connected to Source. The longing is sacred; it's the addiction to its fulfillment feeling or looking a certain way that causes me such angst.

And, if and when I catch a glimpse of Source Itself, of the divine, of God, I'll value that experience as no more sacred than moments spent admiring the violet-blossomed, amazingly fragrant orchid on the mantle above our fireplace. For in any moment of openness and awe, the seer and the Light and the reflections are all intimately one.

W.W.M.L.K.D.?

What would Martin Luther King do? (W.W.M.L.K.D.) That is the question many are addressing this week as we commemorate his birth. Disparate interest groups are claiming that, were he alive today, he would support their cause. The most outlandish claim I've head comes from Larry Ward, the Chairman of Gun Appreciation Day, who said last week:

"I believe that Gun Appreciation Day honors the legacy of Dr. King...The truth is I think Martin Luther King would agree with me, if he were alive today, that if African Americans had been given the right to keep and bear arms from day one of the country's founding, perhaps slavery might not have been a chapter in our history."

Um, yeah, right. And I hear that the Wicked Witch of the East adores "Houses that Fall From the Sky" Appreciation Day.

What would Dr. King be doing today? Fighting for the marginalized, the poor, the disenfranchised, and the oppressed. Moreover, he would be fighting for human souls with the power of love. For Dr. King, that love was not a touchy-feely emotion. It was a commitment to bring out the best in humanity, even when humans responded to that call with their smallest, cruelest, fear-based hatred or apathy. The love he proclaimed held justice in one hand and compassionate endurance in the other.

While most reference Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech as the zenith of his oratory, I am most drawn to a sermon he delivered shortly before his assassination. Here is an excerpt from "A Christmas Sermon on Peace" delivered in December 1967:

“I say to myself, hate is too great a burden to bear. Somehow we must be able to stand up before our most bitter opponents and say: ‘We shall match your capacity to inflict suffering by our capacity to endure suffering. We will meet your physical force with soul force. Do to us what you will and we will still love you. We cannot in all good conscience obey your unjust laws and abide by the unjust system, because non-cooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as is cooperation with good, and so throw us in jail and we will still love you. Bomb our homes and threaten our children, and, as difficult as it is, we will still love you. Send your hooded perpetrators of violence into our communities at the midnight hour and drag us out on some wayside road and leave us half-dead as you beat us, and we will still love you. Send your propaganda agents around the country, and make it appear that we are not fit, culturally and otherwise, for integration, and we'll still love you. But be assured that we'll wear you down by our capacity to suffer, and one day we will win our freedom. We will not only win freedom for ourselves; we will so appeal to your heart and conscience that we will win you in the process, and our victory will be a double victory.’"

What would Martin Luther King do? I don't know, but I doubt he'd be clutching an AK-47 to promote nonviolence. The better question is: what will you and I do here and now? Dr. King is not alive, but we are. We are today's "soul force". We can embody his vision of a love that is both compassionate and just, that longs for the liberation of both the oppressed and the oppressor. What is one concrete way that you can wear down an injustice with your love and win a "double victory"? What will you do?

Swimming Upstream

At Muir Woods National Monument I recently watched the endangered Coho salmon prepare to spawn, which is shown in the video below as a male and female make a redd for their offspring. (A redd is a gravel depression salmon create with their tails and into which the eggs are laid and fertilized.) Coho salmon are making a comeback in the Redwood Creek that flows through Muir Woods here in Marin County, California. Each December after the first heavy rain, the sandbar at Muir Beach breaks. The seam allows salmon to leave the ocean and swim upstream to the creek where they hatched about three years before.

The parents undergo dramatic physical changes on this final journey. Their jaws and teeth become hooked. Their skin blushes with hues of red and pink. With immense effort, they make their way upstream. Finding a shallow spot for a redd, they create their nest, lay and fertilize their eggs, all the while maintaining their resistance against the incessant current. Having completed this final phase of the life cycle, they die having given their lives so that life may continue.

The final lines of The Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi capture the spirit of the salmon's life cycle:

"It is in giving that we receive...It is in dying that we are born to eternal life."

Of course, their behavior is driven by instinct, a genetic imperative that lacks our tendency toward prolonged self-reflection and angst. It simply is the way of things. The salmon just keep working their way through the water.

I, however, am not as zen as the salmon. I want to know why the current is against me, how to control it, and what's the meaning of it all. I gripe about how wrong it is that I must swim upstream when life should be so much easier.

The salmon school me in living. They inspire me to swim with my whole body, heart and soul, whether the current is with me or against me. They invite me to remain open to the inevitable changes that will occur in life. They remind me that, ultimately, this existence is not really all about me. My individual life serves the greater cause of Life itself, of which I am part.

The salmon don't pause to ponder what the meaning of it all is. They embody their purpose. They live who and what they are with every ounce of energetic verve in their being. That's all they do, and it's enough...for them and for us. As Joseph Campbell said:

"People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life. I don't think that's what we're really seeking. I think what we're seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonance within our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive. That's what it's all finally about." 

[vimeography id="15"]

Happy Birthday Dad!

Today would have been my dad's 80th Birthday. He was a football star, a loan officer at a bank, an avid fishermen, and a genuinely good man. His humor and laid back demeanor made him a pleasure to be around. At his funeral, elderly men came to me with tears in their eyes saying that my father had been their dearest friend. Some told funny stories about wild college parties, mishaps on fishing trips, and practical jokes played decades ago. Others shared how his generosity blessed them. A tailor who immigrated from Mexico with his family said that no one would give them a loan to open a new business when they arrived in the U.S. My dad, however, took the time to get to know them and made the loan. The business and family thrived.

My dad taught more by example than with eloquent speeches. Here are some lessons he taught me:

• No matter how wonderful or painful your past, the present is where to put your attention. Old stories are fun to recount, but keep creating new ones.
• Invest time, energy, fun and heart in true friends. The return on investment is worth the effort.
• Whatever happens, just roll with it. The phrases "I have a hangnail" and "the car caught on fire today" would get about the same reaction out of him. He approached life with a calm pragmatism that readily accepted what is (sometimes with a few expletives for good measure) and then moved forward.
• You're never too old to act silly. I remember watching him put on my old Halloween mask of The Cowardly Lion, wrap a blanket around himself,  and roar and play with our dog Skippy, who wasn't sure if it was really a lion or dad. Personally, if I were Skippy, I would have bitten him either way.
• The more seriously you take yourself and life, the less you enjoy it. My dad was always joking and being mischievous. When I was a baby, the police detained and castigated several neighborhood kids for shooting off fireworks illegally. They were particularly harsh, however, with the one adult in the gang: my dad.
• When you can't do what you used to be able to do, enjoy and celebrate what you still can do.
• Live in such as way that at your funeral, the tears flow just as much from laughter as from sorrow.

Thank you Dad for all you taught me. I miss you and love you. Happy Birthday!

A Breath of Fresh Air

This morning I walked our dog Flash around the neighborhood. Turning a corner, I saw ahead of us two elderly smokers having a chat. Under my breath I complained to Flash about the upcoming pollution. I then held my breath while quickly scooting around them. After we passed them, I continued to mutter to Flash about their nasty habit and felt anger at the man and woman for desecrating our pure air with secondhand smoke. While I had seem them before, I didn't know anything about them other than I wished to avoid them on the way back.

On the return trip home, Flash and I encountered the same woman. She had always seemed rather unfriendly before, and I held Flash back to give her a wide berth on the sidewalk. She stopped. She extinguished her cigarette. And then a flurry of words snowed upon us: "What a beautiful dog! What breed is he? What's his name? His curly fur is amazing!" Before I knew it, Flash and I were engaged in conversation with a lovely human being.

As we parted ways, I started to question how certain I could be about my assumptions and expectations. A woman for whom I held a mild repulsion actually made my day. While I still abhor smoking, this person who smokes and whom I assumed to be unfriendly turned out to be delightful. What else might I be wrong about? How might my life be different if I approached each moment with a clean slate (the Bhuddist concept of "beginner's mind")?

On a macro-level, I couldn't help but wonder how the current impasse over the "fiscal cliff" is another example of unquestioned, entrenched assumptions. To be honest, I've seen the Republicans as arrogant, inflexible and dead wrong. Is it possible, however, that I and those of my political persuasion are also arrogant, inflexible, and, at least on some issues, partially or totally dead wrong? Am I adamant in the superiority of my positions, when I should be learning, investigating, conversing, getting involved, advocating with passion...and all with an open heart and mind? Can I be dedicated to my values, yet  willing to grow, evolve, and, yes, be surprised by the humanity of those with whom I disagree?

Today an Airedale and an elderly smoker melted my icy judgments. They taught me that I can oppose smoking and any number of other behaviors without walking around in a cloud of resentment. They invited me to hold my assumptions lightly so that I can pivot freely when the unexpected emerges. They reminded me that the truest way to experience each moment is with a mind and heart held as wide open as possible. And in that moment, I inhaled the deepest breath of pure, fresh air.

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

`Twas the night before Christmas, when all through God’s houseNot a creature was stirring, not a wife, not her spouse;

The children were restless, all crammed in their pews, The thought of their presents they could not refuse;

The stockings were waiting, hung at home with great care, In hopes that some people soon would be there.

The pastor in vestments for obvious reason, Had just settled her brain after a long Advent Season.

When out from the lectern there arose the old story, Of a Child in a manger, born in such glory.

Yet none sprang from his seat, nor gasped in great wonder. All had heard the story, both hither and yonder

Of how God came to earth, in form of a boy, To bring peace to earth, and life and joy.

The pastor she spoke, in voice strong and bold, The story of Christmas, that she retold.

Had it all become trite now; did it still matter? For life’s full of problems, much sorrow, and clatter.

The bills, they were mounting; the jobs, full of stress, And all folks were dealing with demands and duress.

And sickness, no stranger to God's people on earth, Suff’ring and death had robbed many of mirth.

Problems and mem'ries which live in the mind, Guilt, fear and vices, the heart they do bind.

When all of these troubles fine people do ponder, Their minds fill with dread; they start then to wonder:

"How could a Baby born years ago past, Bring balm for our sorrows, hope that will last?

How can that story heard so many a time Bring any more help than an old children's rhyme?"

So knowing what fear and worry can do, The pastor spoke thusly on Luke chapter two:

"I read you this evening of peace come to earth, So familiar the story, this one of Christ's birth.

Born to a maiden, in a stable so bare, Some shepherds, they came, to worship Him there.

Then angels appeared in garments so hoary, ‘Peace to all men, and to God be the glory’.

This baby grew up, like you and like me, He even would work by carving a tree.

He taught for three years in old Israel land, And proclaimed a deep peace that could never be banned.

But much more than teaching and preaching did he, He became love incarnate, exuding pure chi.

For this baby was born for one purpose only, A purpose so noble, yet painful and lonely.

To become fully human, divine light reveal Till the darkest of hearts would with hope learn to squeal.

And the outcasts he greeted with a grace not conceited. Till meekest among us rejoiced undefeated.

For his goal was no less than to free up the world From the fear, greed and meanness in which it had whirled.

Not surprisingly big wigs began to decry How he mirrored divine love with twinkling eye

Infusing great faith in the powerless masses Till they trusted their own Light, both lads and lasses.

With trees He did work, and on a tree He did die, Then buried by some friends in a grave site nearby.

An innocent man had died for a reason; Liberation from hate that was so in season.

Then inside the tomb there arose such a clatter, Guards rose from their slumber to see what was the matter.

An angel appeared, tossed aside that great rock, The guards all stood frozen, amazed and in shock.

`Fear not', the beginning of all angel message, `Life has returned to remove every vestige

Of small hearts, separation and all fear of hell, Till you see God in each face, wherever you dwell.'

That God is in us is a truth elementary, That reaches down into this twenty-first century.

So on this night before Christmas, to all in God's house, Bless you, all creatures, even if you're a louse.

For a Child has been born for me and for you, To rekindle Inner Light and give us a clue

Of a joy all around us, a hope and a cheer That connects ev'ry person throughout the new year.

Whatever your problem with me now take heart, Divine Life is within us, let’s make a fresh start."

Then the pastor concluded with an unusual plea, She called out their names, and did so with glee.

"Now, Scottie! Now, Herbie! Now, Miss Jane and Val'rie! On Omar! On Sarah! On  Anya and Mall'ry!

A Child was born that first Christmas night, Let hope be reborn, no matter your plight.

Out to the world, we go with the story, Of a Cosmos that loves us and gives us such glory."

They sprang to their cars, to their friends they gave greeting, And away they all flew, for time, it was fleeting.

But I heard them exclaim, ere they drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all.  And to all a good night."

The Tyranny of American Enormity

Several years ago author Wayne Muller facilitated a workshop that I attended. One of his phrases has stuck with me: "the tyranny of American enormity". We live in a culture where enough is never enough. Every laptop and cell phone must have more features and be faster than the previous model. Profits this year must exceed last year's profits. More choices. More data. More. More. More! The consequences of our consumer culture on the planet and on the poor laborers who make our lust for more possible have been well documented. According to the Worldwatch Institute, we are 5% of the world's population, yet we consume 24% of the world's energy. Every day we eat 200 billion calories more than is needed, enough to feed 80 million people.

Nowhere is this addiction to "more" more apparent than during the Christmas season (a.k.a. retail season) as we spend our way into greater and greater debt. But the tyranny of "more" is not just economic. It's become an entire lifestyle. How many of us can keep up with the increasing number of emails we receive? To read, reply to or act on each email would take most of us most of our daylight hours. Just to triage email requires the skill of an e-surgeon.

Of course, email is not the only technology which has grown to enormous proportions in our lives ...text messages, Facebook, Twitter, radio, television, podcasts, Internet sites we frequent...the list is endless. And, of course, it's not just technology. Billboards, snail mail flyers and junk mail, books and magazines we've not read, clothes we've not yet worn or no longer wear, piles of papers and possessions...all compete for our attention and add a sense of weight to our lives.

How can we escape this tyranny of American enormity? This is the culture in which we live. How do we become counter-cultural and yet still function?

Here are some questions for reflection that might help us lighten up and simplify:

What if...

• Instead of buying Aunt Polly a 3-pack of jams for Christmas, I make a donation to a charity in her name?
• I take a three-minute break outdoors when I'd normally be immersed in keeping up with the demands of whatever my e-addiction is? What if I look at a tree or a bird or even water flowing over a wood bridge (photo above) until I feel a sense of awe, of "enough"?
• I limit the number of times I check email to once or twice a day? If my work does not allow that, what if I take a "e-Sabbath" one day a week or month when I don't check email or surf the Internet?
• I spend more time getting to know the camellia in my backyard and less time catching up on the latest "Honey Boo Boo" gossip?
• I unsubscribe to at least one email subscription and make it ok that I am choosing to keep up with one less thing in the world?
• I pause before buying the next item I plan to purchase and reflect on why I feel the drive to purchase it?

The Magi brought the baby Jesus gold, frankincense and myrrh. The gifts I long to receive this Christmas are simplicity, awe and a felt sense of "enough".

When You Can't See the Forest for the Trees

This past weekend my partner and I went to Muir Woods National Monument in search of Coho salmon, which are starting to work their way from the ocean into fresh water in order to spawn. Because of the heavy rains, the water was too muddy to see anything. While strolling through the skyscraping redwoods, I noticed an interesting phenomenon, "tree rain". While the skies were almost clear, the trees were so saturated with moisture that it felt like a steady rain was falling under the canopy. The unexpected precipitation was made all the more magical by the sun's radiant beams bursting through the dense foliage.

Sometimes it takes a broader view to see reality. When all that's visible is water descending from above, the obvious conclusion is that the storm still rages. A more panoramic view, however, reveals a truer picture in which sunny clarity beams above and at times through the drizzling darkness.

When all we sense is gloom and pain, a more expansive container for our experience is available. Whether we call that our Inner Wisdom, the Web of Life, God, or Higher Power, the invitation is to take a step or two back, look up and around and within.  Yes, we are getting wet and it's unpleasant, and there is also more going on that gives context and hope for our dampened spirit.

Brother David Steindl-Rast said that hope is the willingness to be surprised. In the midst of your obvious difficulty, is something surprising also starting to shine through? How can you get enough distance to be able to see it?

Spirituality is just a pious term for the intentional practice of welcoming surprise. It is letting go of our allegiance to what we think is going on until what is currently beyond our field of vision becomes visible. That view usually comes as a surprise, a gift, but the preceding willingness to release our narrow viewpoint is a choice. To have hope and notice life-giving Spirit everywhere is not a miracle reserved for saints or the lucky. It flows from the intention to open the aperture of the soul from narrow to panoramic.

Shake It Off!

After my mother was diagnosed with cancer, we spent a lot of time together. When I visited on weekends, we would try to have at least one outing to do something she enjoyed. One weekend she was stuck in a very pessimistic, anxious space, even deeper than usual after her diagnosis. As she continued this emotional nosedive, we still kept our commitment to go have some fun. We went to La Cantera, her favorite mall in San Antonio, Texas, which is known for its undulating outdoor paths, streams, quaint cabanas, and oases of lush landscaping.

Our venture to La Cantera, however, did not mitigate the downward spiral. We stopped for some hot tea as the emotional turmoil brewed within her.

In the midst of the overcast mood, we became aware of a mother and her young daughter seated next to us. The little girl was about four years old with numerous shoulder-length, tight brown curls. This little princess, however, was not getting her way about something. Nothing her mother said assuaged her, and her disappointment boiled over into a full-blown public tantrum.

The mother turned to her seemingly demon-possessed daughter, looked her in the eye and lovingly yet firmly instructed her, "Shake it off!" The little girl became still for a nanosecond and then began shaking her entire body with gusto, her bouncing curls flailing back and forth like a poodle after a bath. After about 30-seconds of "shaking it off", her mother asked, "How are you now?" "All better Mommy!" she enthusiastically replied.

My mother and I looked at each other and could not stop giggling. More dark steps loomed on the horizon as my mother continued her journey with cancer. When the fear, anger and sadness would on occasion spiral downward from a normal emotional reaction into despair, then we would remember that little girl. My mother would shake her head vigorously until she felt she was in a better space.

Tragedies and unpleasant emotions are unavoidable. The only way out is through. When, however, we find ourselves stuck in a place that is unhealthy, counterproductive or self-destructive, perhaps there's no better medicine than starting a wiggle that builds into a frenetic, full-bodied gyration, like a whirling dervish caught up in the divine. The cobwebs clear as the outer movement stirs inner movement. As we literally shake it off, we may discover that the body is a most trustworthy ally in the search for peace of heart, mind and soul.

P.S. If you want to "shake off" old ways of relating to the divine in favor of images and practices that are meaningful for you today, join us this Saturday, December 1 for a day retreat. Registration closes Thursday, November 29 at noon. For more information and to register, check out the Classes page.

Starfish: A Haiku

Here is a photo I took last week of a starfish washed up on Tennessee Beach just after high tide here in Marin County, California. After spending a few moments admiring its shape, solidity, color, and texture, I tossed it back into the ocean, wishing life and renewal for us both. Below is a haiku inspired by the photo. Please feel free to share any haiku that comes to you as you sit with the photo. (A traditional haiku is 3 lines: 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables.)

Fallen from the sea,

A starfish rhumbas across

sand, yearning for home. 

P.S. Join us on Saturday, December 1 for a day retreat in which we will focus on the following question: “What is the divine to me now, how has that changed and how is this meaningful to my life today?” For more information and to register, visit the Classes page.

Have You Outgrown Your Image of God?

I once did a year-long internship in New York on Long Island. On days off I would take the Long Island Railroad into the city. Years after the internship was over I still pined for New York, particularly the energy of Manhattan. I returned about once a year to visit the wonderful people I had met and to immerse myself in familiar favorites (MOMA, Broadway shows, Central Park, and The Cloisters) as well as seeking out new experiences. Several years ago I decided to explore moving to New York. Rather than live as a tourist, I decided to live like a resident. What would it be like to bring groceries home on foot from the nearest store, which was four blocks away? What would it be like to walk through the snow to and from the laundromat in February?   How would I thrive week after week, month after month in weather that was far too cold for my comfort level? How would I feel living in a fifth-floor, 350 square foot, walkup flat?

I quickly realized that I was not so much in love with the idea of living in New York City. I was in love with the idea of being on a permanent vacation in Manhattan. What seemed like magical perfection in my 20's now seemed like far too much discomfort, frenzy, noise and effort with not nearly enough connection to nature. I had outgrown my image of the perfect place for me to live.

Just as I had outgrown that image of where to live, I realized I had also outgrown my image of God. The God who sent all non-Christians to hell or who condemned homosexuals or who wanted women to keep their mouths shut in deference to men, that God no longer resonated with me. I could no longer relate to a God more petty than I knew myself to be. My image of God was too small.

Have you outgrown your image of God? Is even the term "God" insufficient for your experience of the Divine, of the Essence of Life? One way to tell is by the fruits of your divine image. If your experience of the divine makes you more open-minded, open-hearted, fully alive and willing to serve your neighbors and even have compassion for your enemies, then that image is congruent for you. If, however, your image of the divine leads to judgment, fear, self-loathing, restricted living, and spiritual highs with no genuine concern or action for those at the bottom of life's barrel, then that image of the divine is too small.

The spiritual path is one of surrender, embrace and surrender. We surrender and release an old image of the divine with gratitude for how it served us to this point. We embrace the new life-giving experience of the divine that is emerging for us, knowing that it too must be surrendered some day if we are to keep evolving.

The journey never ends. You can never experience the fullness of the divine. The Mystery is inexhaustible. Therefore, our images of the sacred are always incomplete. That is not meant to discourage but to excite us. Whatever our experience, emotion, dream, woe, latent potential or growing edge, the divine is already there ready to meet us with more life-giving possibility than we can imagine.

I read once that if you started at one tip of Manhattan and ate breakfast, lunch and dinner at a different place for every meal, it would take over 80 years to reach the other end of Manhattan. And, of course, by then new restaurants would have arisen, not to mention all of the non-eating stops along the way that are worth savoring. If it is impossible to experience all that a 3-mile strip of land has to offer, then how limitless are the adventures within the entire sacred universe. That exploration is one thing we can never outgrow.

P.S. Join us for a day retreat on Saturday, December 1 and explore what the divine is for you now and update how you relate to the sacred so that it is meaningful and life-giving for you today. For more information and to register, visit the Classes page.