Life is more and more having its way with me.
I’m sitting at the 11:15 Jubilee Sunday service (roughly 300 folks at each of the two services), wondering what I’m going to do when it’s over. Across the big room, I see a couple of guys with whom I sometimes go for coffee. Will I again go out with them? I don’t know – part of me wants to and part not. Why not? I’m not sure, it’s just so.
But more true still is that I really have no idea what I’m going to do next. I can make myself anxious by trying, now, to figure it out. I can make myself tense and tight by, in this moment, deciding a path and determining to make it happen. In this way, I can cut myself off from whatever feelings, impulses and aversions might bubble up in me between now and the end of the service. Making decisions is way over-rated.
It feels soothing, in this moment, to remind myself that I don’t know, in this moment, which path will nurture my spirit more. More even than that, I really, really don’t know what I will do. To tell myself that I do know is just a useless conceit.
How will I know? I will really know only when that after-service moment arrives. I will know only when I see – just see – where, in that moment, my feet take me.
A few weeks ago, a good friend came up to me during the noisy exchange-the-peace part of the service and asked me what I was doing afterwards. It was really kind of thrilling to announce out loud – and to have it witnessed by a close friend – that I just didn’t know. I literally told her that I wouldn’t know until I see where my feet take me. Geez, it was fun to say that!
She seemed a little surprised. I imagine she was in that little bubble of thinking that we choose these things. I was in a different bubble – or maybe out of the bubble – where choice is not as important as consciously surrendering to life, and knowing that it will have its way with me whether I like it or not.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Monday, March 12, 2007
Two hands
Two hands
I’ve been breaking things lately. Breaking and dropping things. Breaking and dropping and spilling things. And, for every actual breakage/droppage/spillage, I have had two or three or four close calls.
How I have been making this mess, more specifically, is that I have been setting cups, glasses and other containers too close to the edge of the surface where I am putting them. Actually too much hanging over the edge. And there have been lots more instances, when I go to retrieve an item, where I discover that it, also, is hanging precariously over the edge.
Now, why/how do I do this? Am I a daredevil who likes to beat the odds or trod just as close to a potential accident as possible? Are these surfaces so crapped out that there is no room for these additional objects? (There actually is some truth in this one, but I don’t think it is the primary factor here.)
No, there is another factor that runs through most of these little mishaps (not all of them little, as when, the other day, I dropped my favorite ceramic coffee mug into the porcelain sink). In each case, I was trying to do two things at once. Or actually I stopped paying attention to the first task (placing the container on a surface) before it was completed, in order to move on to another. Literally, in each of the instances that I have recently tracked, I had shifted my head and body orientation in a different direction before the item had settled onto its new resting place. I had not stuck around to actually see the container get successfully placed where I had aimed it. Rather, some part of me had put that task on automatic pilot, trusting that it could finish getting done without any focused attention on my part. And, clearly, in each of these cases, my unconscious strategy proved wrong.
Some mindfulness teachers (Zen Buddhists, etc.) suggest that you use two hands for tasks like these – even if, literally, only one hand is required. This physically prevents you from beginning another task before this one is done. Or any physical task, at any rate – you could still be, in your mind, writing a letter or planning your day. Using two hands, especially as you grow familiar, could still allow for you to do two things at once. But it’s not as easy.
The mindfulness teachers regard this two-hands exercise as a little meditation – a reminder and practice of being fully present to each moment of our lives.
I haven’t even gotten around to trying this little exercise yet, even though I have given myself that assignment after my last few drops. I am quite the creature of habit, and very inclined to be in my head, regardless of what other tasks I may be doing. So I have both not stopped shifting on to the next task before finishing the first, but I have not yet remembered to try the two-hands practice – even having put a little note on my dresser, reminding me to do so.
I think I’ll go over there and post a bigger note. And I’m hoping that writing this piece here will help get my attention. Or maybe I’ll get up from this computer and right now go practice carrying things with two hands. I like that idea. I’m going to go do it for a couple of minutes now, and maybe give myself a little reminder to try it for a couple of minutes every day, until it becomes a new habit.
I do realize there is a risk of the two hands becoming a new habit – and that I will be writing or planning or whatever as I do it. But I’m already thinking of ways to make that practice even stronger – by paying close attention to the feel and heft of the object I’m carrying, looking at it fully, hearing the sound of it landing on the new surface, feeling all the little physical sensations from lifting, moving, turning, etc.
I’m getting excited – this could all be a lot of fun.
I’ve been breaking things lately. Breaking and dropping things. Breaking and dropping and spilling things. And, for every actual breakage/droppage/spillage, I have had two or three or four close calls.
How I have been making this mess, more specifically, is that I have been setting cups, glasses and other containers too close to the edge of the surface where I am putting them. Actually too much hanging over the edge. And there have been lots more instances, when I go to retrieve an item, where I discover that it, also, is hanging precariously over the edge.
Now, why/how do I do this? Am I a daredevil who likes to beat the odds or trod just as close to a potential accident as possible? Are these surfaces so crapped out that there is no room for these additional objects? (There actually is some truth in this one, but I don’t think it is the primary factor here.)
No, there is another factor that runs through most of these little mishaps (not all of them little, as when, the other day, I dropped my favorite ceramic coffee mug into the porcelain sink). In each case, I was trying to do two things at once. Or actually I stopped paying attention to the first task (placing the container on a surface) before it was completed, in order to move on to another. Literally, in each of the instances that I have recently tracked, I had shifted my head and body orientation in a different direction before the item had settled onto its new resting place. I had not stuck around to actually see the container get successfully placed where I had aimed it. Rather, some part of me had put that task on automatic pilot, trusting that it could finish getting done without any focused attention on my part. And, clearly, in each of these cases, my unconscious strategy proved wrong.
Some mindfulness teachers (Zen Buddhists, etc.) suggest that you use two hands for tasks like these – even if, literally, only one hand is required. This physically prevents you from beginning another task before this one is done. Or any physical task, at any rate – you could still be, in your mind, writing a letter or planning your day. Using two hands, especially as you grow familiar, could still allow for you to do two things at once. But it’s not as easy.
The mindfulness teachers regard this two-hands exercise as a little meditation – a reminder and practice of being fully present to each moment of our lives.
I haven’t even gotten around to trying this little exercise yet, even though I have given myself that assignment after my last few drops. I am quite the creature of habit, and very inclined to be in my head, regardless of what other tasks I may be doing. So I have both not stopped shifting on to the next task before finishing the first, but I have not yet remembered to try the two-hands practice – even having put a little note on my dresser, reminding me to do so.
I think I’ll go over there and post a bigger note. And I’m hoping that writing this piece here will help get my attention. Or maybe I’ll get up from this computer and right now go practice carrying things with two hands. I like that idea. I’m going to go do it for a couple of minutes now, and maybe give myself a little reminder to try it for a couple of minutes every day, until it becomes a new habit.
I do realize there is a risk of the two hands becoming a new habit – and that I will be writing or planning or whatever as I do it. But I’m already thinking of ways to make that practice even stronger – by paying close attention to the feel and heft of the object I’m carrying, looking at it fully, hearing the sound of it landing on the new surface, feeling all the little physical sensations from lifting, moving, turning, etc.
I’m getting excited – this could all be a lot of fun.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
The right place at the right time
A few years ago, I was having one of those days where I just knew that I was running late.
I had no actual appointments that day – nor any pressing deadlines. So, literally, there was no way that I could be late. But I knew, somehow, that I was behind where I should be.
I used to have lots of those days back then – unstructured days with unrealistically long to-do lists. Everything, maybe especially errands but really everything, took longer than I had allotted for it. As I went from one errand to the next, the tension would just ramp up in me as I pushed a little harder, with each failure, to keep up with my internal schedule.
On this particular day, I was especially behind the eight ball – particularly disappointed in my performance with the tasks I did at home, and then even more as I “ran” (now there’s an interesting word) my errands.
I finally kind of gave up. I didn’t “surrender to the flow” of my day. I didn’t forgive myself for being so ineffective. No, I just gave up – and entered a familiar state of feeling inept, scattered, maybe just one step this side of absolute loser.
Then something pretty amazing happened. I was walking down the street in Evanston, a north side suburb all the way across Chicago from Oak Park, the west side suburb where I lived, performing one last errand for the day – maybe number 7 out of 11 on my list. Since I had given up on success and resigned myself that this was the last thing I was going to accomplish this afternoon, I was walking a lot slower. I actually was more present to that particular moment than I had been all day.
As I was walking south down the street, coming up to a corner, I looked across the street and saw a young guy riding his bicycle north through the intersection. And, coming from the east, a car that had just barely slowed at his stop sign as the driver prepared to come through the intersection – directly into the path of the bicycle, which he obviously did not see.
They were about ten feet from each other when I involuntarily screamed – really loud. Each of them looked up from whatever daydream in which they were immersed – and the car slammed to a halt, maybe three feet from the bike. The cyclist continued through the intersection. The driver hesitated until the bike had cleared his path, then also resumed his trip.
I was almost immediately very relieved from the absolute fright I had just felt. As I resumed walking down the street, one thought grabbed totally hold of my mind: I had been in exactly the right place at the right time. Had I not been there to scream, there seemed no question that the car would have hit the bike rider – possibly rode over him.
This realization threw all my certainty of my behindness into a cocked hat. Had I not been walking down this particular street at this particular moment of time, a potentially very bad accident would have occurred – which I was now able to avert. So, what then of running late? Had I been more “efficient” with any of my tasks at home or any of my errands, I would not have been at that particular place at that specific moment.
I suddenly had to let go of my particular frame around this day. My certainty that I was “behind” had been completely wrong. I was very, very grateful that I had been exactly where I was.
I couldn’t help but extrapolate this new perspective. What if, on the other days that I had felt equally impatient with my forward momentum (which was most days back then), I had been equally wrong? What if on at least some of those days – even if I didn’t so obviously prevent an accident – being exactly where I was, when I was, was equally just right? Maybe, had my timing been different, I would have been the one to have the accident, or the car behind me would have been able to go faster and might have had an accident. Or whatever – all the infinite number of whatevers that might have occurred, were I not where I was, when I was.
Maybe, maybe, maybe. There was obviously no way to know any of this, but I couldn’t avoid speculating. While I couldn’t know “what if”, I suddenly trusted all my going-too-slow judgments a lot less. All I really knew was that, on this particular afternoon, I seemed to have been exactly where – and at the exact right moment – that I was meant to be.
This all happened maybe seven years ago, and I still think about it. It has become a kind of symbol for me. These days, when I feel like I am running late (which is actually lots less often now), I am likely to remember that moment – and it upends my certainty. I may not, in every instance, go all the way to trusting that all is well – but I’m a lot humbler about trusting the idea that something is not well.
I had no actual appointments that day – nor any pressing deadlines. So, literally, there was no way that I could be late. But I knew, somehow, that I was behind where I should be.
I used to have lots of those days back then – unstructured days with unrealistically long to-do lists. Everything, maybe especially errands but really everything, took longer than I had allotted for it. As I went from one errand to the next, the tension would just ramp up in me as I pushed a little harder, with each failure, to keep up with my internal schedule.
On this particular day, I was especially behind the eight ball – particularly disappointed in my performance with the tasks I did at home, and then even more as I “ran” (now there’s an interesting word) my errands.
I finally kind of gave up. I didn’t “surrender to the flow” of my day. I didn’t forgive myself for being so ineffective. No, I just gave up – and entered a familiar state of feeling inept, scattered, maybe just one step this side of absolute loser.
Then something pretty amazing happened. I was walking down the street in Evanston, a north side suburb all the way across Chicago from Oak Park, the west side suburb where I lived, performing one last errand for the day – maybe number 7 out of 11 on my list. Since I had given up on success and resigned myself that this was the last thing I was going to accomplish this afternoon, I was walking a lot slower. I actually was more present to that particular moment than I had been all day.
As I was walking south down the street, coming up to a corner, I looked across the street and saw a young guy riding his bicycle north through the intersection. And, coming from the east, a car that had just barely slowed at his stop sign as the driver prepared to come through the intersection – directly into the path of the bicycle, which he obviously did not see.
They were about ten feet from each other when I involuntarily screamed – really loud. Each of them looked up from whatever daydream in which they were immersed – and the car slammed to a halt, maybe three feet from the bike. The cyclist continued through the intersection. The driver hesitated until the bike had cleared his path, then also resumed his trip.
I was almost immediately very relieved from the absolute fright I had just felt. As I resumed walking down the street, one thought grabbed totally hold of my mind: I had been in exactly the right place at the right time. Had I not been there to scream, there seemed no question that the car would have hit the bike rider – possibly rode over him.
This realization threw all my certainty of my behindness into a cocked hat. Had I not been walking down this particular street at this particular moment of time, a potentially very bad accident would have occurred – which I was now able to avert. So, what then of running late? Had I been more “efficient” with any of my tasks at home or any of my errands, I would not have been at that particular place at that specific moment.
I suddenly had to let go of my particular frame around this day. My certainty that I was “behind” had been completely wrong. I was very, very grateful that I had been exactly where I was.
I couldn’t help but extrapolate this new perspective. What if, on the other days that I had felt equally impatient with my forward momentum (which was most days back then), I had been equally wrong? What if on at least some of those days – even if I didn’t so obviously prevent an accident – being exactly where I was, when I was, was equally just right? Maybe, had my timing been different, I would have been the one to have the accident, or the car behind me would have been able to go faster and might have had an accident. Or whatever – all the infinite number of whatevers that might have occurred, were I not where I was, when I was.
Maybe, maybe, maybe. There was obviously no way to know any of this, but I couldn’t avoid speculating. While I couldn’t know “what if”, I suddenly trusted all my going-too-slow judgments a lot less. All I really knew was that, on this particular afternoon, I seemed to have been exactly where – and at the exact right moment – that I was meant to be.
This all happened maybe seven years ago, and I still think about it. It has become a kind of symbol for me. These days, when I feel like I am running late (which is actually lots less often now), I am likely to remember that moment – and it upends my certainty. I may not, in every instance, go all the way to trusting that all is well – but I’m a lot humbler about trusting the idea that something is not well.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
The Case Against “Personal Growth”
Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve really got nothing against people investing time, energy and money on activities (“workshops”, “programs”) that would identify themselves as furthering “personal growth”, “consciousness raising”, etc. God knows there are lots of worse ways to keep busy. (I love the bumper sticker that says, “Jesus is coming – look busy.”)
And I, for sure, have – at other points in my life – also invested time, energy and money in many of the same kinds of activities. So I by no means want to suggest that there is anything wrong with this stuff. To do so would be exactly the kind of dualism that I describe in an earlier post. (One of my friends said to me recently, “I don’t really understand what is this dualism that you talk about, but I get it that it’s a bad thing.” That was pretty funny. Ok, let’s back up here and take another crack at this thing...)
No, rather than suggesting that there is anything less valuable or valid about keeping busy this way, I more want to make a case for why it can also be valid to take a pass – why, for some people at some points in their lives (like me, now) all these activities might actually not be all that valuable.
How can someone who once embraced all manner of personal growth activities now eschew them? Doesn’t that mean that he (me) is rigid, defensive or “stuck”?
I no longer have any desire to “grow”. I also have no interest in trying to shift (“expand”, “raise”, “liberate”) my consciousness. The emphasis there is on the word “try”. I honestly also don’t know exactly what “consciousness” is. I think it actually is a construct created by people who want to help you raise it.
Stephen Covey says to “Begin with the end in mind”. I don’t know that I actually want to make a habit of this, but this seems to be an instance where it actually might be useful. Where is all this going? “Where we are going” is a notion on which I and many of the growth purveyors would agree. If I said that where I am going is to more and more realize/feel/perceive/know that all of life is one and that I am a spiritual being having a human experience, I think that lots of these folks would stand up and salute. The real difference is in our perceptions of how to get there.
The way I see it, life is pretty much always working us over already. It gives us experience after experience offering the possibility of us seeing through the game of separateness (“Illusion”, “Maya”). Sometimes it gives us the lightest of nudges or even just a whisper, inviting us out of the prison of self. Other times it basically beats the crap out of us, all with a loving intent, to help us release our ferocious attachment to attachments – to all those things we think we need, including how we need to think of ourselves.
If life is the great workshop, then we don’t need to go seeking any teacher or facilitator, nor any modality/discipline/teaching/school or even any coach or counselor. What we really need is to slow down, breathe, relax – and begin to smell/taste/glimpse/hear the subtle hints that we are not alone.
Here’s the other kicker, though. I don’t believe there really is anything we can do to speed up the process. All this breathing, relaxing, tasting, etc. is stuff that surfaces in us when the time is right. Life has its own rhythm for waking us up. I won’t even claim to know exactly what “life” is, except that it is everything, including me. So that deeper level of me, underneath all the stuff that I think is me, is unfolding exactly right – and doesn’t need any goosing.
When people are inclined to attend a personal growth workshop, that is exactly right for them, then. But it just doesn’t make any difference. Whatever we are doing now is always perfect. It always is just what we are meant to be doing then - in fact, all that we could possibly be doing. The real sweetness is when we are gifted with moments of “getting” this (“seeing it” or whatever other metaphor). That’s when we are able to more let down into life.
Whether that moment surfaces when we are on a Vision Quest or walking down the street or enjoying a margarita with a friend – none of that makes any difference.
So, to my friends who are going off to a workshop, you have all my blessings. I think it’s perfect for you to be doing that. Just don’t try to recruit me.
And I, for sure, have – at other points in my life – also invested time, energy and money in many of the same kinds of activities. So I by no means want to suggest that there is anything wrong with this stuff. To do so would be exactly the kind of dualism that I describe in an earlier post. (One of my friends said to me recently, “I don’t really understand what is this dualism that you talk about, but I get it that it’s a bad thing.” That was pretty funny. Ok, let’s back up here and take another crack at this thing...)
No, rather than suggesting that there is anything less valuable or valid about keeping busy this way, I more want to make a case for why it can also be valid to take a pass – why, for some people at some points in their lives (like me, now) all these activities might actually not be all that valuable.
How can someone who once embraced all manner of personal growth activities now eschew them? Doesn’t that mean that he (me) is rigid, defensive or “stuck”?
I no longer have any desire to “grow”. I also have no interest in trying to shift (“expand”, “raise”, “liberate”) my consciousness. The emphasis there is on the word “try”. I honestly also don’t know exactly what “consciousness” is. I think it actually is a construct created by people who want to help you raise it.
Stephen Covey says to “Begin with the end in mind”. I don’t know that I actually want to make a habit of this, but this seems to be an instance where it actually might be useful. Where is all this going? “Where we are going” is a notion on which I and many of the growth purveyors would agree. If I said that where I am going is to more and more realize/feel/perceive/know that all of life is one and that I am a spiritual being having a human experience, I think that lots of these folks would stand up and salute. The real difference is in our perceptions of how to get there.
The way I see it, life is pretty much always working us over already. It gives us experience after experience offering the possibility of us seeing through the game of separateness (“Illusion”, “Maya”). Sometimes it gives us the lightest of nudges or even just a whisper, inviting us out of the prison of self. Other times it basically beats the crap out of us, all with a loving intent, to help us release our ferocious attachment to attachments – to all those things we think we need, including how we need to think of ourselves.
If life is the great workshop, then we don’t need to go seeking any teacher or facilitator, nor any modality/discipline/teaching/school or even any coach or counselor. What we really need is to slow down, breathe, relax – and begin to smell/taste/glimpse/hear the subtle hints that we are not alone.
Here’s the other kicker, though. I don’t believe there really is anything we can do to speed up the process. All this breathing, relaxing, tasting, etc. is stuff that surfaces in us when the time is right. Life has its own rhythm for waking us up. I won’t even claim to know exactly what “life” is, except that it is everything, including me. So that deeper level of me, underneath all the stuff that I think is me, is unfolding exactly right – and doesn’t need any goosing.
When people are inclined to attend a personal growth workshop, that is exactly right for them, then. But it just doesn’t make any difference. Whatever we are doing now is always perfect. It always is just what we are meant to be doing then - in fact, all that we could possibly be doing. The real sweetness is when we are gifted with moments of “getting” this (“seeing it” or whatever other metaphor). That’s when we are able to more let down into life.
Whether that moment surfaces when we are on a Vision Quest or walking down the street or enjoying a margarita with a friend – none of that makes any difference.
So, to my friends who are going off to a workshop, you have all my blessings. I think it’s perfect for you to be doing that. Just don’t try to recruit me.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Shy and Awkward
Yesterday I was in some kind of zone, where everything seemed to come easy. On my job at a hotel gift shop, I had wonderful little (and some not so little) interactions with lots of guests. I was fully available – and they seemed to sense this.
Two 12ish girls, bopping around the hotel, told me I was “cool” – pretty much the best affirmation one can get. And this cool-salute was based on nothing special – just, apparently, the tone in my voice and the fullness with which I greeted them. Maybe they like the way I welcomed them – like they were not just “kids”.
Today, on the contrary, I am shy and awkward. After church just now, I found myself awkwardly and abruptly breaking off conversations with people whom I really like – with whom I actually crave more connection. I even thought I recognized disappointment in some of them – or confusion, or I really don’t know what response – as I suddenly said, “Hey, have a great day” and pulled away.
I now am sitting here in the sun, having a smoke (I’ve relapsed again), just outside the coffee shop where I promised to meet a friend. I got my coffee to go, so I could come outside and smoke - and just can’t find it in myself to go back in. There are several of our mutual friends in there – Kent will have plenty of people with whom to visit.
A few minutes ago, I was kind of roughly critiquing myself. “What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong, period? If you were really getting this Life Lived More Deeply stuff, about which you have been writing so much, you wouldn’t be so unable to hunker down and be with people – so not, today, available for connection.”
Then I got it – at least a glimpse of it. “Living Life More Deeply” means embracing this moment, whatever the content of this moment. Today’s shyness is no better or worse than yesterday’s gregarious fun. Be with this.
Then I realized that I wanted to write about this. (I’m really glad I had a good little notebook with me – though I most always do.) On this raw, windy early March day, I’ve found this delightful spot – in the sun and out of the wind – and I’m writing. This is my gift to others and my gift from life. I am doing exactly that which I am meant to be doing. And if I had not found this window into this particular form of flow - if I was still wandering around kind of lost – that also would be perfect.
Pema Chodron, the wonderful, so-compassionate American teacher of Tibetan Buddhism, would ask, “Can I soften my heart into this moment?” I have the opportunity to embrace this particular pain, knowing that it truly leaves me not alone, as I was just feeling, but intimately connected with all the thousands (millions?) of my brothers and sisters around the world who are right now experiencing this kind of pain, or something like it. I can breathe in this pain we are all feeling, open my heart to it – then breathe out compassion, not just for me, but for all of us.
I don’t have to be some kind of expert at Living Life More Deeply, some kind of oneness hotshot (there’s a wonderful oxymoron). We are always teaching that which we are trying to learn. The Course In Miracles says that if I’m not getting as much from this moment of teaching/ counseling/coaching as the person to whom I am “giving” this attention, then something is out of kilter.
So, I’ll breathe and write, knowing that none of this has taken away my shy awkwardness, that – if I do now buck up my courage and go into this coffee shop, I am likely not going to feel much more comfortable than I did a few minutes ago. But, with a little luck, some part of me will wink a little wink at this shy, awkward soul, knowing that I am, in this moment, walking my walk just as much as I did yesterday. In fact, this awkward moment is the only experience I could be having right now – is absolutely, utterly perfect.
Two 12ish girls, bopping around the hotel, told me I was “cool” – pretty much the best affirmation one can get. And this cool-salute was based on nothing special – just, apparently, the tone in my voice and the fullness with which I greeted them. Maybe they like the way I welcomed them – like they were not just “kids”.
Today, on the contrary, I am shy and awkward. After church just now, I found myself awkwardly and abruptly breaking off conversations with people whom I really like – with whom I actually crave more connection. I even thought I recognized disappointment in some of them – or confusion, or I really don’t know what response – as I suddenly said, “Hey, have a great day” and pulled away.
I now am sitting here in the sun, having a smoke (I’ve relapsed again), just outside the coffee shop where I promised to meet a friend. I got my coffee to go, so I could come outside and smoke - and just can’t find it in myself to go back in. There are several of our mutual friends in there – Kent will have plenty of people with whom to visit.
A few minutes ago, I was kind of roughly critiquing myself. “What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong, period? If you were really getting this Life Lived More Deeply stuff, about which you have been writing so much, you wouldn’t be so unable to hunker down and be with people – so not, today, available for connection.”
Then I got it – at least a glimpse of it. “Living Life More Deeply” means embracing this moment, whatever the content of this moment. Today’s shyness is no better or worse than yesterday’s gregarious fun. Be with this.
Then I realized that I wanted to write about this. (I’m really glad I had a good little notebook with me – though I most always do.) On this raw, windy early March day, I’ve found this delightful spot – in the sun and out of the wind – and I’m writing. This is my gift to others and my gift from life. I am doing exactly that which I am meant to be doing. And if I had not found this window into this particular form of flow - if I was still wandering around kind of lost – that also would be perfect.
Pema Chodron, the wonderful, so-compassionate American teacher of Tibetan Buddhism, would ask, “Can I soften my heart into this moment?” I have the opportunity to embrace this particular pain, knowing that it truly leaves me not alone, as I was just feeling, but intimately connected with all the thousands (millions?) of my brothers and sisters around the world who are right now experiencing this kind of pain, or something like it. I can breathe in this pain we are all feeling, open my heart to it – then breathe out compassion, not just for me, but for all of us.
I don’t have to be some kind of expert at Living Life More Deeply, some kind of oneness hotshot (there’s a wonderful oxymoron). We are always teaching that which we are trying to learn. The Course In Miracles says that if I’m not getting as much from this moment of teaching/ counseling/coaching as the person to whom I am “giving” this attention, then something is out of kilter.
So, I’ll breathe and write, knowing that none of this has taken away my shy awkwardness, that – if I do now buck up my courage and go into this coffee shop, I am likely not going to feel much more comfortable than I did a few minutes ago. But, with a little luck, some part of me will wink a little wink at this shy, awkward soul, knowing that I am, in this moment, walking my walk just as much as I did yesterday. In fact, this awkward moment is the only experience I could be having right now – is absolutely, utterly perfect.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Our Desires
I recently got one of those forwarded emails with warm fuzzy messages, called “Being Thankful”. The first item was:
“Be thankful that you don't already have everything you desire. If you did, what would there be to look forward to?”
I’m also thankful that life doesn’t give me everything I desire. What a mess that would be.
“Be thankful that you don't already have everything you desire. If you did, what would there be to look forward to?”
I’m also thankful that life doesn’t give me everything I desire. What a mess that would be.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Winking
Asheville is a very friendly town. People tend to greet each other, walking down the street. If you make eye contact, it is a little abnormal (out of the norm) to not somehow acknowledge the other person. I still get a kick out of how prevalent is the southern “Hey”, instead of my Midwest “Hi”.
But I’ve been having a lot of fun lately just winking at people.
Actually it’s a whole range of facial cues, not just winking. I wish I could see them all – I might be better equipped to describe them. I know that a lot of it has to do with things I do with my mouth. Also raising my eyebrows – sometimes maybe paired with opening my eyes wide, the opposite of a wink.
I know that my spate of these little eruptive expressions has something to do with my current impulse to greet even more folks, without going through the whole drill of forming words, or even making sounds – especially when our eye contact is so minimal that words might feel forced, like too much. My face has always tended to be fairly expressive, and my penchant for physical comedy has involved things I do with my face as well as the rest of my body. Many of these little acknowledging expressions – as best as I know, never having seen them – carry a very light quality, cute and fun if not actually comic. I think the people I am greeting enjoy these little acknowledgements and that these come across as less odd than they would in a less greety town.
I wrote the title for this piece sitting out in the sun just now, then walked into the coffee shop where several of my friends had pulled up too many chairs around a teensy little table. It really was kind of a little gaggle of us.
Robin and I like each other, although our relationship is based more on greeting and sometimes hugging each other than on a whole lot of conversation. She was sitting across from me – way too far to even touch fingers. There, just maybe two minutes after writing this title, she gave me the most absolutely comic series of winks, eyebrow raisings, twitches and nervous tics that I have maybe ever seen. It was not only delightful in and of itself, but so synchronistic, on the heels of having just set myself the agenda to write about winks. I just had to go around the table, pull up a chair behind her (no room by the table) and tell her of this cute little cosmic joke. She got a kick out of it, but – in this town, where synchronicity happens more and faster – neither of us was especially surprised.
And that’s maybe the point. We are all connected – in ways large and small, obvious and subtle, visible and invisible, serious and silly. And that’s what I’m wanting to acknowledge, without going through all the rigmarole of words.
But I’ve been having a lot of fun lately just winking at people.
Actually it’s a whole range of facial cues, not just winking. I wish I could see them all – I might be better equipped to describe them. I know that a lot of it has to do with things I do with my mouth. Also raising my eyebrows – sometimes maybe paired with opening my eyes wide, the opposite of a wink.
I know that my spate of these little eruptive expressions has something to do with my current impulse to greet even more folks, without going through the whole drill of forming words, or even making sounds – especially when our eye contact is so minimal that words might feel forced, like too much. My face has always tended to be fairly expressive, and my penchant for physical comedy has involved things I do with my face as well as the rest of my body. Many of these little acknowledging expressions – as best as I know, never having seen them – carry a very light quality, cute and fun if not actually comic. I think the people I am greeting enjoy these little acknowledgements and that these come across as less odd than they would in a less greety town.
I wrote the title for this piece sitting out in the sun just now, then walked into the coffee shop where several of my friends had pulled up too many chairs around a teensy little table. It really was kind of a little gaggle of us.
Robin and I like each other, although our relationship is based more on greeting and sometimes hugging each other than on a whole lot of conversation. She was sitting across from me – way too far to even touch fingers. There, just maybe two minutes after writing this title, she gave me the most absolutely comic series of winks, eyebrow raisings, twitches and nervous tics that I have maybe ever seen. It was not only delightful in and of itself, but so synchronistic, on the heels of having just set myself the agenda to write about winks. I just had to go around the table, pull up a chair behind her (no room by the table) and tell her of this cute little cosmic joke. She got a kick out of it, but – in this town, where synchronicity happens more and faster – neither of us was especially surprised.
And that’s maybe the point. We are all connected – in ways large and small, obvious and subtle, visible and invisible, serious and silly. And that’s what I’m wanting to acknowledge, without going through all the rigmarole of words.
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