We can easily become tangled up in “differences” and in what people call being “politically correct” -- especially when it comes to gender issues and sexuality. I like trying to be non-political and not compete over who is correct, but I tend to fall all over myself when I walk that fine line. One day, a child made it all perfectly clear.
It started when I had a wonderful day being gifted with the chance to play basketball with my best friend Frank (a male in his 60’s), myself (a female in her 50's) and Frank's new friend, Brady (a boy barely in his 10's). I decided to sit on the sidelines and happily watch these two buddies play together. At one point, Frank asked Brady – “can Doreen play too”? I was patiently and quietly invited in. We played openly and easily to our hearts content – each of us, very good at what we were doing!
Later that day we visited Frank’s mother-in-law in a long term care facility to celebrate her birthday with family and cake. Before eating, we decided it was a good time to go to the restroom and wash up. Brady, myself, and Brady’s mom headed down the corridor. As we walked together, Brady asked me “are you a boy or a girl”?
When a public question of gender comes up --- a lot can happen! Surprise, confusion, shock, wonder, embarrassment and maybe in this moment, mom was even wondering “what happened to all the social-graces conversations we’ve been having”? But all of this would be us as adults...thinking like adults. Trying to responding to all of the above from that place of "the middle way", I easily asked Brady “is it hard for you to tell because I’m so good at basketball”? But then I thought, “what a smart thing for him to ask...especially on the way to the restroom”. To this day, I can’t remember his response, but I let him know that I was a female just as we all began to enter the women’s room together.
What happened next internally for me was quiet and celebratory at best. I thought “what a great compliment”! It felt to me that Brady was experiencing and expressing a concept I heard Ru Paul describe on an NPR podcast the previous day. He explained how gender can be boundless versus binding. He described opportunities in every moment to wander and wonder through a place of consciousness that is non-defined, seamless and seem-less! (Paste link below)
http://www.npr.org/player/v2/mediaPlayer.html?action=1&t=1&islist=false&id=146283441&m=146283432
I wondered if the intelligent child in Brady easily recognized some sort of balanced point, some sort of fulcrum gender-less middle place between male and female in me that was undefined. The Buddhists use the term “middle way” and "Bardo" (the place in between) – to describe some sort of assemblence of what I am trying to say. If that was the sense and place that Brady spoke from, it was indeed a great compliment. And maybe he was just trying to see that if I was male, it would be a chance to go to the men’s room together, instead of the women’s room with mom. Which ever it was, it was lovely to be in that in-between place that childs-mind can give us. Either way or neither way --- it was a gift.
They tell me, that youth today who are traveling though sexuality issues and discoveries, tend to not care for words that describe people as gay, non-gay, trans or bi. Instead they say “this is where I am right now”. I find that so gentle and wisdom filled - just like Brady. Being in and speaking from that middle-place, that “just right place”, helps me remember the Desiderata concept that each of us “is a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars -- we have a right to be here”…..and even more happily a right to
just ---- Be!
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
The Sanctity of Marriage: What IS that?
What a loaded question! I witness people twisting and turning on both sides of the aisle, be it a court room aisle, church aisle, or the great divide of opinion isle. For the longest time I proudly and righteously sat on my side of the fence in this debate. Now, I find myself just waiting for all of us to catch up with what I think the ancients might have meant by the sanctity of anything…including marriage and perhaps even the art of dialogue.
In the midst of clearing out my "Not-in-law's" home, (...I’m not allowed to legally marry...)
I came across a beautiful piece of art work. It was the marriage certificate of one of our family elders that seemed to capture the honor in the words “sanctity” and “marriage”. It is a picture of a joining that is guided, that anyone can sense, when invoking the sanctity of Love within, Love together and a Love beyond; something unlimited, unbiased and inarguable:
I keep trying to get down to the basics, the bare bones, the simplicity of anything we can all agree upon – something common like: the respect of differences, the decency of each person or just the act of “allowing” sanctity to happen. Even the word "in-laws" to denote the parents of our partner, seem to organize the concept of marriage by the world of law - not the world of religion. So,today as I find myself wanting to put thoughts to paper, I feel like a student wanting to see what the dictionary might offer. I felt silly doing so, but I'm so glad I checked:
++++
sanctity: holiness, sacred or hallowed character; a sacred thing
marriage: the legal or religious ceremony that formalized the decision
of two people to live as a married couple.
++++
I noticed the word "or" between the words "legal" and "religious". I thought that was good. There were no defining or dividing pronouns used, I thought that was even better! Then, I was blown away by the next two entries:
a. the social institution under which a man and woman establish their decision to live as husband and wife by legal commitments, religious ceremonies, etc. Antonyms: separation.
b. a similar institution involving partners of the same gender: gay marriage. Antonyms: separation.
Granted, this came from dictionary.com -but- what a sign of inclusive,whole-hearted thinking -and- so........un-sanctimonious!
Call me crazy, but when I hear people say the words “sanctity of marriage”, I start to feel that this delegated concept of marriage is actually.....unconstitutional. The First Amendment offers all of us freedom of religion –AND- free from religion. People forget that BOTH these options are a gift to be honored and protected. Our government must not “establish” any form of religion. If it did, then someone in leadership would be able to decide and dictate that we must all practice Islam in America. Not a bad idea in my opinion – but that is just what it is ---an opinion! We should " thank God" for the fact that you or I can have or not have that opinion, or practice whatever belief we want without someone putting any of us in jail or "heaven forbid" consider someone satanic or deviant…or even more horribly: different than us!
I hear people talk about the separation of Church and State. I again recognize the importance this concept allows everyone. No part of government can dictate the terms of religion, the divine, or the sanctity of anything for any citizen or group of citizens. When people try to determine who can and can’t marry (interracial couples, disabled people, immigrants, gays or whomever is on the list)…..and then state we must preserve the sanctity of marriage……I begin to day dream that our common humanity would see a conflict of interest and kindly choose to separate their religious convictions from their civil rights. I image them announcing that all who are currently married are now “unmarried” in the sight of law and instead must file for civil unions if they wish to combine incomes, pay taxes and receive government support. THEN, if they wish to sanctify their marriage --- feel free to exercise their freedom to do so in the church, mosque, temple or open-air hilltop meadow of their choice.
Don’t get me wrong, just as my elder’s piece of art work invokes – I DO see the sanctity in two people choosing to love one another for life; for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to honor and protect – to be the guardians of the children they bring into this world….and to invite and invoke that their commitment be blessed by the Sanctity of a Love that guides. I see no sanctity in deciding who can and cannot participate in the gamut of ways to experience, express, or share this amazing responsibility. If we could and would allow one another this gift --- that would be a true act of Sanctity.
What a loaded question! I witness people twisting and turning on both sides of the aisle, be it a court room aisle, church aisle, or the great divide of opinion isle. For the longest time I proudly and righteously sat on my side of the fence in this debate. Now, I find myself just waiting for all of us to catch up with what I think the ancients might have meant by the sanctity of anything…including marriage and perhaps even the art of dialogue.
In the midst of clearing out my "Not-in-law's" home, (...I’m not allowed to legally marry...)
I came across a beautiful piece of art work. It was the marriage certificate of one of our family elders that seemed to capture the honor in the words “sanctity” and “marriage”. It is a picture of a joining that is guided, that anyone can sense, when invoking the sanctity of Love within, Love together and a Love beyond; something unlimited, unbiased and inarguable:
I keep trying to get down to the basics, the bare bones, the simplicity of anything we can all agree upon – something common like: the respect of differences, the decency of each person or just the act of “allowing” sanctity to happen. Even the word "in-laws" to denote the parents of our partner, seem to organize the concept of marriage by the world of law - not the world of religion. So,today as I find myself wanting to put thoughts to paper, I feel like a student wanting to see what the dictionary might offer. I felt silly doing so, but I'm so glad I checked:
++++
sanctity: holiness, sacred or hallowed character; a sacred thing
marriage: the legal or religious ceremony that formalized the decision
of two people to live as a married couple.
++++
I noticed the word "or" between the words "legal" and "religious". I thought that was good. There were no defining or dividing pronouns used, I thought that was even better! Then, I was blown away by the next two entries:
a. the social institution under which a man and woman establish their decision to live as husband and wife by legal commitments, religious ceremonies, etc. Antonyms: separation.
b. a similar institution involving partners of the same gender: gay marriage. Antonyms: separation.
Granted, this came from dictionary.com -but- what a sign of inclusive,whole-hearted thinking -and- so........un-sanctimonious!
Call me crazy, but when I hear people say the words “sanctity of marriage”, I start to feel that this delegated concept of marriage is actually.....unconstitutional. The First Amendment offers all of us freedom of religion –AND- free from religion. People forget that BOTH these options are a gift to be honored and protected. Our government must not “establish” any form of religion. If it did, then someone in leadership would be able to decide and dictate that we must all practice Islam in America. Not a bad idea in my opinion – but that is just what it is ---an opinion! We should " thank God" for the fact that you or I can have or not have that opinion, or practice whatever belief we want without someone putting any of us in jail or "heaven forbid" consider someone satanic or deviant…or even more horribly: different than us!
I hear people talk about the separation of Church and State. I again recognize the importance this concept allows everyone. No part of government can dictate the terms of religion, the divine, or the sanctity of anything for any citizen or group of citizens. When people try to determine who can and can’t marry (interracial couples, disabled people, immigrants, gays or whomever is on the list)…..and then state we must preserve the sanctity of marriage……I begin to day dream that our common humanity would see a conflict of interest and kindly choose to separate their religious convictions from their civil rights. I image them announcing that all who are currently married are now “unmarried” in the sight of law and instead must file for civil unions if they wish to combine incomes, pay taxes and receive government support. THEN, if they wish to sanctify their marriage --- feel free to exercise their freedom to do so in the church, mosque, temple or open-air hilltop meadow of their choice.
Don’t get me wrong, just as my elder’s piece of art work invokes – I DO see the sanctity in two people choosing to love one another for life; for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to honor and protect – to be the guardians of the children they bring into this world….and to invite and invoke that their commitment be blessed by the Sanctity of a Love that guides. I see no sanctity in deciding who can and cannot participate in the gamut of ways to experience, express, or share this amazing responsibility. If we could and would allow one another this gift --- that would be a true act of Sanctity.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Life & Death: The non-boundried Bardo
I had a chance this week to look death in the face. My cell phone voice mail carried a message from work, saying my in-home client would not live through the night. I turned my car from the direction I was heading, to the direction of her home, to visit one last time. As I knocked on the door, a new team of high level care-giving nurses (strangers to me) answered the familiar door. The nurses were kind and gentle. You could tell they knew how to dance in, around and through the stage play of death and dying.
I identified myself to them as one of the care-givers for the woman inside their current care. They quietly let me in with a knowing and inviting smile. I took off my coat, put it on the same chair I always did and entered the very different atmosphere that filled the living space with a non-familiar vibration of death. I entered the bedroom and gazed upon the body that was now almost empty of persona. There was a softness all around that seemed to balance the heavy grey toned palate of her skin. Ninety seven years of life, was now coming to a quiet end. My greeting to her seemed to float across an invisible wavelength, as if the tones approached her ears, bounced off, and traveled through the air, like water soaking into a sponge.
This was a body cloaked in a veil that was invisibly draped between us. Nothing seemed "real". No borders or edges defining this place, no metronome tick, tick, ticking to define this time and space. I leaned in close and said my hello and goodbye with an assured level of happiness and joy from both sides of the uncommon veil between us.
I whispered her favorite prayer we would say together each night at bedtime. This time the sound and words carried an acknowledged sense of a timelessness I cannot describe.
When I got home, it was all I could do to sit in the experience that none of what we see moment to moment is real. Nothing. Not even the passing of time. Not even the events that seem like beginnings and endings...nothing. Some how, this moment of unreal ending…helped me let go of everything and anything if even for just one moment in the non-time of time.
I sat and looked out my livingroom window – soaking in everything and nothing at the same time. It was still. It was calm. It was life and death holding up what seemed like mirrored hands against one another – creating a still point of existence and nonexistence only a breathe width apart. The Tibetan Book of the Dead talks of the “space in between” life and death as the Bardo. Perhaps for one moment in my life, I caught a sense of that in-between the worlds invisible vibration. Each day living and dying with this client was a gift – even up to the moment we so limitedly call the “last” moment. Today her gift to me was the gift of noticing that which cannot be measured, timed or captured, but only sensed when we each remember to do nothing but “allow”. Just allow.
I identified myself to them as one of the care-givers for the woman inside their current care. They quietly let me in with a knowing and inviting smile. I took off my coat, put it on the same chair I always did and entered the very different atmosphere that filled the living space with a non-familiar vibration of death. I entered the bedroom and gazed upon the body that was now almost empty of persona. There was a softness all around that seemed to balance the heavy grey toned palate of her skin. Ninety seven years of life, was now coming to a quiet end. My greeting to her seemed to float across an invisible wavelength, as if the tones approached her ears, bounced off, and traveled through the air, like water soaking into a sponge.
This was a body cloaked in a veil that was invisibly draped between us. Nothing seemed "real". No borders or edges defining this place, no metronome tick, tick, ticking to define this time and space. I leaned in close and said my hello and goodbye with an assured level of happiness and joy from both sides of the uncommon veil between us.
I whispered her favorite prayer we would say together each night at bedtime. This time the sound and words carried an acknowledged sense of a timelessness I cannot describe.
When I got home, it was all I could do to sit in the experience that none of what we see moment to moment is real. Nothing. Not even the passing of time. Not even the events that seem like beginnings and endings...nothing. Some how, this moment of unreal ending…helped me let go of everything and anything if even for just one moment in the non-time of time.
I sat and looked out my livingroom window – soaking in everything and nothing at the same time. It was still. It was calm. It was life and death holding up what seemed like mirrored hands against one another – creating a still point of existence and nonexistence only a breathe width apart. The Tibetan Book of the Dead talks of the “space in between” life and death as the Bardo. Perhaps for one moment in my life, I caught a sense of that in-between the worlds invisible vibration. Each day living and dying with this client was a gift – even up to the moment we so limitedly call the “last” moment. Today her gift to me was the gift of noticing that which cannot be measured, timed or captured, but only sensed when we each remember to do nothing but “allow”. Just allow.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Totems to Time: .....Christmas trees -and- Jury duty
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!
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!
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.
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