I often prepare for my semi-annual meditation retreats by choosing a book to read in the days before that will focus my intentions for the days of reflection. Almost 15 years ago, I picked a book in which the author talked at length about intimacy. (Sorry, I looked for the reference, and I can't find it.) What really stood out in my mind was how intimacy was described as "into me see." I recall the description of creating intimacy as allowing oneself to be seen, unvarnished, by others.
As my meditation began, everything that I'd ever done in my life that I wasn't particularly proud, even going back into childhood, drifted into my meditation, forcing me to make peace with it, and then letting it drift away. After about 18 hours, I felt clean and clear. The remaining days of my retreat were remarkable--truly an otherworldly experience.
After that, I began sharing some of the less pretty parts of my history--things that I would have been concerned that others would learn--in speeches and in writing. My life literally became an open book. An interesting thing began to happen. Every time I shared a story, it got smaller and smaller, until it just disappeared.
The things that we harbor as guilt, blame, shame, or embarrassment become a increasingly heavy burden that we drag through life. The spiritual journey is challenging enough without doing it with the burden of the past, holding us back. I wrote about perfectionism in Leading from the Heart. It is a damaging tendency and one with which I have struggled.
Since first writing about how to do the journey, I felt like I had to do it perfectly to be authentic. How silly! No one is perfect, least of all me. In face of a lifelong struggle with perfectionism, the inevitability and purposefulness of imperfection on our journeys had been a challenge for me. I now understand that what is important isn't doing it perfectly, but having the intention to keep moving forward in spite of setbacks...even when that may feel like two steps forward and one back many days.
In the early days of this blog, one reader remarked that it was intensely personal. That was my intention--no varnish. Sharing my challenges and imperfection in this blog has felt to me a bit like the early days of that retreat years ago. Although I don't even know who you are, the intimacy and trust I feel with my readers have lightened my burdens and have drawn me ever closer to who I want to be.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Friday, November 29, 2013
Being the Change We Want to See
The Pope has set off quite a stir this week. His comments were a major subject on three different weekly news analysis programs this evening and generated two emails to me from non-believers not accustomed to pay the Pope much attention. What he said shouldn't have been that earth-shattering. He said that trickle-down economics doesn't work, and that the rich are getting richer and the poor getting poorer. Income inequality has been a major concern of economists for some time, and that it is happening, and has been for some time, is supported by solid data.
So, then why are his remarks creating such a stir? One commentator spoke to the fact that we are each human beings with a right to dignity and basics of food, clothing, shelter, and health care. Another conversation spoke of his authenticity in spurning the trappings of his position, living simply, and helping the poor. These are not the normal grist for news analysis. I say, "Hurrah!" that he has started a conversation.
Earlier this evening another story brought a topic to the news that we don't usually hear. A Mormon bishop in Utah dressed as a homeless person and had a professional make-up artist create a realistic disguise. He stood outside the church, greeting parishioners as they arrived for church last Sunday. A few were nice to him, but most ignored him. Some disparaged him. One even asked him to leave the church property.
When he came in front of the congregation and removed his disguise, the bishop said the gasps were audible. Some even cried. I got a lump in my throat, listening and thinking about a couple of homeless men that I walk by most every day, without even making eye contact with them. Like many in the bishop's congregation probably did, I think of myself as a good person. Me the person who wants us all to connect, heart to heart, and I don't even look at the homeless people.
So, I circle back to the pope's authenticity. People listen because he walks his talk. He is able to start a dialogue about human dignity because he lives that which he speaks. Thank you, Pope Francis, for showing us how to walk our talk. This evening I will pray for authenticity, that, as Gandhi said, I may be the change I want to see in the world.
So, then why are his remarks creating such a stir? One commentator spoke to the fact that we are each human beings with a right to dignity and basics of food, clothing, shelter, and health care. Another conversation spoke of his authenticity in spurning the trappings of his position, living simply, and helping the poor. These are not the normal grist for news analysis. I say, "Hurrah!" that he has started a conversation.
Earlier this evening another story brought a topic to the news that we don't usually hear. A Mormon bishop in Utah dressed as a homeless person and had a professional make-up artist create a realistic disguise. He stood outside the church, greeting parishioners as they arrived for church last Sunday. A few were nice to him, but most ignored him. Some disparaged him. One even asked him to leave the church property.
When he came in front of the congregation and removed his disguise, the bishop said the gasps were audible. Some even cried. I got a lump in my throat, listening and thinking about a couple of homeless men that I walk by most every day, without even making eye contact with them. Like many in the bishop's congregation probably did, I think of myself as a good person. Me the person who wants us all to connect, heart to heart, and I don't even look at the homeless people.
So, I circle back to the pope's authenticity. People listen because he walks his talk. He is able to start a dialogue about human dignity because he lives that which he speaks. Thank you, Pope Francis, for showing us how to walk our talk. This evening I will pray for authenticity, that, as Gandhi said, I may be the change I want to see in the world.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Living Each Day As If It Were My Last
How do we arrive at the end of our lives with a sense of having missed nothing? I have barely scratched the surface of my "bucket list"--the list of things I want to do before I "kick the bucket" at the end of life. But I think that it is possible to have a sense of not having missed anything without having done everything we had hoped to do. I know that may sound contradictory, but I believe it is so.
About a week ago I saw a time travel movie. At the end the protagonist said that better than being able to go to other times that he had loved when he was there was living each day as if it were his last. Of course, there were then pictures of him being really present with his wife, children, work, and just walking down the street. That thought has spun me around several times over in the last week.
Last night a man who had read The Alchemy of Fear and contacted me shared some of his photographs.* They are extraordinary, and I shared them with some friends of mine who enjoy photography. We agree that he has a great eye and an amazing ability to capture light. But, as I have pondered his pictures over the last day, I am guessing what makes them so wonderful is his presence. As I looked at some of the scenes he captured, I wondered, might I have just walked by and not even noticed the pictures of life that he caught?
In preparation for the great Thanksgiving feed today, I walked. It was a beautiful day, and I tried to really live it, capturing sights, smells, and even the cold wind on my face...as if this day were my last. Living with the intention to be really present to what I do and where I am. I believe that is how we reach the end of life without missing anything.
*If you would like to look at his pictures, you may do so by selecting this link: http://www.flickr.com/photos/26762898@N08/
About a week ago I saw a time travel movie. At the end the protagonist said that better than being able to go to other times that he had loved when he was there was living each day as if it were his last. Of course, there were then pictures of him being really present with his wife, children, work, and just walking down the street. That thought has spun me around several times over in the last week.
Last night a man who had read The Alchemy of Fear and contacted me shared some of his photographs.* They are extraordinary, and I shared them with some friends of mine who enjoy photography. We agree that he has a great eye and an amazing ability to capture light. But, as I have pondered his pictures over the last day, I am guessing what makes them so wonderful is his presence. As I looked at some of the scenes he captured, I wondered, might I have just walked by and not even noticed the pictures of life that he caught?
In preparation for the great Thanksgiving feed today, I walked. It was a beautiful day, and I tried to really live it, capturing sights, smells, and even the cold wind on my face...as if this day were my last. Living with the intention to be really present to what I do and where I am. I believe that is how we reach the end of life without missing anything.
*If you would like to look at his pictures, you may do so by selecting this link: http://www.flickr.com/photos/26762898@N08/
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Celebrating miracles
This evening at sunset began the eight-day celebration of Hanukkah, the Jewish Festival of Lights and the Feast of Dedication. The 2013 celebration marks the unusual coincidence of the first day of Hanukkah and the American Thanksgiving holiday. Very unusual. If the rather complicated calculations are accurate, it will be 75,000 years before this coincidence occurs again. Some say it will never occur again. It will surely never happen in our lifetimes.
Hanukkah commemorates a time after war when a small amount of oil--enough for one day--burned for eight. A real miracle. I've written about everyday miracles that we often miss. (Little Miracles, 11/4/2013.) But this is a "big deal" miracle. Every tradition has its stories of miracles. Most of us grew up hearing both secular and religious stories of miracles or almost-unbelievable happenings. They become just that--stories. Often they are discounted or dismissed instead of being treated as lessons in how the world can work.
In The Game Called Life Lizzie keeps saying things are "incredible", a word that means not believable. Her invisible guide Helen says that in the spiritual world they are believable; Lizzie, however, is just learning to understand how the spiritual world works. In that realm all things are possible, and really the spiritual realm is all there is.
In each and everyone of our lives we can think of people who were miraculously healed. Back in the 1950s when cancer treatments were very primitive, my father's cousin was sent to cancer surgery. As they often said in those days, "They opened her up, and when they saw how advanced it was, they just sewed her right up again. They sent her home to die, something that they predicted would happen in 4-6 weeks." She live another 30 years without further treatment.
I met a woman who had gone into the hospital for surgery for the removal of a tumor. She'd been to have an MRI two or three days earlier, which the surgeon would use to make sure he removed all of it during the operation. When he opened her up, the tumor was gone. Not a sign of it. In just a day or two the significant mass had totally disappeared. The surgeon was totally perplexed.
There are other kinds of miracles too. The rains that come in time to save the parched crops of a drought. The woman who musters strength to lift a car from her child. The man who missed the plane that crashed believes that the cop that stopped him, causing him to miss the plane, was a miracle.
On this day on which some people will celebrate Hanukkah, others will mark Thanksgiving, and some will commemorate both, perhaps we should take a moment to really celebrate miracles--and treat them as such. Remembrances of miracles bolster our faith and give us strength and determination when we are tested. And, they leave us keenly aware of the possibility that exists around us in every moment.
Hanukkah commemorates a time after war when a small amount of oil--enough for one day--burned for eight. A real miracle. I've written about everyday miracles that we often miss. (Little Miracles, 11/4/2013.) But this is a "big deal" miracle. Every tradition has its stories of miracles. Most of us grew up hearing both secular and religious stories of miracles or almost-unbelievable happenings. They become just that--stories. Often they are discounted or dismissed instead of being treated as lessons in how the world can work.
In The Game Called Life Lizzie keeps saying things are "incredible", a word that means not believable. Her invisible guide Helen says that in the spiritual world they are believable; Lizzie, however, is just learning to understand how the spiritual world works. In that realm all things are possible, and really the spiritual realm is all there is.
In each and everyone of our lives we can think of people who were miraculously healed. Back in the 1950s when cancer treatments were very primitive, my father's cousin was sent to cancer surgery. As they often said in those days, "They opened her up, and when they saw how advanced it was, they just sewed her right up again. They sent her home to die, something that they predicted would happen in 4-6 weeks." She live another 30 years without further treatment.
I met a woman who had gone into the hospital for surgery for the removal of a tumor. She'd been to have an MRI two or three days earlier, which the surgeon would use to make sure he removed all of it during the operation. When he opened her up, the tumor was gone. Not a sign of it. In just a day or two the significant mass had totally disappeared. The surgeon was totally perplexed.
There are other kinds of miracles too. The rains that come in time to save the parched crops of a drought. The woman who musters strength to lift a car from her child. The man who missed the plane that crashed believes that the cop that stopped him, causing him to miss the plane, was a miracle.
On this day on which some people will celebrate Hanukkah, others will mark Thanksgiving, and some will commemorate both, perhaps we should take a moment to really celebrate miracles--and treat them as such. Remembrances of miracles bolster our faith and give us strength and determination when we are tested. And, they leave us keenly aware of the possibility that exists around us in every moment.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Giving Thanks
In the United States tomorrow afternoon or evening begins what for many is a four-day Thanksgiving holiday. The roots of this holiday, one of the biggest of the year in the States, go back to the earliest days of the settling of North America. Marked by family traditions of food, the two things that are common to most menus are roast turkey and dressing. Almost as much a part of standard Thanksgiving fare in recent years has been football on television and the onset of holiday shopping season on "Black Friday," the day when most merchants move into the "black"-- profit column -- for the year.
Other countries have holidays of gratitude, such as a similar one in October in Canada. In some countries, such as Germany's Erntedankfest, the holiday is more driven by local and regional custom. But for most, the holiday comes at the end of the harvest season, when the larders are full, and the bounty of the year is most apparent.
For at least a dozen years, maybe longer, amidst the food, football, and shopping, I have turned to a practice that reminds me of the reason for this holiday. My custom of Thanksgiving (or the day or two before) has been to have a gratitude meditation. In that meditation, I go through every single day of the year in my mind's eye and feel gratitude. A stroll through my calendar beforehand is helpful, but it is amazing how much comes to memory as I mentally stroll, day by day, through the whole year.
My gratitude meditation is something of a condensed version of the gratitude practice I wrote about earlier. (Gratitude, 9/24/13) Complaints don't exist: everything is a gift. As I go through my days one by one, I feel gratitude. A new client, an interesting piece of work, or perhaps a new friend...I feel in my body and my soul those experiences. I literally let my heart run over with joy and gratitude.
Now for most people there are three kinds of days: really good or pretty good ones, ones that we would prefer not to live through again, and nondescript days, which kind of blend together. In the 365 days that make the year, most of us have a fair distribution of all three types. The intention of the gratitude meditation is to find something to be truly grateful for each and every day.
Those days that I would prefer to not think about force me to remember that everything is a gift and to find the gift. The first cold that I'd had in over 20 years knocked me flat for almost three weeks: my over-tired body got rested, and I read a book that had been on my nightstand for weeks. The eye surgery that didn't go so well: I am so grateful that the other eye works and has learned to compensate. You get the idea.
Now, what about those unremarkable days? I think they are the very best. When I meditate on those days, they make me realize how truly blessed I am. A rainy day? I am so grateful I have an umbrella. The garbage truck that awakened me early on my day off? The sun coming up over the trees in the woods behind my apartment was spectacular.
On one of those ordinary days I received a LinkedIn message from a man in Pakistan. He'd bought a used copy of The Alchemy of Fear a decade ago from a street vendor for a penny: he said it changed his life. I was so delighted that I had tears in my eyes walking down the street, reading the message on my iPhone.
Maybe I just remember that I have a roof over my head, and I've had food in my belly every day for the year. This year, I will definitely remember how grateful I am to be writing this blog, to have had time to work on the electronic version of The Game Called Life, and for the government shutdown that made those things possible.
The gratitude meditation has never failed to transform me. One holiday when I was traveling, I did the gratitude meditation on an airplane, and I was certain I would levitate right out into the clouds. This discipline puts everything in order, and I know what is really important. As I write about it, I am so looking forward to this year's reflections. I have something else to be grateful for: I get off early tomorrow, which means I have a perfect hole in my holiday calendar to do my gratitude mediation.
For those in the United States: Happy Thanksgiving!
For others: Happy Giving Thanks!
Other countries have holidays of gratitude, such as a similar one in October in Canada. In some countries, such as Germany's Erntedankfest, the holiday is more driven by local and regional custom. But for most, the holiday comes at the end of the harvest season, when the larders are full, and the bounty of the year is most apparent.
For at least a dozen years, maybe longer, amidst the food, football, and shopping, I have turned to a practice that reminds me of the reason for this holiday. My custom of Thanksgiving (or the day or two before) has been to have a gratitude meditation. In that meditation, I go through every single day of the year in my mind's eye and feel gratitude. A stroll through my calendar beforehand is helpful, but it is amazing how much comes to memory as I mentally stroll, day by day, through the whole year.
My gratitude meditation is something of a condensed version of the gratitude practice I wrote about earlier. (Gratitude, 9/24/13) Complaints don't exist: everything is a gift. As I go through my days one by one, I feel gratitude. A new client, an interesting piece of work, or perhaps a new friend...I feel in my body and my soul those experiences. I literally let my heart run over with joy and gratitude.
Now for most people there are three kinds of days: really good or pretty good ones, ones that we would prefer not to live through again, and nondescript days, which kind of blend together. In the 365 days that make the year, most of us have a fair distribution of all three types. The intention of the gratitude meditation is to find something to be truly grateful for each and every day.
Those days that I would prefer to not think about force me to remember that everything is a gift and to find the gift. The first cold that I'd had in over 20 years knocked me flat for almost three weeks: my over-tired body got rested, and I read a book that had been on my nightstand for weeks. The eye surgery that didn't go so well: I am so grateful that the other eye works and has learned to compensate. You get the idea.
Now, what about those unremarkable days? I think they are the very best. When I meditate on those days, they make me realize how truly blessed I am. A rainy day? I am so grateful I have an umbrella. The garbage truck that awakened me early on my day off? The sun coming up over the trees in the woods behind my apartment was spectacular.
On one of those ordinary days I received a LinkedIn message from a man in Pakistan. He'd bought a used copy of The Alchemy of Fear a decade ago from a street vendor for a penny: he said it changed his life. I was so delighted that I had tears in my eyes walking down the street, reading the message on my iPhone.
Maybe I just remember that I have a roof over my head, and I've had food in my belly every day for the year. This year, I will definitely remember how grateful I am to be writing this blog, to have had time to work on the electronic version of The Game Called Life, and for the government shutdown that made those things possible.
The gratitude meditation has never failed to transform me. One holiday when I was traveling, I did the gratitude meditation on an airplane, and I was certain I would levitate right out into the clouds. This discipline puts everything in order, and I know what is really important. As I write about it, I am so looking forward to this year's reflections. I have something else to be grateful for: I get off early tomorrow, which means I have a perfect hole in my holiday calendar to do my gratitude mediation.
For those in the United States: Happy Thanksgiving!
For others: Happy Giving Thanks!
Monday, November 25, 2013
Day-to-Day Courage
Spiritual teacher Carolyn Myss has said the most important lesson we have to learn is to be present. If being present seems like a theme in this blog, that is only because so many spiritual paths lead to the same place: the need to be present.
Yesterday I wrote about the pity party I'd had when attempting to "be still!" What a waste of energy! It is probably early in the second half of my life, and anyone who watches any kind of game or match knows that the only thing that counts is the score at the end. My pity party was looking backward and what hadn't gone the way I thought it should have or fretting about the future. In the present all is well.
"March to the beat of a different drummer" is how Thoreau put it. Scott Peck and Robert Frost described it as "The Road Less Traveled." The customized recipe for a life well lived is written on the back of each heart. (See "Partnering With Our Hearts, 10/5/2013) The recipe is revealed to me, one step at a time, after the stillness as I ask for guidance in the moment. My recipe would not be the same as those of others. I need to do what I need to do right now without having a clue what the outcome will be or how it connects with anything else. Success can only be judged at the end of the game.
The word courage derives from the word for "heart." It takes a lot of courage to listen to the heart and follow it, without regard to the past or the future...just being in the here and now. That is why it is so important for us to be present in the present, acting with the day-to-day courage to live the life our souls came to live.
At the end of my life--not at half-time or three-quarter time or even two minutes from the end of my game, I want to judge my success by what I gave and how I evolved my soul, not by anything else...no matter how much courage it takes. So far, there have been times when this journey has taken more courage than I could imagine ever having. But being present in each moment, I took leaps of faith that I would never have taken if I'd thought about it. It will continue to take courage. How can I not have the courage to live my well-lived life?
Yesterday I wrote about the pity party I'd had when attempting to "be still!" What a waste of energy! It is probably early in the second half of my life, and anyone who watches any kind of game or match knows that the only thing that counts is the score at the end. My pity party was looking backward and what hadn't gone the way I thought it should have or fretting about the future. In the present all is well.
"March to the beat of a different drummer" is how Thoreau put it. Scott Peck and Robert Frost described it as "The Road Less Traveled." The customized recipe for a life well lived is written on the back of each heart. (See "Partnering With Our Hearts, 10/5/2013) The recipe is revealed to me, one step at a time, after the stillness as I ask for guidance in the moment. My recipe would not be the same as those of others. I need to do what I need to do right now without having a clue what the outcome will be or how it connects with anything else. Success can only be judged at the end of the game.
The word courage derives from the word for "heart." It takes a lot of courage to listen to the heart and follow it, without regard to the past or the future...just being in the here and now. That is why it is so important for us to be present in the present, acting with the day-to-day courage to live the life our souls came to live.
At the end of my life--not at half-time or three-quarter time or even two minutes from the end of my game, I want to judge my success by what I gave and how I evolved my soul, not by anything else...no matter how much courage it takes. So far, there have been times when this journey has taken more courage than I could imagine ever having. But being present in each moment, I took leaps of faith that I would never have taken if I'd thought about it. It will continue to take courage. How can I not have the courage to live my well-lived life?
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Actually Being Still and Knowing
This morning I did what I said yesterday I was going to do: "be still!" and "know!" Well, actually, I spent a good bit of time attempting to "be still!" but actually very little time doing so. I've often quoted Yoda, "There is no try. There is do or no do." I guess the truth is that "being still!" was a "no do" for much of the two hours during which I dedicated myself to that activity.
As a bit of background, I went with a friend to the movies last night. The movie my friend picked was "About Time," a time travel film, which ended with the message to fully live each day as if it were your very last. As often as I've written variations on "being present," you might imagine that the movie's message resonated with me, and it did. Except...
For whatever reason, instead of following the film's message, I spun off into a totally different place. Instead of using the precious moments I had with my friend in the present, I went into quite a pity party about how I'd squandered my life (the past.) It's not as if I took my inheritance and went off in prodigal fashion for a life of partying and waste. Most of the time, the decisions I've made have been the best in the moment. I probably haven't been as prayerful about all decisions as I might have, but I am still "in lesson" on that.
As I bounced like a Ping-Pong ball from the past to the future and back, I painfully looked at my life from judgment of where I thought I should be. Everything that most of us have been told about life planning is that I should be at the pinnacle of my career with assets and relationships accumulated to carry me through the rest of my life. I really don't have much to show for what our society would describe as a life well lived.
I tell that story because history drove my "be still!" time this morning. As I struggled to be still, my pity party continued. I replayed decision points in my life which had led to this point in time. Then, I beat myself up about it. This wasn't "be still! and know! that I am God." And that is what I heard when I was finally still.
"Be love! Experience joy! If God accepts my life with love, why can I not find that a place in my heart for me to love my life?" Almost as an after-thought came a parting message: to remember what I've written about "forgiveness."
I booted up my computer and looked at what I'd written about forgiveness (10/3/13.) The gist of it was that how I "be Love" is through forgiveness, including forgiving myself. My job isn't judgment of my life: it is loving kindness and compassion. That is what I know when I "be still! and know! that I am God."
As a bit of background, I went with a friend to the movies last night. The movie my friend picked was "About Time," a time travel film, which ended with the message to fully live each day as if it were your very last. As often as I've written variations on "being present," you might imagine that the movie's message resonated with me, and it did. Except...
For whatever reason, instead of following the film's message, I spun off into a totally different place. Instead of using the precious moments I had with my friend in the present, I went into quite a pity party about how I'd squandered my life (the past.) It's not as if I took my inheritance and went off in prodigal fashion for a life of partying and waste. Most of the time, the decisions I've made have been the best in the moment. I probably haven't been as prayerful about all decisions as I might have, but I am still "in lesson" on that.
As I bounced like a Ping-Pong ball from the past to the future and back, I painfully looked at my life from judgment of where I thought I should be. Everything that most of us have been told about life planning is that I should be at the pinnacle of my career with assets and relationships accumulated to carry me through the rest of my life. I really don't have much to show for what our society would describe as a life well lived.
I tell that story because history drove my "be still!" time this morning. As I struggled to be still, my pity party continued. I replayed decision points in my life which had led to this point in time. Then, I beat myself up about it. This wasn't "be still! and know! that I am God." And that is what I heard when I was finally still.
"Be love! Experience joy! If God accepts my life with love, why can I not find that a place in my heart for me to love my life?" Almost as an after-thought came a parting message: to remember what I've written about "forgiveness."
I booted up my computer and looked at what I'd written about forgiveness (10/3/13.) The gist of it was that how I "be Love" is through forgiveness, including forgiving myself. My job isn't judgment of my life: it is loving kindness and compassion. That is what I know when I "be still! and know! that I am God."
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Be still! Know!
When I sat today and listened, I heard: "Be still and know that I am God" from Psalm 46. I smiled. How many times have I talked with my intentional living intensive clients about these words. Somewhere in the course of the three-day intensives, my spiritual coaching clients would hear these words, and we would talk. Usually, we would talk about stilling the noise of the world and taking time in prayer and meditation. I know I don't spend nearly enough time being still and knowing God in that way.
In Exodus 3:13 Moses asks God in the form of a burning bush who he should tell the Israelites has sent him, God replies in the next verse, "I am who I am." Depending on where my client went, sometimes we would talk about the reference of "I AM." I've often pondered God's humor, which I think is significant. How could it not be? Was God trying to tell us that each of us (who I am) is part of God? If so, was the Psalm reference God saying that we should spend more time knowing our godliness? I don't spend enough time there either.
In the Jewish mystical tradition of Kabbalah, God is a verb**. What if 'God' is a verb? Not an entity or state, but an action. What if "God" as "I am" is a verb that says who each of us chooses to be is how others experience God? If God is a verb, how have I been doing on "God-ding" today? I am afraid that often the answer isn't what I would like it to be.
This morning when I heard "Be still and know that I am God," I instantly plugged in to all of these old conversations and thoughts and pondered for a bit more before asking, "What more am I to know?" The answer: "Google it!" God does have a sense of humor. :-)
Obediently, I went to Google and found a description of the Hebrew meaning of the phrase. The verbs "be still" and "know" are imperative forms that might more appropriately translated "Be still!" and "Know!"* These words were not gentle suggestions: they were orders and strong ones at that. I was struck speechless. I am ordered to be still. I am ordered to know the nature of God. I don't think this order was intended to be an activity that I fit in after work, exercise, dinner, making lunch and coffee for the next day, and watching yesterday's episode of "The Daily Show."
Whether we may think of God as a field of Love that connects us all, which I do, or we think of God as an old white man with a white beard, or various other possibilities, we are ordered to be still and know God. Maybe it is just knowing the God in each of us. We are ordered to still our minds, let all the clutter from the world around us drop away, and "know! God." I wonder if our world would be as crazy and violent if everyone of us followed our orders to "be still!" and "know!" before we go into the world each day. "Being still!" and "knowing!" is a priority, not something that we fit in if we are not so tired from all the other stuff that we fall asleep, as happened to me yesterday.
For years, I've taken at least a few minutes almost every morning to meditate, but in truth, more often than not, those few minutes are exhausted by just calming my mind from the rush of starting my day. If I am to really "be still!" and "know!" then I will need to take more time. Really?! I already get up at 5:20 more mornings. I am not sure I can get up earlier. Or, it seems to me that maybe this is really about focusing my intention on paying attention in a different way. I expect that if I focused my attention on knowing the God in me, all that other mind chatter would just fall away. Ah! I suspect that is it.
*http://www.hebrew4christians.com/Meditations/Be_Still/be_still.html
**God Is a Verb: Kabbalah and the Practice of Mystical Judaism by David A. Cooper
In Exodus 3:13 Moses asks God in the form of a burning bush who he should tell the Israelites has sent him, God replies in the next verse, "I am who I am." Depending on where my client went, sometimes we would talk about the reference of "I AM." I've often pondered God's humor, which I think is significant. How could it not be? Was God trying to tell us that each of us (who I am) is part of God? If so, was the Psalm reference God saying that we should spend more time knowing our godliness? I don't spend enough time there either.
In the Jewish mystical tradition of Kabbalah, God is a verb**. What if 'God' is a verb? Not an entity or state, but an action. What if "God" as "I am" is a verb that says who each of us chooses to be is how others experience God? If God is a verb, how have I been doing on "God-ding" today? I am afraid that often the answer isn't what I would like it to be.
This morning when I heard "Be still and know that I am God," I instantly plugged in to all of these old conversations and thoughts and pondered for a bit more before asking, "What more am I to know?" The answer: "Google it!" God does have a sense of humor. :-)
Obediently, I went to Google and found a description of the Hebrew meaning of the phrase. The verbs "be still" and "know" are imperative forms that might more appropriately translated "Be still!" and "Know!"* These words were not gentle suggestions: they were orders and strong ones at that. I was struck speechless. I am ordered to be still. I am ordered to know the nature of God. I don't think this order was intended to be an activity that I fit in after work, exercise, dinner, making lunch and coffee for the next day, and watching yesterday's episode of "The Daily Show."
Whether we may think of God as a field of Love that connects us all, which I do, or we think of God as an old white man with a white beard, or various other possibilities, we are ordered to be still and know God. Maybe it is just knowing the God in each of us. We are ordered to still our minds, let all the clutter from the world around us drop away, and "know! God." I wonder if our world would be as crazy and violent if everyone of us followed our orders to "be still!" and "know!" before we go into the world each day. "Being still!" and "knowing!" is a priority, not something that we fit in if we are not so tired from all the other stuff that we fall asleep, as happened to me yesterday.
For years, I've taken at least a few minutes almost every morning to meditate, but in truth, more often than not, those few minutes are exhausted by just calming my mind from the rush of starting my day. If I am to really "be still!" and "know!" then I will need to take more time. Really?! I already get up at 5:20 more mornings. I am not sure I can get up earlier. Or, it seems to me that maybe this is really about focusing my intention on paying attention in a different way. I expect that if I focused my attention on knowing the God in me, all that other mind chatter would just fall away. Ah! I suspect that is it.
*http://www.hebrew4christians.com/Meditations/Be_Still/be_still.html
**God Is a Verb: Kabbalah and the Practice of Mystical Judaism by David A. Cooper
Friday, November 22, 2013
Surrendering to Sleep
I fell asleep after the news this evening...again! When I awakened, I headed to my computer to write. I experienced something rare. Nothing would come. Sleep has me in its grips right now.
A few years ago I took a meditation class, and when I fell asleep while meditating, the teacher said, "If you fell asleep, you needed sleep."
I think we probably don't spend enough time listening to our bodies when they tell us to sleep, to eat, to drink water or to exercise. Tonight I am listening. Tomorrow I will be intentional about listening again.
A few years ago I took a meditation class, and when I fell asleep while meditating, the teacher said, "If you fell asleep, you needed sleep."
I think we probably don't spend enough time listening to our bodies when they tell us to sleep, to eat, to drink water or to exercise. Tonight I am listening. Tomorrow I will be intentional about listening again.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Being in the Not-Knowing
Yesterday I wrote that "Not-Knowing as a Way of Life" had been being pushed into my face a lot recently. Then, when I wrote about it, the floodgates burst open. Mostly, nothing huge has been turned over, but little things that I thought might be true have been upended all day. One larger idea has been set spinning, not enough to be totally upended, but certainly enough to cause me to examine it for depth and complexity.
So what is all of this about? When I started this blog I said that I didn't intend to share answers but to examine questions with which I grappled on my spiritual journey. That has never been truer than today.
History tells me that when I write about something I am issuing to the Universe an invitation to send me lessons. From the onset of writing Leading from the Heart, a book about courage, I was repeatedly tested for courage. By the time it was published three and a half years later, my life had been taken apart, piece by piece, and put together again, once again piece by piece, very consciously and intentionally. The putting together required me to look into the crevices and the foundations of my life and discover what was true...and then have the courage to act upon it.
Leading from the Heart had not been released when I started working on The Alchemy of Fear, obviously a book about fear...and love...and once again, everything that I truly feared in life looked me in the eye and demanded that I choose the love/God option rather than fear.
At that point, I said I was going to stop writing. I'd spent five to six years learning about fear and courage. Not a walk in the park. Well, of course, it is ridiculous to say I was going to stop writing. I'd been writing since I could hold a pencil and have a permanent knot on the side of my middle finger to prove it. I could no more stop writing than I could stop breathing.
So, I thought, I'll write about a subject that will be fun to learn about. Choice Point is my as-yet-unpublished book on intention. Now, one might think that intention would be a trip. Not! I was writing about the intentions of our soul to do what we came into the world to do. Unless you are really dense, you've already figured this one out: I had to really listen...a lot...to what my soul wanted. You will note that I said my "as-yet-unpublished book"--I am still in lesson on that one.
The Game Called Life was easy. I love it. It has been straight-forward and describes how I aspire to live. Yet, even my beloved The Game Called Life has been playing games with me as I prepare it for electronic version.
Last night, I wrote about "not-knowing." I really don't know (appropriate) how this one is going to turn out. I do know that things I hoped to be certain 24 hours ago are much less so now. I have no answers on this one. I am sitting with the questions, which, in truth, seems appropriate for a topic like "not-knowing." I am back in school, as if we aren't always. :-)
So what is all of this about? When I started this blog I said that I didn't intend to share answers but to examine questions with which I grappled on my spiritual journey. That has never been truer than today.
History tells me that when I write about something I am issuing to the Universe an invitation to send me lessons. From the onset of writing Leading from the Heart, a book about courage, I was repeatedly tested for courage. By the time it was published three and a half years later, my life had been taken apart, piece by piece, and put together again, once again piece by piece, very consciously and intentionally. The putting together required me to look into the crevices and the foundations of my life and discover what was true...and then have the courage to act upon it.
Leading from the Heart had not been released when I started working on The Alchemy of Fear, obviously a book about fear...and love...and once again, everything that I truly feared in life looked me in the eye and demanded that I choose the love/God option rather than fear.
At that point, I said I was going to stop writing. I'd spent five to six years learning about fear and courage. Not a walk in the park. Well, of course, it is ridiculous to say I was going to stop writing. I'd been writing since I could hold a pencil and have a permanent knot on the side of my middle finger to prove it. I could no more stop writing than I could stop breathing.
So, I thought, I'll write about a subject that will be fun to learn about. Choice Point is my as-yet-unpublished book on intention. Now, one might think that intention would be a trip. Not! I was writing about the intentions of our soul to do what we came into the world to do. Unless you are really dense, you've already figured this one out: I had to really listen...a lot...to what my soul wanted. You will note that I said my "as-yet-unpublished book"--I am still in lesson on that one.
The Game Called Life was easy. I love it. It has been straight-forward and describes how I aspire to live. Yet, even my beloved The Game Called Life has been playing games with me as I prepare it for electronic version.
Last night, I wrote about "not-knowing." I really don't know (appropriate) how this one is going to turn out. I do know that things I hoped to be certain 24 hours ago are much less so now. I have no answers on this one. I am sitting with the questions, which, in truth, seems appropriate for a topic like "not-knowing." I am back in school, as if we aren't always. :-)
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Not-knowing as a Way of Life
Most of the time I sit quietly before writing this blog, and a topic gently floats into my awareness. Then I write. Not so today. Sometimes it feels to me like the Universe is beating me over the head with a topic that I need to revisit. So it is with not-knowing as a way of life. I've been writing about it for at least two decades, and I am still a student of its wisdom. Everywhere I've turned in the last couple of weeks, I have found myself talking about this topic. I can really tell it is serious when I start nervous eating when I think of it. I am going to save myself a few thousand calories and explore it more.
There is a relationship between chaos, complexity, and spiritual growth. I've observed it in individuals; I've observed it in groups. The simplified, I'm-not-a-physicist explanation of chaos theory says that chaos is always implicit in order. The easy way to explain this is that no matter how much we think we know how things are in our lives, every now and then, the Universe sends us a learning moment. This happened to me when my husband came home from his run and told me he wanted a divorce. He was showered, shaved, packed, and gone in 30 minutes! Wow! I really didn't see that one coming.
I had a client once who came home to his "happy" home at the end of his normally long work day to find an empty house. I am not saying no one was at home, although that was true. I am saying it was empty. Not a lick of furniture...or anything else. Four walls: that was it. He says he had no clue. Someone else was awakened in the middle of the night with a call from the police, saying that his teenager had been arrested. One of the most fit 40-year-olds that I have known was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's Disease. You get the idea: we are coasting along in la-la land, and something is hurled at us with no warning. That creates a moment...or many moments of chaos. If we are honest with ourselves in the moments that follow, we really are clueless about what is real.
In that period of exploration--for purposes of chaos theory, let's call it complexity--we know that the world is certainly not what we thought it was, but we are in the figurative "wilderness," trying to figure out what is true.
I have observed two ways in which people explore the "wilderness." The unconscious way takes many forms, but in short, this approach uses whatever will numb the reality that our life isn't as we thought. Drugs, alcohol, sex, food, starvation, purging, the three-gallons of ice cream break-up...you get the idea. Inevitably, if we take that journey, weeks, months, or years down the line, knowing nothing more about what is real, we will have another wake-up call, telling us that our world isn't as we thought it was. Normally, a succession of wake-up calls will continue until the Universe has our full attention.
For those of you who have read my book The Game Called Life, this is the space where Lizzie found herself when she fell across her steering wheel, sobbing for help, "There has to be a better way."
Let's call that the second way, what I call "not-knowing." In this approach, we can engage the wilderness. I would like to distinguish "not-knowing" from "I don't know." "I don't know" is passive. It is the shrug of the shoulders of not caring.
"Not-knowing" by contrast is active. Instead of coasting through the wake-up call, we engage in self-exploration, attempting to know self and the world around us in a new way. "Not-knowing" embraces this transition as an opportunity to grow in wholeness. This is where Lizzie found herself after Helen answered her call for help.
If we kick around in "not-knowing" long enough, an Aha! moment inevitably burst into consciousness. Suddenly one day when we least expect it (walking down the street, and it hits you,) you will see the world in a whole new way. Almost always this new world offers rich possibilities we had not considered before.
For those who dislike uncertainty, I hate to relate that life is a sequence of wake-up calls: they cannot be avoided. "Not-knowing as a way of life" is an attitude toward life that assumes the chaos as a given. If chaos is always implicit in order, why not just accept it, embrace it, and flow with it. Life becomes a series of opportunities to learn and grow into ever expanding possibilities.
I am not a surfer, but this is how I imagine it must be life to go for ever bigger waves. What might once have been intimidating can become a real rush...without drugs, alcohol, sex, or any of those numbing agents...a natural high that leads higher and higher. Stepping into our potential by growing regularly, not just when the Universe grabs us by the scruff of the neck and says, "Hey, dude! Listen to me."
During a webinar that I took today, the facilitator teaching about improving communication and listening said, "Just assume you don't understand." She may have been talking about "not-knowing as a way of life." Just assume you don't understand, and embrace the adventure of learning and growth. What else is there that is really important?
There is a relationship between chaos, complexity, and spiritual growth. I've observed it in individuals; I've observed it in groups. The simplified, I'm-not-a-physicist explanation of chaos theory says that chaos is always implicit in order. The easy way to explain this is that no matter how much we think we know how things are in our lives, every now and then, the Universe sends us a learning moment. This happened to me when my husband came home from his run and told me he wanted a divorce. He was showered, shaved, packed, and gone in 30 minutes! Wow! I really didn't see that one coming.
I had a client once who came home to his "happy" home at the end of his normally long work day to find an empty house. I am not saying no one was at home, although that was true. I am saying it was empty. Not a lick of furniture...or anything else. Four walls: that was it. He says he had no clue. Someone else was awakened in the middle of the night with a call from the police, saying that his teenager had been arrested. One of the most fit 40-year-olds that I have known was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's Disease. You get the idea: we are coasting along in la-la land, and something is hurled at us with no warning. That creates a moment...or many moments of chaos. If we are honest with ourselves in the moments that follow, we really are clueless about what is real.
In that period of exploration--for purposes of chaos theory, let's call it complexity--we know that the world is certainly not what we thought it was, but we are in the figurative "wilderness," trying to figure out what is true.
I have observed two ways in which people explore the "wilderness." The unconscious way takes many forms, but in short, this approach uses whatever will numb the reality that our life isn't as we thought. Drugs, alcohol, sex, food, starvation, purging, the three-gallons of ice cream break-up...you get the idea. Inevitably, if we take that journey, weeks, months, or years down the line, knowing nothing more about what is real, we will have another wake-up call, telling us that our world isn't as we thought it was. Normally, a succession of wake-up calls will continue until the Universe has our full attention.
For those of you who have read my book The Game Called Life, this is the space where Lizzie found herself when she fell across her steering wheel, sobbing for help, "There has to be a better way."
Let's call that the second way, what I call "not-knowing." In this approach, we can engage the wilderness. I would like to distinguish "not-knowing" from "I don't know." "I don't know" is passive. It is the shrug of the shoulders of not caring.
"Not-knowing" by contrast is active. Instead of coasting through the wake-up call, we engage in self-exploration, attempting to know self and the world around us in a new way. "Not-knowing" embraces this transition as an opportunity to grow in wholeness. This is where Lizzie found herself after Helen answered her call for help.
If we kick around in "not-knowing" long enough, an Aha! moment inevitably burst into consciousness. Suddenly one day when we least expect it (walking down the street, and it hits you,) you will see the world in a whole new way. Almost always this new world offers rich possibilities we had not considered before.
For those who dislike uncertainty, I hate to relate that life is a sequence of wake-up calls: they cannot be avoided. "Not-knowing as a way of life" is an attitude toward life that assumes the chaos as a given. If chaos is always implicit in order, why not just accept it, embrace it, and flow with it. Life becomes a series of opportunities to learn and grow into ever expanding possibilities.
I am not a surfer, but this is how I imagine it must be life to go for ever bigger waves. What might once have been intimidating can become a real rush...without drugs, alcohol, sex, or any of those numbing agents...a natural high that leads higher and higher. Stepping into our potential by growing regularly, not just when the Universe grabs us by the scruff of the neck and says, "Hey, dude! Listen to me."
During a webinar that I took today, the facilitator teaching about improving communication and listening said, "Just assume you don't understand." She may have been talking about "not-knowing as a way of life." Just assume you don't understand, and embrace the adventure of learning and growth. What else is there that is really important?
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Living Without Excuses
Living with intention carries with it a corollary: living without excuses.
A friend of mine jokes "Growing older isn't for sissies." Neither is living with intention. Evolving one's soul is serious work, and by its very nature requires abandonment of our normal way of living. We surrender to what the soul knows it is becoming. To say that terror may strike in the heart is an understatement.
Living with intention demands that we listen to the heart and not the head. Doing what we intuitively know is right may be counter-rational to everything we have known, and yet we must. As our white-knuckled fingers hold who we have been in a death-grip, the heart whispers a love song of peace and joy. Surrender to who you might be.
I would like to say I have lived without regret, but in truth, there are things that I've had to leave behind that still recall sadness. The somewhat nomadic existence, which has resulted, leaves me envious of friends, who are surrounded with people that have been with them for their entire lives. Yet, I know I would not have done anything differently, not for a second.
Twenty years ago in July, I sat on the edge of a water fountain eating frozen yogurt in the sunshine. In an instant I knew that I was to leave the town I'd called home for a decade. Where was I to go? A city on the opposite side of the country where I knew no one. Before I arrived, the Universe had littered my path with new friends. I had apparent means to earn money, but I had faith and I followed...and so did the work. Characteristic of living with intention is that I had to take the leap before I knew if and how things would work out. I still have no clue "why?" for those driven by that question.
To say my move was counter-rational may be an understatement. Some friends in my old home town made up that I'd fallen in love with a man in the new city, and I was moving there to be with him. They could not make sense that I had just listened to my heart and followed where it led me--a strange city where I knew no one. They could not begin to understand the terror in my heart as I took to the highway to drive across the country.
I miss my old friends--part of the sadness, but I do keep in touch with some of them. But, no amount of gossip or fear of lack of livelihood would have been excuse enough for me to abandon the path being laid forth before me. Living without excuses, and just letting the chatter of the world fall away. Surrendering to the call of divine love. That is what it means to live with intention.
A friend of mine jokes "Growing older isn't for sissies." Neither is living with intention. Evolving one's soul is serious work, and by its very nature requires abandonment of our normal way of living. We surrender to what the soul knows it is becoming. To say that terror may strike in the heart is an understatement.
Living with intention demands that we listen to the heart and not the head. Doing what we intuitively know is right may be counter-rational to everything we have known, and yet we must. As our white-knuckled fingers hold who we have been in a death-grip, the heart whispers a love song of peace and joy. Surrender to who you might be.
I would like to say I have lived without regret, but in truth, there are things that I've had to leave behind that still recall sadness. The somewhat nomadic existence, which has resulted, leaves me envious of friends, who are surrounded with people that have been with them for their entire lives. Yet, I know I would not have done anything differently, not for a second.
Twenty years ago in July, I sat on the edge of a water fountain eating frozen yogurt in the sunshine. In an instant I knew that I was to leave the town I'd called home for a decade. Where was I to go? A city on the opposite side of the country where I knew no one. Before I arrived, the Universe had littered my path with new friends. I had apparent means to earn money, but I had faith and I followed...and so did the work. Characteristic of living with intention is that I had to take the leap before I knew if and how things would work out. I still have no clue "why?" for those driven by that question.
To say my move was counter-rational may be an understatement. Some friends in my old home town made up that I'd fallen in love with a man in the new city, and I was moving there to be with him. They could not make sense that I had just listened to my heart and followed where it led me--a strange city where I knew no one. They could not begin to understand the terror in my heart as I took to the highway to drive across the country.
I miss my old friends--part of the sadness, but I do keep in touch with some of them. But, no amount of gossip or fear of lack of livelihood would have been excuse enough for me to abandon the path being laid forth before me. Living without excuses, and just letting the chatter of the world fall away. Surrendering to the call of divine love. That is what it means to live with intention.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Living with Intention
Today is a "free" day for me. I took a day of leave just to BE. My dreams were rich, and I had time to process them this morning instead of jumping out of bed to get ready for work. The messages were clear. I must publish more on the BEing of a leader, the subject of Leading from the Heart, which has been out of print for over a dozen years. I must write more on intention.
The word or concept of "intention" has been overused by some as a concept that is something like what one speaker described as "using God as the great carhop in the sky," delivering whatever "stuff" we happen to think will bring happiness--a new car, a new house, a different job, a raise, or maybe even a soul mate. When I use the term "intention," this is decidedly not what I mean.
To me, "intention" is sacred. To live with intention means to align with and act from purpose--what each of us comes into the world to be. Think of intention as a contract we agreed to before coming into this world. Living with intention is acting, moment by moment, in accordance with guidance from our hearts about that intention.
I have a picture in my mind of each soul, before taking human form, sitting with the power of Love, looking out with legs dangling over something that looks like the Grand Canyon, and having a conversation that might go like this one that I think I had.
Me: "I'd like to go into the world as a human being, so that I may evolve my soul."
Love: "What lessons do you wish to learn on this journey?"
Me: "There are many, but I believe the most important ones for me are to receive love, to keep commitments, and to persevere with love...to have faith...in the face of overwhelming challenges."
Love: "Those are powerful lessons. They are also ones that are important in evolving the world, too. You know that is a great privilege to take human form to learn these spiritual lessons."
Me: "I do. I am ready to pay for that privilege."
Love: "The people in the world have forgotten that they are spiritual beings intended to connect through love. You would perform great service by helping them remember that."
Me: "That is service that I will commit to performing."
Love: "There is another piece to it. The people of the world seem to forget most who they are when they are at work. Your service would be especially great if you would help them remember who they are at work."
Me: "I will do that."
Love: "Thank you for your willingness to do that work."
Me: "It is a privilege."
Love: "Now you know that you will receive special gifts and talents to help you do this work. What gifts and talents would you like?"
Me: "Hmmm. Language--the ability to use language to touch people and to help them remember who they are. That would be one. And, the ability to understand people when they are at work--to know what causes them to forget who they are. Finally, of course, the ability to remember who I am when I am in work settings."
Love: "Those are good ones. We--the collected souls--would like to throw in some others, but especially 'dance.'"
Me: "Dance? I don't understand."
Love: "You don't need to understand, but it will speak to you and you will learn from it."
Me: "These will be my intentions. They will be written on the back side of my heart, and I will tune in to listen to where they lead me."
Love: "You will do well."
Each of us had a different "conversation," but we all made commitments. Our unique and special "recipe" for this life is written on our hearts. The intentions that we agreed to before taking human form are the only intentions that are important. Listening to our hearts keeps us on track. Yet we will almost never (maybe never, but I don't know that) be told in one fell swoop what the whole plan is or even why we are to do what we are to do. We will be guided, one step at a time.
The magnitude of millions of steps accomplishes miracles, making the impossible possible.
The word or concept of "intention" has been overused by some as a concept that is something like what one speaker described as "using God as the great carhop in the sky," delivering whatever "stuff" we happen to think will bring happiness--a new car, a new house, a different job, a raise, or maybe even a soul mate. When I use the term "intention," this is decidedly not what I mean.
To me, "intention" is sacred. To live with intention means to align with and act from purpose--what each of us comes into the world to be. Think of intention as a contract we agreed to before coming into this world. Living with intention is acting, moment by moment, in accordance with guidance from our hearts about that intention.
I have a picture in my mind of each soul, before taking human form, sitting with the power of Love, looking out with legs dangling over something that looks like the Grand Canyon, and having a conversation that might go like this one that I think I had.
Me: "I'd like to go into the world as a human being, so that I may evolve my soul."
Love: "What lessons do you wish to learn on this journey?"
Me: "There are many, but I believe the most important ones for me are to receive love, to keep commitments, and to persevere with love...to have faith...in the face of overwhelming challenges."
Love: "Those are powerful lessons. They are also ones that are important in evolving the world, too. You know that is a great privilege to take human form to learn these spiritual lessons."
Me: "I do. I am ready to pay for that privilege."
Love: "The people in the world have forgotten that they are spiritual beings intended to connect through love. You would perform great service by helping them remember that."
Me: "That is service that I will commit to performing."
Love: "There is another piece to it. The people of the world seem to forget most who they are when they are at work. Your service would be especially great if you would help them remember who they are at work."
Me: "I will do that."
Love: "Thank you for your willingness to do that work."
Me: "It is a privilege."
Love: "Now you know that you will receive special gifts and talents to help you do this work. What gifts and talents would you like?"
Me: "Hmmm. Language--the ability to use language to touch people and to help them remember who they are. That would be one. And, the ability to understand people when they are at work--to know what causes them to forget who they are. Finally, of course, the ability to remember who I am when I am in work settings."
Love: "Those are good ones. We--the collected souls--would like to throw in some others, but especially 'dance.'"
Me: "Dance? I don't understand."
Love: "You don't need to understand, but it will speak to you and you will learn from it."
Me: "These will be my intentions. They will be written on the back side of my heart, and I will tune in to listen to where they lead me."
Love: "You will do well."
Each of us had a different "conversation," but we all made commitments. Our unique and special "recipe" for this life is written on our hearts. The intentions that we agreed to before taking human form are the only intentions that are important. Listening to our hearts keeps us on track. Yet we will almost never (maybe never, but I don't know that) be told in one fell swoop what the whole plan is or even why we are to do what we are to do. We will be guided, one step at a time.
The magnitude of millions of steps accomplishes miracles, making the impossible possible.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Speaking Two Languages
This morning my pastor spoke of being able to speak two languages: the language of the world around us and the language of God. He continued to say, when we speak the language of God, it is best to do so with our actions.
In the instant he said it, I thought, "This is what my blog is about." The language of God...I prefer to call it the language of Love...is what we know in our hearts. A great deal of consciousness, commitment, and courage are required to do what the language of Love would have us do, when the world about us is more often than not speaking a whole different language that would dictate other acts.
Somehow putting the second language context on the daily struggle made it easier for me to understand some of my challenges. If I am short or impatient with someone, I have responded out of that other language. When I fall out of the present, for instance, may be like having been surrounded by the language of the world so much and so intently that I've forgotten my native tongue--the language of Love.
Today...maybe this minute...it will be my intention to remember the language of my heart, my native tongue--the language of Love.
In the instant he said it, I thought, "This is what my blog is about." The language of God...I prefer to call it the language of Love...is what we know in our hearts. A great deal of consciousness, commitment, and courage are required to do what the language of Love would have us do, when the world about us is more often than not speaking a whole different language that would dictate other acts.
Somehow putting the second language context on the daily struggle made it easier for me to understand some of my challenges. If I am short or impatient with someone, I have responded out of that other language. When I fall out of the present, for instance, may be like having been surrounded by the language of the world so much and so intently that I've forgotten my native tongue--the language of Love.
Today...maybe this minute...it will be my intention to remember the language of my heart, my native tongue--the language of Love.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Joy to the World
I've had a earworm today. "Joy to the world...to all the boys and girls...joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea...joy to you and me." Then it starts over again. I've always loved the Three Dog Night class rock hit, but why it is spinning over and over again...today...I don't know.
Even though the song recalls the initial theme of the Christmas carol about a time long ago, this joy to the world is about being joyful in the here and now and celebrates all of life around us. Maybe that is why the song has been playing for me. I've been noticing life around me today and mostly being joyful about it.
Enough leaves have fallen from the trees in the park behind my apartment that I noticed seven deer just below my apartment the first thing this morning. I thought how fortunate that I can live in a city and still have the deer almost close enough to touch.
Then, I went to the Farmers' Market. Harvest is a rich bounty at this time of year. I love the smells of perfectly ripe tomatoes, fresh lettuce and peppers, and I was so tantalized by the smell of fresh basil that I brought a bunch home and placed it in a vase in my kitchen. The fragrance has filled my kitchen all day. And, I noticed.
I had no more than finished washing and storing my vegetables when it was time to have my periodic conversation with a friend in Canada. We talk every four to six weeks, and I always delight in the connection we have. We studied together a couple years ago, and because we both lived in the Eastern time zone, we often ended up partnering on assignments. I have never met him, and yet, I have felt blessed to have him in my life since we first talked. When we ended the call, I just sat and was grateful to have him for a friend.
When that reverie passed, I could not resist creating wonderful foods with the bounty, so I puttered in the kitchen off and on all day. The flavors are so intense when the vegetables are this fresh.
So, yes, this has been a joy-to-the-world day. All of them could be, if I just took time to notice. I remember a line from a movie about an "angel" who has just passed over. She says to her transition partner that she never took time to notice when she was alive. I would hate to think that when my time comes that I haven't taken time to notice all the joy that is in my life. I've loved my joy-to-the-world day. Joy to the world!
Even though the song recalls the initial theme of the Christmas carol about a time long ago, this joy to the world is about being joyful in the here and now and celebrates all of life around us. Maybe that is why the song has been playing for me. I've been noticing life around me today and mostly being joyful about it.
Enough leaves have fallen from the trees in the park behind my apartment that I noticed seven deer just below my apartment the first thing this morning. I thought how fortunate that I can live in a city and still have the deer almost close enough to touch.
Then, I went to the Farmers' Market. Harvest is a rich bounty at this time of year. I love the smells of perfectly ripe tomatoes, fresh lettuce and peppers, and I was so tantalized by the smell of fresh basil that I brought a bunch home and placed it in a vase in my kitchen. The fragrance has filled my kitchen all day. And, I noticed.
I had no more than finished washing and storing my vegetables when it was time to have my periodic conversation with a friend in Canada. We talk every four to six weeks, and I always delight in the connection we have. We studied together a couple years ago, and because we both lived in the Eastern time zone, we often ended up partnering on assignments. I have never met him, and yet, I have felt blessed to have him in my life since we first talked. When we ended the call, I just sat and was grateful to have him for a friend.
When that reverie passed, I could not resist creating wonderful foods with the bounty, so I puttered in the kitchen off and on all day. The flavors are so intense when the vegetables are this fresh.
So, yes, this has been a joy-to-the-world day. All of them could be, if I just took time to notice. I remember a line from a movie about an "angel" who has just passed over. She says to her transition partner that she never took time to notice when she was alive. I would hate to think that when my time comes that I haven't taken time to notice all the joy that is in my life. I've loved my joy-to-the-world day. Joy to the world!
Friday, November 15, 2013
On the 7th day God rested
I fell asleep while watching the evening news tonight--the 6:30 one. Really! All evening I fought it, knowing that I wanted to write a blog post. I kept falling asleep.
As I reflected on what I wanted to write, it came to me that, being Friday evening and all, the Sabbath was calling to me, literally and figuratively. Most religions recognize a day if rest. For the Abrahamic traditions this time recognized the rest which God took after creating our world. Eastern religions also have days of rest.
The days of rest were dedicated to quiet times that restore and reenergize us and renew our souls. They provided time to reconnect with loved ones and to read scriptures. When I was very young in the Midwest, stores weren't even open on Sundays. What a furor there was in the Bible Belt when that law changed. At the time, I thought it was silly; now, not so much.
For a number of years in midlife, I took a Sabbath. I'd sleep, pray, meditate, read spiritual books, and just before dusk, I'd walk two blocks to take a kundalini yoga class, often followed by dinner with a friend. I'd only eat simple foods that didn't require preparation. When I started my week, I did so with recharged batteries. I miss those days.
I can't tell you when I stopped observing the Sabbath. I never made a decision to stop. Somehow I just let one thing creep into my Sabbath and then another. Before I knew it, my Sabbath was gone, and I didn't even know it was gone.
I've come to believe that any practice that is common to many religious traditions is probably a good thing on a more Universal level. Like a Sabbath...If God needed to rest after working all week, why shouldn't I?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
As I reflected on what I wanted to write, it came to me that, being Friday evening and all, the Sabbath was calling to me, literally and figuratively. Most religions recognize a day if rest. For the Abrahamic traditions this time recognized the rest which God took after creating our world. Eastern religions also have days of rest.
The days of rest were dedicated to quiet times that restore and reenergize us and renew our souls. They provided time to reconnect with loved ones and to read scriptures. When I was very young in the Midwest, stores weren't even open on Sundays. What a furor there was in the Bible Belt when that law changed. At the time, I thought it was silly; now, not so much.
For a number of years in midlife, I took a Sabbath. I'd sleep, pray, meditate, read spiritual books, and just before dusk, I'd walk two blocks to take a kundalini yoga class, often followed by dinner with a friend. I'd only eat simple foods that didn't require preparation. When I started my week, I did so with recharged batteries. I miss those days.
I can't tell you when I stopped observing the Sabbath. I never made a decision to stop. Somehow I just let one thing creep into my Sabbath and then another. Before I knew it, my Sabbath was gone, and I didn't even know it was gone.
I've come to believe that any practice that is common to many religious traditions is probably a good thing on a more Universal level. Like a Sabbath...If God needed to rest after working all week, why shouldn't I?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Hanging On To What I Don't Want
I rarely give advice when I am coaching. I prefer to let the session be a self-discovery process. On those occasions when I do give advice, however, what usually happens sometime between instantly and five minutes later is that I realize the advice I gave my coaching client is advice I should have given myself.
Today the advice was to be wary of hanging on to things that my client doesn't really want just because they are hers now. Almost as the words were coming out of my mouth, I thought, "Kay, you should be listening to this advice yourself."
Over the years, there have been others that have tried to hang on when they shouldn't. One pattern that I have experienced is the person who has a job they've never really liked or wanted but they've had it so long that they are terrified of leaving it or losing it. One executive that I coached needed to tell his CEO something, which he knew would anger him. I asked him what the worst thing that could happen would be. He sat quietly for a few seconds and said, "I'd be fired." He smiled, shook his head gently, and continued, "from a job I never really wanted. Freedom: that is what would happen." Hanging on to his own personal prison.
A heart surgeon was oppressed by the stress of the job. When I asked him why he continued, "Because my father wanted me to be a heart surgeon, and my brothers are heart surgeons. It's the 'family business': my father wanted me in the family business." Hanging on to what he never wanted.
In the work I do, it is really quite common to have a new manager with functional expertise to micromanage their staff because they don't want to let go of what they are "expert" at doing in order to grow into a new role. Unable to step up to what they've wanted because they are hanging on to what they had been yearning to leave.
There are lots of other examples, but in both my own life and in those of the many clients who have wrestled with letting go of something with which they are finished. In many ways the leap of stepping into what we want and letting go of what we don't is one of faith--faith that the other side will be better than where we are and not some the-grass-is-greener illusion.
After I gave my client advice today, I pondered: what am I hanging on to that I don't want. A laugh-out-loud moment followed: let me count them. It seemed for a bit that every thought passing through me brought another and another.
A couple weeks ago I wrote about feeling like I was pregnant--about to give birth to something new, maybe even a whole new life. (11/2/13) A woman about to give birth becomes something new: she becomes a mother. That role doesn't come with an instruction manual. She must risk moving into a totally new world with no assurance that she will do well...or even can do it at all. The baby can't wait for her to calculate her odds for success; it will be born.
In the instant that she becomes a mother, she lets go of who she was before the birth. Unless, of course, that she decides that she can't do it. Well, of course, that is crazy. She can't decide when she is going into labor that she isn't going to have the baby. I think that is where I am. Yet my hands are locked in a white-knuckled grip on what I don't want. Tonight I will ask for help--help letting go of what I don't want, so that I can give birth to this new life.
Today the advice was to be wary of hanging on to things that my client doesn't really want just because they are hers now. Almost as the words were coming out of my mouth, I thought, "Kay, you should be listening to this advice yourself."
Over the years, there have been others that have tried to hang on when they shouldn't. One pattern that I have experienced is the person who has a job they've never really liked or wanted but they've had it so long that they are terrified of leaving it or losing it. One executive that I coached needed to tell his CEO something, which he knew would anger him. I asked him what the worst thing that could happen would be. He sat quietly for a few seconds and said, "I'd be fired." He smiled, shook his head gently, and continued, "from a job I never really wanted. Freedom: that is what would happen." Hanging on to his own personal prison.
A heart surgeon was oppressed by the stress of the job. When I asked him why he continued, "Because my father wanted me to be a heart surgeon, and my brothers are heart surgeons. It's the 'family business': my father wanted me in the family business." Hanging on to what he never wanted.
In the work I do, it is really quite common to have a new manager with functional expertise to micromanage their staff because they don't want to let go of what they are "expert" at doing in order to grow into a new role. Unable to step up to what they've wanted because they are hanging on to what they had been yearning to leave.
There are lots of other examples, but in both my own life and in those of the many clients who have wrestled with letting go of something with which they are finished. In many ways the leap of stepping into what we want and letting go of what we don't is one of faith--faith that the other side will be better than where we are and not some the-grass-is-greener illusion.
After I gave my client advice today, I pondered: what am I hanging on to that I don't want. A laugh-out-loud moment followed: let me count them. It seemed for a bit that every thought passing through me brought another and another.
A couple weeks ago I wrote about feeling like I was pregnant--about to give birth to something new, maybe even a whole new life. (11/2/13) A woman about to give birth becomes something new: she becomes a mother. That role doesn't come with an instruction manual. She must risk moving into a totally new world with no assurance that she will do well...or even can do it at all. The baby can't wait for her to calculate her odds for success; it will be born.
In the instant that she becomes a mother, she lets go of who she was before the birth. Unless, of course, that she decides that she can't do it. Well, of course, that is crazy. She can't decide when she is going into labor that she isn't going to have the baby. I think that is where I am. Yet my hands are locked in a white-knuckled grip on what I don't want. Tonight I will ask for help--help letting go of what I don't want, so that I can give birth to this new life.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Co-creating in community
Something magical happens when a really good team co-creates something that exceeds what any members could have done on their own. Today I had that opportunity: twice! In each case we shared what we each wanted from the product. Each brought her experience and expertise. We listened. We explored.
Then just magically something emerged. When we knew where we were going, we each took a piece of the project to complete. People met their deadlines. Not only were our products good, but creating them was fun. I am more relaxed at the end of the day than I have been at the end of a work day for a long time. It was joyful.
I wrote in both Leading from the Heart and The Alchemy of Fear about the almost godlike quality that a collaborative team has--creating something where there was nothing and doing so in such deep connection it is like breathing together. I worked in the newspaper business for many years, and on a daily basis I marveled as I watched all the different departments pulling together to produce our "daily miracle" and to do so at precisely 1:10 every afternoon. When our work involves high collaboration, we truly connect in a way that few other opportunities provide.
Yet, with that said, we co-create in community more often than we realize. Just this week, the whole world is coming together to co-create disaster relief. Actually, disaster relief is one of those things that humankind has actually managed to get right much of the time. We show our capacity for caring and compassion, as well as taking on some massive logistical challenges. Think of the great Indian Ocean tsunami of 2004 or the earthquakes in Haiti. We actually have global outpourings of love.
Similarly, we co-create emergency responses on a smaller scale all the time. When I first moved to Washington, I was struck by a distracted driver (cell phone) while crossing the street in the crosswalk. Although the emergency response people were quick to respond, drivers instantaneously spilled from their cars offering varying skills from retrieving my briefcase and shoes that had gone flying to offering witness testimony and holding an umbrella over me in a downpour until the EMTs arrived. They just came together magically.
I am quite certain co-creating is how we are wired as human beings. I am not sure how we lost that ability so much of the time, but it erupts regularly and spontaneously enough to tell me that it is hardwired. And, it feels good when it does. Today, I am feeling blessed at having had two good team experiences today, and more than a little intrigued about how to intentionally create something bigger.
Then just magically something emerged. When we knew where we were going, we each took a piece of the project to complete. People met their deadlines. Not only were our products good, but creating them was fun. I am more relaxed at the end of the day than I have been at the end of a work day for a long time. It was joyful.
I wrote in both Leading from the Heart and The Alchemy of Fear about the almost godlike quality that a collaborative team has--creating something where there was nothing and doing so in such deep connection it is like breathing together. I worked in the newspaper business for many years, and on a daily basis I marveled as I watched all the different departments pulling together to produce our "daily miracle" and to do so at precisely 1:10 every afternoon. When our work involves high collaboration, we truly connect in a way that few other opportunities provide.
Yet, with that said, we co-create in community more often than we realize. Just this week, the whole world is coming together to co-create disaster relief. Actually, disaster relief is one of those things that humankind has actually managed to get right much of the time. We show our capacity for caring and compassion, as well as taking on some massive logistical challenges. Think of the great Indian Ocean tsunami of 2004 or the earthquakes in Haiti. We actually have global outpourings of love.
Similarly, we co-create emergency responses on a smaller scale all the time. When I first moved to Washington, I was struck by a distracted driver (cell phone) while crossing the street in the crosswalk. Although the emergency response people were quick to respond, drivers instantaneously spilled from their cars offering varying skills from retrieving my briefcase and shoes that had gone flying to offering witness testimony and holding an umbrella over me in a downpour until the EMTs arrived. They just came together magically.
I am quite certain co-creating is how we are wired as human beings. I am not sure how we lost that ability so much of the time, but it erupts regularly and spontaneously enough to tell me that it is hardwired. And, it feels good when it does. Today, I am feeling blessed at having had two good team experiences today, and more than a little intrigued about how to intentionally create something bigger.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Feeling Our Prayers
Prayer--communion with God. Ahh! Just being with those words makes my heart "vibrate" with warmth. Prayer is a two-way communication with the divine, but deeper and more consuming of our total presence.
It is not always so. As children, we spilled out the words, "God is great. God is good. And we thank him for our food," by rote and quickly at that, lest the food get cold in the few seconds they took.
And, there is the "Lord's Prayer," which many of us have said so many times that we don't even think about the words, much less feel them. When we pray the Lord's Prayer together in church, more often than not, if seems to me as if the congregation is racing through the words without even pausing for a comma much less to put feeling in them.
Several years ago, I studied the "Lord's Prayer" in Aramaic, the original language of the prayer. Since then, at least once each day, I say the prayer in Aramaic. When I first started, the prayer was slow and thoughtful, as I remembered the richness and complexity of the words in the original language. Sadly, the Aramaic words now spill out as thoughtlessly as the English version does most of the time.
After making my blog post last night, I felt my prayers. Why on one particular night did I feel my prayers? Perhaps it was the intensity of the visits to the war memorials that slowed me down or maybe it was the realization of the multi-generational pain of which I've been a part because of those wars. Whatever the reason, I had really felt the presence of the divine in my heart yesterday. As I prayed, I felt my prayers. It is a profound experience to really feel prayer.
The words were really irrelevant. In my heart, I could feel love, ebbing and flowing with my breathing. I actually felt bringing more love into the world so there would be less pain, loss, and grief. Today I've felt love, warmth and mercy being wrapped around me like a warm blanket on this cold and windy night. I feel the relaxation that comes with spiritual surrender. I will feel grateful as I write my gratitude journal, sending prayers of thanks. I will feel delight as I express gratitude that I can wiggle my fingers and toes. I will feel the reality of my affirmations as I say them.
I am quite confident that this is how we are in communion with God, the divine, all there is, or whatever term you prefer. This is how we say to God, this is what I intend to receive into my life. How often though I have prayed out of fear or anger, and fear and anger were the messages that I communed to God. Just thinking about it breaks my heart, but in its breaking open, I also send a prayer. Our feelings are the messages we send to God. If fear and anger are prayers, then so much more are joy, peace, and love prayers.
I am not sure if God even hears those rote prayers; of course, I am not sure that God doesn't hear them either. However, I am certain that when we are present to what we are feeling, we can be intentional about our prayers. A happy thought can be a prayer. A smile may also be a prayer. Delight is most certainly a prayer. Playing the Grocery Store Game can be prayer. Each moment we pray. Consciousness allows us to decide what we will pray and then really be present to the prayer.
It is not always so. As children, we spilled out the words, "God is great. God is good. And we thank him for our food," by rote and quickly at that, lest the food get cold in the few seconds they took.
And, there is the "Lord's Prayer," which many of us have said so many times that we don't even think about the words, much less feel them. When we pray the Lord's Prayer together in church, more often than not, if seems to me as if the congregation is racing through the words without even pausing for a comma much less to put feeling in them.
Several years ago, I studied the "Lord's Prayer" in Aramaic, the original language of the prayer. Since then, at least once each day, I say the prayer in Aramaic. When I first started, the prayer was slow and thoughtful, as I remembered the richness and complexity of the words in the original language. Sadly, the Aramaic words now spill out as thoughtlessly as the English version does most of the time.
After making my blog post last night, I felt my prayers. Why on one particular night did I feel my prayers? Perhaps it was the intensity of the visits to the war memorials that slowed me down or maybe it was the realization of the multi-generational pain of which I've been a part because of those wars. Whatever the reason, I had really felt the presence of the divine in my heart yesterday. As I prayed, I felt my prayers. It is a profound experience to really feel prayer.
The words were really irrelevant. In my heart, I could feel love, ebbing and flowing with my breathing. I actually felt bringing more love into the world so there would be less pain, loss, and grief. Today I've felt love, warmth and mercy being wrapped around me like a warm blanket on this cold and windy night. I feel the relaxation that comes with spiritual surrender. I will feel grateful as I write my gratitude journal, sending prayers of thanks. I will feel delight as I express gratitude that I can wiggle my fingers and toes. I will feel the reality of my affirmations as I say them.
I am quite confident that this is how we are in communion with God, the divine, all there is, or whatever term you prefer. This is how we say to God, this is what I intend to receive into my life. How often though I have prayed out of fear or anger, and fear and anger were the messages that I communed to God. Just thinking about it breaks my heart, but in its breaking open, I also send a prayer. Our feelings are the messages we send to God. If fear and anger are prayers, then so much more are joy, peace, and love prayers.
I am not sure if God even hears those rote prayers; of course, I am not sure that God doesn't hear them either. However, I am certain that when we are present to what we are feeling, we can be intentional about our prayers. A happy thought can be a prayer. A smile may also be a prayer. Delight is most certainly a prayer. Playing the Grocery Store Game can be prayer. Each moment we pray. Consciousness allows us to decide what we will pray and then really be present to the prayer.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Freedom Isn't Free
Today is Veterans' Day. Since arriving in Washington 7 years ago, I've used the holiday to visit one (or more) of the memorials to the veterans of our various wars. This year a friend joined me to visit several. First the World War II Memorial, remembering the contribution of my father. Then we moved on to the Vietnam War Memorial where my friend marked the two tours that her father spent in that war. Next we moved to the Korean War Memorial.
The Korean War has been called the forgotten war, sandwiched as it was between WWII and Vietnam, and technically a war that continues today. I always find the Korean Memorial eerily poignant. The life-sized soldiers are a ghostly white, and etched images on its own black wall come and go, almost like ghosts.
Today I noticed something new. In large letters etched in the black marble were the words, "Freedom Is Not Free." An aging soldier offered remarks to a small assembled crowd, saying early on "War is hell."
The Korean War has been called the forgotten war, sandwiched as it was between WWII and Vietnam, and technically a war that continues today. I always find the Korean Memorial eerily poignant. The life-sized soldiers are a ghostly white, and etched images on its own black wall come and go, almost like ghosts.
Today I noticed something new. In large letters etched in the black marble were the words, "Freedom Is Not Free." An aging soldier offered remarks to a small assembled crowd, saying early on "War is hell."
As I'd moved from one war memorial to another, I'd kept thinking, there really has to be a better way to resolve our differences than in the blood of young men and now women. On the rim of a fountain in front of "Freedom Is Not Free" were US and United Nations casualty numbers. When I came home, I looked up more figures. Casualty estimates vary widely, but in the range of 1 million service personnel were killed on both sides. A total of 2.5 million civilian deaths and injuries were reported. Still missing from UN forces are 470,000. This from a war we hardly talk about.
The truth is the casualties of our wars are much greater than these and numbers from other wars would indicate. Before heading out for our walk this morning, I'd listened to part of a program on the Diane Rehm Show about Veterans Treatment Courts. (http://thedianerehmshow.org/shows/2013-11-11/veterans-treatment-courts.) These are special courts for veterans who had no criminal records before the war they went to turned them into criminals.
What does this have to do with my spiritual journey? My friend, a woman in her 50s, and myself, a woman in my 60s, also carry the scars of our fathers' wars. After visiting the memorials, we talked about our scars. The men who came home to our households were never emotionally available to their daughters (or sons either.) Whatever the experience of "war is hell" was for our fathers, they could not talk about it and repressed their emotions. In order to put away the ugly feelings, my father was forced to repress the good ones as well. Although I am sure my father loved me a lot, he could not show it.
But, you see, this is not the whole story about my father's wounds of war. His father, a veteran of World War I, probably suffered from what we call PTSD (Post Traumatic Shock Disorder) today. Back then, they said he was "shell shocked" as many WWI vets were at the first exposure to modern warfare. He was institutionalized for almost 30 years, unavailable at all for his son--my father--or us, his grandchildren.
The result is that I grew up and am now growing old unable to get close to people. (10/12/13) I am unable to receive love and be taken care of. (11/8/13) Neither my friend nor I ever went to war or experienced the horrors that our fathers did, yet we are casualties, carrying multi-generational wounds. All over the world there are casualties of war--people who went to war and came home forever changed and people that never went to war.
The other thing that this has to do with my spiritual journey is being conscious. I feel like a different person than I was this morning. Touched by the sacrifices and even more moved by the magnitude. I don't ever again want to forget what is doing on at spots all over the world even as I write. I don't ever want to forget that even though there isn't much I can do, I must do what I can to connect us. If ever there was a day when my fervent belief in the need to connect with people heart to heart, it was this one. I must start with myself, dropping the walls of my heart to let love out and perhaps more importantly to let love in.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Doing nothing is doing something
I have four days off this weekend, and I came into this time with several big decisions to make. After each decision comes a time-consuming and deadline-driven project. I needed this chunk of time my long weekend would have provided to do the associated projects. The decisions may be life-changing and certainly life-altering. These are not decisions I want to make with my head, but instead, I want to be guided by what I know in my heart.
In an earlier post I apologized for making it sound so easy to follow the wisdom of our hearts. Today I sit and so far nothing has come, and three days of my project time have passed. The closest I've gotten is to hear the words "You know in your heart" over and again. I am sure I do but I am having a very hard time getting enough clarity to translate into something that is actionable in the project world.
As I write this post what comes to me is that "doing nothing" can be "doing something." I believe there is wisdom in the I Ching about acting by not acting. Our action orientation makes us believe that if our hearts tell us something, it must be something we can act upon. I think my heart is telling me to do nothing right now.
In an earlier post I apologized for making it sound so easy to follow the wisdom of our hearts. Today I sit and so far nothing has come, and three days of my project time have passed. The closest I've gotten is to hear the words "You know in your heart" over and again. I am sure I do but I am having a very hard time getting enough clarity to translate into something that is actionable in the project world.
As I write this post what comes to me is that "doing nothing" can be "doing something." I believe there is wisdom in the I Ching about acting by not acting. Our action orientation makes us believe that if our hearts tell us something, it must be something we can act upon. I think my heart is telling me to do nothing right now.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Letting God be God
My posts usually come at the end of often long days. Today I sat to write in the afternoon, but something unusual happened. There were no words. I've been writing since I was able to hold a pencil, and words have almost always been there. And, today, there were no words. I made several false starts, but I knew those words were from my head and not my heart. I washed the glass top tables, but when I came back to my computer, there were still no words. I did some ironing, and still no words. I watched episodes of two TV shows I missed this week...and no words. I watched a movie, and no words.
I had made a commitment to this spiritual discipline to write every day, and words would not come. But writing from my head and not my heart for a blog called "You Know In Your Heart" seemed like a serious breach in integrity. By that point, darkness was approaching. I'll do my grocery shopping, I thought; then I'll have that chore out of the way for the week. I can write later. You can probably guess that when I returned the words were still not there.
What should I do? I felt duty bound to my commitment to sit at my computer and contribute to this blog. Early this week I wrote about the angel who had showed up to help me with learning some features for this blog. One of them was the "Labels" feature, which allows me to make the blog more searchable. Well, I thought, if words won't come, I'll devote that amount of time to attaching labels to old posts. I set about reading through the last month's posts and labeling them. Then I "got it."
Reading my most recent 25 posts was homework for today's writing. If you have been reading regularly, you know there have been some demons that keep recurring on my journey. Being awake and present, consciousness, gratitude, forgiveness, the nature of God and Love, integrity. There was something missing though, and whatever was missing felt like "glue" for the others. "Surrender" was the word that kept coming to me. I've certainly wrestled with spiritual surrender before, but I had a hard time connecting the dots today.
By the time my labeling task reached today's post, I was ready to write. Floating up as gently as a feather floats down were the words, "Let God be God." A smile came to my face, and a knowing chuckle caught in my throat. In my day job, I'd describe the problem as role ambiguity--not being clear about what my role is and what God's role is. My job is to be awake, present, and listening so that I may be led, allowing the world to experience God's love through me. I am to ask for help, probably even when I don't think I need it, be grateful, offer forgiveness, and walk my talk. Other duties as assigned, of course, such as writing this blog and books that may bubble up from within me. That's it.
Everything else is God's job. Most importantly, God gets to be God. That is explicitly omitted from my job description. Enter "surrender." I believe that it is important for us to do the work we are given, to learn and grow spiritually, and to develop our "God given" talents. Holding to those intentions may be the only things in our lives that are real. God's job is to determine how these play out and on what time schedule they occur.
That's where surrender comes in. For me and many others, "surrender" seems counter rational in our modern driven society. We are taught to take charge of our lives: active on the world before it acts on us. That is playing God. Doing so requires resisting the forces of the Universe. It is exhausting and counter-productive. Sigh! Surrendering allows us to float through life on the River of Peace, like I did when I was in Greece and the waters parted at every turn to get me to the publishing house. ("Being Led", 11/4/13) Why on earth would I want to resist that? I cannot for the life of me figure out one good reason.
I surrender.
I will let God be God.
I had made a commitment to this spiritual discipline to write every day, and words would not come. But writing from my head and not my heart for a blog called "You Know In Your Heart" seemed like a serious breach in integrity. By that point, darkness was approaching. I'll do my grocery shopping, I thought; then I'll have that chore out of the way for the week. I can write later. You can probably guess that when I returned the words were still not there.
What should I do? I felt duty bound to my commitment to sit at my computer and contribute to this blog. Early this week I wrote about the angel who had showed up to help me with learning some features for this blog. One of them was the "Labels" feature, which allows me to make the blog more searchable. Well, I thought, if words won't come, I'll devote that amount of time to attaching labels to old posts. I set about reading through the last month's posts and labeling them. Then I "got it."
Reading my most recent 25 posts was homework for today's writing. If you have been reading regularly, you know there have been some demons that keep recurring on my journey. Being awake and present, consciousness, gratitude, forgiveness, the nature of God and Love, integrity. There was something missing though, and whatever was missing felt like "glue" for the others. "Surrender" was the word that kept coming to me. I've certainly wrestled with spiritual surrender before, but I had a hard time connecting the dots today.
By the time my labeling task reached today's post, I was ready to write. Floating up as gently as a feather floats down were the words, "Let God be God." A smile came to my face, and a knowing chuckle caught in my throat. In my day job, I'd describe the problem as role ambiguity--not being clear about what my role is and what God's role is. My job is to be awake, present, and listening so that I may be led, allowing the world to experience God's love through me. I am to ask for help, probably even when I don't think I need it, be grateful, offer forgiveness, and walk my talk. Other duties as assigned, of course, such as writing this blog and books that may bubble up from within me. That's it.
Everything else is God's job. Most importantly, God gets to be God. That is explicitly omitted from my job description. Enter "surrender." I believe that it is important for us to do the work we are given, to learn and grow spiritually, and to develop our "God given" talents. Holding to those intentions may be the only things in our lives that are real. God's job is to determine how these play out and on what time schedule they occur.
That's where surrender comes in. For me and many others, "surrender" seems counter rational in our modern driven society. We are taught to take charge of our lives: active on the world before it acts on us. That is playing God. Doing so requires resisting the forces of the Universe. It is exhausting and counter-productive. Sigh! Surrendering allows us to float through life on the River of Peace, like I did when I was in Greece and the waters parted at every turn to get me to the publishing house. ("Being Led", 11/4/13) Why on earth would I want to resist that? I cannot for the life of me figure out one good reason.
I surrender.
I will let God be God.
Friday, November 8, 2013
Allowing Myself to Receive
I've been letting my hair grow out for over 2 years, and it had finally gotten long enough that it both could be and needed to be styled. For those who don't know me, I have a mop of curls, so finding a stylist has always been a challenge. I had done my homework and located someone with advanced training in curls. I showed up expecting my usual 20-30 minute cut. Was I ever in for a surprise!
For two hours I was pampered and cared for as never before. Now I think that I should clarify: this was not a spa treatment or even coloring. This was a two-hour haircut and shampoo. My hair looked nice, but that became almost incidental to how the treatment felt.
What was particularly interesting to me in retrospect was the cycle of feelings I experienced over the two hours. Initially, I was relaxed...until the cutting part went on for almost an hour with stylist taking just a few strands at a time and studying them before cutting--not in a weird way but in a very attentive and caring way.
Then I went through a stage that I can only describe as discomfort with deserving such attention. Next there was the stage of questioning: did I accidentally sign up for the wrong thing and wouldn't be able to pay for it at the end? (No.) At last, I just relaxed and experienced the joy of pampering. In this stage I didn't care how much this cost: it was worth it.
As I walked to the train to meet a friend for dinner, I wondered; I wondered about the Protestant Work Ethic and what it had done to us. One of my coaching clients summarized it as "work hard and keep your nose clean." That's pretty much how I've lived.
This afternoon something seemed terribly wrong with that. I felt present and loved. I felt like I was really able to be patient and to connect with people, even in the end-of-the-week, rush-hour bustle of the city. I've never felt like that when I've been doing the Protestant Work Ethic "work hard thing."
I just haven't allowed myself to receive, even when I am sick. Last winter I had been very sick and thought I ought to get back to work. I was still so weak that my legs were shaking and still I went for my coat. If my legs hadn't given out at that moment, I would probably have pushed on. How does pushing to work make sense when my body is screaming for some tender loving care?
As I've been writing this, I've recalled being in a new city for work a few years ago. A friend who had worked there shortly before told me about a special restaurant. He said it would not be on my expense account budget, but promised that it would be worth the splurge. It was. I enjoyed every bite. When the waiter brought my check, I had only been charged for the glass of wine I had with dinner. The waiter said the chef and the rest of the staff had so delighted in watching the enjoyment I had with the meal that the rest was on the house. When we allow others to care for us, we give them pleasure as well. We create connection when none would have been there in a "work hard" state of being.
Perhaps this is how we start the flow of Love. I've been concerned about giving love when I might generate more Love by receiving it. For me that is a tremendous stretch, since allowing myself to be loved will require undoing a lifetime of programming. But again stretching is how we grow.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
For two hours I was pampered and cared for as never before. Now I think that I should clarify: this was not a spa treatment or even coloring. This was a two-hour haircut and shampoo. My hair looked nice, but that became almost incidental to how the treatment felt.
What was particularly interesting to me in retrospect was the cycle of feelings I experienced over the two hours. Initially, I was relaxed...until the cutting part went on for almost an hour with stylist taking just a few strands at a time and studying them before cutting--not in a weird way but in a very attentive and caring way.
Then I went through a stage that I can only describe as discomfort with deserving such attention. Next there was the stage of questioning: did I accidentally sign up for the wrong thing and wouldn't be able to pay for it at the end? (No.) At last, I just relaxed and experienced the joy of pampering. In this stage I didn't care how much this cost: it was worth it.
As I walked to the train to meet a friend for dinner, I wondered; I wondered about the Protestant Work Ethic and what it had done to us. One of my coaching clients summarized it as "work hard and keep your nose clean." That's pretty much how I've lived.
This afternoon something seemed terribly wrong with that. I felt present and loved. I felt like I was really able to be patient and to connect with people, even in the end-of-the-week, rush-hour bustle of the city. I've never felt like that when I've been doing the Protestant Work Ethic "work hard thing."
I just haven't allowed myself to receive, even when I am sick. Last winter I had been very sick and thought I ought to get back to work. I was still so weak that my legs were shaking and still I went for my coat. If my legs hadn't given out at that moment, I would probably have pushed on. How does pushing to work make sense when my body is screaming for some tender loving care?
As I've been writing this, I've recalled being in a new city for work a few years ago. A friend who had worked there shortly before told me about a special restaurant. He said it would not be on my expense account budget, but promised that it would be worth the splurge. It was. I enjoyed every bite. When the waiter brought my check, I had only been charged for the glass of wine I had with dinner. The waiter said the chef and the rest of the staff had so delighted in watching the enjoyment I had with the meal that the rest was on the house. When we allow others to care for us, we give them pleasure as well. We create connection when none would have been there in a "work hard" state of being.
Perhaps this is how we start the flow of Love. I've been concerned about giving love when I might generate more Love by receiving it. For me that is a tremendous stretch, since allowing myself to be loved will require undoing a lifetime of programming. But again stretching is how we grow.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Rewriting Our Stories
Our minds play tricks on us, and the really tricky thing is they can totally transform for either good or bad how we experience life. Events in our lives are by and large neutral. They only become positive or negative because of what our minds tell us.
For instance, there are number if stories about people who were distressed because they missed a plane only to later learn that the plane had crashed.
Or there is the story about the man walking down the street, who was knocked over by a skateboarder, only see a heavy flower pot land on the sidewalk where he would have been if he'd kept walking.
If we are to experience everything as a gift, I believe it is essential that we become conscious of our stories and then rewrite them so that they help us see the gift.
This morning I cheerfully headed out for work, and I was hardly out the door before I began encountering delays. When I got to the corner where I would normally enter the Metro, the entry was closed. I was directed to a different entry.
I was just inside the alternative entry, when I saw my train leaving the station. When I made it to the platform, there were no times for upcoming train departures. A disabled train had blocked the tracks, and trains were bottlenecked from coming into the city. The missed train was the last for a while. A long delay ensued, thereby assuring that I will miss my first meeting.
I finally entered a train that was packed like sardines. When I was almost to the station where I would change trains, the driver pulled in the station and said, "This train is out of service." So, everyone on the packed train offloaded.
At this point, I decided to walk a long block to another line where I would catch the train I would have changed to if my train had made it to the expected change point. It seems that was not an original thought. Hundreds of others joined me in the race to the other line, pushing and shoving all the way.
I allowed myself only a moment's pity before asking, "What's the gift? What's the gift?" Then I laughed out loud. I'd been struggling to fit exercise into my schedule thus week. Each of my delays had added more walking or escalators to climb. Was this a serious workout? Of course not. But it did get my heart rate up for a bit. By choosing to see all the delays as a gift, I started the day with a smile on my face and grace in my heart.
I was proud of myself for being awake enough to notice and to rewrite my story. That is a powerful act, choosing how to experience life without regard to circumstances.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Going to school
My life has seemed to go in cycles. For a few years life flows swimmingly. Money, relationships, health, and career all work well. Then, for no apparent reason, one day it shifts, and life can be very difficult for the next few. While I certainly think the easy times are much more fun, in truth, I am sure that the difficult ones are more important to the evolution of my soul.
I think of the difficult times as when we are in "spiritual school." It is easy to have faith when everything is easy. I have learned the most about faith when it is tested. Like in the life of the Biblical Job, if we are able to remember that we are on a spiritual journey, we come out the other side stronger and closer to whatever we consider the divine. When things really fall apart, we are going to spiritual graduate school.
When I was publishing a book each year, writing several newspaper columns, consulting globally, and delivering a reasonable number of keynote addresses, I had lots of people around me who loved me. Then the economy went bust...and my business with it. Suddenly, most of my "friends" evaporated. I found out who my true friends were. I would never have learned what makes a real friend without those times.
Similarly, I won't ever really learn about forgiveness and gratitude until I need to forgive someone for a particularly wicked deed and then take it one step further to expressing gratitude for the deed. Twenty years ago a friend and I would talk about "being in lesson" at moments like that. We would know that there was a spiritual purpose for our challenging times. The more challenging the times, the more we were sure we were "in lesson."
School goes in other cycles too. A different friend and I were talking over dinner Sunday about the same lessons that seem to keep showing up in our lives every few years. In my belief system those repeating lessons are ones that our souls signed up to master. But, with each cycle, we learn something different.
I am a bit reluctant to announce at this early stage, but I feel a difficult cycle is approaching an end. You may recall that a few days ago, I wrote about feeling as if I were pregnant (11/2/12.) I've been restless and keep feeling like I have been about to deliver something. Today, I think my "baby" is an easier stage of life. In several arenas in life, I feel little breakthroughs, harbingers of better times. I feel as if it might almost be safe to relax. Ah!
While I look forward to easier times, I am cognizant of being truly grateful for the years I've been "in spiritual school," maybe this time for a spiritual post-doc.
I think of the difficult times as when we are in "spiritual school." It is easy to have faith when everything is easy. I have learned the most about faith when it is tested. Like in the life of the Biblical Job, if we are able to remember that we are on a spiritual journey, we come out the other side stronger and closer to whatever we consider the divine. When things really fall apart, we are going to spiritual graduate school.
When I was publishing a book each year, writing several newspaper columns, consulting globally, and delivering a reasonable number of keynote addresses, I had lots of people around me who loved me. Then the economy went bust...and my business with it. Suddenly, most of my "friends" evaporated. I found out who my true friends were. I would never have learned what makes a real friend without those times.
Similarly, I won't ever really learn about forgiveness and gratitude until I need to forgive someone for a particularly wicked deed and then take it one step further to expressing gratitude for the deed. Twenty years ago a friend and I would talk about "being in lesson" at moments like that. We would know that there was a spiritual purpose for our challenging times. The more challenging the times, the more we were sure we were "in lesson."
School goes in other cycles too. A different friend and I were talking over dinner Sunday about the same lessons that seem to keep showing up in our lives every few years. In my belief system those repeating lessons are ones that our souls signed up to master. But, with each cycle, we learn something different.
I am a bit reluctant to announce at this early stage, but I feel a difficult cycle is approaching an end. You may recall that a few days ago, I wrote about feeling as if I were pregnant (11/2/12.) I've been restless and keep feeling like I have been about to deliver something. Today, I think my "baby" is an easier stage of life. In several arenas in life, I feel little breakthroughs, harbingers of better times. I feel as if it might almost be safe to relax. Ah!
While I look forward to easier times, I am cognizant of being truly grateful for the years I've been "in spiritual school," maybe this time for a spiritual post-doc.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Being led
Yesterday I wrote about some little miracles that happened to me last evening. I wasn't even finished before I was thinking of lots others. I could literally write a book about all of them, but highlights from a pilgrimage a few years ago simply tell the story of what can happen if we just get out of the way and allow ourselves to be led.
In June 1998, I was given very clear guidance about some things that I was supposed to do before fall. I had been in Greece to speak at a conference. On the short flight from Athens to a different meeting on Rhodes, I decided to meditate. With great force strong guidance came to me. In the preceding year, I had written my book Choice Point, and, in retrospect, I felt that following this guidance was my "training." I was going to be asked to do everything I'd written. Just totally surrender and allow myself to be led.
I was told to come back to Greece for a month long pilgrimage, but before I did, I was to travel from my home in North Carolina back to my old home towns in Oregon. I was specifically told to see three aging women, all of whom had been important to me "for they are not long for this world." I was puzzled, but followed as guided.
In July, I headed first to Eugene and then south to Medford and Prospect. I saw all three women, and while it was great to see them, quite frankly, they all seemed fine. At the end of August I left for a month in Greece. I had no itinerary, was told to take no credit cards, and very little cash. I was supposed to listen for guidance. The only guidance I received other than that was to "make my way to Thessaloniki," where I was to ask for the English-speaking priest for additional direction and to take four copies of the book. The guidance continued that it would be clear to me who was to receive them.
It was quite a journey, staying in what was then one of Europe's most expensive tourist destinations with $25/day for room, board, and everything else. Yet at every turn, someone would show up on my path with a place to stay or a good, but inexpensive place to stay or eat. I walked a lot and met remarkable people on the journey. About a week into my journey, I had guidance to call my house sitter. He told me that one of the three woman had been diagnosed with advance stage abdominal cancer and had died in just a few days. The second one would be gone in just a few months. The third began to be consumed by Alzheimer's disease. If I hadn't followed where I was led, I would have missed rich last time with each of them.
I made my way to Thessaloniki where I had an amazing experience with an English-speaking priest. Along the way, I had wonderful connections with people each of which taught me something for my spiritual journey. And, I travelled around the country with my four books for over three weeks. I have to say, I was beginning to have doubts, but everything else had gone so perfectly, that in my heart, I knew I would still be guided. With the first three copies, each time I just knew in the moment when it was the right person to receive a book.
The remarkable part of the "book distribution," however, came the last day of the trip. I was to lunch with a Greek-American business woman with whom I'd become acquainted when speaking at a business conference in the US the year before. That summer there had been a series of one-day strikes, and on my last day in Athens, the train operators were striking. The trains had been my way of getting around. Athens was in gridlock. Between buses and walking, I made my appointment. After lunch, I told her about my remaining book.
Loula was not a timid woman and seemed to know everyone in Athens intimately. She was one of those people who is "in charge," and nothing will get in her way when she is intent upon something. Loula directed me to the senior editor at a Greek women's magazine. She told me that he would be expecting me; however, she warned that the Rolling Stones were playing Athens for the first time in over two decades, and he had tickets. I must go there directly, and, oh, by the way, the publishing house was in a neighboring town outside of Athens. OK. The trains aren't running, and I still have to get my book. This is clearly out of my hands.
Loula walked out on the street where hundreds of people, abandoned by their trains, were fighting for an available taxi. She just walked up to one that was occupied, opened the door, said something to the driver and the other passengers, shoved me in, threw money at the driver, and slammed the door. I have no clue where I am going. My Greek wasn't good enough to communicate, so I just sheepishly slid back on the seat with a timid smile.
In 15 to 20 minutes, the taxi pulled up in front of the hostel where I was staying and let me out. As the button says, "That was easy!" It was about 4:30, and my contact would be leaving the office at 6. The man at the front desk had been very helpful previously about helping me with train connections. I told him what I needed to do. He looked at the clock skeptically, and said, "You know the trains are on strike." I smiled. He whispered, "There is a rumor that the trains will start running again at 5 because the train operators don't want to infuriate all the people who would miss the Stones concert if the trains aren't running." I was about 15 minutes from the station.
Bolting up the steps to my room two at a time, I headed for the book and a fast refresh. I was out the door in just a few minutes. I walked into the station at 4:58. At 5 p.m., the gates opened, and I jumped on the first train. I arrived at the small town where the publishing house was located and found my way about two blocks to the office. I had a lovely interview with the editor who gave me a nice goodie bag, and promptly at 6 p.m., he announced that he needed to leave for the concert.
While I can relate the events that occurred that afternoon in September 1998, I cannot find words to describe the experience. It was literally like being carried on an invisible flow with the ease of any unfolding miracle intent on me getting my book into this man's hands. There was quite literally no effort on my part. I just went where I was led. If any of these transition points hadn't gone perfectly, I wouldn't have had my interview, announcing Leading from the Heart to Greece. It happened with the ease of a miracle. Actually, the whole month in Greece happened with the ease of dozens of miracles.
Einstein once wrote, "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." When I get out of the way and allow myself to be led, everything is a miracle.
In June 1998, I was given very clear guidance about some things that I was supposed to do before fall. I had been in Greece to speak at a conference. On the short flight from Athens to a different meeting on Rhodes, I decided to meditate. With great force strong guidance came to me. In the preceding year, I had written my book Choice Point, and, in retrospect, I felt that following this guidance was my "training." I was going to be asked to do everything I'd written. Just totally surrender and allow myself to be led.
I was told to come back to Greece for a month long pilgrimage, but before I did, I was to travel from my home in North Carolina back to my old home towns in Oregon. I was specifically told to see three aging women, all of whom had been important to me "for they are not long for this world." I was puzzled, but followed as guided.
In July, I headed first to Eugene and then south to Medford and Prospect. I saw all three women, and while it was great to see them, quite frankly, they all seemed fine. At the end of August I left for a month in Greece. I had no itinerary, was told to take no credit cards, and very little cash. I was supposed to listen for guidance. The only guidance I received other than that was to "make my way to Thessaloniki," where I was to ask for the English-speaking priest for additional direction and to take four copies of the book. The guidance continued that it would be clear to me who was to receive them.
It was quite a journey, staying in what was then one of Europe's most expensive tourist destinations with $25/day for room, board, and everything else. Yet at every turn, someone would show up on my path with a place to stay or a good, but inexpensive place to stay or eat. I walked a lot and met remarkable people on the journey. About a week into my journey, I had guidance to call my house sitter. He told me that one of the three woman had been diagnosed with advance stage abdominal cancer and had died in just a few days. The second one would be gone in just a few months. The third began to be consumed by Alzheimer's disease. If I hadn't followed where I was led, I would have missed rich last time with each of them.
I made my way to Thessaloniki where I had an amazing experience with an English-speaking priest. Along the way, I had wonderful connections with people each of which taught me something for my spiritual journey. And, I travelled around the country with my four books for over three weeks. I have to say, I was beginning to have doubts, but everything else had gone so perfectly, that in my heart, I knew I would still be guided. With the first three copies, each time I just knew in the moment when it was the right person to receive a book.
The remarkable part of the "book distribution," however, came the last day of the trip. I was to lunch with a Greek-American business woman with whom I'd become acquainted when speaking at a business conference in the US the year before. That summer there had been a series of one-day strikes, and on my last day in Athens, the train operators were striking. The trains had been my way of getting around. Athens was in gridlock. Between buses and walking, I made my appointment. After lunch, I told her about my remaining book.
Loula was not a timid woman and seemed to know everyone in Athens intimately. She was one of those people who is "in charge," and nothing will get in her way when she is intent upon something. Loula directed me to the senior editor at a Greek women's magazine. She told me that he would be expecting me; however, she warned that the Rolling Stones were playing Athens for the first time in over two decades, and he had tickets. I must go there directly, and, oh, by the way, the publishing house was in a neighboring town outside of Athens. OK. The trains aren't running, and I still have to get my book. This is clearly out of my hands.
Loula walked out on the street where hundreds of people, abandoned by their trains, were fighting for an available taxi. She just walked up to one that was occupied, opened the door, said something to the driver and the other passengers, shoved me in, threw money at the driver, and slammed the door. I have no clue where I am going. My Greek wasn't good enough to communicate, so I just sheepishly slid back on the seat with a timid smile.
In 15 to 20 minutes, the taxi pulled up in front of the hostel where I was staying and let me out. As the button says, "That was easy!" It was about 4:30, and my contact would be leaving the office at 6. The man at the front desk had been very helpful previously about helping me with train connections. I told him what I needed to do. He looked at the clock skeptically, and said, "You know the trains are on strike." I smiled. He whispered, "There is a rumor that the trains will start running again at 5 because the train operators don't want to infuriate all the people who would miss the Stones concert if the trains aren't running." I was about 15 minutes from the station.
Bolting up the steps to my room two at a time, I headed for the book and a fast refresh. I was out the door in just a few minutes. I walked into the station at 4:58. At 5 p.m., the gates opened, and I jumped on the first train. I arrived at the small town where the publishing house was located and found my way about two blocks to the office. I had a lovely interview with the editor who gave me a nice goodie bag, and promptly at 6 p.m., he announced that he needed to leave for the concert.
While I can relate the events that occurred that afternoon in September 1998, I cannot find words to describe the experience. It was literally like being carried on an invisible flow with the ease of any unfolding miracle intent on me getting my book into this man's hands. There was quite literally no effort on my part. I just went where I was led. If any of these transition points hadn't gone perfectly, I wouldn't have had my interview, announcing Leading from the Heart to Greece. It happened with the ease of a miracle. Actually, the whole month in Greece happened with the ease of dozens of miracles.
Einstein once wrote, "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." When I get out of the way and allow myself to be led, everything is a miracle.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Little Miracles
Sometimes little miracles just show up. Our job is to recognize them. First off, an angel came to my door this evening. Just like that. And she spent almost an hour with me, showing me features of this blog. Thank you, Filiz!
One of the things you will be able to do in the future is to sign up for email notifications when I make a post. Some of you may think you've done so already, but since you weren't receiving them, Filiz helped me troubleshoot. I hadn't set things up right on my end. We think we've accomplished that now. However, you will need to go in and register again at the top of the column on the right.
Filiz also showed me some other features that I will be playing with so you may be noticing some changes in the days ahead.
The other little miracle is my new app that allows me to post from my iPhone. Since I spend quite a bit of time on trains each week, hopefully that means I will have fewer 1 a.m. posts...or not. This is my first post from my phone.
Life is full of little miracles. Most of the time most of us just take them for granted. Yet I find that, when in bring attention to the gifts that come into my life, I am always reminded of the divine preciseness of the Universe in delivering to me just what I need, exactly when I need it.
That may be a good place to pick up tomorrow.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
One of the things you will be able to do in the future is to sign up for email notifications when I make a post. Some of you may think you've done so already, but since you weren't receiving them, Filiz helped me troubleshoot. I hadn't set things up right on my end. We think we've accomplished that now. However, you will need to go in and register again at the top of the column on the right.
Filiz also showed me some other features that I will be playing with so you may be noticing some changes in the days ahead.
The other little miracle is my new app that allows me to post from my iPhone. Since I spend quite a bit of time on trains each week, hopefully that means I will have fewer 1 a.m. posts...or not. This is my first post from my phone.
Life is full of little miracles. Most of the time most of us just take them for granted. Yet I find that, when in bring attention to the gifts that come into my life, I am always reminded of the divine preciseness of the Universe in delivering to me just what I need, exactly when I need it.
That may be a good place to pick up tomorrow.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Sunday, November 3, 2013
God's paintbrush
When I looked out my living room window this morning, the view just took my breath away. I am fortunate enough to have a national park as my backdoor neighbor. In the last few days the fall color has burst out in its full glory. Closest to me are shades of orange and russet, but a cluster of brilliant yellow trees stands right in the middle of my panorama. Earlier today the sky was dark and brooding in the background, but a bright shaft of sunlight spotlighted that grove.
As the morning has progressed, the sky has brightened to a beautiful robin's egg blue with puffy white clouds, providing a perfect frame for the oranges closest to me. The wind blowing through the trees brings with it a similar tranquility to listening to the surf at the beach.
In the spring I have been equally taken with the tender lime greens of new leaves, interspersed with the violets of the native redbud trees. What a wonder! And, especially after a long and hard winter, what a blast of hope predicting an unending progression of color that will follow all spring and summer...leading up to the beauty that grabbed me today. Only God's paintbrush could have created such wonders.
How is it that we have been blessed with such wonder? It is certainly a gift and one that always lifts my heart when I am alert to that blessing. This morning I believe I experienced still a different purposefulness of nature's beauty.
I start each day by taking a few moments (occasionally it takes more than a few) to connect with the vibrational feeling in my heart that I believe is my connection to Love or to God...or probably they are the same. From what I have been able to tell, I can only do this when I am totally present. If my mind is drifting to yesterday or last week or jumping ahead to later today or tomorrow, I cannot get that feeling. So it was this morning that my mind seemed obsessed with something that happened in the past that I need to deal with tomorrow. Like a tennis match, my mind bounced from the past to the future back to the past...and so on...inconveniently skipping right over the "net" that is the present.
Determined not to start my day without being present and connected, I tried everything I could to will myself present. I tried for a very long time. I couldn't do it. Then I remembered to pray for help, and almost as I did, a snapshot of the landscape in the park flashed across my mind's eye. ("Remembering to Pray" 10/30/2013) Even in my imagining it was so beautiful that I gasped, and the moment I did, I felt the connection in my heart. After struggling for nearly an hour to connect, the beauty of God's paintbrush brought me into the present moment instantly. And...I have stayed there all day.
I have certainly had the experience of awe and wonder in the mountains, the Grand Canyon, and countless other places in nature. Today, I wonder if the purpose of those wonders is to call us present and to remind us of the omnipresence and timelessness of God's love for us, always there just for the price of recognizing it.
As the morning has progressed, the sky has brightened to a beautiful robin's egg blue with puffy white clouds, providing a perfect frame for the oranges closest to me. The wind blowing through the trees brings with it a similar tranquility to listening to the surf at the beach.
In the spring I have been equally taken with the tender lime greens of new leaves, interspersed with the violets of the native redbud trees. What a wonder! And, especially after a long and hard winter, what a blast of hope predicting an unending progression of color that will follow all spring and summer...leading up to the beauty that grabbed me today. Only God's paintbrush could have created such wonders.
How is it that we have been blessed with such wonder? It is certainly a gift and one that always lifts my heart when I am alert to that blessing. This morning I believe I experienced still a different purposefulness of nature's beauty.
I start each day by taking a few moments (occasionally it takes more than a few) to connect with the vibrational feeling in my heart that I believe is my connection to Love or to God...or probably they are the same. From what I have been able to tell, I can only do this when I am totally present. If my mind is drifting to yesterday or last week or jumping ahead to later today or tomorrow, I cannot get that feeling. So it was this morning that my mind seemed obsessed with something that happened in the past that I need to deal with tomorrow. Like a tennis match, my mind bounced from the past to the future back to the past...and so on...inconveniently skipping right over the "net" that is the present.
Determined not to start my day without being present and connected, I tried everything I could to will myself present. I tried for a very long time. I couldn't do it. Then I remembered to pray for help, and almost as I did, a snapshot of the landscape in the park flashed across my mind's eye. ("Remembering to Pray" 10/30/2013) Even in my imagining it was so beautiful that I gasped, and the moment I did, I felt the connection in my heart. After struggling for nearly an hour to connect, the beauty of God's paintbrush brought me into the present moment instantly. And...I have stayed there all day.
I have certainly had the experience of awe and wonder in the mountains, the Grand Canyon, and countless other places in nature. Today, I wonder if the purpose of those wonders is to call us present and to remind us of the omnipresence and timelessness of God's love for us, always there just for the price of recognizing it.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Pregnant?
I've just spent several minutes looking for a word. I didn't find the right one. I've felt funny today, and I am searching for a word to describe the feeling.
Some ancient cultures celebrated depression. They described that depression as a time when a person gathered courage to make a leap into a new phase of life. I don't really feel depressed in the way that we usually use that word. But, it does seem to me today like I am getting ready for a big change. I should be pacing or something. So, I did what I do when I need to pace: I cooked for several hours.
What is the word? I thought maybe it was "listless." I looked it up to be sure. "Lacking energy, interest, or the willingness to make an effort." Not that. I've had plenty of energy. I went for a long walk on a beautiful fall Saturday and enjoyed our first burst of fall color. However, I do feel a lack of interest, and I've struggled to "make an effort," well, because I felt so strongly that change is coming that anything I would do today felt like it would be irrelevant tomorrow.
In these busy times where we are all supposed to have a goal or direction and keep moving in that way, we put little value on the transitions, and I am not sure that those transitions may not be much more important. Whether it is gathering steam for a leap or grieving a loved one, those times when we just need to "be" are undervalued, and maybe even disparaged by some. We need them to build courage for what is next. We need them to help us get ready for a world that will be so different from the one in which we currently exist that we will not recognize it.
When I was a small child, my parents bred dogs, and on the day that the mother was about to give birth, she paced and was restless beyond belief. I think what I may be feeling today is...pregnant. (Not in the having a baby sense. I'm passed that.) Really feeling that I am about to give birth to something, and I don't know what it is. It is exciting and at the same time terrifying. Will I be able to stand up to the challenge of birthing this thing? What will it look like? What will it mean for my life? While I am terrified, I am restless. I want to get on with it, but the gestation period is clearly not complete.
So I wait with pregnant anticipation to see what the Universe has in store for me.
Some ancient cultures celebrated depression. They described that depression as a time when a person gathered courage to make a leap into a new phase of life. I don't really feel depressed in the way that we usually use that word. But, it does seem to me today like I am getting ready for a big change. I should be pacing or something. So, I did what I do when I need to pace: I cooked for several hours.
What is the word? I thought maybe it was "listless." I looked it up to be sure. "Lacking energy, interest, or the willingness to make an effort." Not that. I've had plenty of energy. I went for a long walk on a beautiful fall Saturday and enjoyed our first burst of fall color. However, I do feel a lack of interest, and I've struggled to "make an effort," well, because I felt so strongly that change is coming that anything I would do today felt like it would be irrelevant tomorrow.
In these busy times where we are all supposed to have a goal or direction and keep moving in that way, we put little value on the transitions, and I am not sure that those transitions may not be much more important. Whether it is gathering steam for a leap or grieving a loved one, those times when we just need to "be" are undervalued, and maybe even disparaged by some. We need them to build courage for what is next. We need them to help us get ready for a world that will be so different from the one in which we currently exist that we will not recognize it.
When I was a small child, my parents bred dogs, and on the day that the mother was about to give birth, she paced and was restless beyond belief. I think what I may be feeling today is...pregnant. (Not in the having a baby sense. I'm passed that.) Really feeling that I am about to give birth to something, and I don't know what it is. It is exciting and at the same time terrifying. Will I be able to stand up to the challenge of birthing this thing? What will it look like? What will it mean for my life? While I am terrified, I am restless. I want to get on with it, but the gestation period is clearly not complete.
So I wait with pregnant anticipation to see what the Universe has in store for me.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Going toward or running away?
The most primitive part of our brains--the part that formed millions of years before our rational brains--is hardwired to respond to fear. When humans existed in the wilds, and life was a day-to-day struggle for survival, what is called the "reptilian brain" developed two basic instantaneous responses to threat: "fight" or "flight." Interestingly, this primitive response will literally short-circuit the rational part of the brain when threat is perceived, stopping it from functioning.
What does all this have to do with the spiritual journey? Almost everything, actually. Because the reptilian brain is programmed for survival, it will try to keep us in survival mode. It's purpose is to keep us alive. By definition, living in constant fear is constraining and limiting.
The spiritual life is expansive. It is one of learning, growth, and acceptance. We are sent into this world with service to perform, spiritual growth lessons to learn, and gifts and talents to develop. If we do any of these things well, we will regularly look fear in the face. If we listen to what we know in our hearts, though, what compels us is the urge to thrive.
It seems to me that there must almost always be the grappling of these two forces within us: the part of us that wants only for us to survive wrestling with the part of us that wants to grow, perform our service, use our talents...and thrive. Contraction versus expansion.
Not so many years ago, I can recall having made the statement that I'd never made a decision which was based on money considerations. I would have said that I always listen to my heart and just know that if I do so, everything will work out. Except when it didn't. About 12 years ago, I lost everything...really. But for friends that allowed me to use spare bedrooms, I would have been in the streets.
Circumstances from my early childhood had left me fiercely independent from a very early age. I had gone from being a successful global consultant, author and professional speaker with a lovely home and office overlooking a lake to having no assets, being homeless and not knowing how I would pay for food. How could that have happened to me? I'd had a savings account since I was an infant and a well-funded retirement since my early thirties. Then I had nothing. I was terrified. I plugged into my reptilian brain, and I haven't fully been able to shake it.
I struggle with that. I want to thrive. I want to do the work I came into the world to do. I want to learn and grow and to use my gifts. Quite thankfully for this blog, I am getting my writer's groove back. I really believe that we are to listen to our hearts and do what makes them sing. The spiritual journey is about following that to which we are drawn, rather than running from what we fear.
After I'd completed my end-of-the-day ritual of affirmations, gratitude journal, and prayer last night, and had turned out the lights, I suddenly knew that something was wrong in what I'd posted yesterday. Throwing back the covers and turning the light back on, I padded out to my desk and rebooted my computer in my otherwise dark apartment. I felt it urgent to correct before I slept. Really, I think I needed to acknowledge my truth.
Yesterday I compared the human connection to Love source to that of the aspen grove which appears to be hundreds or thousands of trees, but shares a common root structure and is connect at the most fundamental level. We look like individual people, but in truth, we are connected through a common source: Love. What I had said is that when we are connected to source that we couldn't be hurt. I realized that was my reptilian brain talking about avoiding hurt. My change, although apparently only a minor one, was to say that when we are connected through Love, we are safe and peaceful. The shift is from running away from something--hurt--to moving toward something we want--Love, peace, and safety. Such a small thing...and everything.
On the spiritual journey, when I can be awake enough to remember (translate that I have disengaged my reptilian brain,) my real lesson is to follow Love. What I wan to move toward. That's all...and everything.
What does all this have to do with the spiritual journey? Almost everything, actually. Because the reptilian brain is programmed for survival, it will try to keep us in survival mode. It's purpose is to keep us alive. By definition, living in constant fear is constraining and limiting.
The spiritual life is expansive. It is one of learning, growth, and acceptance. We are sent into this world with service to perform, spiritual growth lessons to learn, and gifts and talents to develop. If we do any of these things well, we will regularly look fear in the face. If we listen to what we know in our hearts, though, what compels us is the urge to thrive.
It seems to me that there must almost always be the grappling of these two forces within us: the part of us that wants only for us to survive wrestling with the part of us that wants to grow, perform our service, use our talents...and thrive. Contraction versus expansion.
Not so many years ago, I can recall having made the statement that I'd never made a decision which was based on money considerations. I would have said that I always listen to my heart and just know that if I do so, everything will work out. Except when it didn't. About 12 years ago, I lost everything...really. But for friends that allowed me to use spare bedrooms, I would have been in the streets.
Circumstances from my early childhood had left me fiercely independent from a very early age. I had gone from being a successful global consultant, author and professional speaker with a lovely home and office overlooking a lake to having no assets, being homeless and not knowing how I would pay for food. How could that have happened to me? I'd had a savings account since I was an infant and a well-funded retirement since my early thirties. Then I had nothing. I was terrified. I plugged into my reptilian brain, and I haven't fully been able to shake it.
I struggle with that. I want to thrive. I want to do the work I came into the world to do. I want to learn and grow and to use my gifts. Quite thankfully for this blog, I am getting my writer's groove back. I really believe that we are to listen to our hearts and do what makes them sing. The spiritual journey is about following that to which we are drawn, rather than running from what we fear.
After I'd completed my end-of-the-day ritual of affirmations, gratitude journal, and prayer last night, and had turned out the lights, I suddenly knew that something was wrong in what I'd posted yesterday. Throwing back the covers and turning the light back on, I padded out to my desk and rebooted my computer in my otherwise dark apartment. I felt it urgent to correct before I slept. Really, I think I needed to acknowledge my truth.
Yesterday I compared the human connection to Love source to that of the aspen grove which appears to be hundreds or thousands of trees, but shares a common root structure and is connect at the most fundamental level. We look like individual people, but in truth, we are connected through a common source: Love. What I had said is that when we are connected to source that we couldn't be hurt. I realized that was my reptilian brain talking about avoiding hurt. My change, although apparently only a minor one, was to say that when we are connected through Love, we are safe and peaceful. The shift is from running away from something--hurt--to moving toward something we want--Love, peace, and safety. Such a small thing...and everything.
On the spiritual journey, when I can be awake enough to remember (translate that I have disengaged my reptilian brain,) my real lesson is to follow Love. What I wan to move toward. That's all...and everything.
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