Recently I recorded the video below of a pitched battle in the window sill of my studio. Do you feel sadness for the fly during its last flailing moments or relief for the spider securing a needed meal? Below is a haiku I wrote based on the video. Please take a moment to share your own haiku.
Fly versus spider:
Don't take death personally.
It's the way of things.
[vimeography id="16"]
Lake Tahoe. Lying in a hammock last week overlooking the placid waters, I wondered what could be better. Of course, my mind quickly had an answer: "The two jet skis could be silent. If only the sun would move off my face, I'd be more comfortable. I wish I had brought something out here to drink." My bliss was turning into a disappointment. Here I was lazing away an afternoon in one of the most beautiful locations on the planet, and I felt dissatisfied. How did this happen? Fortunately, I remembered something. I was at a retreat center where the theme of the week was gratitude, compassion and forgiveness. The guest facilitator was Dr. Fred Luskin, Director of Forgiveness Studies at Stanford University. (Check out his YouTube videos and his book Forgive for Good.)
Dr. Luskin's basic take on forgiveness is that it is making peace with not getting what we want. When I wasn't getting the perfect "Lake Tahoe viewed from a hammock" experience, I recalled what we had learned as the first step toward making peace with what is: gratitude.
Gratitude begins with: “I am not the center of the universe.” I can see Lake Tahoe without feeling that I own it and that it owes me something. I am part of it. It is part of me. What created that lake observes it through another part of itself (me). This is humility. When I quiet the screaming mind that always wants more, I notice what I’m already given. Then my suffering shifts to gratitude.
Our biology/neurology predisposes us to find problems in order to keep alive, but not to make us happy. We have well-developed threat monitors. For most of us, the part of us that finds good has atrophied. We need balance. Wholeness is to appreciate the goodness without pushing away the suffering. Yes, there are real threats and suffering. Most of the time, however, in the midst of this unpredictable, dangerous world, we are ok. That in itself is reason for gratitude.
Fred Luskin shared an easy way to monitor whether we are cultivating gratitude or suffering. In any moment we can notice if we are responding to life with “Thank you!” or “It’s not good enough.”
Studies show that 75-80% of our day is consumed with “It’s not good enough.” No need for judgment. It's a biological survival mechanism. It's just not conducive for happiness. For happiness we need to balance that problem-obsession with gratitude.
Gratitude is saying “thank you”. If we are the center of the universe in our own experience, then everything must be perfect…otherwise we complain. We can even turn abundance, even Lake Tahoe, into a problem. We have so many choices, and every choice makes us count the missed opportunities of options not chosen. It’s like online dating, which creates anxiety about what is lost/missed by the innumerable choices not selected. “I deserve to get more/all”. This is the polar opposite of gratitude and "thank you".
So in that moment by Lake Tahoe, I chose to say "thank you". I inhaled appreciation for my surroundings, relaxed my tensed belly, and exhaled. I kept doing this until my self-absorbed compulsion for more/better subsided. "Thank you" was enough. (Mystic Meister Eckhart said that if "thank you" is the only prayer you ever learn, that's enough.)
A deep, in my body sense of gratitude turned an agitated moment into a happy one. Nothing had changed. Except me.
Growing up I loved reading comic books. I could believe storylines about other dimensions, magical villains, and mutant superpowers. What I found hard to believe was the notion of secret identities, that superheroes could walk around in everyday life undetected. Why didn’t everyone notice that Clark Kent was obviously Superman? His disguise was a pair of glasses. That’s it. How was everyone so blind? All they saw was Clark, a mild-mannered reporter. I shouldn’t be too hard on comic book writers. Most of us wear disguises. We put on various masks to fit in and make ourselves look good, but they rarely fool anyone. On the other hand, our magnificent essence is often obscured by our faults and frailties.
In the Bible is a story about a blind beggar named Bartimaeus. (Mark 10:46-52; Luke 18:35-43). Like most good stories, the irony is the point. The blind man sees what no one else does. The crowd of sighted people see their latest superhero, superstar, prophet and magician. Bartimaeus sees deeper.
The crowd tries to silence Bartimeaus when he calls out to Jesus. But Bartimaeus yells out all the louder, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”...Son of David. David, that woefully imperfect king who nonetheless was said to be a man after God’s own heart. Bartimaeus sensed in Jesus that heart of God, the heart of compassion, Life Essence, the Web of care connecting all.
Jesus stands still. It takes conscious intention to stop midst the inertia of the crowd (or the inertia of our own ego), get still, check in and then act from a deeper place, from the heart of compassion.
“What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asks him. What an odd question. Isn’t it blatantly obvious? Not really. The unfortunate truth is that most of us would rather stay in the familiar dark. Did Bartimaeus really want to see? It would come with a cost: he'd have to let go of his identity as a blind man; he'd have to find a new line of work; he'd have to let go of all reasonable excuses and entrenched story lines about his life.
Do you really want to see? To see things as they are always requires that we sacrifice cherished illusions. The excuses, blame, judgments, self-centeredness, arrogance, self-pity, apathy…they fall like scales from our eyes. We see life as it is, stripped of our familiar narratives and prejudices. It’s liberating but uncomfortable.
Bartimaeus makes his choice, “I want to see again.” Jesus replies, “Receive your sight; your faith has saved you.” Does he physically see again? Maybe. We only know a small fraction of what is possible in this surprising universe. But if all we get from the story is that a man named Jesus performed unrepeatable magic tricks 2,000 years ago and therefore must be praised and obeyed, then we've missed the mystical juice that still heals today.
Bartimaeus takes a leap of faith, which saves him. Is it possible that Bartimaeus takes that leap out of the familiar toward wholeness and finds in himself the very Life-Essence that Jesus radiates? It's interesting that Jesus doesn't say "I saved you" but rather "Your faith has saved you."
The constant choice is between a familiar, fear-based existence and greeting life as it is, with openness and kind eyes. To see life as it is requires faith because we must be willing to surrender our set story lines for an unpredictable, emerging story. If we are willing to make that leap of faith, then we will be saved in every way a person can be saved. We will see right through every disguise, including the one we see in the mirror, to the very heart of God. We'll recognize the lively sparkle in the eyes behind those glasses.
I had a dream a few nights ago. In the dream I am in charge of the Academy Awards. The show is about to start. I've entrusted the opening music to my mother. She plays the wrong song! I hear Bing Crosby's "White Christmas", and she's playing it on an LP, scratch vinyl! I frantically look through mounds of vinyl LPs for the correct song, which is Barbra Streisand's "Don't Rain on My Parade". I can't find it. I admit to those around me that for last year's show we used CDs for the first time. Suddenly, an obnoxious voice chimes in: "Why are you using vinyl? Who uses vinyl anymore, or even CDs for that matter? Why aren't there MP3s or other modern formats for your music? This is crazy!"
I ask those around me to make him shut up because I can't concentrate. Knowing the whole world is now watching and waiting, I keep shuffling through the vinyl LPs, hoping to find the right song. The End.
Here's what came to me as I played with the dream: A nostalgic "White Christmas" life, a fantasy existence, plays in my head like a broken record. That broken record says that my work should be like an idealized view of a past job. My friends now should make me feel just like beloved friends made me feel in college and young adulthood. The record skips from song to song, replay old recordings about how community, work, a relationship, friendships, and even the divine should be. Why has my life not turned out to be the award-deserving triumph I envisioned?
I sensed that the deeper issue is the format, symbolized by vinyl LPs. They have deep grooves and ruts that are comfortable yet confining. Digital recordings and live streaming are more flexible and adaptable. I don't need a new song, which would soon become its own broken record. I need a new format, a different context for listening to the music of my life.
The old format is one of comparisons, "should have been" and "ought to be". Fantasies about the past become a broken record with which no current reality can compete, and I become too fogged with nostalgia or judgment to notice what's emerging around and within me.
An alternative is to savor the love available in real life here and now. This reality-based format is fluid, unpredictable and vulnerable. And yet the rhythm of goodness here is genuine and vivacious. All I need to do is feel the beat and move with it.
So, I thanked that obnoxious voice which I had tried to silence in the dream. I intend to come out of the nostalgic rut and savor my life here and now. Love...true, messy and omnipresent...is the only reality worth leaving nostalgia for.
What do you make of the dream? What do you relate to in it?
This is the Nicotina Mutabilis, a flowering tobacco plant. The name mutabilis literally means changing. It's mutable. Each blossom begins as a white cloudbursts that shifts to a blushing pink and deepens to a lusty rose. This lovely plant reminds me that I have a constant choice in life. I can greet uninvited change with resistance, blame and judgment. Or, once I pass through the unpleasant feelings, I can accept change for what it is: inevitable. It's neither personal nor unfair. It simply is the way of things.
I admit that my obsession with how life "should have been" has kept me stuck. I've often looked at life through the rearview mirror of resentment and victimhood. Today I choose acceptance, and I'm primed...not for passivity...but for moving forward here and now. I notice the changing pigments of my life and relish the subtle hues of this moment.
Nicotina shifts:
White. Pink. Red. Spinning beauty
Out of constant change.
Our family includes two dogs (a sweet, behemoth of an Airedale and a Fox Terrier with an Othello-sized jealousy streak) and two cats (a sleek, black Siamese and her curvaceous, calico daughter). The dogs, Flash and Cowboy, stay indoors except for their walks and daily romps in the backyard. They lie next to their humans, follow them around the house, and wait impatiently for the next treat or playtime with their addiction of choice: The Kong! Neither will go outside to play without the other by his side.
The cats, Jezebel and Bebe, are much more independent. While Jezebel snuggles next to us every night, most of her day is spent outside. She and Bebe go their separate ways and roam the neighborhood, making friends and mostly taking naps in the sunniest spots they can find. Yet even these independent cats seek community: someone to lay next to, someone to groom and be groomed by, and someone with whom to dine.
We Americans emphasize the individual. Other societies emphasize community. Neither is right or wrong, good or bad, but a balance is needed.
When I visited Japan, I learned to greet people by their family name because that family identity is the most precious and accurate way of introducing one's self, more so than one's individual name. You simply won't find an empty bottle or scrap of paper lying on the sidewalk, even in major cities like Tokyo. Why? Because each person sees the sidewalk as her or his responsibility to keep clean on behalf of the whole community. In America our streets our littered with the debris of our self-preoccupation.
The downside of Japanese identification with the community is that the needs of the individual are often compromised for the sake of community, family, and corporate loyalty. Commuter trains are full of dapper business people just leaving work at 10pm on a Friday night.
Jezebel and Bebe embody a middle path that balances independence and belonging to one another. Most of us have lost the sense of being part of a village, much less the greater whole of humanity. Living alone, or in our nuclear families or with small families of choice, we feel starved for deeper human connection. Our self-centered stories fail to give us the context for who we are.
So how do we experience that balance of community and individuality? I asked the cats. They told me it's all about listening to the purr deep within you. Sometimes that purr compels you to be alone and explore the limits of your freedom. However, that purr always leads you back home, back to where your heart beats to the rhythm of another's heart. Back to where you are always welcomed with nourishment. Back home with the collective where you start to understand deep in your fur what all your individual wanderings meant. Curled up together, you can deeply rest...at least until the dogs arrive.
For reflection: Where do you sense an opportunity for deeper community? What is your next step in that direction?
P.S. If you live in the Bay Area, come join us for our weekly experiment with community: Tuesday Night Live.
"What is the sound of one hand clapping?" "What moves, the flag or the wind?"
Huh????
These are koans, which are nonsensical Buddhist riddles, the very contemplation of which exhausts the rational mind so that a deeper wisdom emerges. When one of these riddles does its job, how we perceive reality changes. We no longer connect the dots of our lives in the same way.
What if the teachings of Jesus also function as koans? What if his parables were really wisdom tales intended to dislodge us from our comfortable, but limited, way of viewing reality? In fact, what if Jesus was really a Wisdom Teacher concerned more with our awakening than with our orthodoxy?
This is the notion promoted by Christian writer Cynthia Bourgeault and other progressive theologians. Of Jesus she writes:
"His parables are much closer to what in the Zen tradition would be koans - profound paradoxes (riddles, if you like) that are intended to turn the egoic mind upside down and push us into new ways of seeing...He is very deliberately trying to short-circuit the grasping, acquiring, clinging, comparing linear brain and to open up within us a whole new mode of perception (now what we see, but how we see, how the mind makes its connections.) This is a classic strategy of a master of wisdom." Wisdom Jesus, pp. 47, 50, 51
I love this approach to the teachings and life of Jesus. Most of us only hear the Bible through layers of church-speak that obscure and deflate its transformational power.
How can we hear sacred texts anew so that they turn our assumptions inside out? How can they mirror back to us our unconscious patterns of thinking and doing? How can they come alive and speak directly to our lived experience here and now? How do we recover the original punch these stories had? For unless scriptures create a visceral reaction and jar us into a new level of awakening, we have not really heard them.
Try this:
When we treat the teachings of Jesus as koans, they regain their wild, untamed potential to surprise and transform. When we hold them as universal tools intended to enlighten rather than indoctrinate, they begin to shift consciousness and take us into the felt wisdom of our bodies. They attune our hearts to the frequency of compassion. They empty the inner clutter and create spaciousness. They jolt us into alignment with the flow of Life.
What is the sound of one hand clapping? It is the sound of wisdom awakened.
Politics makes strange frenemies. Two friends. Co-workers. Revolutionaries. Visionaries. They knew each other for over half a century. Their friendship turned to animosity when they battled for the same job, but over the years they reconciled and forged the deepest of bonds in spite of their political differences. They died on the same day, five hours apart, on July 4, 1826. These two friends, then enemies, then friends again, were John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, who both died fifty years to the day after the publication of the Declaration of Independence. It was Adams who convinced the committee charged with writing the Declaration of Independence to let Jefferson write the original draft. Their lives were woven together as no other political figures in American history. Adams, our second president, was a hot-tempered, New England Federalist, who believed that the aims of liberty and justice were best served by a strong, centralized government. He said, "No man who ever held the office of president would congratulate a friend on obtaining it." Jefferson, his successor, was a reserved Southerner and favored achieving the same ends through strong state governments. Oddly, Jefferson's party, which evolved into today's Democratic Party, now holds the opposite position from their founder.
What endures midst ever-shifting political tides is an ideal stated so eloquently by Jefferson, that
"...all men [and women!] are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed..."
While our founding principles are a beacon to the world, our behavior has frequently fallen short: slavery, misogyny, racism, corporatocracy, nearly incessant wars, hegemony, lack of access to healthcare and jobs that earn a living wage, a shrinking middle class, the highest rate of incarceration in the world, and the list goes on.
To suggest that American is anything but the greatest nation on earth is blasphemous in most quarters. But how can we be great if we are unwilling to see the gap between our ideals and our behavior? Why is it unpatriotic to love our founding principles so much that we challenge the deleterious policies we have enacted as a nation? If America is to be great, that claim must be based not on our economic prowess, nor our omnipresent cultural influence, nor our military industrial complex. Rather our greatness is determined by our willingness to rise above prejudice, narrow self-interest, and fear in order to fulfill the bold, egalitarian vision of our founders.
This week also also marks the 150th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg, a horrific carnage that took place from July 1-3, 1863. Months later President Lincoln went to that battlefield and challenged his generation, even more politically polarized than our own, to renew their commitment to these ideals.
What would it look like to renew our commitment? Can we celebrate our heritage in a way that moves beyond jingoistic shouts of "We're Number One!"?
Rather than place our deceased founders on pedestals and currency, a more useful response would be to take up their unfinished work and embody justice, equality and liberty here and now. Rather than gloat about how great we are in comparison to other nations, it is time for us to own up to our shortcomings and get our own house in order. Rather than down another cocktail as we apathetically watch reports of unchecked injustice on our big screen TVs, it is time to make the necessary sacrifices so that our founders' unfulfilled dream inches closer to reality.
Lincoln's words at Gettysburg, channeling the spirit of Adams and Jefferson, are just as applicable and inspiring now as when first spoken:
"It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."
Happy Independence Day!
Did you cheer or jeer this week's Supreme Court rulings? Whether you experienced elation or disgust in large part depends on your understanding of a short phrase. The constitution begins with the words, "We the People". Who is included in the term "people"? White, male property owners? Heterosexuals? This week the Supreme Court handed down a mixed bag of progressive and regressive decisions in the attempt to further define what it means to be fully included as "the people". What I find interesting is the stance of those who oppose extending to others the legal protections they already enjoy. They sound like children throwing a temper tantrum because they now have to share their toys. Take for instance Justice Scalia's dissent to the majority opinion that struck down a key provision in the Defense of Marriage Act. He complained:
"It is one thing for a society to elect change; it is another for a court of law to impose change by adjudging those who oppose it hostes humani generis, enemies of the human race...In the majority's telling, this story is black-and-white: Hate your neighbor or come along with us. The truth is more complicated. It is hard to admit that one's political opponents are not monsters, especially in a struggle like this one, and the challenge in the end proves more than today's Court can handle."
Actually sir, the truth is uncomplicated. Your politics are monstrous. Your viewpoint is an enemy of the human race. You fear you might be judged and ostracized just for being who you are? How ironic!
You defend laws that on the surface may seem fair and impartial, but the undeniable effect of which is to discriminate, impoverish, and marginalize. And it is the effect of such laws, not just the veneer of good intent, which must be examined.
With the possible exception of wealthy, white, heterosexual males, who really benefits from the policies espoused by Mr. Scalia and his ilk? Their tired, disingenuous arguments sound reasonable but upon closer inspection are revealed to be clever misdirections obscuring bigotry. For instance: "We are defending the historic understanding of marriage, which is between a man and a woman." Historically, arranged marriages have been the norm in which one family sells their property (the bride) to another. Until very recently, people of different races or religions were not allowed to intermarry. Is this the historical definition of marriage which you hold dear?
Or look at the Supreme Court's gutting of the Voting Rights Act this week. The court essentially said that the Voting Rights Act worked so well that it's now unconstitutional. Really? A close inspection of voting-related issues throughout racially polarized areas reveals Jim Crow is alive and well; he's just wearing more sophisticated clothing. (See Justice Ginsberg's dissent.)
Whether they oppose a level playing field for people of color, the poor, women, immigrants, or the LGBT community, the privileged perceive others' equality as their loss. As special rights are pried from their grasp, they whine: "We are the victims here!"
It's hard to see how Justice Scalia is in any way a victim. But let's play along. Perhaps he and his cabal feel like they are being marginalized. A few years spent in the role of the marginalized may be exactly what they need. Maybe if they experience life as a despised minority, an enemy of the people, a monster...all familiar roles for homosexuals, immigrants, people of color and women in this country...maybe then they will develop some empathy.
"We the People" is an unfulfilled promise. It is the latent, ever-unfolding genius of our constitution. It is the hope that one day "people" will include everyone, a "we" of fully equal human beings before the law, in theory and in practice. It is a vision in which all of us work together for the common good because individual liberty is selfish vanity if not spent for the benefit of all the people. Anything less is not only "unconstitutional" but also monstrous and an enemy of the human race. Mr. Scalia, it's time to share the toys!
"Our countries don't like each other", I think as I stare at the photo of a
Middle Eastern woman, head covered in royal blue,
standing outside her one-hundred-square-foot mansion.
"Blessed are the poor." Blessed indeed! For
such a look of unadulterated bliss I have
never seen - certainly not on the face of
anyone in a top tax bracket.
What reason has she to be so deliriously happy?
What reason has she not to be so deliriously happy?
As she holds a fragrant leaf to her nose, her brain
sends waves of pleasure throughout her being. As the
sun massages her epidermis, a lilting breeze
mothers her aching bones. Beyond words
she senses the Universe loves her because she is
able to register this moment of pure, simple bliss.
Why does happiness have to be complicated?
The Buddha was asked, "Are you a god?
A reincarnation of a god? A wizard?"
He said, "No."
"What are you then?"
The Buddha replied, "Awake."
In the unlikely event I am ever asked similar questions,
I hope to simply reply: "Happy."
How many times did your parents respond to your complaints by saying, "Life isn't fair!" While annoying, their analysis is proving increasingly true. Our global economic system rewards "the winners" at the top with far more than they deserve while "the losers" (everyone else) suffer. For instance:
The result is an ever-widening income gap (as graphically depicted in this video) in which the poor become more desperate, the middle class evaporates, the upper class struggles, and those at the very top reap the benefits of everyone else's toil. And it's all perfectly legal, but not perfectly moral.
Sadly, large segments of the Christian Church remain silent on economic justice, turning a deaf ear to the suffering of the nation and the world. Trusting more in the free market than in justice or mercy, much of the church barely resembles its namesake. The words of Jesus in Matthew 25 echo in my ear. In that passage Jesus separates true followers from the fakes based on how they care for the most needy among them. What would Jesus say to many who claim his name today?
I was hungry, and you said it was my own damn fault. I was thirsty because your company polluted my town's river in order to make a quick buck. I was a stranger, and you called me a wetback and paid me slave wages as I worked in unsafe conditions so that you could live in comfort among friends. I was sick, and you chose to start wars instead of providing me with access to healthcare. I was in prison, and you let me suffer in the hands of the prison industrial system, never admitting how your own greed led to my desperation. I tell you the truth, when you treat one of the least of these members of my family with such callousness, you have done the same to me.
Here is a photo I took of our two cats, Jezebel and Beebee, lazing in the backyard (the savannah) underneath Mexican Bamboo. 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.)
Savannah kitties...
Zen, docile, they purrrrrrrrrrr with love:
"Come close little bird."
P.S. Would you like six months of free spiritual direction/spiritual guidance? In order to complete the spiritual direction certificate program I'm taking, I need to offer six hour-long sessions at no charge. Please contact me if you or someone you know is interested. For more information, check out my page on spiritual guidance.
Full disclosure: I'm a Trekkie, or to be more politically correct, a Trekker. I have loved Star Trek in its various iterations since I was a child. By the way, if you have not yet seen Star Trek: Into Darkness, beam yourself over to the nearest movie theater for another stellar performance by Zachary Quinto (Mr. Spock) as the crew battles its most treacherous villain, portrayed by the uber-talented Benedict Cumberbatch. The film explores how a peaceful society obsessed with fear becomes violent and violates the very values it is supposedly trying to protect. Whether or not Star Trek is your speed, check out the video interview below with Sir Patrick Stewart (Captain Picard from Star Trek: The Next Generation). While the amateur videographer must have used inferior dilithium crystals (apologies for the geeky Star Trek reference), the content is moving and important. Patrick Stewart reveals how his father abused him and his mother starting when Patrick was only 5 years old. This spurred him to become involved as an adult in safe houses and domestic violence prevention. He says, "I do what I do in my mother's name because I couldn't help her then. Now I can."
Patrick Stewart recently learned that his father suffered from severe shell shock (now known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) as a result of serving with British forces in World War II. (For an excellent portrayal of the effects of battle on a person's psyche, see Patrick Stewart in "Family", which is the next episode after what is arguably the greatest Star Trek story, "Best of Both Worlds", in which Captain Picard is abducted and assimilated by The Borg.)
Today's veterans returning from years of trauma from our ongoing wars, need thorough, proactive support, including alternative modalities like EMDR, EFT, and hypnotherapy, in addition to traditional talk therapy. While our government's response to this mental health crisis is improving, it has been woefully inadequate, even disgraceful, as veteran suicides have skyrocketed. How do we honor and support those who do violence in our name by giving them the support they need to heal and return to non-violent civility? Ancient cultures had rituals for soldiers returning from war in which the entire community would join together with the soldiers to purge themselves of the blood that was on all their hands. At most we hold a parade and then move on with our comfortable lives as if nothing ever happened.
Domestic violence, one war after another, mass shootings, those returning from our wars suffering from PTSD who are told to "get it together" or "soldier on"...these are all symptoms of a culture that has not learned to deal with its anger...or its fear. How do we transmute our anger and fear into creation rather than destruction? How do we mature so that we direct and integrate our emotions rather than explode or implode? This is the next step in our evolution as a culture and as a species.
We have been at war/in conflict for 216 of our 237 years as a nation. Are we truly as peace-loving as we claim we are? By facing the unpleasant reality of our violent propensities as a people, we bring this toxic secret into the light so that its power over us dissolves. By embracing our personal emotional traumas with courage, compassion and vulnerability, we boldly enter the final frontier, which is not space but the shadow of our human psyche.
The link to the video: Patrick Stewart interview
P.S. There is still space for those who wish to join us for Mindful Photography: The Art of Seeing the World with Fresh Eyes, which starts next Monday night.
A
Douglas Fir
in our backyard
has died.
Its picture perfect
posture
drew the eye heavenward
through needles and cones
up its narrowing spine
Toward Infinity.
The grandfather of the homestead
made the blue sky coy as it played peek-a-boo
through thin as angel wing foliage.
Now the tree is dead and gone.
Beetles made a weakened old man their target.
Boring through layers of skin, the invaders left behind
ravenous offspring who feasted on the old man's vascular system
until the fatal stroke occurred. His complexion faded from green to yellow to brown
to ashen gray.
This death does not go down easily, yet is the way of things.
Impermanence.
He had a long life.
He shaded and
inspired. Avian
families nested
in his steadfast
arms. A stump
memorializes
where he lived
and died and
will live again.
For even death
is ultimately
impermanent.
Resurrection
in the form of
compost for
whipper snappers
who barely got to
know him in his final
year. In their roots,
stems, leaves, flowers
and fruit, the old man
will find a new lease on life.
"When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, ‘What is it?’ For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, ‘It is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat.'" Exodus 16:15
Wandering in a desolate wilderness, the Israelites discovered a bizarre nourishment. It was a white seed similar to coriander, which they used to make flour. Mysteriously it appeared each morning, but no one new what it was. So it became known as "manna", or "What is it?" They believed it to be nourishment from the divine to sustain them on their journey.
I've been thinking about other forms of "manna" that we might experience today. An unfamiliar person or experience or place or object gives us a boost for our journey, and we wonder, "Who was that masked man?" We are nourished even though we don't know who or what it is. Sometimes the mystery is precisely what feeds us.
Being surprised and fulfilled by beauty doesn't only come by accident. We can intentionally seek it out. One way is through a practice I call "Manna Photography". I take snapshots that obscure the subject or compose the shot in such an unusual way that the image evokes a sense of wonder. Other times I am captivated by something unexpected or otherworldly that stops me in my tracks with amazement, and I capture that experience in a picture. The photo above is an example. What do you think it is? (See below for the answer.) If you look at it long enough, do you feel yourself opening to life's marvelous mysteries and possibilities? Is your sense of wonder stoked?
Manna Photography is just one of many ways to practice "mindful photography". Through the lens of a camera, we can observe and take informal snapshots at home, at work, in nature, around the neighborhood, in fact, anywhere we go. Reflecting on the sense of aliveness or connection that arises while taking and reviewing the photos can open us to a more mindful way of experiencing the world around us, whether or not we have a camera in hand.
Almost every experience can nourish, enthrall, evolve, and liberate. Whether or not it does depends on the quality of our attention. Even the tiniest wilderness creature can inspire awe, whether or not we know its name.
P.S. Please join us for a Mindful Photography course in June, starting Monday, June 3. For more information and to register, click here.
P.P.S. The photo is of a Red Velvet Mite (of the Trombidiidae family), which I saw in Big Bend National Park. Except for a few hours a year, it lives underground and only comes top side after a heavy rain.
I've been a bit prickly lately. Negative internal chatter. Knee-jerk emotional responses. What's going on? Ah yes, one of those old issues which I had totally resolved (right!?!) was rearing its head again. It's the return of ye olde perfectionist streak. It goes deeper than just avoiding mistakes. It’s more of a feeling that I am personally wrong, that I'm not enough. I notice anxiety emerge whenever I sense that I might make a mistake or even be perceived as wrong.
I remembered a TED talk from a few years ago by Brené Brown, a researcher on shame and vulnerability. Her work focuses on the difference between guilt and shame. Guilt says, "I made a mistake." Shame says, "I am a mistake." Guilt apologizes for errors, learns from them and moves forward. Shame paralyzes with judgment and blame and is highly correlated with addiction and self-destructive behavior.
All of us have "shame triggers", those identities that we try to avoid at all costs but which persist beneath a thin veneer. To identify your shame trigger, complete the following sentence: "Above all, I don't want to be perceived as..."
Shame thrives in secrecy, silence and judgment. It withers in openness, compassion and empathy. When we bravely tell our stories, shame dissipates. "You're not good enough" and "Who do you think you are?" loose their oomph. We might even have a Stuart Smalley moment: "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggonit, people like me!" I think my version is, "Yes, I'm imperfect dammit. I make mistakes and often don't know what I'm doing. Thank heavens I'm enough, loved as I am and have nothing to prove."
Brené Brown's followup TED talk explores how creative innovation arises from the willingness to be vulnerable. We'll never shine unless we risk failure and imperfection. Here's the link to her latest TED talk: http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_listening_to_shame.html
"Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them...His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him."
P.S. Please join us the first three Monday nights in June for Mindful Photography: The Art of Seeing the World with Fresh Eyes.
I've had a series of interesting dreams lately. In one I am back in school, ready to graduate. A friend then reads my name from a list of people who have missing assignments. In spite of my protest that I have turned in everything, I have to go to the teacher and resubmit my assignments, including one which is disfigured beyond repair. After I walk away in disgust, the teacher admits to one of my fellow students that he had actually found my original assignments. I already had an "A", but this was the only way he could get to know his students. What does a dream mean? I take my dreams as messages from within and beyond that are prodding me toward self-awareness, wholeness and actions I need to take. I have numerous ways I work with my dreams. One way is to utilize the process below, which an amalgamation of dream classes I've attended. See which of the following practices might help you interpret a dream. I call them "Ten Steps Toward Understanding Your Dreams":
There are numerous other ways to work with a dream: draw it, turn it into a poem, pretend you are conflicting characters in the dream and talk back and forth as each character until a sense of resolution or an "aha" emerges. The multi-layered meanings of a dream may continue to offer practical applications to your waking life for many weeks, perhaps even years after the dream occurs.
Dreams can become valuable allies when we honor those that we recall by recording them and seeking the wisdom these messengers from the deep have to offer us. Sweet dreams!
P.S. Hypnosis can be viewed as a form of wakeful dreaming in which we access the full riches of the subconscious in service of our goals and aspirations. There is still time to register for Heal Yourself Through Hypnosis, a class on how to do self-hypnosis, which begins Monday, May 6. Click here for information and to register.
Last week I attended a gathering of faith leaders who are seeking creative ways to promote economic justice. We did one exercise in which ten people sat in ten chairs, each person representing 10% of the U.S. population. Then we shuffled seating according to wealth in our country. Half of the population (5 people), clung to one-tenth of one chair, while one person owned five chairs. My first reaction was repulsion and anger at the injustice. Then…to be honest…my feelings shifted to fear. My negative future fantasies began to kick in. I have enough today (a chair of my own), but the future is completely uncertain. Don’t I need another chair, just in case? Suddenly, I understood the fearful drive to accumulate more and more.
We live in a culture of fear. Bombings. Explosions. Recession. Shootings. Scarcity. Gridlock. War. Financial Chaos…
Let’s be honest. Our country and the world are a mess. Let’s also be honest that this is nothing new. What is new is that we are instantly aware of any trauma,, as it happens, anywhere in the world. This drumbeat of misery and anxiety surrounds us, inundates us, and overwhelms us. We become numb. We grasp for and cling to what little security we think we have, but no amount of money, guns, foreign wars, or demonizing of others yields lasting peace. In fact, our grasping and clinging generates more trauma and misery.
“Perfect love casts out fear.” “True love has no room for fear.” Those words from John the Apostle remind me that love is more than an emotion. It is a deeply-felt-knowing that I’m connected to you, to Nature, to the suffering and the poor, to Life Itself, to a Presence that flows through us all and yet is more than the sum of our parts.
When caught up in fear and grasping, however, it’s hard for me to access love. To make the shift I remember someone whose memory breaks my heart wide open. I’ll remember my childhood dog Skippy, who was my dearest friend. Focusing on Skippy never fails to move me into love, and the fear dissipates. Who opens you like that? Who is your guide back to compassion?
When I shift from fear back to love, my way of holding life changes. Numbness melts. Overwhelm eases. A hopeful, practical set of questions emerges:
This is what love does. Love feels the fear and acts anyway. Love takes responsibility for its own life while opening its heart to all life. Love moves from a myopic “me, myself and I”, to a panoramic “we, ourselves and us”. It even occasionally vacates its own seat so that someone else can sit for a while.
I have a confession to make. I've been seeing someone. It's been very intimate and private. Yes, my partner knows about it, and it's ok. Where does this happen and who is it? Early mornings in my studio I close my eyes, relax and let myself descend into a sanctuary I've created in my own imagination. In that sanctuary I sense that something other than my conscious mind takes over. There I have met with my grandparents, my parents, Buddha, Mary, and animal guides. But the most frequent visit is with Jesus Christ.
I know that for many of us spending time with Jesus sounds like a fundamentalist's relic, laden with toxic theology. But this is not the stale, suffocating, disconnected-from-real-life Jesus Christ of organized religion. It is a living, fresh encounter with a vibrant Christ. During and after these times together I feel liberated, whole, inspired, encouraged, grounded and washed over with love. I feel as if life is starting over with unlimited potential.
What do we do? Sometimes, we sit in a beautiful garden and admire nature. Sometimes we enter a chapel and soak in the luxurious silence. Sometimes we look out over the ocean and chat. Other times symbols or feelings or colors or other sacred figures appear, each with a message or healing gift. It's as if I'm meeting Jesus for the first time and discovering that he's exactly what I had hoped he would be: warm, welcoming, insightful, funny, mystical...someone who really gets me, meets me where I am and gently leads me to a more authentic expression of myself.
So, what is really happening? Is it all just my subconscious mind creating fantasies in a state of half-sleep? Am I actually on tuning in to the Spirit of Christ, whatever that means? I'm not sure, and I don't think it's relevant. I only know that I am experiencing Life as freer, truer, lighter and more trustworthy. A bit more compassion is flowing for others and for myself. And it's a result of rekindling a relationship I had almost written off as irreconcilable with my sexuality, intellectual honesty and my affinity for other faith traditions.
I'm not sure what to call myself as I come out of the closet and claim that I regularly meet with Jesus. The only word that comes to mind is "grateful".
P.S. Please join us for classes this spring on Self-Hypnosis and Mindful Photography.
Today would have been my mom's 80th Birthday. She was a beauty pageant winner (The grand prize in 1956 included spending the day with Elvis), an avid fan of music and the color pink, and as warm and loving of a person as you could ever know. She had a way of connecting with people, even those she was meeting for the first time, that almost always led to a heartfelt hug. My mother worked at the power company for almost fifty years. People, most of whom were poor, had a disability or were elderly, would pay their utility bill in person so they could visit with her. She had a heart for those whom society had cast aside as useless. Service dogs knew in which desk drawer she kept their treats.
The lobby would sometimes overflow with customers because people would forgo the next available clerk in order to meet with my mother. She was so loved that the utility company adopted a new policy requiring customers to see the next available clerk. Upon her retirement, my mother's coworkers made her a poster of a cob-web draped skeleton standing in the lobby, When the next available clerk summons him, the skeleton replies, "No thank you. I'm waiting for Mrs. Quinn."
So much of who I am comes from my mother. She taught me many lessons:
Thank you Mom for all you taught me, for the sweet notes, for your loving spirit, for oodles of laughs, and for all the love you gave me throughout my life...and even now. I miss you and love you. Happy Birthday!