Each year it’s a dilemma to decide whether we put up the Christmas tree and wonder and wander around the concept of what the season will bring. If we dive head on into the task of building the tree – at some point I usually find myself lamely lying on the couch, gazing at the dazzling lights, as they and many memories flicker off and on. The tree becomes for me a totem-to-time.... a monument to the passing of each year, each event and each up or down memory of this more than roller coaster ride of life. They say when we die, our lives flash before us ---- in an instant. Christmas trees hold this same shamanistic power over me in the continued flickering flash of lights, stories and space we’ve shared time after time, after time.
This year, we did not put up the tree, but the shamanic power of the season still flowed all around me with flickering moments of memories relived and the rhythmic pulse of the passing of time ----- tick, tick, ticking away. The event list this year is: my partner’s parents are literally "moving" through the event of relocating from their home of 30 years to a retirement community, the elder client I care for is dying, and to top every thing off – I had to do jury duty! -----Talk about flickering and flashing!
The time-travel of memory started with the continual Christmas music on the radio and ended with the surreal “honor” of jury duty. It was the song “Drummer Boy” that jump started the journey. I sank into reliving the first time I’d not only heard, but sang this song. I was nine years old. My mom had just died and I was living with my Aunt and Uncle. My Uncle was the cantor of the Byzantine Catholic church in downtown Gary, Indiana. One of the greatest gifts at that time was the chance to sing --- daily!
We were in the church choir, we went to Catholic Slavic chant filled liturgy everyday and we had the tumultuous task of the yearly Catholic school Christmas play. That first year in this new chapter of my life, we learned the song “The Drummer Boy”. It contains a perfect story line for a lone child lost in confusion, to recognize, reach out and receive a love that cradles and comforts what is common in all of us. The nine year old then, and the 55 year old now, sank into the shoes of the drummer boy; looking for connection and finding it right in front of us. The memory literally warmed my soul, inside and out.
My in-laws put up the totem-to-time Christmas tree for the last time in this chapter of their lives. Everyone flew in, drove in and gathered in this longtime common space, which was shortly to become an uncommon time, space and place. People sat in the flickering lights, unwrapping the gifts of responding heavily or lightly with what to do!
What to do or not do, with the tree, the lights, and the moments and mementos shared with what only a family can or cannot share! We were together and we were apart. While we shared,....the totem-to-time tree stood patiently, dutifully and in it’s shamanic way, held the space, with a sense of honor and peace..... with or without our sense of ease.
This years time-journey marked it’s ending with my call to jury duty in the City County Building in Indianapolis, during the week of Christmas. There is nothing else like the City County building. I use to work there some 25 years ago and remember riding the elevators in this city government menagerie of day-to-day minutia played out poignantly and powerfully during each ride. I remember considering the elevators a spiritual experience one can get no where else, but via the day to day travel of the literal ups and downs of our shared daily experience. I've said many a time that "the elevators in the City County Building......... are truly a Spiritual Experience".
Every walk of humanity rode up and down together – going to and from mindless moments of office work to a day in court, bound in handcuffs and orange jump suits – everyone waiting to hear a life time of outcomes.
Today, as I rode those elevators, once again, their shamanic powers were the equal of the Christmas tree’s totem-to-time powers. I remember the first time I sat in the jury box, in the City County Building, unable to bring voice to express how I could not bare being the verbal and auditory witness to any story of violence, let alone to sit in decision about another person’s experience and destiny.
I remember the second time I sat in the jury box in the City County Building, having no problem finding the words to say that I not only could not --- but would not --- participate in resolving an execution style murder of 4 children and 3 adults. I remember having both voice and non-voice abilities as citizens of Indianapolis gathered in front of the City-County Council to stand up for the rights of gay citizens to not be hired and fired based on their sexuality. I remember the day Mike Tyson walked up the stairs to his trial for "allegedly" have raped a woman, while other men, women and myself stood outside in protest against violence towards women.
They say jury duty is an “honor”. I come from a military family and I am also a non-violent activist. I have mixed reviews of what honor means. As I sat across from the young black man on trial for armed robbery, I knew I would be able to participate in the civic duty to follow the laws that honor and protect the lives and moments we share with one another. As I sat and looked at all of us together in the courtroom, the shamanic power of the totems-to-time gathered all around us. As I gazed into the young frightened black man's eyes, I could sense the drummer boy in me and the drummer boy in him, aching to reach out for any sense of connection, but finding only a lack of neither comfort nor joy. I followed the judge’s guidance to keep close in mind, that this young man is innocent until proven guilty. Aren’t we all!!!…..but how often do we honor one another with that gift? I really do love that basic concept in our democracy!
I was not picked to sit in judgment of this young man. The judge told me I could go home before noon and reminded us all – we had not wasted our day. We were free to go.
The chapter and story ended for us, but was only beginning for him. We shared a few moments together, but for some totem-to-time reason this young man was added to the stories that come in the moment-to-moment flow of our entwining connections. I don’t know why some things happen, but if I can recognize each experience as a gift to unwrap, I am happy to have sat peacefully in any moment to moment totem-to-time.
I wish you all comfort and joy where ever you may sit during this quiet winter moment -- Perhaps listening to the words of a radio Christmas song whether it reminds you of the Divine, or the Divine in a person sitting next to you - as I remember the innocent memory of a song to share with you:
So to honor him.
I have no gift to bring….to lay before a king.
Shall I play for him?
Mary nodded.......the ox and lamb kept time.
I played my best for Him.
Then, he smiled at me.
Me………. and my drum.
Here's to honoring one another, moment to moment!
--Thank you!
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
My Love/Hate relationship with Words
If you’ve ever done “emotional work” or the more mechanical term “therapy”, you might have the same love/hate experience I had over the years of doing the face to face, toe to toe, and breath to breath work while sitting across from another human being. Sometimes the hardest part was just showing up!
Today, as I sit in some obscure coffee shop, sipping latte and pounding my laptop, the clear memory of one session comes to mind. It was the day I discovered how much I hated words and how much my therapist loved them. That day, I swore I would never understand her position. Today, it is all I can do to capture the art and power of each word choice, each word use and misuse, and to now lovingly accept and state out loud – I am a writer.
They say there are no coincidences…..and I’m going to stick to that adage. I must admit, my mind has been blown more than once when I look back and discover what was at work in the background world of significance while I thought I was in the midst of insignificance. My therapist was a Hakomi practitioner - which at the start was insignificant to me, yet much later became quite significant.
Excerpt from Hakomi founder Ron Kurtz: The Hakomi Method
“The word Hakomi may very well come from a Hopi Indian word sometimes spelled hakimi. Its current use is ‘who are you’. Its archaic meaning is ‘how do you stand in relation to these many realms’.
- In Chinese it means --- universal, reverent laughter
- In Hebrew it means --- this is my place, existence, becoming”
As I read these descriptions, I knew I had found something of deep importance to me. Ron Kurtz described his first opportunity to bump up against the space and place of Hakomi:
“An old friend in Albany N.Y. was the staff psychologist at Albany
Medical College. This man, who was a great lover of God, one of the
true faith, a lover of Meher Baba, said to me ‘Why don’t you come up to the hospital and be a guest therapist’.”
This description stopped me cold. Not only does hardly anyone know who Meher Baba is...but coincidently, yet un-coincidently Meher Baba is also my spiritual teacher and master. This literally shook me and woke me up - inside and out.
Sometimes, we choose to “do the work” as things in life begin to knock on our door of unconsciousness, begging to be let in, let out and let open to the waking world of consciousness. As I looked for a therapist of my own, I was drawn to a woman who advertised that she loved humor and her calling card used the words “consciousness and the body”. I appreciate what can seem “outside the box” and felt this type of person might understand what it feels like to lose one’s inner and outer sense of Self --- (capital “S”).
Needless to say there were many sessions filled with frustration, anger and fear. One day it all came to a head when I was unable to find ANY word(s) to describe my inner world slamming up against my outer world --- I yelled out “I HATE WORDS”. Oddly enough my therapist smiled and went into talking about how much she LOVED words. She was giddily gleeful while describing a word game she enjoys playing:
“You hold something in your hand– look at it for a moment, take a breath and see what free flowing words come trickling off the tongue to describe the object”. I’d just about had it that day and gladly sensed the session on its way to being over so I could exit stage left leaving this seemingly mindless misery. My only response to her invitation was
“I think that part of me is gone”.
Once again, she smiled and gently whispered in my ear “the good news is --- they say, this spark in all of us --- can never be destroyed. It may hide, but it is absolutely able to be found”. I remember looking out at her from inner eyes that interestingly enough could still recognize that she was probably right.
When I got home, I decided to give her game a try. The first thing I put in my hand was the hair brush I used everyday – but never truly took time to “See”. I squeezed it, took a breath and out came the words:
“An Arlington of match-stick soldiers”:
Everything stopped. My inner mind stood face-to-face with my outer self; mirrored, reflective and clear.The stillness was Calgon soft with calm. The recognition of that which cannot be destroyed, that which lives lovingly and patiently, smiled a buddhic smile at itself. It had been knowingly waiting for this exact timeless, wordless yet word-filled moment.
I am thankful for the word and world of Hakomi. I am thankful for the work we did - therapist and I. I am thankful for the comfort that comes from the meeting of minds of my inner and outer worlds – united by the choice of words I make moment to moment and the people I meet minute to minute. It is a joy to have woken up to the gift that undyingly lives inside each of us, inviting us all to come play a mystical game of Hide –and- Seek, as it beckons us all to “all ye, all ye in come --- FREE!”
”True love is no game of the faint hearted and weak.
It is born of strength and understanding”
- Meher Baba
Today, as I sit in some obscure coffee shop, sipping latte and pounding my laptop, the clear memory of one session comes to mind. It was the day I discovered how much I hated words and how much my therapist loved them. That day, I swore I would never understand her position. Today, it is all I can do to capture the art and power of each word choice, each word use and misuse, and to now lovingly accept and state out loud – I am a writer.
They say there are no coincidences…..and I’m going to stick to that adage. I must admit, my mind has been blown more than once when I look back and discover what was at work in the background world of significance while I thought I was in the midst of insignificance. My therapist was a Hakomi practitioner - which at the start was insignificant to me, yet much later became quite significant.
Excerpt from Hakomi founder Ron Kurtz: The Hakomi Method
“The word Hakomi may very well come from a Hopi Indian word sometimes spelled hakimi. Its current use is ‘who are you’. Its archaic meaning is ‘how do you stand in relation to these many realms’.
- In Chinese it means --- universal, reverent laughter
- In Hebrew it means --- this is my place, existence, becoming”
As I read these descriptions, I knew I had found something of deep importance to me. Ron Kurtz described his first opportunity to bump up against the space and place of Hakomi:
“An old friend in Albany N.Y. was the staff psychologist at Albany
Medical College. This man, who was a great lover of God, one of the
true faith, a lover of Meher Baba, said to me ‘Why don’t you come up to the hospital and be a guest therapist’.”
This description stopped me cold. Not only does hardly anyone know who Meher Baba is...but coincidently, yet un-coincidently Meher Baba is also my spiritual teacher and master. This literally shook me and woke me up - inside and out.
Sometimes, we choose to “do the work” as things in life begin to knock on our door of unconsciousness, begging to be let in, let out and let open to the waking world of consciousness. As I looked for a therapist of my own, I was drawn to a woman who advertised that she loved humor and her calling card used the words “consciousness and the body”. I appreciate what can seem “outside the box” and felt this type of person might understand what it feels like to lose one’s inner and outer sense of Self --- (capital “S”).
Needless to say there were many sessions filled with frustration, anger and fear. One day it all came to a head when I was unable to find ANY word(s) to describe my inner world slamming up against my outer world --- I yelled out “I HATE WORDS”. Oddly enough my therapist smiled and went into talking about how much she LOVED words. She was giddily gleeful while describing a word game she enjoys playing:
“You hold something in your hand– look at it for a moment, take a breath and see what free flowing words come trickling off the tongue to describe the object”. I’d just about had it that day and gladly sensed the session on its way to being over so I could exit stage left leaving this seemingly mindless misery. My only response to her invitation was
“I think that part of me is gone”.
Once again, she smiled and gently whispered in my ear “the good news is --- they say, this spark in all of us --- can never be destroyed. It may hide, but it is absolutely able to be found”. I remember looking out at her from inner eyes that interestingly enough could still recognize that she was probably right.
When I got home, I decided to give her game a try. The first thing I put in my hand was the hair brush I used everyday – but never truly took time to “See”. I squeezed it, took a breath and out came the words:
“An Arlington of match-stick soldiers”:
Everything stopped. My inner mind stood face-to-face with my outer self; mirrored, reflective and clear.The stillness was Calgon soft with calm. The recognition of that which cannot be destroyed, that which lives lovingly and patiently, smiled a buddhic smile at itself. It had been knowingly waiting for this exact timeless, wordless yet word-filled moment.
I am thankful for the word and world of Hakomi. I am thankful for the work we did - therapist and I. I am thankful for the comfort that comes from the meeting of minds of my inner and outer worlds – united by the choice of words I make moment to moment and the people I meet minute to minute. It is a joy to have woken up to the gift that undyingly lives inside each of us, inviting us all to come play a mystical game of Hide –and- Seek, as it beckons us all to “all ye, all ye in come --- FREE!”
”True love is no game of the faint hearted and weak.
It is born of strength and understanding”
- Meher Baba
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Do Ask – Do Tell: Opportunities Abound
This past week Steve Jobs died. People talked endlessly and impressively about the impact his life made on billions of lives all over the world. They called him the DaVinci/Einstein of our time. I enjoy considering the power that the Internet and Social Media have to connect us all immediately and immensely. Now, a few simple sentences from any one person can be heard around the world. I thank Steve Jobs and all of us for the creativity, impact and opportunity to connect, respect and change one another’s world with our thoughts and words.
It may seem a strange leap to now talk about something totally different, yet still connected. This October is the 10th anniversary of the death of Matthew Shepard. Matthew Shepard was a gay man who was beaten, tied to a fence and left to die alone in an empty field. So – what’s the connection here? I asked myself – would Steve Jobs have been able to be who he was and do what he did – if he had been gay? Would he have made it through middle school and high school – let alone develop the inner strength he had telling him he could do, say or be anything no matter WHAT anyone else thought, said or did to him? I don’t think he would have lived to experience the opportunity to touch the minds and hearts of the entire world!
I think of the military’s “Don’t Ask – Don’t Tell” policy that kept thousands of men and women from the opportunity to share who they are with any of us even though they offered their lives in the service of all of us. Once this Salem witch hunt concept literally died I started to consider all of us creating a policy of opportunity called: Do Ask – Do Tell! This policy of living allows us all to help gay youth and adults speak of who they are, what they feel, what they need and more importantly what they THINK! I look forward to a world where a gay teen, instead of being overwhelmed, alone and considering suicide, will have the opportunity to make and share the next scientific discovery that changes the world. Perhaps a gay teen might feel the freedom to write a poem because their unburdened mind was allowed to open and easily share their heart with anyone. If we can all expand the wonderful Internet project of “It Gets Better” to “It’s Our Job to Make it Better” – I think Steve Jobs might smile from the beyond, knowing that we, like he, helped one another be creative by giving one another the opportunity to connect and share who we are in any given moment instantly, universally and respect-FULLy.
I hope you enjoy one poem (below), shared on this social media to express more of what I mean, who I am, and what I think. It’s my attempt to not only say “it get’s better” – but to take the opportunity to MAKE it get better.
Stories of “Coming Out?"
I’m not strong enough to be a Matthew Shepard
I’ve barely the strength to be me.
I’d rather be a Shepard-of-Matthew’s
than see another nailed to a tree.
I’m tired of the burdens we give and we receive
by hiding-in or coming-out
It sets us up to grieve.
What gives us the right to judge? – division makes me cringe!
It’s not me who’s coming-out -- It’s you I’m letting in.
If we go back to rules we learned in kindergarten,
We’d all be free of sin.
We’d spend all day looking --- and laughing
and inviting each other IN.
It may seem a strange leap to now talk about something totally different, yet still connected. This October is the 10th anniversary of the death of Matthew Shepard. Matthew Shepard was a gay man who was beaten, tied to a fence and left to die alone in an empty field. So – what’s the connection here? I asked myself – would Steve Jobs have been able to be who he was and do what he did – if he had been gay? Would he have made it through middle school and high school – let alone develop the inner strength he had telling him he could do, say or be anything no matter WHAT anyone else thought, said or did to him? I don’t think he would have lived to experience the opportunity to touch the minds and hearts of the entire world!
I think of the military’s “Don’t Ask – Don’t Tell” policy that kept thousands of men and women from the opportunity to share who they are with any of us even though they offered their lives in the service of all of us. Once this Salem witch hunt concept literally died I started to consider all of us creating a policy of opportunity called: Do Ask – Do Tell! This policy of living allows us all to help gay youth and adults speak of who they are, what they feel, what they need and more importantly what they THINK! I look forward to a world where a gay teen, instead of being overwhelmed, alone and considering suicide, will have the opportunity to make and share the next scientific discovery that changes the world. Perhaps a gay teen might feel the freedom to write a poem because their unburdened mind was allowed to open and easily share their heart with anyone. If we can all expand the wonderful Internet project of “It Gets Better” to “It’s Our Job to Make it Better” – I think Steve Jobs might smile from the beyond, knowing that we, like he, helped one another be creative by giving one another the opportunity to connect and share who we are in any given moment instantly, universally and respect-FULLy.
I hope you enjoy one poem (below), shared on this social media to express more of what I mean, who I am, and what I think. It’s my attempt to not only say “it get’s better” – but to take the opportunity to MAKE it get better.
Stories of “Coming Out?"
I’m not strong enough to be a Matthew Shepard
I’ve barely the strength to be me.
I’d rather be a Shepard-of-Matthew’s
than see another nailed to a tree.
I’m tired of the burdens we give and we receive
by hiding-in or coming-out
It sets us up to grieve.
What gives us the right to judge? – division makes me cringe!
It’s not me who’s coming-out -- It’s you I’m letting in.
If we go back to rules we learned in kindergarten,
We’d all be free of sin.
We’d spend all day looking --- and laughing
and inviting each other IN.
When Art and Words Literally Jump off the Page:
This summer, I was lucky enough to travel to Paris and India and experience how art and spirituality are cut from the same cloth. In the air of Paris the heart opens and in the earth of India the soul dances. The first time I experienced being in the presence of original art from the Masters, it was in New York (the Paris/India of America) at the MoMa art museum.. Standing in front of a Van Gogh I felt myself being pulled into the canvas, as if it was a portal, where time and place do not exist.
In Paris, at the The Musée d'Orsay Museum, I walked into a room filled with an immense sense of this powerful portal of non-place. The walls were covered with more than life-size examples of art from the hands of a group of Masters. I am not schooled in the history or technique of the various styles of art, but I knew I had walked into a room filled with palpable proof of how art and the artist can literally jump off of the canvas, grab us by the psyche and shake us to our core.
I remember knowing immediately that these artists MUST have shaken the people of their day right out of whatever was the standard style and comfort of their time. I also sensed the reverberating response they must have received when people then had to have thought them mad. It was this out-of-the-norm I loved even more; the sense of courage ahead of it’s time. I felt their souls living in the paint on that page, and could hear their message clearly. I’ve always known that art, story, word, music and creative expression are how we dance with the Mystery that mystically sings through us all. In this room in Paris, I found proof of this Mystery.
I don’t generally read ahead about the art I am about to experience, so when I walked out of the room, I glanced up at an “explanation” of the exhibit. I’ve enclosed here some quotes from an article found at www.ashe-prem.org/eight/alamantra.shtml
Le Nabis - The Prophets:
“A group of artists informally named themselves Le Nabis (‘The Prophets’, or more properly: ‘The Inspired’.) Initially, Le Nabis was composed of Serusier, Pierre Bonnard, Maurice Denis, Henri Ibels and Paul Ranson although they would eventually number a dozen or so and be associated with other artists such as Cézanne and Redon. That there was a mystical influence to this group is certain.The artists would gather monthly for dinner together. At the beginning of the meal, the presiding Nabi would intone:
‘Sounds, colors, and words have a miraculously expressive power beyond all representation and even beyond the literal meaning of the words.’
In October of 1888 artist Paul Serusier brought a painting done on the lid of a cigar box that he created under the guidance of Paul Gauguin. It was to become known among those it brought together as ‘the talisman.’ It was a landscape, but one that departed from the naturalist or imitative style. Gauguin had encouraged the young painter to exaggerate his impressions, to use his own symbolic, decorative logic. This style stressed an emotional interpretation of a subject over a mere imitative depiction or re-creation. It taught a conscious effort to rely more upon memory as well as apply symbolism to explore abstract concepts. In other words, no longer would a piece of art be a simple depiction of a subject, but the subject would itself become an expression of the artist’s own visionary experience. How this begins to introduce a new sort of mystical element through the projection of the artist’s will or vision should be readily apparent.
They used devices such as heavily decorative borders to enclose and partition the subject of their works and define them as expressions of the artist’s vision rather than a mere recreation. The goal was to ‘seek beauty outside of nature’ and so they were interested in not corrupting the sense of wonder or mystery contained in any given thing including ‘the ordinary,’ which they felt could be and should be transformed.
The Prophets remain an excellent example of the variety and evolution of creative thought. They are the story of a place and of a time where genius rubbed shoulders with genius and created a legacy of inspiration for those who embrace the human condition and its endeavors. They are the fruit of a moment where time meets itself, where the death of one age gives birth to a new one.”
I was thankful to have taken the time to read the write-up on the Le Nabis. It gave root to the sense of spirit I could feel traveling through time. A spirit that came from their souls, through their focus, via their brush strokes that now literally jumped off the canvas and into our consciousness. I found myself dedicating myself even more to a discipline of play that would allow me to commensurate right here and now, inviting others to “show up”, share, express and envision, just as did the souls of Le Nabis. I could almost feel Serusier showing his cigar box painting to Gauguin and laughed out loud at the literal message to “think outside the box” --- inviting us all to live life through art as a visionary experience that affects our present and creates our future.
It is my fondest hope that we all discover and share the artist that lives and breathes in the heart and soul of each of us. That we might tell our stories, dance our messages and sing our songs easily and instantly in every moment. We are each prophetic members of Le Nabis when we recognize the power of each word we chose that has the potential to literally jump off the page, reach another artist and connect us as we express the now and envision the future together.
In Paris, at the The Musée d'Orsay Museum, I walked into a room filled with an immense sense of this powerful portal of non-place. The walls were covered with more than life-size examples of art from the hands of a group of Masters. I am not schooled in the history or technique of the various styles of art, but I knew I had walked into a room filled with palpable proof of how art and the artist can literally jump off of the canvas, grab us by the psyche and shake us to our core.
I remember knowing immediately that these artists MUST have shaken the people of their day right out of whatever was the standard style and comfort of their time. I also sensed the reverberating response they must have received when people then had to have thought them mad. It was this out-of-the-norm I loved even more; the sense of courage ahead of it’s time. I felt their souls living in the paint on that page, and could hear their message clearly. I’ve always known that art, story, word, music and creative expression are how we dance with the Mystery that mystically sings through us all. In this room in Paris, I found proof of this Mystery.
I don’t generally read ahead about the art I am about to experience, so when I walked out of the room, I glanced up at an “explanation” of the exhibit. I’ve enclosed here some quotes from an article found at www.ashe-prem.org/eight/alamantra.shtml
Le Nabis - The Prophets:
“A group of artists informally named themselves Le Nabis (‘The Prophets’, or more properly: ‘The Inspired’.) Initially, Le Nabis was composed of Serusier, Pierre Bonnard, Maurice Denis, Henri Ibels and Paul Ranson although they would eventually number a dozen or so and be associated with other artists such as Cézanne and Redon. That there was a mystical influence to this group is certain.The artists would gather monthly for dinner together. At the beginning of the meal, the presiding Nabi would intone:
‘Sounds, colors, and words have a miraculously expressive power beyond all representation and even beyond the literal meaning of the words.’
In October of 1888 artist Paul Serusier brought a painting done on the lid of a cigar box that he created under the guidance of Paul Gauguin. It was to become known among those it brought together as ‘the talisman.’ It was a landscape, but one that departed from the naturalist or imitative style. Gauguin had encouraged the young painter to exaggerate his impressions, to use his own symbolic, decorative logic. This style stressed an emotional interpretation of a subject over a mere imitative depiction or re-creation. It taught a conscious effort to rely more upon memory as well as apply symbolism to explore abstract concepts. In other words, no longer would a piece of art be a simple depiction of a subject, but the subject would itself become an expression of the artist’s own visionary experience. How this begins to introduce a new sort of mystical element through the projection of the artist’s will or vision should be readily apparent.
They used devices such as heavily decorative borders to enclose and partition the subject of their works and define them as expressions of the artist’s vision rather than a mere recreation. The goal was to ‘seek beauty outside of nature’ and so they were interested in not corrupting the sense of wonder or mystery contained in any given thing including ‘the ordinary,’ which they felt could be and should be transformed.
The Prophets remain an excellent example of the variety and evolution of creative thought. They are the story of a place and of a time where genius rubbed shoulders with genius and created a legacy of inspiration for those who embrace the human condition and its endeavors. They are the fruit of a moment where time meets itself, where the death of one age gives birth to a new one.”
I was thankful to have taken the time to read the write-up on the Le Nabis. It gave root to the sense of spirit I could feel traveling through time. A spirit that came from their souls, through their focus, via their brush strokes that now literally jumped off the canvas and into our consciousness. I found myself dedicating myself even more to a discipline of play that would allow me to commensurate right here and now, inviting others to “show up”, share, express and envision, just as did the souls of Le Nabis. I could almost feel Serusier showing his cigar box painting to Gauguin and laughed out loud at the literal message to “think outside the box” --- inviting us all to live life through art as a visionary experience that affects our present and creates our future.
It is my fondest hope that we all discover and share the artist that lives and breathes in the heart and soul of each of us. That we might tell our stories, dance our messages and sing our songs easily and instantly in every moment. We are each prophetic members of Le Nabis when we recognize the power of each word we chose that has the potential to literally jump off the page, reach another artist and connect us as we express the now and envision the future together.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
The First Thing We Think and the Last Thing We Say:
I’ve written various times about my love/hate relationship with technology, the Internet and how fast we either connect or disconnect with one another and ourselves. One day, while watching the news and hearing of another immense tragedy of people being bombarded by nature and buried under the rubble we build around us, I was hit by the wonder of worry. I immediately worried for them and wondered for myself: there by the Grace of God go I.
My next thought surprised me. With all our current technology and our ability to instantaneously communicate….could or would any of those under the rubble send out their last living words…their last dying words by Tweeting us? IM-ing us? Facebooking us? We have examples of these last minute words from 9/11 and Columbine via cell phones, but now we can conect with one another world-wide and word-wide in the instant of a moment – even if it is our last. It stopped me in my tracks and made me wonder at how powerfully we can unite in tragedy or joy – instantly, intimately and universally.
It made me wonder what the first and last thing will be that comes to our minds and out of our mouths when we reach that very last moment. I think about the spiritual practices to “pray without ceasing”, to “think only of the Divine in every moment”, so that in our last moment the Divine will present itself as we pass. They say Gandhi’s last word was “Ram” – one of the many names of God. They also say that for the greater majority of us our last word is “Shit!” I wonder what mine will be and hope it might happily be somewhere in between!
Today I read the following in Ode magazine:
“In the Zen Buddhist tradition, teachers save their pithy instructions for their last breath in this life. As they are dying, with their final exhalations, they utter the culmination of their understanding. One teacher’s last example was to say “thank you very much, I have no complaints”.
Buddha said “Transient are all conditioned things. Strive on with diligence”.
"However painful this moment is, it will pass. We don’t run the world, but what each of us does -- makes a difference. After a while, even if things are not better, we get over the shock".
These teachings and examples all seem so wonderful and ease-filled. But I still wonder as I wander through life and death experiences, if these concepts will bring me to that just-right-place in my next moment of crisis? This past year, I've been amazed at the litany of life tragedies all around me. I had dinner last night with a friend who is in the middle of chemo treatments for ovarian cancer. My brother just called to say he has a cardiac tumor. My father-in-law discovered he has Parkinson’s and is literally falling down all around me. My sister deals with colon cancer. My Aunt is going blind. My partner, myself and my friends have all lost our jobs and a gamut of things that once felt like ......security. Lately, I’ve noticed a difference in my blood pressure numbers and can only think “ah jeez….what’s next?”
I wonder, if I found out I had cancer, how would i react? Would I be as brave as those I witness --- or would I fall off the deep end? How often I’ve contemplated with fear “what could happen if this --- if that”? Then I read things in books and magazines about a wisdom that comes at that just-right-moment, helping us enter that just-right-place.
Those books say things like:
“If not for this, then that” – Everything is contingent on other things. I was not killed by the falling branch because it happened while I was at the store and not in the two seconds that I was underneath it. My friend lost all her funds because the Exchange and Securities oversight was flawed and because we live in a culture in which we use money to make more money. Everything is contingent -- removes blame from everyone. It is not any one person’s fault. It just is what it is."
Reading these things helped me remember the experience of seeing how my fear and worry of “what if”…fell to the way side one day when I found someone passed out on the bathroom floor at work. I remember how everything slowed down, was calm, silent and easy. I had entered the world of knowing in the midst of unknowing and it was -- peaceful. Who knew emergency could actually be peaceful? I know I didn't – hence my daily passages of time spent in worry.
I learned that in the middle of crisis, we are brought to an edge; a place “in between” each moment, that carries a power that can be found no where else - but that moment! Crisis can bring clarity that allows us to see what is immerging in the moment of “emergency”. (Emergent / See?). Something rises up in us. Something that is always there – waiting for us to notice it and invoke it. When we need that part of us that is at the Center of all that sleeps in us, and when it is given the chance --- it awakens in each of us. It presents us with rest, guidance and wisdom.
I can only hope that when I see or hear any next crisis, be it mine or others, that the first thing I think and the last thing I say will be blessed by this emergent and waking wisdom.
My next thought surprised me. With all our current technology and our ability to instantaneously communicate….could or would any of those under the rubble send out their last living words…their last dying words by Tweeting us? IM-ing us? Facebooking us? We have examples of these last minute words from 9/11 and Columbine via cell phones, but now we can conect with one another world-wide and word-wide in the instant of a moment – even if it is our last. It stopped me in my tracks and made me wonder at how powerfully we can unite in tragedy or joy – instantly, intimately and universally.
It made me wonder what the first and last thing will be that comes to our minds and out of our mouths when we reach that very last moment. I think about the spiritual practices to “pray without ceasing”, to “think only of the Divine in every moment”, so that in our last moment the Divine will present itself as we pass. They say Gandhi’s last word was “Ram” – one of the many names of God. They also say that for the greater majority of us our last word is “Shit!” I wonder what mine will be and hope it might happily be somewhere in between!
Today I read the following in Ode magazine:
“In the Zen Buddhist tradition, teachers save their pithy instructions for their last breath in this life. As they are dying, with their final exhalations, they utter the culmination of their understanding. One teacher’s last example was to say “thank you very much, I have no complaints”.
Buddha said “Transient are all conditioned things. Strive on with diligence”.
"However painful this moment is, it will pass. We don’t run the world, but what each of us does -- makes a difference. After a while, even if things are not better, we get over the shock".
These teachings and examples all seem so wonderful and ease-filled. But I still wonder as I wander through life and death experiences, if these concepts will bring me to that just-right-place in my next moment of crisis? This past year, I've been amazed at the litany of life tragedies all around me. I had dinner last night with a friend who is in the middle of chemo treatments for ovarian cancer. My brother just called to say he has a cardiac tumor. My father-in-law discovered he has Parkinson’s and is literally falling down all around me. My sister deals with colon cancer. My Aunt is going blind. My partner, myself and my friends have all lost our jobs and a gamut of things that once felt like ......security. Lately, I’ve noticed a difference in my blood pressure numbers and can only think “ah jeez….what’s next?”
I wonder, if I found out I had cancer, how would i react? Would I be as brave as those I witness --- or would I fall off the deep end? How often I’ve contemplated with fear “what could happen if this --- if that”? Then I read things in books and magazines about a wisdom that comes at that just-right-moment, helping us enter that just-right-place.
Those books say things like:
“If not for this, then that” – Everything is contingent on other things. I was not killed by the falling branch because it happened while I was at the store and not in the two seconds that I was underneath it. My friend lost all her funds because the Exchange and Securities oversight was flawed and because we live in a culture in which we use money to make more money. Everything is contingent -- removes blame from everyone. It is not any one person’s fault. It just is what it is."
Reading these things helped me remember the experience of seeing how my fear and worry of “what if”…fell to the way side one day when I found someone passed out on the bathroom floor at work. I remember how everything slowed down, was calm, silent and easy. I had entered the world of knowing in the midst of unknowing and it was -- peaceful. Who knew emergency could actually be peaceful? I know I didn't – hence my daily passages of time spent in worry.
I learned that in the middle of crisis, we are brought to an edge; a place “in between” each moment, that carries a power that can be found no where else - but that moment! Crisis can bring clarity that allows us to see what is immerging in the moment of “emergency”. (Emergent / See?). Something rises up in us. Something that is always there – waiting for us to notice it and invoke it. When we need that part of us that is at the Center of all that sleeps in us, and when it is given the chance --- it awakens in each of us. It presents us with rest, guidance and wisdom.
I can only hope that when I see or hear any next crisis, be it mine or others, that the first thing I think and the last thing I say will be blessed by this emergent and waking wisdom.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
9/11 Ten years later: The Power of Silence and Seeing
We do not know what will present itself in any next moment. On Sept 11th 10:45 am 2001, we did not know what 10:46 am would bring. I wonder how many of us consider what we might have learned from that one minute tick to the next – that now brings us to that same digital moment in time – 10 years later.
I found myself wondering if I would attend the momentous events planned around the city to bring so many together, focused, and sharing the same powerful experience. I am drawn to events when I sense entire cities, countries, nations and peoples, all “gathered” in the moment. The Quaker term “to gather” (in silence) is used to describe the potential for all who are present to share in a connection with that which is beyond. For these moments, it is said, all are "gathered" and "covered" with a presence of this spirit.
Interestingly enough, I chose not to “gather” with these sacred groups ten years at the exact minute-moment later. I planned nothing for the day, but to do my weekly discipline of spending one day each week in a coffee shop, writing, and allowing whatever would unfold, to do its magic. On my way to the coffee shop, I turned on National Public Radio. It just happened to be exactly 10:45am. At Ground Zero, they marked the moment in Silence. At 10:47am President Barack Obama broke the Silence by reading Psalm 49 which contains my favorite quote "Be still and know that I am God".
Sitting in the coffee shop, I opened the Sunday paper and began to read the gamut of experiences expressed about the time between that day’s moment and today's 10 year old moment. I found myself avoiding the articles of “them vs. us” and found myself drawn more to those like Kathleen Parker of the Washington Post who said “A nation cannot heal itself without self-awareness. On this score we have fallen short. We seem not to want to recognize that we don’t have a problem; we ARE the problem”. It reminded me of the Easter Lenten season, one year before 9/11/2001. For Lent, many Christians give up something. Not being of any one religion, but enjoying the beauty in all, I decided instead of giving-up…I would try giving-in. I “gave-in” by trying the practice of smiling more at others. I did it for one year. It was an amazing year. I noticed how much we do not look at one another, we do not see one another, and heaven forbid, we should ever look into one another’s eyes. Sometimes, when I would smile at someone….this pain-filled pattern would shift. You could tell, we both knew something different was happening. Something out of our ordinary.
As lessons go… I didn’t recognize the meaning of this practice until one year later – Sept 11, 2001. After 24 hours of watching the unbelievable become believable on TV, I had to break myself away from the event and wander out. I found myself at the grocery store when the one year old Lenten lesson’s message started to unfold. People, joined in this moment, began to look at one another. I melted into what it took for us to look in, look up and look at one another. Now, ten years later, there is a power in the moment, to gather with one another in Silence and Seeing. To look at one another, look with one another, no matter who we are or what we are. To continue to ask “What have we learned? What are we learning? – And are we doing it together or apart in the power of any one given minute and moment.
I found myself wondering if I would attend the momentous events planned around the city to bring so many together, focused, and sharing the same powerful experience. I am drawn to events when I sense entire cities, countries, nations and peoples, all “gathered” in the moment. The Quaker term “to gather” (in silence) is used to describe the potential for all who are present to share in a connection with that which is beyond. For these moments, it is said, all are "gathered" and "covered" with a presence of this spirit.
Interestingly enough, I chose not to “gather” with these sacred groups ten years at the exact minute-moment later. I planned nothing for the day, but to do my weekly discipline of spending one day each week in a coffee shop, writing, and allowing whatever would unfold, to do its magic. On my way to the coffee shop, I turned on National Public Radio. It just happened to be exactly 10:45am. At Ground Zero, they marked the moment in Silence. At 10:47am President Barack Obama broke the Silence by reading Psalm 49 which contains my favorite quote "Be still and know that I am God".
Sitting in the coffee shop, I opened the Sunday paper and began to read the gamut of experiences expressed about the time between that day’s moment and today's 10 year old moment. I found myself avoiding the articles of “them vs. us” and found myself drawn more to those like Kathleen Parker of the Washington Post who said “A nation cannot heal itself without self-awareness. On this score we have fallen short. We seem not to want to recognize that we don’t have a problem; we ARE the problem”. It reminded me of the Easter Lenten season, one year before 9/11/2001. For Lent, many Christians give up something. Not being of any one religion, but enjoying the beauty in all, I decided instead of giving-up…I would try giving-in. I “gave-in” by trying the practice of smiling more at others. I did it for one year. It was an amazing year. I noticed how much we do not look at one another, we do not see one another, and heaven forbid, we should ever look into one another’s eyes. Sometimes, when I would smile at someone….this pain-filled pattern would shift. You could tell, we both knew something different was happening. Something out of our ordinary.
As lessons go… I didn’t recognize the meaning of this practice until one year later – Sept 11, 2001. After 24 hours of watching the unbelievable become believable on TV, I had to break myself away from the event and wander out. I found myself at the grocery store when the one year old Lenten lesson’s message started to unfold. People, joined in this moment, began to look at one another. I melted into what it took for us to look in, look up and look at one another. Now, ten years later, there is a power in the moment, to gather with one another in Silence and Seeing. To look at one another, look with one another, no matter who we are or what we are. To continue to ask “What have we learned? What are we learning? – And are we doing it together or apart in the power of any one given minute and moment.
One Word Leads to Another: How to tell if you are in the present moment
A discipline I like to follow is attempting to truly be in the present moment. I have examples of times I know I am totally NOT in the present moment and times I recognized I do find myself in that sweet-spot moment that only the present can possess. Just as one story leads to another, one word leads to another, hopefully one non-present moment helps lead me to the next present moment. First the non-present moment story I call “present moment, pancake moment”.
I was at Perkins one lovely Sunday morning sharing a pancake and eggs meal with my partner. We were engaged it what we term “breakfast blather”; a menagerie of minutia tainted with tid-bits of playful thoughts leading one to the other almost endlessly. This particular morning, I found my blather rather bitchfull….going on and on blah blah blah … complaining about some tedious frustration. I don’t know about you, but I find that many people like their breakfast food “just so”. It’s easy to be picky about eggs. Being quite picking myself about the order of each morsel – pancakes to be eaten before the eggs, the syrup poured after cutting the pancake etc…I began my meal in the midst of my breathless bitching blather. In mid-sentence I raised my voice in exasperation and profusely professed “the waitress FORGOT to bring my pancakes!” Thankfully my body’s autonomic system dutifully remembered to take a breath! In that breath filled moment, my brain woke up, broke from its pattern of thought deluged mess and recognized my mouth was in mid-chew of a whole grain pancake, properly pre-cut and soaked with syrup! My partner and I spent the next split second roaring with laughter and noted the moment’s extreme example of NOT being in the present moment. Such was born the term “present moment, pancake moment.” We elicit this term out loud some times, to re-mindfully remark whether we are (or are not) in the precious present.
One day lead to the next, one breakfast to the next, and one present moment lead to the next. Sitting on the front porch one Fall morning, eating muffins and coffee, my partner and I started wondering about the origin of the saying “dead as a doornail”. We grabbed our version of the QPB Encyclopedia Of Word and Phrase Origins book to see what the story was. Well, one word lead to another and we found ourselves looking up the origins of sexual slang, starting dutifully with the origin of the word F*ck. Apparently it is of German origin for ”ficken/f*cken” - meaning to “strike or penetrate”. We moved on to “cu*t”, then “pap smear” leading us rightfully to “pervert”. Being a sex educator, I found myself easily moving onto all the words kids ask us about and could hardly wait to share these tidbits of word-origin-knowledge with my co-educators. We found it interesting that there was no reference to “pus*y”, but plenty of reference points for “bon*r” whether it was to have one, or pull one. Of course we judgmentally attached some sort of patriarchal purpose to this pattern, but fell all over that theory and ourselves, when we recognized there were no references for “ja*k off” or “ejacu*ate”.
As we laughed and cackled, we heard a familiar chirping sound draw our attention to all that surrounded us. Nature so kindly shared and comically marked the moment for us as we glanced at a humming bird feeding 4 feet from our conversation. Not only had the humming bird joined in, but also a very hungry bumble bee. We shrieked with glee at the way nature communicates with us, creating a word-image-choice noting that we were all having fun with “the birds and the bees”. Instantly we were able to feel we had truly entered the present moment. One cannot help but miss what is both obvious and not-so-obvious at the same time. There is a palpable feel to the power of the present. Today it most graciously played itself out through our bodies, as it removed that façade of day-to-day control, having us do nothing other than laugh. We could sense how one word lead us to another, one moment to another, helping us discover we had “hit the nail on the head” and entered that just-right place of the one and only --- present moment. End note: I figured I should use the asterisks for those “special” words, as I could only imagine how many hits my blog might get on some slightly popular Google searches and I wasn’t sure I wanted to invite too much scrutiny. The photo enclosed – was an attempt to capture the scene that played out before us. If you look closely you can see both the bird….AND…the bee feeding together!
I was at Perkins one lovely Sunday morning sharing a pancake and eggs meal with my partner. We were engaged it what we term “breakfast blather”; a menagerie of minutia tainted with tid-bits of playful thoughts leading one to the other almost endlessly. This particular morning, I found my blather rather bitchfull….going on and on blah blah blah … complaining about some tedious frustration. I don’t know about you, but I find that many people like their breakfast food “just so”. It’s easy to be picky about eggs. Being quite picking myself about the order of each morsel – pancakes to be eaten before the eggs, the syrup poured after cutting the pancake etc…I began my meal in the midst of my breathless bitching blather. In mid-sentence I raised my voice in exasperation and profusely professed “the waitress FORGOT to bring my pancakes!” Thankfully my body’s autonomic system dutifully remembered to take a breath! In that breath filled moment, my brain woke up, broke from its pattern of thought deluged mess and recognized my mouth was in mid-chew of a whole grain pancake, properly pre-cut and soaked with syrup! My partner and I spent the next split second roaring with laughter and noted the moment’s extreme example of NOT being in the present moment. Such was born the term “present moment, pancake moment.” We elicit this term out loud some times, to re-mindfully remark whether we are (or are not) in the precious present.
One day lead to the next, one breakfast to the next, and one present moment lead to the next. Sitting on the front porch one Fall morning, eating muffins and coffee, my partner and I started wondering about the origin of the saying “dead as a doornail”. We grabbed our version of the QPB Encyclopedia Of Word and Phrase Origins book to see what the story was. Well, one word lead to another and we found ourselves looking up the origins of sexual slang, starting dutifully with the origin of the word F*ck. Apparently it is of German origin for ”ficken/f*cken” - meaning to “strike or penetrate”. We moved on to “cu*t”, then “pap smear” leading us rightfully to “pervert”. Being a sex educator, I found myself easily moving onto all the words kids ask us about and could hardly wait to share these tidbits of word-origin-knowledge with my co-educators. We found it interesting that there was no reference to “pus*y”, but plenty of reference points for “bon*r” whether it was to have one, or pull one. Of course we judgmentally attached some sort of patriarchal purpose to this pattern, but fell all over that theory and ourselves, when we recognized there were no references for “ja*k off” or “ejacu*ate”.
As we laughed and cackled, we heard a familiar chirping sound draw our attention to all that surrounded us. Nature so kindly shared and comically marked the moment for us as we glanced at a humming bird feeding 4 feet from our conversation. Not only had the humming bird joined in, but also a very hungry bumble bee. We shrieked with glee at the way nature communicates with us, creating a word-image-choice noting that we were all having fun with “the birds and the bees”. Instantly we were able to feel we had truly entered the present moment. One cannot help but miss what is both obvious and not-so-obvious at the same time. There is a palpable feel to the power of the present. Today it most graciously played itself out through our bodies, as it removed that façade of day-to-day control, having us do nothing other than laugh. We could sense how one word lead us to another, one moment to another, helping us discover we had “hit the nail on the head” and entered that just-right place of the one and only --- present moment. End note: I figured I should use the asterisks for those “special” words, as I could only imagine how many hits my blog might get on some slightly popular Google searches and I wasn’t sure I wanted to invite too much scrutiny. The photo enclosed – was an attempt to capture the scene that played out before us. If you look closely you can see both the bird….AND…the bee feeding together!
The Power of Words: Abracadabra, incantations and other assorted word choices
I am reminded of the power of words on a daily basis. I am a teacher, an in-home health aide and a performance artist. As a performer you are taught to “know your audience”, as a teacher you are taught to watch how others learn, and as an in-home aide you are taught to listen to your client. No matter what role I am playing, as I attempt to connect with others, I find myself considering how each word I choose helps or hinders the chances of connection. Telling you the story of my pen-name “Sufi-socks” is an example of the powerful play of word choices.
In the messy menagerie of middle school, I found myself living in a dirt-road neighborhood at the foot of a dry and dusty southern California hillside. I became fast friends with Rachel, the Mexican girl next door, whose mother was an eccentric, free-flowing artist we called Mago-Mom. There wasn’t a day went by that we wouldn’t see her fly down the dirt road, heading to her art studio, dressed in a miss-mosh of material and wild abandon of color – none of which met any standard of matching that most people expect in one another’s choice of attire.
We loved being in Mago-Mom's studio as she painted her impression of construction machines that moved on her canvas and seemed almost alive. Rachel and I would dress up and pretend to be manikins in the window, watching to see how people would react as they walked by. In all this magical playfulness we discovered, like many kids do, the energy of wearing mismatched socks. For some unknown yet magically known reason, we called them 'sufi-socks'. There was an invisible sense of the word’s perfection and, as children naturally do, we left it at that.
As an adult, being interested in all that is Divine, I came across the real word –Sufi- while reading about various religions. I learned of ancient peoples who live their lives in observance and obedience to Love and the Divine Beloved. I learned that Sufi artists “tune” three times in preparation for their performance. They first tune themselves, then their instrument and then the audience. I was amazed at how we chose this word as children, having no idea it was a Real word. On some invisible level, our imaginations recognized the word’s energy-sound. Sometimes I wonder if we chose the word, or if the word chose us.
During my adult journey of inner discovery, (somewhere near age 35) I began to mismatch my socks. When wearing them, I could once again sense the perfection of play-full-ness in the energy ignited by their silly yet completely assuring comfort. I was amazed at the number of adults I met, who also enjoyed wearing mismatched socks. I began paying attention to how we use or misuse words and the power they carry that effects everything and everyone. It was also at this age and stage that I became a professional clown. While developing skills on how to enter the fantasy world of children, I stumbled across the origin of the word "Abracadabra". Some believe it is an ancient spell in Aramaic, meaning “let the thing be destroyed"- the “thing” being an illness. Another Hebrew/Aramaic concept is avra k’davra, which means “I will create as I speak”. Once again, I found myself in the creative world of words, their magical energy and their power to create or destroy. Then, one mundane yet magical day, all of this word-play came together for me.
I was going through a difficult time, feeling burdened and alone. I walked into the office one morning and was greeted by a lone co-worker who enjoyed coming in early to a silent, empty office. He would make coffee and have it waiting for the rest of us as we arrived, slowly, noisily and late. When I walked in he simply said “Good Morning!” There was something magical about his greeting. You could tell he meant it. There was a presence --- a specific “abracadabaric” sound that traveled between us. It was a palpable caring that was “created as he spoke” that “destroyed the illness in me.” I instantly knew - everything was going to be okay. To this day, I try to remember this experience and message in each moment I greet someone - in each choice of word I send out – knowing every word, and the intention behind it, has the power to create or destroy. FOOT-NOTE: This very day I wrote about sufi-socks, the magic and power of words. I synchronistically and oh so magically came across a child –AND- some random adult who happened to be wearing miss-matched-socks. I had to snap a cell phone photo to add to the canvas of this blog! En-joy!
In the messy menagerie of middle school, I found myself living in a dirt-road neighborhood at the foot of a dry and dusty southern California hillside. I became fast friends with Rachel, the Mexican girl next door, whose mother was an eccentric, free-flowing artist we called Mago-Mom. There wasn’t a day went by that we wouldn’t see her fly down the dirt road, heading to her art studio, dressed in a miss-mosh of material and wild abandon of color – none of which met any standard of matching that most people expect in one another’s choice of attire.
We loved being in Mago-Mom's studio as she painted her impression of construction machines that moved on her canvas and seemed almost alive. Rachel and I would dress up and pretend to be manikins in the window, watching to see how people would react as they walked by. In all this magical playfulness we discovered, like many kids do, the energy of wearing mismatched socks. For some unknown yet magically known reason, we called them 'sufi-socks'. There was an invisible sense of the word’s perfection and, as children naturally do, we left it at that.
As an adult, being interested in all that is Divine, I came across the real word –Sufi- while reading about various religions. I learned of ancient peoples who live their lives in observance and obedience to Love and the Divine Beloved. I learned that Sufi artists “tune” three times in preparation for their performance. They first tune themselves, then their instrument and then the audience. I was amazed at how we chose this word as children, having no idea it was a Real word. On some invisible level, our imaginations recognized the word’s energy-sound. Sometimes I wonder if we chose the word, or if the word chose us.
During my adult journey of inner discovery, (somewhere near age 35) I began to mismatch my socks. When wearing them, I could once again sense the perfection of play-full-ness in the energy ignited by their silly yet completely assuring comfort. I was amazed at the number of adults I met, who also enjoyed wearing mismatched socks. I began paying attention to how we use or misuse words and the power they carry that effects everything and everyone. It was also at this age and stage that I became a professional clown. While developing skills on how to enter the fantasy world of children, I stumbled across the origin of the word "Abracadabra". Some believe it is an ancient spell in Aramaic, meaning “let the thing be destroyed"- the “thing” being an illness. Another Hebrew/Aramaic concept is avra k’davra, which means “I will create as I speak”. Once again, I found myself in the creative world of words, their magical energy and their power to create or destroy. Then, one mundane yet magical day, all of this word-play came together for me.
I was going through a difficult time, feeling burdened and alone. I walked into the office one morning and was greeted by a lone co-worker who enjoyed coming in early to a silent, empty office. He would make coffee and have it waiting for the rest of us as we arrived, slowly, noisily and late. When I walked in he simply said “Good Morning!” There was something magical about his greeting. You could tell he meant it. There was a presence --- a specific “abracadabaric” sound that traveled between us. It was a palpable caring that was “created as he spoke” that “destroyed the illness in me.” I instantly knew - everything was going to be okay. To this day, I try to remember this experience and message in each moment I greet someone - in each choice of word I send out – knowing every word, and the intention behind it, has the power to create or destroy. FOOT-NOTE: This very day I wrote about sufi-socks, the magic and power of words. I synchronistically and oh so magically came across a child –AND- some random adult who happened to be wearing miss-matched-socks. I had to snap a cell phone photo to add to the canvas of this blog! En-joy!
Friday, August 12, 2011
Samurai Soul: Knowing that You Know!
"Worry, worry, worry!" -- ok what cartoon character comes to mind here? Is it Eeyore, Piglet, Pooh? I think it was Eeyore, as he was constantly worrying about "losing his tail". It could be any of these cartoon characters – but in reality it is mostly plain ole ME (and maybe you too?).
Buddhist’s call it Monkey Mind. Now that would be a good name for a new cartoon persona – yes? Almost daily a thought comes, reminding me “I’m in the unknown”,“I have no idea what to do","I don't know what's next”, or even what is NOW for that matter!
I found myself in this mind-space one day while working as an in-home health aide. I was informed I would need to start giving my client four different eye drops twice daily. That might not sound so bad….but considering my client was a germaphobe, fearful that people were trying to kill her, didn’t always remember who I was and was on all types of psychotropic meds which she generally refused to take….made it “very bad” to me!
Worry, worry, worry became my moment-to-moment mind mantra. My organized, fix-it-now pattern kicked in full-time. I decided to buy some over-the-counter eye drops and practice on someone. I picked the exact right person. That would be Frank, my guitar and cognac partner in playful, creative crime.I went over to his house one day to play by the side of the lake. As we sat on the deck with cognac and guitars, I began to share with him the story of my eye drop dilemma.He listened – quietly. I asked him if I could practice on him to help me get comfortable with the skill set.
He simply and clearly said “No”.
Discomfort came quickly to me.
He then shared with me that, coincidently, he was having to begin the same process with his 85 year old mother-in-law. He showed me the gamut of eye drop scripts he'd just received from the pharmacy. He also had never done this before.The next thing he said brought forward a wisdom that is always present. “You are an incredibly Knowing soul. When the moment comes, you will know exactly what to do. You always do - you always will”.
It was perfection – and we left it at that.
When the day came for the first eye drop duty…..I walked in, gently greeted myself internally, my client externally, opened the bottle and eased each drop four times into both eyes.
The original box of unopened practice-drops I took to Frank’s house sits prominently on my prayer table. I smile at the name on the box that faces me daily: "Clear Vision”. I love remembering this eye drop story and sharing it with friends when we discuss times we are worried and don’t know what to do.
During my last trip to India, I had a physical sense of the wisdom-knowing part of my soul. While meditating on worry, knowing and unknowing, my soul stood as a Samurai stands – strong, centered, clear and always Knowing ---- especially in the midst of unknowing.
I enjoy bringing that Samurai Soul image to mind whenever I find my Eeyore-like-self being afraid of losing my tail and I worry, worry, worry.
Buddhist’s call it Monkey Mind. Now that would be a good name for a new cartoon persona – yes? Almost daily a thought comes, reminding me “I’m in the unknown”,“I have no idea what to do","I don't know what's next”, or even what is NOW for that matter!
I found myself in this mind-space one day while working as an in-home health aide. I was informed I would need to start giving my client four different eye drops twice daily. That might not sound so bad….but considering my client was a germaphobe, fearful that people were trying to kill her, didn’t always remember who I was and was on all types of psychotropic meds which she generally refused to take….made it “very bad” to me!
Worry, worry, worry became my moment-to-moment mind mantra. My organized, fix-it-now pattern kicked in full-time. I decided to buy some over-the-counter eye drops and practice on someone. I picked the exact right person. That would be Frank, my guitar and cognac partner in playful, creative crime.I went over to his house one day to play by the side of the lake. As we sat on the deck with cognac and guitars, I began to share with him the story of my eye drop dilemma.He listened – quietly. I asked him if I could practice on him to help me get comfortable with the skill set.
He simply and clearly said “No”.
Discomfort came quickly to me.
He then shared with me that, coincidently, he was having to begin the same process with his 85 year old mother-in-law. He showed me the gamut of eye drop scripts he'd just received from the pharmacy. He also had never done this before.The next thing he said brought forward a wisdom that is always present. “You are an incredibly Knowing soul. When the moment comes, you will know exactly what to do. You always do - you always will”.
It was perfection – and we left it at that.
When the day came for the first eye drop duty…..I walked in, gently greeted myself internally, my client externally, opened the bottle and eased each drop four times into both eyes.
The original box of unopened practice-drops I took to Frank’s house sits prominently on my prayer table. I smile at the name on the box that faces me daily: "Clear Vision”. I love remembering this eye drop story and sharing it with friends when we discuss times we are worried and don’t know what to do.
During my last trip to India, I had a physical sense of the wisdom-knowing part of my soul. While meditating on worry, knowing and unknowing, my soul stood as a Samurai stands – strong, centered, clear and always Knowing ---- especially in the midst of unknowing.
I enjoy bringing that Samurai Soul image to mind whenever I find my Eeyore-like-self being afraid of losing my tail and I worry, worry, worry.
Friday, August 5, 2011
The Sound of Elders Praying
I was moved the other day by what I will call the “Sound of elders praying”.
It brought me immediately into a space of inner and outer calm. When I heard it, I recognized how I’ve heard this sound since childhood. It is subtle, low and drone-like. It can be found everywhere - when we listen to things like the buzz of a bee, the rattle of dried leaves, the summer heat saturated in the consistency of cicada song.
I heard it easily in India while sleeping, waking and napping to the oceanic monsoon wind outside my retreat room window. I felt it in the low vibration sensed in the sound of silence. It is easily audible when: in sitting, one just sits; in listening one just listens and in breathing, one just breathes. I re-recognized the sound one day as I helped care for a 96 year old woman.
I was walking to the laundry room when I heard a voice say “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you” in a just-under-the-breath mantra-like melody. I looked up to see a hunched elder woman walk with a tall husband-like man supporting her arm as they moved side by side. In each step-by-concentrated-step her movement and mantra blended in rhythmic measure.
There it was – the sound of elders praying! So familiar, so near, so soothing. I recalled the same murmured meter I heard as a child in the Byzantine church I attended,in of all places,downtown Gary, Indiana. Talk about calmness in the midst of chaos!
The church was a "cacophonic" chamber that echoed with a chorus of elder Slavic women’s voices praying the rosary in their native tongue. It came from deep inside them, rising subtly but surely with the frankincense that floated from the sanctuary. The ancient Slavic tones drew us inward to the place where we can hear divine messages:
“Be still and know that I am God”.
“To pray without ceasing”
…and…
“For those who have ears, let them hear.”
I am thankful to hear the sound of elders praying. I am grateful to have heard it in the woman walking by me. It helps me to remember in each step and in every moment to prayerfully say and hear “thank you, thank you, thank you”.
It brought me immediately into a space of inner and outer calm. When I heard it, I recognized how I’ve heard this sound since childhood. It is subtle, low and drone-like. It can be found everywhere - when we listen to things like the buzz of a bee, the rattle of dried leaves, the summer heat saturated in the consistency of cicada song.
I heard it easily in India while sleeping, waking and napping to the oceanic monsoon wind outside my retreat room window. I felt it in the low vibration sensed in the sound of silence. It is easily audible when: in sitting, one just sits; in listening one just listens and in breathing, one just breathes. I re-recognized the sound one day as I helped care for a 96 year old woman.
I was walking to the laundry room when I heard a voice say “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you” in a just-under-the-breath mantra-like melody. I looked up to see a hunched elder woman walk with a tall husband-like man supporting her arm as they moved side by side. In each step-by-concentrated-step her movement and mantra blended in rhythmic measure.
There it was – the sound of elders praying! So familiar, so near, so soothing. I recalled the same murmured meter I heard as a child in the Byzantine church I attended,in of all places,downtown Gary, Indiana. Talk about calmness in the midst of chaos!
The church was a "cacophonic" chamber that echoed with a chorus of elder Slavic women’s voices praying the rosary in their native tongue. It came from deep inside them, rising subtly but surely with the frankincense that floated from the sanctuary. The ancient Slavic tones drew us inward to the place where we can hear divine messages:
“Be still and know that I am God”.
“To pray without ceasing”
…and…
“For those who have ears, let them hear.”
I am thankful to hear the sound of elders praying. I am grateful to have heard it in the woman walking by me. It helps me to remember in each step and in every moment to prayerfully say and hear “thank you, thank you, thank you”.
Friday, February 25, 2011
The Internet: A love / hate relationship
The prate falls and pitfalls I experience when I fall down the rabbit-hole of the Internet make me laugh and cry. The sense of crying comes when I feel us being distracted by so much information…that we miss the moment – and one another.
The laughter comes when I see how funny we are with the tantalizing tidbits we post
on You Tube! (just Google kittens and puppies!). My favorite part of experiencing the joy in how alike we all are --- is when I start to type in a search request. Google starts to populate the text-box with searches the millions of other hitchhikers of this Google-galaxy have similarly requested.
It amazed me one day, thinking "oh I've got one no one could have tried yet", as I
speedily attacked my keyboard with "…Is the Restasis commercial doctor-woman real or digital?". I almost fell off my ergonomic computer chair when not only did the text box
similar-search thingy take off , but it generated page after page of people wondering not only the same thing --- but queried it in even more hilarious ways than I could imagine! Apparently, I am not alone at being weirded-out by this more than bizarre looking human. I swear she is some sort of robotic-artificial-intelligence. But the gamut of
data that resulted proved she is apparently not only human, but a real doctor, based on those who seem to be "in the know"! I smiled at feeling quite connected to potentially millions of us wondering the same silly things!
Another experience seemed to show me not only how similar we are, but how
far we have come. I was watching The Today Show, when we were first introduced to President Obama's awesomely forward thinking choice of Ms. Elena Kagan as the next
Supreme Court Justice candidate. I said out loud to myself "Alright! She's GOT to be a lesbian ---- wow, now THAT WOULD be amazingly forward thinking!!!!".
Again, I found myself almost falling down in the rush to keyboard Google-search anything about her. It was as if I typed in slow-motion anticipation of what might
be populated into my text box by what I was sure millions of other inquiring minds
just HAD to know. I started with "Is Elena Kagan………_____" and then stopped.
I figured I'd get things populated like……..gay, queer, a dyke, homo….or a
cacophony of other spite filled words. I think this time I may have literally fallen off
my chair when the generated word-choice supplied was ………………. married.
I could not stop laughing….and was filled with hopeful amazement – thinking:
Wow ---- that's a step-UP for America! Instantly I next wanted to cry at the sad juxtaposition of this inquiry with today's reality of the discriminatory injustice gay American's experience by being disallowed not only the experience of marriage, but the constitutional right to the pursuit of happiness. I wanted to laugh again at the Catch-22, that this woman could become of all things a Supreme Court Justice.
The list of my Internet experiences runs the gamut of reactions of joy, sadness, frustration, laughter, anger, social togetherness and unrelenting social isolation. It was
Face book that pushed me over the ultimate edge when I just couldn't take the bombardment of information, the one-liners and people seeming to connect but yet seeming to be so disconnected. I found myself taking the summer off and not using ANY source of technology.
Then, low and behold in the midst of my frustration with technology and Face book feeling like it separates us, the Social Network's non-shadow side presented itself in all its glory --- by uniting us. It took just one man's ultimate frustration with non-freedom to end his life by lighting himself on fire…..to begin a revolution of fire in the hearts of others to blog, log, and twitter their angry yet peace-filled messages from Yemen, Eqypt, Syria and more. Words posted on the universally shared "walls" of Face-book, began the domino tumbling down of the Berlin-like walls that separate us. This one man's final action allowed others to begin new action by speaking in the voice that makes us One; the sound of which, due to Face book, was heard through out the world!!!!!
It leaves me with just one thought ---------------------------- Awfully Amazing!
The laughter comes when I see how funny we are with the tantalizing tidbits we post
on You Tube! (just Google kittens and puppies!). My favorite part of experiencing the joy in how alike we all are --- is when I start to type in a search request. Google starts to populate the text-box with searches the millions of other hitchhikers of this Google-galaxy have similarly requested.
It amazed me one day, thinking "oh I've got one no one could have tried yet", as I
speedily attacked my keyboard with "…Is the Restasis commercial doctor-woman real or digital?". I almost fell off my ergonomic computer chair when not only did the text box
similar-search thingy take off , but it generated page after page of people wondering not only the same thing --- but queried it in even more hilarious ways than I could imagine! Apparently, I am not alone at being weirded-out by this more than bizarre looking human. I swear she is some sort of robotic-artificial-intelligence. But the gamut of
data that resulted proved she is apparently not only human, but a real doctor, based on those who seem to be "in the know"! I smiled at feeling quite connected to potentially millions of us wondering the same silly things!
Another experience seemed to show me not only how similar we are, but how
far we have come. I was watching The Today Show, when we were first introduced to President Obama's awesomely forward thinking choice of Ms. Elena Kagan as the next
Supreme Court Justice candidate. I said out loud to myself "Alright! She's GOT to be a lesbian ---- wow, now THAT WOULD be amazingly forward thinking!!!!".
Again, I found myself almost falling down in the rush to keyboard Google-search anything about her. It was as if I typed in slow-motion anticipation of what might
be populated into my text box by what I was sure millions of other inquiring minds
just HAD to know. I started with "Is Elena Kagan………_____" and then stopped.
I figured I'd get things populated like……..gay, queer, a dyke, homo….or a
cacophony of other spite filled words. I think this time I may have literally fallen off
my chair when the generated word-choice supplied was ………………. married.
I could not stop laughing….and was filled with hopeful amazement – thinking:
Wow ---- that's a step-UP for America! Instantly I next wanted to cry at the sad juxtaposition of this inquiry with today's reality of the discriminatory injustice gay American's experience by being disallowed not only the experience of marriage, but the constitutional right to the pursuit of happiness. I wanted to laugh again at the Catch-22, that this woman could become of all things a Supreme Court Justice.
The list of my Internet experiences runs the gamut of reactions of joy, sadness, frustration, laughter, anger, social togetherness and unrelenting social isolation. It was
Face book that pushed me over the ultimate edge when I just couldn't take the bombardment of information, the one-liners and people seeming to connect but yet seeming to be so disconnected. I found myself taking the summer off and not using ANY source of technology.
Then, low and behold in the midst of my frustration with technology and Face book feeling like it separates us, the Social Network's non-shadow side presented itself in all its glory --- by uniting us. It took just one man's ultimate frustration with non-freedom to end his life by lighting himself on fire…..to begin a revolution of fire in the hearts of others to blog, log, and twitter their angry yet peace-filled messages from Yemen, Eqypt, Syria and more. Words posted on the universally shared "walls" of Face-book, began the domino tumbling down of the Berlin-like walls that separate us. This one man's final action allowed others to begin new action by speaking in the voice that makes us One; the sound of which, due to Face book, was heard through out the world!!!!!
It leaves me with just one thought ---------------------------- Awfully Amazing!
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Be-Friending: The King's speech vs. Face-book
Having just seen "The King's Speech" --- I find it funny that my blogging, albeit - few and far between, has so far been sparked by some form of Art (movie, radio, music). Hmmm – a lovely laugh at that.
But – it is Art that moves me to "blatheringly" blog.
I woke up yesterday, with a thought in my head of the gamut of distance between "The King's Speech" and "The Social Network". I haven't seen "The Social Network" --- but I have fallen down the rabbit-hole of Face book. I only got on Face book so I would know what it was in order to talk with youth about what it is, what it is not, and who we "are" as social beings.
But – it is Art that moves me to "blatheringly" blog.
I woke up yesterday, with a thought in my head of the gamut of distance between "The King's Speech" and "The Social Network". I haven't seen "The Social Network" --- but I have fallen down the rabbit-hole of Face book. I only got on Face book so I would know what it was in order to talk with youth about what it is, what it is not, and who we "are" as social beings.
This summer I took a hiatus from all technology. I avoided cell phones, all phones, computers, email, and any type of computerized social-network. It was lovely. It helped me to "be" where I was --- moment to moment without bells or whistles.
When I first got on Twitter – I thought it was rather ridiculous and that it would fall by the way side. What do I know, except for how to be judgmental. I am thankful for how nations apparently have been toppled by those that send one-liner sentences letting us know that Tibetans are being killed or that Egyptians are knocking down their own Berlin Walls! I've learned there is an art to messaging in 40 characters or less, to grab one another's short attention span with wit, wisdom and a wee bit of irony and folly.
Then came "The King's Speech", about the heaviness of our interactions, lightened by the gentleness of friendship. How the history of our life stories can weigh heavily in each moment – to the point of making us stop, stutter, hide and freeze with fear.
I am always amazed at times in history when the world is drawn together, with masses of us listening and focused on the same event at the same moment: September 11th, the death of a princess, the assassination of a president, his brother and a peacemaking preacher who happened to be black.
When I first got on Twitter – I thought it was rather ridiculous and that it would fall by the way side. What do I know, except for how to be judgmental. I am thankful for how nations apparently have been toppled by those that send one-liner sentences letting us know that Tibetans are being killed or that Egyptians are knocking down their own Berlin Walls! I've learned there is an art to messaging in 40 characters or less, to grab one another's short attention span with wit, wisdom and a wee bit of irony and folly.
Then came "The King's Speech", about the heaviness of our interactions, lightened by the gentleness of friendship. How the history of our life stories can weigh heavily in each moment – to the point of making us stop, stutter, hide and freeze with fear.
I am always amazed at times in history when the world is drawn together, with masses of us listening and focused on the same event at the same moment: September 11th, the death of a princess, the assassination of a president, his brother and a peacemaking preacher who happened to be black.
Yes, technology today draws us together in very powerful ways – but it separates us in more ways than I wish to imagine.
In the time of "The King's Speech" – when communication was NOT instantaneous, each and every word carried intense power. It still does today. We forget, that the meaning of the moment shared with intense one-word focus, devotion, and the power of allowing – IS exactly what is needed.
"The Kings Speech" – reminded me of a variety of moments shared in my own in-the-moment "word" therapy with a hakomi therapist.
I remember my therapist saying "I can't wait for the story you tell, of the day you find your voice". It is a gift to have traveled with another person through the roller coaster challenge of finding, knowing and celebrating who I am; who we all are………..now and historically.
There was a sweetness in watching the friendship between the King and his therapist-friend. A shared growing between the two of them, helped guide them both – and all of humanity through a moment of Fear and War – to the other side of a shared spectrum.
Technology back then (radio) – brought people together. Today, technology does this even so. But in so many more powerful ways it can also keep us--- apart.
In the time of "The King's Speech" – when communication was NOT instantaneous, each and every word carried intense power. It still does today. We forget, that the meaning of the moment shared with intense one-word focus, devotion, and the power of allowing – IS exactly what is needed.
"The Kings Speech" – reminded me of a variety of moments shared in my own in-the-moment "word" therapy with a hakomi therapist.
I remember my therapist saying "I can't wait for the story you tell, of the day you find your voice". It is a gift to have traveled with another person through the roller coaster challenge of finding, knowing and celebrating who I am; who we all are………..now and historically.
There was a sweetness in watching the friendship between the King and his therapist-friend. A shared growing between the two of them, helped guide them both – and all of humanity through a moment of Fear and War – to the other side of a shared spectrum.
Technology back then (radio) – brought people together. Today, technology does this even so. But in so many more powerful ways it can also keep us--- apart.
I cannot understand, nor accept someone befriending hundreds of anonymous people – when in reality, it only takes one. One true-one, to Be-friend us ---- with ourselves, to ourselves…...... let alone --- with one another.
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