Most of us have seen movies or television depictions of addicts in drug withdrawal. One of the most moving performances that I recall was that of Diana Ross in the 1972 movie, "Lady Sings the Blues," which portrays the struggle that jazz icon Billie Holiday had with heroin. Ross made her audience feel Holiday's pain. (I still think she deserved the Academy Award for the performance.)
As I've been withdrawing from work addiction, I too have been adjusting to physical changes. While I have been working fewer hours and having more fun, I do find that I am often very tired, and I've been sleeping...a lot.
Work addiction triggers other addictions, and it ends up that one of the most destructive is adrenaline addiction. Adrenaline is a powerful hormone, which nature gave us for emergencies--when we needed to pull out the stops and do something extraordinary. The classic example is the mom which finds it within herself to lift a car when her child is trapped beneath it. Adrenaline is supposed to help us do something extraordinary in unusual circumstances.
However, increasingly, adrenaline is being used just to get through our normal daily schedules, where multi-tasking and long hours have become the order of the day. We, myself included, have often used it to keep us focused on what is in front of us in that moment...and the next...and the next.
I am sure that, rarely having needed the addictive hormone in the last month, I should expect some withdrawal symptoms. Most troubling to me is how detached that I must have become to my body's physical needs. Somehow the adrenaline has allowed me to push down my exhaustion so I didn't notice it until I was out from under the destructive influence of the hormone's destructive power when it is used habitually to just get through life.
More important than the physical withdrawal is the spiritual loneliness that I've been feeling. Back in the day when I lived a normal, relaxed life, I meditated daily, and I prayed off and on all day. Dancing gave me a physical creative outlet almost daily.
My writing kept me in touch with my soul and how I connected with all of human kind through my soul. Although I've had more time recently, I haven't written much in this blog for these weeks. I have almost never, even as a child, sat down to write and not had words flow through me.
But, they just haven't been flowing. I would sit and stare at the computer screen, and nothing would come. Or a thought would come, and it would be gone as fast as it came because I'd be so physically tired from the adrenaline withdrawal. Only this week have I been able to sit and get my words again.
Almost always in my life, I've been able to push through what was in front of me and get done what needed to get done. I've thought that a good thing. Determination and perseverance of qualities valued in our culture. Now I am not sure that the ability to push through whatever is in front of me is a good thing, certainly not for me. I've used those qualities instead of establishing priorities and setting boundaries. I've tried to prove I could do it all, without ever asking myself "What is the value of doing it all?" And even, "Is that value something that is meaningful to me?"
I've written a lot about intention, and I've even written about buying into our culture's expectations to the exclusion of our personal spiritual intentions. And without adrenaline masking what was happening, I can see how I've been seduced by the cultural norms. Now, stripped of the adrenaline, relaxed, and much more conscious, I feel spiritual loneliness. I am aware that I've lost important pieces of myself along the way, and I haven't really known exactly how to begin reclaiming them.
As I write, deep within me is a muffled chuckle: "You had to come to this," it says. On New Year's Eve 1997, I finished my first draft of a manuscript for the book Choice Point. I worked on it for another couple of years after that, polishing it. About 50 people read it and thought it was an important work. I was never able to find a publisher for it. In the craziness of the last 15 years, Choice Point has gathered dust on a shelf, becoming badly dated.
The book is about choosing your soul's intention for its life, rather than buying into expectations of the popular culture around us. I believe the principles are solid, but when I wrote it in the 1990s, I was in my relaxed period, and I couldn't really understand, or maybe remember, what it was like to make those hard choices. I hadn't made them for a very long time. In the frenetic years, I couldn't write about them, because I wasn't conscious enough. Now, in my spiritual loneliness, I see the potential to bring life to the manuscript with full consciousness of the spiritual sacrifices that we often make, without even being aware we are making them. That is the knowing of the muffled, "You had to come to this."
My experience reflects this truth: when I am writing a book, I need to live it before it can be birthed into the world. So it was with Leading from the Heart, subtitled "choosing courage over fear." I repeatedly had to reach deep within myself to find the courage of my heart. As I was birthing The Alchemy of Fear, I had to face some of my deepest fears. I am not surprised then that the Universe has provided me with this opportunity to step into my spiritual loneliness and find the truth of Choice Point.
Showing posts with label Leading from the Heart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Leading from the Heart. Show all posts
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Saturday, July 18, 2015
The First Day of Class
As a youngster, I always looked forward to the start of school, and my first encounter with insomnia came the night before the first day of school. I'd be so excited that I couldn't possibly go to sleep. Not much has changed for me. Today was the first day of my Psychology of Happiness class. While I did sleep last night, I was just as excited. My passion for learning sparked yet again. Up earlier than usual this morning, I completed my chores had been completed 90 minutes before the start of class. I was eager and waiting.
There are so many ways that I am grateful for this class, and I'm particularly happy that I delayed my March start of this class until this group. As we did our class introductions, almost ever one of us spoke of "resilience" as the trait that we are most proud of, and all of us shared that we'd had to overcome major, multiple, and even recurring challenges in life. About two-thirds of the way through introductions, one of my new classmates said we must all be related--from the same family. We are certainly kindred spirits, who seemed to bond almost immediately.
Like many first classes, this one started with a high-level overview, and we will drill down into each topic as the course proceeds. For this class, the overview revealed "Seven Habits of Happiness":
There are so many ways that I am grateful for this class, and I'm particularly happy that I delayed my March start of this class until this group. As we did our class introductions, almost ever one of us spoke of "resilience" as the trait that we are most proud of, and all of us shared that we'd had to overcome major, multiple, and even recurring challenges in life. About two-thirds of the way through introductions, one of my new classmates said we must all be related--from the same family. We are certainly kindred spirits, who seemed to bond almost immediately.
Like many first classes, this one started with a high-level overview, and we will drill down into each topic as the course proceeds. For this class, the overview revealed "Seven Habits of Happiness":
- Quality relationships
- Caring & acts of kindness
- Physical health
- Flow
- Character strengths & virtues
- Spiritual engagement
- Positive Mindset
Even though this was the survey class, I immediately recognized how these seven topics and the characteristics within each splendidly tied together many aspects of life with which I've struggled. We were asked to pick one of these to focus on for the duration of the class. Intuitively, I knew "physical health" was the one for me. As frequent readers will recall, I've struggled with allowing work to squeeze exercise out of my daily routine, and I've wrestled with my sugar addiction. My desire to be present significantly impacts several aspects of my health. Doing my physical therapy exercises daily greatly influences the level of pain with which I live.
As my day began to wind down, I reflected on this list of happiness habits, and I thought about how powerful my intention is when I really put my mind to something, most certainly the foundation of my resilience. I knew specific things that I want to do for each of the areas, except "Flow."
I know "flow" well: it is that state in which we are having so much joy with what we are doing that we lose track of time and consciousness. It requires a high skill level and equally high challenge. Flow requires that we really care about what we are doing. The possibility to "win" must be present.
The place in my life in which I am most predictably in "flow" is when I write. When writing Leading from the Heart, I would often find that it was getting dark outside on long summer days when I began to get tired, the first experience I'd had of being conscious since sitting down to write, maybe 8 to 10 hours earlier. I wouldn't eat, drink, or go to the bathroom, not due to deprivation, but because I was really out of my body and unable to experience the signs of bodily needs.
Similarly, I recall one day when writing The Game Called Life, a book that I finished in five days, I actually wrote 32 pages in one day. With my conscious logical mind, I have absolutely no concept how I did that, but I truly surrendered to my flow state.
I've experienced flow in other places in my life--when gardening, when dancing, occasionally when cooking, often when coaching, and sometimes when working on designs for my organization development (OD) work. Currently, I am encountering impediments to the flow state in most of these areas of my life. The northern exposure of my balcony garden makes "winning" almost impossible. (My neighbor warned me, but hope springs eternal.) I rarely have a dance partner any more who challenges me. My OD design work is often not challenging, and when it is, there are so many interruptions that getting to that place where I lose consciousness is impossible.
Lest you think this is a lot of grumbling and complaining, it is not. In my heart of hearts, I know that I can experience flow every single day just by choosing it. Every time I write this blog, I fall into a flow state. Yet, with increasing frequency, I have chosen to let the demands of longer and longer days on the job push writing out of my day. A week ago, I had a really good idea for a post and even wrote myself a note so I wouldn't lose the thought. By the time that I found energy to write Thursday evening, I sat staring at the note with no recollection at all of my earlier inspiration.
I have no illusions that taking this class will transform all of my bad habits, or that I will miraculously find the energy and will to write at the end of a 12-hour day. However, there is one thing about intention about which I have become very clear: it is like target practice. If I miss the bulls-eye, I aim again and give it another shot. Over time, I become more and more consistent at reaching my intention. There are aspects of my life that 30 years ago I would have been shocked to learn that I now do quite consistently. My hope is that looking back to 2015 in another 25 or 30 years, I will see that the things with which I struggle today have become happy habits in my life.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Acting the Courage of our Convictions
Today I volunteer ushered at a performance of the play Camp David at Arena Stage. Occasionally, the theatre has a shortage of ushers and puts out a request for people willing to volunteer for a second performance of the same play. I'd volunteered at the play two weeks ago, but I was available so I thought I'd help.
Usually, when I serve a second performance of the same play, I leave after patrons have been seated, and the play has begun. In the spirit of doing something different (see yesterday,) I stayed and watched the play again. The play is a poignant work. I was even more moved the second time.
The play synopsizes the behind-the-scenes negotiating executed by then President Jimmy Carter between Egyptian president Anwar Sadat and Israeli prime minister Menachem Begin at the Presidential retreat Camp David in the mountains of northern Maryland in 1979. Still considered Begin's most significant achievement (Wikipedia,) signing of the Camp David Accords was the first time Israel had a negotiated peace with an Arab neighbor since Biblical times. Following wars between Israel and Egypt in 1967 and 1973 which had cost 100,000 lives, the three key players knew that another war was inevitable, if they couldn't reach an agreement.
During the course of the play, which was based on personal diaries of President Carter and First Lady Rosalind Carter, the audience learns how perilous the potential peace was during the 13 days of negotiation. Participants recall that Sadat was the only person in the Egyptian delegation, who wanted peace, and Begin was the only one in the Israeli delegation, who did not. Yet, in no small part due to what each player wanted (or didn't want) for his grandchildren, peace was accomplished. (Sadat and Begin shared the Nobel Peace Prize for the accomplishment.)
Sometimes the theatre hosts a discussion after thought-provoking plays. I rarely stay. Today I did something else different, especially different for me on a beautiful spring afternoon: I stayed and participated.
The panel this afternoon was particularly prestigious and apropos:
-Gerald Rafshoon, White House Communications Director under President Carter, one of the few participants at Camp David other than the principals, and collaborator on the writing of the play Camp David
-Anita Dunn, President Obama's Deputy Director of White House Communications and a White House intern in that office at the time of Camp David
-Debra Amos, NPR's Middle East correspondent for many years
-Judy Woodruff, currently co-anchor of the PBS Newshour and former chief White House correspondent for NBC News at the time of Camp David
Their perspectives were insightful. They added color and pretty much agreed that it was much easier for the President and two other world leaders to disappear on a mountaintop with almost no communication for 13 days, when there were only three major networks and no social media, than it would have been with today's 24/7 news cycle.
However, Rafshoon insisted that the word be "easier" rather than "easy." President Carter was advised against the mission. President Anwar Sadat knew and openly expressed that he was signing his death warrant. Prime Minister Menachem Begin presumed political suicide. They all ended up being right. (President Carter was not reelected. Sadat was assassinated the next year by fundamentalists opposed to the Accords. Begin lived out his life as a recluse.) Yet they were willing to risk everything for the cause of peace in the Middle East.
As each member of the panel offered concluding remarks, their agreement settled on the conviction, largely of President Carter, to courageously push ahead when his absence from the public eye at a time of much turmoil in his presidency almost assured his defeat. Several times during his presidency, Rafshoon said of Carter, he insisted on doing what he thought was the "right" thing, even while risking significant political costs. The willingness of a leader to take those risks today could enable such an effort again, they agreed.
During the course of dialogue between the panel and the audience, at one point the conversation drifted from Camp David to examine similar parallels between President Johnson and the Civil Rights Act. Long before Vietnam sealed his presidential fate, Johnson had made the decision to pursue civil rights legislation, even when he'd been assured that it would cost him reelection. Paraphrasing, Johnson had said, "If I can't do something about civil rights, what good is the presidency?"
Abraham Lincoln and Mohandas Gandhi were similar men of conviction who paid the ultimate price to do what was right.
In Leading from the Heart I described leadership as beginning when one person believes he or she can make a difference and then having the faith and conviction to pursue what they can to make that difference. If the leader can dream it, I said, the true leader sets about to make it happen. These were men dreaming something bigger than themselves and then acting the courage of their convictions, without concern for the personal consequences.
The course of human history has been punctuated by a few courageous souls who were unwilling to sit with the status quo and chose to create meaningful change. There is something that each of us can do to make the world a better place. Still we often hold back for fear of personal consequences. The message on the back of each of our hearts is nagging at us to do something. ("Intention," 3/13/14) The next time I feel that strong tug, I will remember Camp David and the courage of those men to make peace.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Usually, when I serve a second performance of the same play, I leave after patrons have been seated, and the play has begun. In the spirit of doing something different (see yesterday,) I stayed and watched the play again. The play is a poignant work. I was even more moved the second time.
The play synopsizes the behind-the-scenes negotiating executed by then President Jimmy Carter between Egyptian president Anwar Sadat and Israeli prime minister Menachem Begin at the Presidential retreat Camp David in the mountains of northern Maryland in 1979. Still considered Begin's most significant achievement (Wikipedia,) signing of the Camp David Accords was the first time Israel had a negotiated peace with an Arab neighbor since Biblical times. Following wars between Israel and Egypt in 1967 and 1973 which had cost 100,000 lives, the three key players knew that another war was inevitable, if they couldn't reach an agreement.
During the course of the play, which was based on personal diaries of President Carter and First Lady Rosalind Carter, the audience learns how perilous the potential peace was during the 13 days of negotiation. Participants recall that Sadat was the only person in the Egyptian delegation, who wanted peace, and Begin was the only one in the Israeli delegation, who did not. Yet, in no small part due to what each player wanted (or didn't want) for his grandchildren, peace was accomplished. (Sadat and Begin shared the Nobel Peace Prize for the accomplishment.)
Sometimes the theatre hosts a discussion after thought-provoking plays. I rarely stay. Today I did something else different, especially different for me on a beautiful spring afternoon: I stayed and participated.
The panel this afternoon was particularly prestigious and apropos:
-Gerald Rafshoon, White House Communications Director under President Carter, one of the few participants at Camp David other than the principals, and collaborator on the writing of the play Camp David
-Anita Dunn, President Obama's Deputy Director of White House Communications and a White House intern in that office at the time of Camp David
-Debra Amos, NPR's Middle East correspondent for many years
-Judy Woodruff, currently co-anchor of the PBS Newshour and former chief White House correspondent for NBC News at the time of Camp David
Their perspectives were insightful. They added color and pretty much agreed that it was much easier for the President and two other world leaders to disappear on a mountaintop with almost no communication for 13 days, when there were only three major networks and no social media, than it would have been with today's 24/7 news cycle.
However, Rafshoon insisted that the word be "easier" rather than "easy." President Carter was advised against the mission. President Anwar Sadat knew and openly expressed that he was signing his death warrant. Prime Minister Menachem Begin presumed political suicide. They all ended up being right. (President Carter was not reelected. Sadat was assassinated the next year by fundamentalists opposed to the Accords. Begin lived out his life as a recluse.) Yet they were willing to risk everything for the cause of peace in the Middle East.
As each member of the panel offered concluding remarks, their agreement settled on the conviction, largely of President Carter, to courageously push ahead when his absence from the public eye at a time of much turmoil in his presidency almost assured his defeat. Several times during his presidency, Rafshoon said of Carter, he insisted on doing what he thought was the "right" thing, even while risking significant political costs. The willingness of a leader to take those risks today could enable such an effort again, they agreed.
During the course of dialogue between the panel and the audience, at one point the conversation drifted from Camp David to examine similar parallels between President Johnson and the Civil Rights Act. Long before Vietnam sealed his presidential fate, Johnson had made the decision to pursue civil rights legislation, even when he'd been assured that it would cost him reelection. Paraphrasing, Johnson had said, "If I can't do something about civil rights, what good is the presidency?"
Abraham Lincoln and Mohandas Gandhi were similar men of conviction who paid the ultimate price to do what was right.
In Leading from the Heart I described leadership as beginning when one person believes he or she can make a difference and then having the faith and conviction to pursue what they can to make that difference. If the leader can dream it, I said, the true leader sets about to make it happen. These were men dreaming something bigger than themselves and then acting the courage of their convictions, without concern for the personal consequences.
The course of human history has been punctuated by a few courageous souls who were unwilling to sit with the status quo and chose to create meaningful change. There is something that each of us can do to make the world a better place. Still we often hold back for fear of personal consequences. The message on the back of each of our hearts is nagging at us to do something. ("Intention," 3/13/14) The next time I feel that strong tug, I will remember Camp David and the courage of those men to make peace.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Monday, January 13, 2014
Risking Greatness
In my book The Game Called Life, spiritual guide/guardian angel Helen explains to Lizzie, the person she is helping, the steps to "living a prayer in the real world." The "real" world is the spiritual world, as opposed to the "fictional" world, which is the one in which most of us think we exist. Step Six is "risk greatness."
She says: "I am not speaking of greatness in fictional world terms where people reach a high level in their worldly work or make a lot of money. Greatness in the real world means speeding the evolution of humankind." Later she explains why "greatness" is a risk.
"Greatness itself isn't the risk. The risk lies in the willingness to consistently answer a call that usually cannot be understood. The path to greatness requires players to do things that they may never have been done before or at least to do them in unconventional ways."
In recent days there seems to be a magic that as soon as I publish one blogpost, a related idea pops into my head which builds on that post. After yesterday's post on vulnerability, I realized that what I'd really been writing about was risking greatness. Am I willing to be personally vulnerable in order to evolve humankind?
I've crossed that bridge before. Leading from the Heart and The Alchemy of Fear were not exactly conventional business books. I knew at the time I wrote them that I was exposing myself to criticism from traditional management audiences, as well as more conventionally religious readers. I couldn't prove what I was about to write. I had no data (and still don't) that leading and working from our spiritual cores and making the increase of love be our motivation would help organizations, but I'd seen it. I knew what I knew. I could evolve the way we work. So, I wrote, and many people read. Both books received some official recognition, but in serving the spirit world, I did marginalize myself for a long time in the management consulting world. It was as if that community thought that my left brain evaporated, as I wrote what the right brain told me.
Then came The Game Called Life which explained "how the world worked" in a somewhat unconventional way. Life is a game, but most of us just don't know the rules. The Game and Choice Point, which hasn't seen the light of day beyond a small circle of friends who have been deeply moved by it, not only flew in the face of many conventional religious beliefs but also are contrary to many popular "New Age" teachings. I couldn't prove it, but I knew what I knew, so I wrote.
I've stood in front of audiences and shared deeply personal parts of myself because I thought that doing so would help others sustain their own spiritual journeys.
Although I am not sure that anyone would say that I achieved greatness in the normal world (what Helen would call the "fictional" world) context, I still hear from people who were empowered for their own journeys by the words that have moved through me. While it was a risk to take on these major constituencies, my spiritual center told me that it was my work to do.
Have I been vulnerable? Of course. Would I do one thing differently? Never. If vulnerability is how we find God then each of those writing experiences have been other worldly. I have surrendered to the words that wanted to move through me. I have learned for the first time as I read what was on the screen in front of me. To surrender so completely is by definition risking and vulnerable. And, only twice have I felt closer to God than when I am writing.
I stand at the precipice of vulnerability, ready to jump,...again. I am ready to risk greatness in the hope that I can have the teensiest role in evolving human kind.
She says: "I am not speaking of greatness in fictional world terms where people reach a high level in their worldly work or make a lot of money. Greatness in the real world means speeding the evolution of humankind." Later she explains why "greatness" is a risk.
"Greatness itself isn't the risk. The risk lies in the willingness to consistently answer a call that usually cannot be understood. The path to greatness requires players to do things that they may never have been done before or at least to do them in unconventional ways."
In recent days there seems to be a magic that as soon as I publish one blogpost, a related idea pops into my head which builds on that post. After yesterday's post on vulnerability, I realized that what I'd really been writing about was risking greatness. Am I willing to be personally vulnerable in order to evolve humankind?
I've crossed that bridge before. Leading from the Heart and The Alchemy of Fear were not exactly conventional business books. I knew at the time I wrote them that I was exposing myself to criticism from traditional management audiences, as well as more conventionally religious readers. I couldn't prove what I was about to write. I had no data (and still don't) that leading and working from our spiritual cores and making the increase of love be our motivation would help organizations, but I'd seen it. I knew what I knew. I could evolve the way we work. So, I wrote, and many people read. Both books received some official recognition, but in serving the spirit world, I did marginalize myself for a long time in the management consulting world. It was as if that community thought that my left brain evaporated, as I wrote what the right brain told me.
Then came The Game Called Life which explained "how the world worked" in a somewhat unconventional way. Life is a game, but most of us just don't know the rules. The Game and Choice Point, which hasn't seen the light of day beyond a small circle of friends who have been deeply moved by it, not only flew in the face of many conventional religious beliefs but also are contrary to many popular "New Age" teachings. I couldn't prove it, but I knew what I knew, so I wrote.
I've stood in front of audiences and shared deeply personal parts of myself because I thought that doing so would help others sustain their own spiritual journeys.
Although I am not sure that anyone would say that I achieved greatness in the normal world (what Helen would call the "fictional" world) context, I still hear from people who were empowered for their own journeys by the words that have moved through me. While it was a risk to take on these major constituencies, my spiritual center told me that it was my work to do.
Have I been vulnerable? Of course. Would I do one thing differently? Never. If vulnerability is how we find God then each of those writing experiences have been other worldly. I have surrendered to the words that wanted to move through me. I have learned for the first time as I read what was on the screen in front of me. To surrender so completely is by definition risking and vulnerable. And, only twice have I felt closer to God than when I am writing.
I stand at the precipice of vulnerability, ready to jump,...again. I am ready to risk greatness in the hope that I can have the teensiest role in evolving human kind.
Friday, December 27, 2013
Compassion
Yesterday one of the readers of this blog mentioned that among the qualities of Christmas about which I'd written this month that I had neglected "compassion." The season isn't over yet.
As I thought about compassion, I recalled an appearance by Karen Armstrong on Oprah's Super Soul Sunday program a few weeks ago. Armstrong is a former Roman Catholic nun, who studies and writes about comparative religions. She has written that the heart of all religious, ethical, and spiritual traditions is "compassion." She describes the manifestation of "compassion" as being the Golden Rule--do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Armstrong has crafted a Charter for Compassion. (http://charterforcompassion.org/) The Charter calls for a restoration of compassion as the center of morality and religion.
While Armstrong finds "compassion" as the Golden Rule, Wikipedia describes compassion as "the feeling of empathy for others. Compassion is the emotion that we feel in response to the suffering of others that motivates a desire to help." The source of the desire to help is captured by the name of the East Asian Goddess of Compassion--Guanyin. Guanyin means "observing the sounds or cries of the world." How more could we feel with others more than to hear the cries of the world?
Besides being a religious, ethical, and spiritual concept, feeling with others is among the most important aspects of leadership. Empathy--the capacity to recognize emotions that are being experienced by another--is a critical aspect of emotional intelligence, and emotional intelligence, in turn, is the single most important predictor of leadership.
In Leading from the Heart, I described leadership as "seeing things as you would have them be and then having the courage to be the change you would create...If I can think it," I said, "it can happen....Leadership begins with one person--one person who believes he or she can make a difference." In the spirit of that definition, how wise could it be to hear the cries of the world and then do unto others as you would have them do unto you--be compassion.
The reader who introduced "compassion" was responding to the Christmas Day posting, "Honoring Christmas," (12/25/13) which quoted Dickens: "I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year." She was right: caring, hearing the cries of the world, helping, empathy, the Golden Rule, and making a difference are indeed qualities of Christmas to hold in our hearts for the whole year. May you hold compassion in your heart all year.
As I thought about compassion, I recalled an appearance by Karen Armstrong on Oprah's Super Soul Sunday program a few weeks ago. Armstrong is a former Roman Catholic nun, who studies and writes about comparative religions. She has written that the heart of all religious, ethical, and spiritual traditions is "compassion." She describes the manifestation of "compassion" as being the Golden Rule--do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Armstrong has crafted a Charter for Compassion. (http://charterforcompassion.org/) The Charter calls for a restoration of compassion as the center of morality and religion.
While Armstrong finds "compassion" as the Golden Rule, Wikipedia describes compassion as "the feeling of empathy for others. Compassion is the emotion that we feel in response to the suffering of others that motivates a desire to help." The source of the desire to help is captured by the name of the East Asian Goddess of Compassion--Guanyin. Guanyin means "observing the sounds or cries of the world." How more could we feel with others more than to hear the cries of the world?
Besides being a religious, ethical, and spiritual concept, feeling with others is among the most important aspects of leadership. Empathy--the capacity to recognize emotions that are being experienced by another--is a critical aspect of emotional intelligence, and emotional intelligence, in turn, is the single most important predictor of leadership.
In Leading from the Heart, I described leadership as "seeing things as you would have them be and then having the courage to be the change you would create...If I can think it," I said, "it can happen....Leadership begins with one person--one person who believes he or she can make a difference." In the spirit of that definition, how wise could it be to hear the cries of the world and then do unto others as you would have them do unto you--be compassion.
The reader who introduced "compassion" was responding to the Christmas Day posting, "Honoring Christmas," (12/25/13) which quoted Dickens: "I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year." She was right: caring, hearing the cries of the world, helping, empathy, the Golden Rule, and making a difference are indeed qualities of Christmas to hold in our hearts for the whole year. May you hold compassion in your heart all year.
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. :-)
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, September 29, 2013
Being
Yesterday I wrote about being present--being fully where we are when we are there. As I've continued to ponder "being present," I am brought back to one of my favorite topics: being. Leading from the Heart, my first book, was about our being: who each of us is, stripped away from the "having" and "doing."
Sometimes I have waves of "knowing" when something seems perfectly clear for the first time, and then I realize I had known that before. So it is with "being" today. I had this realization that "being" is looking inwardly to listen, feel, and hear who we are. Earlier I spoke (Beginning Again, 9/22/13) about the message, etched on the back of each of our hearts, that we brought into this life. When we are "being," we are attuned to that message. We may not be able to articulate what it is, but we "know" who we are and why we are here. It is the internal of "being present," except that this "being present" is being present to this moment on the inside.
Then, I realized that is what I wrote in Leading from the Heart. I've known it for at least 20 years. But I also knew it 15 years ago when I wrote Choice Point and 11 years ago when I was writing The Game Called Life. Why does it suddenly seem like such a spiritual breakthrough? Because I am writing again? When I am writing, what I know in my heart pours onto the page without passing through my brain. I think what is different this time is that I seemed to really "get it" without my keyboard. It was just there when I was making a salad for lunch, and it was there when I was watching something on TV, and it was still there when I awakened from my nap.
When I am present to what I know in my heart, I am perfectly attuned to the larger "I Am," a knowing of what we all know when we are in the ribbon of love that connects us, heart to heart, across time and space. I suspect that it is part of the universal message that we all know in our hearts, but maybe it is my message to bring to the world. Or maybe when I bring it to the world, others will awaken to that universal message.
There is a line in the Hindu sacred text The Upanishads about "the sleeping state that men call waking." I was struck speechless when I read it for the first time. We autopilot through life, moving about as if we are awake, but really we are in some kind of trance. It is only in the moments when we choose to "be present" to the world around us or "be" present to our hearts that we are really awake. We re-member our purpose, and we find the courage to be it. Now. Being...in the present.
Sometimes I have waves of "knowing" when something seems perfectly clear for the first time, and then I realize I had known that before. So it is with "being" today. I had this realization that "being" is looking inwardly to listen, feel, and hear who we are. Earlier I spoke (Beginning Again, 9/22/13) about the message, etched on the back of each of our hearts, that we brought into this life. When we are "being," we are attuned to that message. We may not be able to articulate what it is, but we "know" who we are and why we are here. It is the internal of "being present," except that this "being present" is being present to this moment on the inside.
Then, I realized that is what I wrote in Leading from the Heart. I've known it for at least 20 years. But I also knew it 15 years ago when I wrote Choice Point and 11 years ago when I was writing The Game Called Life. Why does it suddenly seem like such a spiritual breakthrough? Because I am writing again? When I am writing, what I know in my heart pours onto the page without passing through my brain. I think what is different this time is that I seemed to really "get it" without my keyboard. It was just there when I was making a salad for lunch, and it was there when I was watching something on TV, and it was still there when I awakened from my nap.
When I am present to what I know in my heart, I am perfectly attuned to the larger "I Am," a knowing of what we all know when we are in the ribbon of love that connects us, heart to heart, across time and space. I suspect that it is part of the universal message that we all know in our hearts, but maybe it is my message to bring to the world. Or maybe when I bring it to the world, others will awaken to that universal message.
There is a line in the Hindu sacred text The Upanishads about "the sleeping state that men call waking." I was struck speechless when I read it for the first time. We autopilot through life, moving about as if we are awake, but really we are in some kind of trance. It is only in the moments when we choose to "be present" to the world around us or "be" present to our hearts that we are really awake. We re-member our purpose, and we find the courage to be it. Now. Being...in the present.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)