October 1, 2013 -- The U. S. Government closed its doors, and after a badly needed good night's sleep, I got up with purpose. I should have been concerned...maybe even frightened...about how I would pay the bills until my next paycheck at some unknown date. I wasn't. Instead, I went for a long walk on a beautiful October day. It felt great to move. It felt even better to break the shackles of my workplace and have time when nothing was scheduled. Bonus time if you will.
When I had blown the cobwebs out of my mind on the walk, I came back with the intention to accomplish two priority projects. And, I think, intuitively, I knew this recharge time was to kick me in the rear and propel me into what was to be next.
The first was to start posting regularly to this blog. I'd set up the site a couple years earlier, and just 10 days before the shutdown, I'd made my first post. I had no mastery of the mechanics, though. I posted a request for help on my building's bulletin board, and within a day, an angel in my building came over after her workout one evening and walked me through all the peculiarities of blogspot. By the time the government shut down, I was ready to roll. With the gift of time, I started writing. In the last three months of 2013, I made 100 posts.
The second of the projects was to get a more polished version of The Game Called Life onto Amazon and a Kindle edition published. Regular readers will know that this has been my serious work for the intervening three-plus years. I am nothing if not slow...and persistent. I accomplished the former in late January.* When I returned from volunteer work at a DC theatre at 11 p.m. last night, a message from Amazon reported that the Kindle version is now available.+
The Game Called Life is a very personal treasure to me. Both the writing of the book and its sponsorship smacked of divine intervention. I am happy to finally have broader distribution. I believe that it defines how we spiritually dance through life with divine intent. For many years, almost every reader was known to me or blog reader/commenter Amy Frost personally. When I gave up my home over a decade ago, I shipped most of my inventory to Amy, who became my main distribution channel. (Bless you, Amy!)
I truly don't know what this accomplishment will mean to the book or to me, but it feels like a huge albatross, which has been blocking me energetically, has been cast off. My persistence has paid off.
This morning, I awakened much earlier than I have been recently, bounced from bed with purpose, and was compelled to start clearing the work boxes from my closet. That project is not yet done, but I made a major dent in the project. I made several trips to the recycle bin, but found myself not quite able to throw away some major creative projects that I had done either by myself or with a close colleague. I am allowing myself grace. I am fairly confident that I will not ever use that small remaining pile, but I am granting myself a reprieve until I am ready. (Maybe there will be a second sweep.) I did make sure to leave a box in the middle of the closet so I will have to walk over it. I will persist with the project.
When I emerged from the closet in the late afternoon, I rewarded myself with a manicure/pedicure, and while I was being pampered and relaxed, ideas about the coaching business just started flowing. I came home a worked for about an hour capturing them. And, not unlike the closet project, I am giving myself grace with the coaching business as well. I am going to create simple materials on my own computer, and if/when I feel like I want to invest more, I can do that later. I am not going to spend money or energy on marketing, but I now that I have clarity of intention and being clear about intention is all I need right now.
Persistence has paid off in all of these areas, and clearing out the closet is creating energetic space for new things. I am eager for the new. While tomorrow is supposed to be a splendid day, and I don't work on my Sabbath any way, come Monday, I expect to be back in my closet.
For all of you who have supported me through these publishing projects, thank you.
If you have people who may be interested in knowing more, links to the book and Kindle edition are below.
Book:
* https://www.amazon.com/Game-Called-Life-Kay-Gilley/dp/0972198717/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488684202&sr=1-2&keywords=Gilley+The+game+Called+Life
Kindle:
+ https://www.amazon.com/Game-Called-Life-Kay-Gilley-ebook/dp/B06XDJJ566/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1488684270&sr=1-1&keywords=Gilley+The+game+Called+Life
(Purchasers of the book, get the Kindle for free.)
Showing posts with label The Game Called Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Game Called Life. Show all posts
Saturday, March 4, 2017
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Hang on!?
I've been in such a nice place over the last few days that I've been tempted to fall into a chair with arms and legs spread open, relax, and maybe even laugh out loud. This feels so good. I'm having fun with class. I'm delighted with my exploration and experimenting with new healthy recipes. I've been getting exercise. I'm clicking one or two items off my "things-to-do" list every day. I'm not even stressing about money.
Technology challenges have dominated that list, mainly because dealing with them is usually so stress-inducing that I put them off until I can't do so any longer. Yesterday I spent two hours on a technical support call with the nicest man. I felt like I was in good hands. During long gaps while software was uploading, we talked about a lot of things. We laughed. At the end, I thanked him for taking such good care of me; he said I'd made his day.
Alas the problem wasn't solved. Today, at his suggestion, I headed to the Apple Genius Bar to continue working on it. While I was there, another technician worked on a problem I was having with my new iPhone. I felt really supported by the two technicians dealing with the separate problems. I even laughed with one of them. Not once did I feel stressed.
That was the pinch-myself moment to make sure that efforts to induce more dreams hadn't resulted in daydreams. No, I was awake. This was all real.
I felt so good that I mused about maybe I'd learned whatever spiritual lessons I needed to learn in this life, and I could just enjoy the rest of my life just like I've been doing the last few days.
I remembered times in the past when I'd been in similar periods of my life. There were different spiritual lessons: not easy but I felt like I was going with the flow of the lessons, instead of struggling. The last 17 years have been a struggle, or more accurately, I've felt like I was in a river of struggles, attempting to keep my head above water.
I recall a time decades ago when I'd been drifting down the wild and scenic Rogue River in Oregon with a friend. We were at a very wide and calm spot, where we were both splayed across the raft, drinking in the sun, hats down over our faces. Suddenly, my friend let out with an expletive, followed by "Hang on!!" Our relaxed reverie was abruptly interrupted as we went crashing over a waterfall, dropping us several feet into a pool of whitewater where we struggled and fought to move out of the whirlpool.
Each time I've been in one of these "good spots," I have would be thrust into a pool of spiritual lessons for months or even years. Each time the lessons presented to me were more challenging than the previous cycle and developed different parts of me. I have dramatically evolved spiritually during this sequence of periods of challenge. In each, like struggling to get out of the whirlpool at the bottom of the waterfall, one day I would realize I'd finally made it out.
I'd love to think that the last--the longest by far--would be the last, but for those of us with the intention to evolve our souls, I think there must always be lessons. In The Game Called Life I say that in our lives we have three things to accomplish:
Technology challenges have dominated that list, mainly because dealing with them is usually so stress-inducing that I put them off until I can't do so any longer. Yesterday I spent two hours on a technical support call with the nicest man. I felt like I was in good hands. During long gaps while software was uploading, we talked about a lot of things. We laughed. At the end, I thanked him for taking such good care of me; he said I'd made his day.
Alas the problem wasn't solved. Today, at his suggestion, I headed to the Apple Genius Bar to continue working on it. While I was there, another technician worked on a problem I was having with my new iPhone. I felt really supported by the two technicians dealing with the separate problems. I even laughed with one of them. Not once did I feel stressed.
That was the pinch-myself moment to make sure that efforts to induce more dreams hadn't resulted in daydreams. No, I was awake. This was all real.
I felt so good that I mused about maybe I'd learned whatever spiritual lessons I needed to learn in this life, and I could just enjoy the rest of my life just like I've been doing the last few days.
I remembered times in the past when I'd been in similar periods of my life. There were different spiritual lessons: not easy but I felt like I was going with the flow of the lessons, instead of struggling. The last 17 years have been a struggle, or more accurately, I've felt like I was in a river of struggles, attempting to keep my head above water.
I recall a time decades ago when I'd been drifting down the wild and scenic Rogue River in Oregon with a friend. We were at a very wide and calm spot, where we were both splayed across the raft, drinking in the sun, hats down over our faces. Suddenly, my friend let out with an expletive, followed by "Hang on!!" Our relaxed reverie was abruptly interrupted as we went crashing over a waterfall, dropping us several feet into a pool of whitewater where we struggled and fought to move out of the whirlpool.
Each time I've been in one of these "good spots," I have would be thrust into a pool of spiritual lessons for months or even years. Each time the lessons presented to me were more challenging than the previous cycle and developed different parts of me. I have dramatically evolved spiritually during this sequence of periods of challenge. In each, like struggling to get out of the whirlpool at the bottom of the waterfall, one day I would realize I'd finally made it out.
I'd love to think that the last--the longest by far--would be the last, but for those of us with the intention to evolve our souls, I think there must always be lessons. In The Game Called Life I say that in our lives we have three things to accomplish:
- Be of service
- Develop our gifts and talents
- Learn the spiritual lessons our soul chose.
Quite frankly, if it is OK with the Universe, I'd really like to scratch the last off my list or at the very least allow the spiritual lesson be to learn to enjoy these wondrous moments. That's a lesson I could really get into. I would also consider spending the rest of my life working on the first two, but even as I say that I know that even doing that will bring lessons.
For today, I am enjoying being in a good place, and I'd really like to do that for a bit longer--maybe even years. And, if another waterfall/whirlpool awaits, I'll worry about that when it gets here.
Monday, January 16, 2017
Big Chunks and Little Ones
Last week when I was re-reading The Game Called Life, I paid particular attention when "guardian angel" Helen helped Lizzie figure out how she could manage resolving many broken commitments. "Take on the big chunks first, and then work in the smaller tasks around the edges as you have time," was the gist.
I do have several big projects that require a lot of time, and I've been being frustrated that I can't get to my sorting project. Last night I had enough time when getting ready to go dancing to try on several dance outfits that I really like but haven't worn for a while. With each, I figured out why I hadn't worn them for a while. While I like them, for one reason or another, each just didn't look good on me any more...if it ever did. I quickly accumulated quite a stack.
Today, I finished a course assignment 10 minutes before a conference call. After a quick bio break, I took eight minutes and was able to sort through one whole shelf of books. I am still not sure that I want to keep all the books that made the first cut, but I was able to par two of one of my favorite books down to the marked copy and five organizational behavior textbooks down to two. I have a stack of books a foot high that are going. When I have more clarity about the future, I can decide whether keeping any makes sense, but this winnowing is progress.
Before going to the grocery this evening, I took a minute at the pantry to throw out more gifts that have been sitting there for years. I also started reading labels more carefully and found some ingredients that don't fit with the health coach role. And, I started eating out of my freezer.
Years ago I recall coaching a man who had purchased a piece of land many years earlier to build his dream home, but because of children in college and related expenses, he lived on the property in an old, beat-up mobile home that he hated. Working together, we identified a list of things that he could do to make progress toward the new home that didn't cost much money, but they would allow him to make progress. Finally, when the daughters graduated, he was in a position to frame in the dream home and begin doing finish work on the weekends. I could see a real shift in his self-image as soon as he saw that his living situation was a vehicle instead of a rut that he might never escape.
Although I live a pretty busy life, every day I fritter away a few minutes here and a few minutes there because these little bits of time between activities don't seem sufficient to accomplish anything meaningful. Today I was reminded that if we stay with our intentions, we can really do a lot in little bits around the "big chunks" in our lives. Eventually, all the little pieces add up and take us where we want to go.
I do have several big projects that require a lot of time, and I've been being frustrated that I can't get to my sorting project. Last night I had enough time when getting ready to go dancing to try on several dance outfits that I really like but haven't worn for a while. With each, I figured out why I hadn't worn them for a while. While I like them, for one reason or another, each just didn't look good on me any more...if it ever did. I quickly accumulated quite a stack.
Today, I finished a course assignment 10 minutes before a conference call. After a quick bio break, I took eight minutes and was able to sort through one whole shelf of books. I am still not sure that I want to keep all the books that made the first cut, but I was able to par two of one of my favorite books down to the marked copy and five organizational behavior textbooks down to two. I have a stack of books a foot high that are going. When I have more clarity about the future, I can decide whether keeping any makes sense, but this winnowing is progress.
Before going to the grocery this evening, I took a minute at the pantry to throw out more gifts that have been sitting there for years. I also started reading labels more carefully and found some ingredients that don't fit with the health coach role. And, I started eating out of my freezer.
Years ago I recall coaching a man who had purchased a piece of land many years earlier to build his dream home, but because of children in college and related expenses, he lived on the property in an old, beat-up mobile home that he hated. Working together, we identified a list of things that he could do to make progress toward the new home that didn't cost much money, but they would allow him to make progress. Finally, when the daughters graduated, he was in a position to frame in the dream home and begin doing finish work on the weekends. I could see a real shift in his self-image as soon as he saw that his living situation was a vehicle instead of a rut that he might never escape.
Although I live a pretty busy life, every day I fritter away a few minutes here and a few minutes there because these little bits of time between activities don't seem sufficient to accomplish anything meaningful. Today I was reminded that if we stay with our intentions, we can really do a lot in little bits around the "big chunks" in our lives. Eventually, all the little pieces add up and take us where we want to go.
Friday, January 13, 2017
When is Perseverance Pushing the River?
In the 1970s Barry Stevens authored a book, entitled Don't Push the River. I read it 25 years ago, when it has a mind resurgence in popularity during the heydey of the 1990s human potential movement. Quite frankly, I struggled with the book, but the title has persisted as a concept. If things are supposed to happen, they will; and if they aren't, don't waste your energy trying to push something that doesn't want to happen. In the 90s, when everything seemed to happen easily, maybe the concept was just a sign of the times.
My life has been a challenge for much of this century, and at this New Year, I was shocked to realize how many years have passed since initiating the Millennium. Many have been the times that I've grappled with whether I was pushing the river, in everything from physical challenges to work situations.
I grew up in the heartland where perseverance and determination were not only virtues, but often survival tactics for our hard winters and summer storms and tornados. With that said, when I moved to Oregon, I noticed a lot of people who had moved from the Dakotas and Minnesota after a couple of exceptionally challenging weather years. I render no judgment: they had just decided they could no longer persevere. (My own move was inspired by wanderlust and the sense of adventure, offered to a flat-lander by the mountains and wild rivers.)
As far as I can tell, I started the process of putting The Game Called Life on Amazon in November of 2013, just days after a government shutdown had provided me with time to contemplate what was important. Apparently, getting that book to a wider market was part of the answer. Once we returned to work, the long hours started up again. Occasionally, I worked on formatting, cover design, etc., on a holiday or a weekend, but I am not a detail person, and taking on such tedious tasks when exhausted by my day job was off-putting. A year later--November 2014--I had a proof. I sat down one afternoon and hand-marked the edits, entered them into the online text, and then reviewed. The review revealed more typos which I marked again. (Long silence follows here until this week.)
I reported earlier this week that it had only taken me 20 minutes to make the changes that had been waiting for attention for 26 months. Today I jumped in for what I expected would be a few minutes, polishing the final steps in no time. There is an expression that if you want to make God laugh, tell God your plans. I felt God was laughing at me today. I struggled for hours. Shortly after 5 p.m., my head hung between my hands, and I wondered out loud if the Universe was attempting to tell me to give up. I thought the message was so important, and I had committed to carry it through. How could iI be asked to quit before it was finished?
Much to my surprise, when I called for help, I actually got a real person who spoke very good English fairly promptly. "No," she said, "you can't do either of the things you are trying to do to your cover." (Paraphrased.) Well, no wonder I hadn't been able to do them. I heaved a sigh that connoted both exasperation and relief. I could give up.
Within another 10 minutes, my submission was complete and has been submitted for review. Since there is nothing immoral or illegal in it, I am not too concerned. There is another hoop to get through to get it ready for kindle, but I can't start that until the paper version approval has arrived.
Perseverance has paid off. This time. Yet I do believe there are times when I am being sent a message to just "Give it up already." That Midwestern upbringing just won't let me let go. I am not sure how we know. Last week I wrote about how to tell if our guidance was real or not, and I think the perseverance-versus-the-pushing-the-river conundrum may be another form of guidance confusion.
How do we know? These efforts in our life don't come with superscripts that say, "Give it up!" or "Hang in there! Just persevere and this will be rewarded." There may a way to know when we are in the middle of it. If so, recognizing the message when I am consumed by the effort is something I have yet to master. I do know that this evening, I feel light, and my heart feels full. I am not sure, but I am guessing that I wouldn't be feeling that way if I had decided to give it up.
My life has been a challenge for much of this century, and at this New Year, I was shocked to realize how many years have passed since initiating the Millennium. Many have been the times that I've grappled with whether I was pushing the river, in everything from physical challenges to work situations.
I grew up in the heartland where perseverance and determination were not only virtues, but often survival tactics for our hard winters and summer storms and tornados. With that said, when I moved to Oregon, I noticed a lot of people who had moved from the Dakotas and Minnesota after a couple of exceptionally challenging weather years. I render no judgment: they had just decided they could no longer persevere. (My own move was inspired by wanderlust and the sense of adventure, offered to a flat-lander by the mountains and wild rivers.)
As far as I can tell, I started the process of putting The Game Called Life on Amazon in November of 2013, just days after a government shutdown had provided me with time to contemplate what was important. Apparently, getting that book to a wider market was part of the answer. Once we returned to work, the long hours started up again. Occasionally, I worked on formatting, cover design, etc., on a holiday or a weekend, but I am not a detail person, and taking on such tedious tasks when exhausted by my day job was off-putting. A year later--November 2014--I had a proof. I sat down one afternoon and hand-marked the edits, entered them into the online text, and then reviewed. The review revealed more typos which I marked again. (Long silence follows here until this week.)
I reported earlier this week that it had only taken me 20 minutes to make the changes that had been waiting for attention for 26 months. Today I jumped in for what I expected would be a few minutes, polishing the final steps in no time. There is an expression that if you want to make God laugh, tell God your plans. I felt God was laughing at me today. I struggled for hours. Shortly after 5 p.m., my head hung between my hands, and I wondered out loud if the Universe was attempting to tell me to give up. I thought the message was so important, and I had committed to carry it through. How could iI be asked to quit before it was finished?
Much to my surprise, when I called for help, I actually got a real person who spoke very good English fairly promptly. "No," she said, "you can't do either of the things you are trying to do to your cover." (Paraphrased.) Well, no wonder I hadn't been able to do them. I heaved a sigh that connoted both exasperation and relief. I could give up.
Within another 10 minutes, my submission was complete and has been submitted for review. Since there is nothing immoral or illegal in it, I am not too concerned. There is another hoop to get through to get it ready for kindle, but I can't start that until the paper version approval has arrived.
Perseverance has paid off. This time. Yet I do believe there are times when I am being sent a message to just "Give it up already." That Midwestern upbringing just won't let me let go. I am not sure how we know. Last week I wrote about how to tell if our guidance was real or not, and I think the perseverance-versus-the-pushing-the-river conundrum may be another form of guidance confusion.
How do we know? These efforts in our life don't come with superscripts that say, "Give it up!" or "Hang in there! Just persevere and this will be rewarded." There may a way to know when we are in the middle of it. If so, recognizing the message when I am consumed by the effort is something I have yet to master. I do know that this evening, I feel light, and my heart feels full. I am not sure, but I am guessing that I wouldn't be feeling that way if I had decided to give it up.
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Spiritual Amnesia
In her popular book The Hero Within Jungian psychologist and writer Carol Pearson wrote about a lifelong journey through several archetypes--the innocent, the orphan, the magician, the wanderer, the martyr, and the warrior. Each archetype teaches us a lesson. For instance, the Warrior archetype teaches us the spiritual lesson of power, and the Wanderer shows us clarity.
Pearson describes our journey as a wheel, and life takes us through each of these life lessons several times. During each successive turn of the wheel, we are to master a more spiritually evolved degree of the lesson. For instance, I believe (I hope!) that I am now ending a turn at the Wanderer archetype. During the first pass through the Wanderer archetype we feel isolation, even alienation. In the second turn of the Hero's Wheel, we embark on a quest, flee captivity, and find treasure within ourselves. When we traverse Wanderer territory the third time, we discover to be one's Self and to have love and community.
Since these turns of the wheel may be decades apart, at first the archetypical spiritual lesson may feel new and foreign, but my experience has been to fairly quickly recall the lessons that we have already learned as we struggle to master the next level assignment. Passage through each archetype may take months or even years, but I have felt a blinding moment of Truth in which I finally "get it," and then I am free to move on to the next lesson. And, yes, if we are conscious, there is always "the next lesson" in yet another archetype.
I have certainly experienced what Pearson describes. I can look back at periods in my life and recall which archetypical spiritual lessons I was working on at different times. However, I have also experienced a similar or parallel process. For lack of something better to call it, let's just describe them as lapses into and out of spiritual amnesia. I suddenly think that I have had an epiphany: I see some aspect of the world in a different way. I am awash with spiritual liberation, as if I have just broken free of the bonds of some aspect of ignorance. In that moment I feel like God has pulled back the veil of the Universe and allowed me to peek at how it all works.
Yesterday I wrote about using Sister Joan Chittister's description of contemplation as seeing the world as God does. In my meditation I placed myself in the position of looking at me as if from God's perspective where I was able to see my struggle as a device to gain strength for whatever is next.
This morning I took Chittister's wisdom more literally. As my contemplation continued, as each thought or person bubbled into my awareness, I stilled my mind of its normal chatter and tried to see the person as God would. Suddenly, I thought: that is the point--to see each person as a child of God. Almost as quickly, it occurred to me that to see each person as a child of God will require continuous contemplation. My meditation cannot be 20 minutes set aside once or twice a day, but instead it must become a constant exercise of looking at the person in front of me at any time as if from God's eyes.
What a breakthrough, you may think. Sadly, it is not. Only a reemergence from spiritual amnesia for the umpteenth time. Probably the favorite speech I ever gave was about just this practice. Although I composed the speech in the early 2000s right after finishing The Game Called Life, "The Walk of Faith--Living a Prayer in the Real World" felt to me at the time as an outline for yet another book. "Living a prayer" described the continuous contemplation required to live in complete consciousness.
A few years earlier I had a related epiphany that the only way we as human beings have to know God is through other humans who so reflect the presence of Love that we can feel the Universe through them. During that period I would look for opportunities to visualize myself allowing God to use me as a human vessel for allowing those around me to know that complete feeling of Love that is God. I believe that is one of the most important lessons that the spiritual teacher Jesus was attempting to share with us as he allowed us to know God through him.
These are three distinctly different periods during which I clearly knew different aspects of the lesson that I seemed to discover anew today. Why, then, can I not seem to remember it? Maybe more accurately, what causes me to forget? Most importantly, how can I assure that I do remember for more than days or months but for the rest of my life? Sometimes my spiritual learning feels like the movie "Groundhog Day," in which every day was just the same with no forward movement. I am ready to move on from spiritual stuckness.
I ended the "Living a Prayer" speech by saying there is a ribbon of love that connects all of us, heart to heart, around the world. The ribbon of love can be activated by each of us, but if any of us fails to do our part, a short circuit occurs which stops the flow of love. Whenever someone crosses my path, it is my responsibility to activate the flow of love. For years I've talked about being response-able, which implies being conscious of choosing the response I want to send into the world. I want to choose love. I want to have the force of love that is God reflected from me to everyone I meet.
Pearson describes our journey as a wheel, and life takes us through each of these life lessons several times. During each successive turn of the wheel, we are to master a more spiritually evolved degree of the lesson. For instance, I believe (I hope!) that I am now ending a turn at the Wanderer archetype. During the first pass through the Wanderer archetype we feel isolation, even alienation. In the second turn of the Hero's Wheel, we embark on a quest, flee captivity, and find treasure within ourselves. When we traverse Wanderer territory the third time, we discover to be one's Self and to have love and community.
Since these turns of the wheel may be decades apart, at first the archetypical spiritual lesson may feel new and foreign, but my experience has been to fairly quickly recall the lessons that we have already learned as we struggle to master the next level assignment. Passage through each archetype may take months or even years, but I have felt a blinding moment of Truth in which I finally "get it," and then I am free to move on to the next lesson. And, yes, if we are conscious, there is always "the next lesson" in yet another archetype.
I have certainly experienced what Pearson describes. I can look back at periods in my life and recall which archetypical spiritual lessons I was working on at different times. However, I have also experienced a similar or parallel process. For lack of something better to call it, let's just describe them as lapses into and out of spiritual amnesia. I suddenly think that I have had an epiphany: I see some aspect of the world in a different way. I am awash with spiritual liberation, as if I have just broken free of the bonds of some aspect of ignorance. In that moment I feel like God has pulled back the veil of the Universe and allowed me to peek at how it all works.
Yesterday I wrote about using Sister Joan Chittister's description of contemplation as seeing the world as God does. In my meditation I placed myself in the position of looking at me as if from God's perspective where I was able to see my struggle as a device to gain strength for whatever is next.
This morning I took Chittister's wisdom more literally. As my contemplation continued, as each thought or person bubbled into my awareness, I stilled my mind of its normal chatter and tried to see the person as God would. Suddenly, I thought: that is the point--to see each person as a child of God. Almost as quickly, it occurred to me that to see each person as a child of God will require continuous contemplation. My meditation cannot be 20 minutes set aside once or twice a day, but instead it must become a constant exercise of looking at the person in front of me at any time as if from God's eyes.
What a breakthrough, you may think. Sadly, it is not. Only a reemergence from spiritual amnesia for the umpteenth time. Probably the favorite speech I ever gave was about just this practice. Although I composed the speech in the early 2000s right after finishing The Game Called Life, "The Walk of Faith--Living a Prayer in the Real World" felt to me at the time as an outline for yet another book. "Living a prayer" described the continuous contemplation required to live in complete consciousness.
A few years earlier I had a related epiphany that the only way we as human beings have to know God is through other humans who so reflect the presence of Love that we can feel the Universe through them. During that period I would look for opportunities to visualize myself allowing God to use me as a human vessel for allowing those around me to know that complete feeling of Love that is God. I believe that is one of the most important lessons that the spiritual teacher Jesus was attempting to share with us as he allowed us to know God through him.
These are three distinctly different periods during which I clearly knew different aspects of the lesson that I seemed to discover anew today. Why, then, can I not seem to remember it? Maybe more accurately, what causes me to forget? Most importantly, how can I assure that I do remember for more than days or months but for the rest of my life? Sometimes my spiritual learning feels like the movie "Groundhog Day," in which every day was just the same with no forward movement. I am ready to move on from spiritual stuckness.
I ended the "Living a Prayer" speech by saying there is a ribbon of love that connects all of us, heart to heart, around the world. The ribbon of love can be activated by each of us, but if any of us fails to do our part, a short circuit occurs which stops the flow of love. Whenever someone crosses my path, it is my responsibility to activate the flow of love. For years I've talked about being response-able, which implies being conscious of choosing the response I want to send into the world. I want to choose love. I want to have the force of love that is God reflected from me to everyone I meet.
Friday, March 11, 2016
Risking Greatness
I find it hard to believe that it has now been almost 15 years since I was regularly speaking about spiritual intention, a topic for which I still hold passion. I revealed seven steps to living with intention in my speeches. One of them was to "risk greatness." This step described how when we are listening to our inner spiritual guidance system, we will often be guided to do things that don't make sense and which the world around us may judge to be nonsense or crazy. Yet, when we are guided, we must have the courage to follow through.
Those who have been great in whatever their field happens to be have broken through barriers that others in their professions or their contemporary worlds have judged as crazy. As Monet was giving birth to Impressionist art, he was belittled and taunted as someone who could not paint. Mozart was accused of being mad.
Even famous athletes, who have broken ground in style and performance, have been the object of comedic jabbing. Dick Fosbury, the 1960s American Olympic high jumper had a unique style of flopping himself over the bar. He broke ground on what is now common in the sport. People of his era thought that Roger Bannister who disintegrate if he broke the four-minute mile, but then within days a number of others passed that daunting milestone.
If we practice whatever is to be our greatness in our own unique way, we risk having people point at us. But, the real risk is to hold back on being as great as the Universe would have us be. Such risks show up everywhere in our lives, and maybe as often as not, we may be the only ones to know. Do we hold back on asking a question that may lead to a breakthrough question because it seems like a "stupid question?" Do we stay chained to a job that is limiting our growth just because it is secure? On a splendid spring day, like several we've had recently, do with bridle the urge to jump up and click our heels with the joy of the season? What countless ways do we hold ourselves back?
When we are truly aligned and willing to bring our full courage to bear on whatever is in front of us, we unleash the forces of the Universe in support of us. I recall when I was writing The Game Called Life. The economy was shaky, and several people had cancelled long scheduled work. I should have been out drumming up speaking engagements and consulting gigs, but I didn't. What I knew in my heart was that I had another book to write. Almost as quickly as I said I was going to do it, the words began to move through me like a wild winter storm across the plains. My hands moved across the keyboard so long and so fast that my wrists ached. The book was finished in five days and, unlike my earlier books, it required little rewrite and editing.
The day after I finished the book, I went to the mailbox, and a check from former coaching clients awaited me. It was around Thanksgiving, and they had been thankful for the work we had done that year. They sent a thank-you check. To this day, I recall feeling like the Universe was thanking me for taking time to do what I was called to do rather than what I "should" be doing.
I've been getting clarity about the direction in which I need to be taking my life. I am about to make a major leap, but it feels to me like the real risk isn't going in the new direction but instead the risk is in not doing it. Over the last few days as I became clearer, people have been coming out of the woodwork to help. One person, who would have no idea what I was up to, texted me a couple days ago and wanted to have coffee. When we met, he pointed me to a potential door.
I was channel surfing late at night recently and caught the end of the 1993 film "Grumpy Old Men," a Jack Lemmon-Walter Matthau comedy in which two octogenarians compete for the affections of a slightly younger widow, played by Ann Margaret. I have seen the movie many times and always love it. It just so happened this time that as I paused my channel surfing, I caught Jack Lemmon's character say, "The only things in life you regret are the risks you didn't take."
I will have no regrets for not taking risk. Instead, I will risk greatness in whatever small or great way lies on my path.
Those who have been great in whatever their field happens to be have broken through barriers that others in their professions or their contemporary worlds have judged as crazy. As Monet was giving birth to Impressionist art, he was belittled and taunted as someone who could not paint. Mozart was accused of being mad.
Even famous athletes, who have broken ground in style and performance, have been the object of comedic jabbing. Dick Fosbury, the 1960s American Olympic high jumper had a unique style of flopping himself over the bar. He broke ground on what is now common in the sport. People of his era thought that Roger Bannister who disintegrate if he broke the four-minute mile, but then within days a number of others passed that daunting milestone.
If we practice whatever is to be our greatness in our own unique way, we risk having people point at us. But, the real risk is to hold back on being as great as the Universe would have us be. Such risks show up everywhere in our lives, and maybe as often as not, we may be the only ones to know. Do we hold back on asking a question that may lead to a breakthrough question because it seems like a "stupid question?" Do we stay chained to a job that is limiting our growth just because it is secure? On a splendid spring day, like several we've had recently, do with bridle the urge to jump up and click our heels with the joy of the season? What countless ways do we hold ourselves back?
When we are truly aligned and willing to bring our full courage to bear on whatever is in front of us, we unleash the forces of the Universe in support of us. I recall when I was writing The Game Called Life. The economy was shaky, and several people had cancelled long scheduled work. I should have been out drumming up speaking engagements and consulting gigs, but I didn't. What I knew in my heart was that I had another book to write. Almost as quickly as I said I was going to do it, the words began to move through me like a wild winter storm across the plains. My hands moved across the keyboard so long and so fast that my wrists ached. The book was finished in five days and, unlike my earlier books, it required little rewrite and editing.
The day after I finished the book, I went to the mailbox, and a check from former coaching clients awaited me. It was around Thanksgiving, and they had been thankful for the work we had done that year. They sent a thank-you check. To this day, I recall feeling like the Universe was thanking me for taking time to do what I was called to do rather than what I "should" be doing.
I've been getting clarity about the direction in which I need to be taking my life. I am about to make a major leap, but it feels to me like the real risk isn't going in the new direction but instead the risk is in not doing it. Over the last few days as I became clearer, people have been coming out of the woodwork to help. One person, who would have no idea what I was up to, texted me a couple days ago and wanted to have coffee. When we met, he pointed me to a potential door.
I was channel surfing late at night recently and caught the end of the 1993 film "Grumpy Old Men," a Jack Lemmon-Walter Matthau comedy in which two octogenarians compete for the affections of a slightly younger widow, played by Ann Margaret. I have seen the movie many times and always love it. It just so happened this time that as I paused my channel surfing, I caught Jack Lemmon's character say, "The only things in life you regret are the risks you didn't take."
I will have no regrets for not taking risk. Instead, I will risk greatness in whatever small or great way lies on my path.
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.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Taking Risks
It's been a while since I've posted, and while I could use the busy holiday season as an excuse, it would be just that--an excuse. While I often figure things out as I write, I have been restless and unfocused and, quite frankly, I just haven't known how to get started. Once or twice I've actually sat and stared at the computer, something that has never happened with this blog before. Over the last 24 hours, pieces have come to me. I still don't have a clear picture but I have enough to get started and feel my way along.
Last night at midnight...I actually looked at the clock, and it was straight-up 12 a.m....I finished watching a movie I'd been given for Christmas. It wasn't a great movie, but not a bad one either. What clicked last night was that several plot lines in the movie said the same thing: you're never going to get what you want if you don't stop doing what you've always done and risk doing something completely different.
That wasn't the first time I'd stumbled onto that theme this week. I've actually been proofing The Game Called Life before it becomes available as an eBook. I have been reading my own words, or more appropriately the words that moved through me a dozen years ago onto the screen of my computer. Three of seven steps to what the book describes as "living a prayer" are to: ask for guidance, follow fearlessly and risk greatness.
I haven't been so good at getting guidance recently, not because I think God has stopped handing out guidance, but because I think I've been afraid of what I'd hear. I've stopped asking. When I've followed fearlessly before, I have thought that I lost and lost big time. However, all I lost was money, retirement savings, other assets, and a business that I loved. It is true that I was homeless for a while, but thanks to the grace of a couple friends, I never slept on the streets. And while I was down to my last $300 with $600 in "must-pays" due, that was very moment that I got a job that made the situation moot.
From a very human perspective, I was terrified when I'd followed fearlessly, but I was really never in harm's way. I was so terrified that I have been unwilling to go there again. I stopped asking. It hasn't been a conscious decision, not one I even recognized until today, but a decision nonetheless.
What I was feeling before I watched the movie last night was that 2014 had been a fallow year. In the farm country, where I grew up, a fallow year is one during which the land has been plowed and harrowed but left unsown in order to restore its fertility. Several places in the Bible, we are told to allow the land to be fallow, usually every seventh year. For much of the year that is about to end, I've felt a restlessness. I've written about it here.
As I watched the movie last night, it became clear to me that until I was willing to let go of my security-focused existence and really turn my life back to God, I would probably continue to be fallow. In fact, I think I've fallow for much longer than 2014, unwilling to risk following fearlessly.
This morning our pastor seemed to speak directly to me. He said that God promises maximum support but minimum protection. He said, "There are no Kevlar vests," when we follow God's path of growth. He was right. I had had maximum support: I never slept in the streets and a job came when I absolutely needed it. (And not one second sooner.) But I'd also had minimum protection: my material assets vanished.
The pastor continued to say, "Growth is necessary. If we are not growing, we experience distress." It is our responsibility he said to create situations that require learning and growth. Just the kind of thing that happens when we "ask" and "follow fearlessly." Just the kind of thing that happened when I gave up my unsatisfying, minimum-wage teaching job to come to Washington to find consulting work that I had long loved.
The pastor talked about growing in our relationships. That was actually a theme in the movie as well. It suggested that we each have to give up how we've done relationships in order to grow into more satisfying and more rewarding ones. At this point, I am unwilling to risk losing my home and retirement again, although that day may be nearer than farther. However, I think I am willing to risk doing relationships differently. I don't really know what that means, but I am "distressed" at lying fallow any longer. I am certain that if I am willing to "ask" again, I will find out what it means.
Last night at midnight...I actually looked at the clock, and it was straight-up 12 a.m....I finished watching a movie I'd been given for Christmas. It wasn't a great movie, but not a bad one either. What clicked last night was that several plot lines in the movie said the same thing: you're never going to get what you want if you don't stop doing what you've always done and risk doing something completely different.
That wasn't the first time I'd stumbled onto that theme this week. I've actually been proofing The Game Called Life before it becomes available as an eBook. I have been reading my own words, or more appropriately the words that moved through me a dozen years ago onto the screen of my computer. Three of seven steps to what the book describes as "living a prayer" are to: ask for guidance, follow fearlessly and risk greatness.
I haven't been so good at getting guidance recently, not because I think God has stopped handing out guidance, but because I think I've been afraid of what I'd hear. I've stopped asking. When I've followed fearlessly before, I have thought that I lost and lost big time. However, all I lost was money, retirement savings, other assets, and a business that I loved. It is true that I was homeless for a while, but thanks to the grace of a couple friends, I never slept on the streets. And while I was down to my last $300 with $600 in "must-pays" due, that was very moment that I got a job that made the situation moot.
From a very human perspective, I was terrified when I'd followed fearlessly, but I was really never in harm's way. I was so terrified that I have been unwilling to go there again. I stopped asking. It hasn't been a conscious decision, not one I even recognized until today, but a decision nonetheless.
What I was feeling before I watched the movie last night was that 2014 had been a fallow year. In the farm country, where I grew up, a fallow year is one during which the land has been plowed and harrowed but left unsown in order to restore its fertility. Several places in the Bible, we are told to allow the land to be fallow, usually every seventh year. For much of the year that is about to end, I've felt a restlessness. I've written about it here.
As I watched the movie last night, it became clear to me that until I was willing to let go of my security-focused existence and really turn my life back to God, I would probably continue to be fallow. In fact, I think I've fallow for much longer than 2014, unwilling to risk following fearlessly.
This morning our pastor seemed to speak directly to me. He said that God promises maximum support but minimum protection. He said, "There are no Kevlar vests," when we follow God's path of growth. He was right. I had had maximum support: I never slept in the streets and a job came when I absolutely needed it. (And not one second sooner.) But I'd also had minimum protection: my material assets vanished.
The pastor continued to say, "Growth is necessary. If we are not growing, we experience distress." It is our responsibility he said to create situations that require learning and growth. Just the kind of thing that happens when we "ask" and "follow fearlessly." Just the kind of thing that happened when I gave up my unsatisfying, minimum-wage teaching job to come to Washington to find consulting work that I had long loved.
The pastor talked about growing in our relationships. That was actually a theme in the movie as well. It suggested that we each have to give up how we've done relationships in order to grow into more satisfying and more rewarding ones. At this point, I am unwilling to risk losing my home and retirement again, although that day may be nearer than farther. However, I think I am willing to risk doing relationships differently. I don't really know what that means, but I am "distressed" at lying fallow any longer. I am certain that if I am willing to "ask" again, I will find out what it means.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
The Cycle of Life
My Saturdays in the summer have almost always started with a trip to whatever Farmers Market is near for almost 30 years. I love it even when my refrigerator hasn't even been emptied from last week's visit, as was the case today.
Just walking among the stalls, seeing the splashes of color like still life paintings, and absorbing the variety of smells that waft from the fresh fruits, vegetables, and especially the herbs is worth the trip.
Today I could hardly restrain myself until I got home, rinsed the huge fresh blackberries and peeled the peaches that dripped with sweet juices to savor a combination that is among my favorites. Yum!
The cycle of nature is like the cycle of our spiritual lives. In a few weeks the very fruits that are at their prime today will fall to the ground, rotting away from their seeds to plant the beginnings of next summer's larder.
In mystical traditions, it is the same with our lives and our spiritual growth. In the fall, more precisely around the time during which the Jewish Calendar begins a new year, we plant spiritual seeds for what we want to learn and how we want to grow. During the winter we have the opportunity to nurture those intentions, and if we have been faithful to them, about this time we should begin harvesting the fruits of our labors.
As I ate my delicious, peak-of-the-season fruit today, I wondered what I will be harvesting this fall. After a brutal work year, I recently received a promotion for which I am grateful, but I am more concerned about reaping the spiritual fruits of my labors.
Last fall I recommitted to my writing, and I started writing this blog fairly regularly. I hope that I've planted some spiritual seeds as I've encouraged us to come together through a ribbon of love, play the Grocery Store Game, and most recently encouraged making miracles. I've written several chapters of my memoir, and very slowly made progress at getting The Game Called Life available as an ebook. I still have two months to make progress on those projects.
I've kept with my commitment to get to know my neighbors, and after three eye surgeries, I have much improved eyesight.
As I reflect on this cycle of life, I know there are things that could benefit from more attention, like more exercise and dance, and being more open to love. At this 10/12 of the way through my spiritual year, I still have time to reflect on my intentions and redirect where I've slacked on my intentions. That assessment will be the focus of my Sabbath practice tomorrow, as I attempt to be all that God would have me be in this life...one year at a time.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhonetge
Just walking among the stalls, seeing the splashes of color like still life paintings, and absorbing the variety of smells that waft from the fresh fruits, vegetables, and especially the herbs is worth the trip.
Today I could hardly restrain myself until I got home, rinsed the huge fresh blackberries and peeled the peaches that dripped with sweet juices to savor a combination that is among my favorites. Yum!
The cycle of nature is like the cycle of our spiritual lives. In a few weeks the very fruits that are at their prime today will fall to the ground, rotting away from their seeds to plant the beginnings of next summer's larder.
In mystical traditions, it is the same with our lives and our spiritual growth. In the fall, more precisely around the time during which the Jewish Calendar begins a new year, we plant spiritual seeds for what we want to learn and how we want to grow. During the winter we have the opportunity to nurture those intentions, and if we have been faithful to them, about this time we should begin harvesting the fruits of our labors.
As I ate my delicious, peak-of-the-season fruit today, I wondered what I will be harvesting this fall. After a brutal work year, I recently received a promotion for which I am grateful, but I am more concerned about reaping the spiritual fruits of my labors.
Last fall I recommitted to my writing, and I started writing this blog fairly regularly. I hope that I've planted some spiritual seeds as I've encouraged us to come together through a ribbon of love, play the Grocery Store Game, and most recently encouraged making miracles. I've written several chapters of my memoir, and very slowly made progress at getting The Game Called Life available as an ebook. I still have two months to make progress on those projects.
I've kept with my commitment to get to know my neighbors, and after three eye surgeries, I have much improved eyesight.
As I reflect on this cycle of life, I know there are things that could benefit from more attention, like more exercise and dance, and being more open to love. At this 10/12 of the way through my spiritual year, I still have time to reflect on my intentions and redirect where I've slacked on my intentions. That assessment will be the focus of my Sabbath practice tomorrow, as I attempt to be all that God would have me be in this life...one year at a time.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhonetge
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.
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. :-)
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Birthing the Intentions of Spring
After a week typing it and completing the first proofreading of The Game Called Life manuscript yesterday, I decided I needed to do something different today. With a steady downpour outside, a long walk was not an option I chose.
My desk is stacked and sadly overflowing, so cleaning my desk seemed in order. I've been at it for about five hours now, and I can truthfully say that I cannot tell that I've done anything. Really! Much of the sorting that I've been doing has been turning handwritten notes from meditations and retreats into word documents that I could file and refer to. Other pages in the stacks have been thoughts for various books that I am working on.
Among the pages of notes, I found intentions for the rest of the year from my spring retreat. While I am still without a life partner again for almost 20 years, I am amazed at how much on the list is gradually becoming reality. The summer must have been a germination period, because since my mid-September retreat and thanks to both this blog and the government shutdown and my furlough, my intentions have been in fast-forward. Making a contribution to the healing of the world, using my voice, and writing daily have become a reality. I hope this blog is making a difference, and I am confident that when The Game Called Life is an e-book, it will dramatically contribute to the healing of our world.
At the end of the page of intentions, I had printed in larger letters "WHAT IS MY INTENTION?" I believe that referred to what my single underlying intention was from all the others. I had a drawing and the words "living at the choice point." Choice Point is a book that I wrote in the late 90s but has never been published. It is about living in conscious communion, moment-by-moment, with All That Is. For me that means, following what I know to be true in my heart. I call the process "living a prayer." As I looked over the list, it was true: the only way I could do anything on the list is by living a prayer.
I definitely am not there, but I am markedly farther along than I was six months ago when I wrote this. I truly believe that I have planted seeds over the summer and in this furlough that predict I will be still farther along the path when I cross the one-year anniversary of my last spring retreat. And, that's what it is all about--consciously attempting to do better and better at living a spiritually rich life. In my heart I know that is where I am intended to be.
My desk is stacked and sadly overflowing, so cleaning my desk seemed in order. I've been at it for about five hours now, and I can truthfully say that I cannot tell that I've done anything. Really! Much of the sorting that I've been doing has been turning handwritten notes from meditations and retreats into word documents that I could file and refer to. Other pages in the stacks have been thoughts for various books that I am working on.
Among the pages of notes, I found intentions for the rest of the year from my spring retreat. While I am still without a life partner again for almost 20 years, I am amazed at how much on the list is gradually becoming reality. The summer must have been a germination period, because since my mid-September retreat and thanks to both this blog and the government shutdown and my furlough, my intentions have been in fast-forward. Making a contribution to the healing of the world, using my voice, and writing daily have become a reality. I hope this blog is making a difference, and I am confident that when The Game Called Life is an e-book, it will dramatically contribute to the healing of our world.
At the end of the page of intentions, I had printed in larger letters "WHAT IS MY INTENTION?" I believe that referred to what my single underlying intention was from all the others. I had a drawing and the words "living at the choice point." Choice Point is a book that I wrote in the late 90s but has never been published. It is about living in conscious communion, moment-by-moment, with All That Is. For me that means, following what I know to be true in my heart. I call the process "living a prayer." As I looked over the list, it was true: the only way I could do anything on the list is by living a prayer.
I definitely am not there, but I am markedly farther along than I was six months ago when I wrote this. I truly believe that I have planted seeds over the summer and in this furlough that predict I will be still farther along the path when I cross the one-year anniversary of my last spring retreat. And, that's what it is all about--consciously attempting to do better and better at living a spiritually rich life. In my heart I know that is where I am intended to be.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Remembering Who I AM
We are now seven days into the government shutdown. Can it only be seven days? I feel like September 30, my last worked day, was a different lifetime ago. In many ways, it was. Just a quick review of what these seven days have brought to me: regular exercise and meditation, healthier eating, sufficient sleep, and a week up close and personal with my last book -- The Game Called Life.
A week ago I was numb. Intuitively, I knew what I needed to do to reawaken, but I had so lost touch with Kay Gilley, the human being, that there were times I could hardly remember who she was. I knew that I felt most alive when I was writing. I could recall the deep satisfaction of coaching people on their spiritual paths. An image of myself on stage delivering my last speech--maybe my best ever--was emblazoned on my brain, but so distantly that I struggled to think that it was really me. Yet, no matter what I tried, I couldn't find that person again.
I had taken leave to write several times over the last couple of years, but nothing came. How could it be? Words used to come tumbling out of me like a gushing waterfall after a heavy spring rain. Once there was a list of titles for books that I wanted to write some day. But, I would sit and stare at my computer, and nothing came.
Then I was furloughed.
The work on The Game Called Life has helped me awaken the spiritual coach/guide/mentor. Writing this blog has gotten the words flowing again.
As I have been doing since the Jewish New Year, this morning I started my mediation with the affirmation with "I am Love." An "almost echo" came back at me: "I AM." In the stillness, I repeated "I AM." After a few moments of repeating "I AM," I saw Kay again. I saw myself on the keynote stage again, delivering a keynote address that brought the audience to joyful tears as they remembered who they were. In a line of the speech was born a new book. Then came another.
I remembered who I AM. I am not sure how I lost her, but there is one thing about which I am absolutely certain now: I am Kay Gilley--author, speaker, spiritual coach.
A week ago I was numb. Intuitively, I knew what I needed to do to reawaken, but I had so lost touch with Kay Gilley, the human being, that there were times I could hardly remember who she was. I knew that I felt most alive when I was writing. I could recall the deep satisfaction of coaching people on their spiritual paths. An image of myself on stage delivering my last speech--maybe my best ever--was emblazoned on my brain, but so distantly that I struggled to think that it was really me. Yet, no matter what I tried, I couldn't find that person again.
I had taken leave to write several times over the last couple of years, but nothing came. How could it be? Words used to come tumbling out of me like a gushing waterfall after a heavy spring rain. Once there was a list of titles for books that I wanted to write some day. But, I would sit and stare at my computer, and nothing came.
Then I was furloughed.
The work on The Game Called Life has helped me awaken the spiritual coach/guide/mentor. Writing this blog has gotten the words flowing again.
As I have been doing since the Jewish New Year, this morning I started my mediation with the affirmation with "I am Love." An "almost echo" came back at me: "I AM." In the stillness, I repeated "I AM." After a few moments of repeating "I AM," I saw Kay again. I saw myself on the keynote stage again, delivering a keynote address that brought the audience to joyful tears as they remembered who they were. In a line of the speech was born a new book. Then came another.
I remembered who I AM. I am not sure how I lost her, but there is one thing about which I am absolutely certain now: I am Kay Gilley--author, speaker, spiritual coach.
Monday, October 7, 2013
The Game Called Life Clears First Hurdle
Just a few minutes after 5 p.m. today I finished retyping The Game Called Life. I am delighted to have spent a week up close and person with that book. Every time I read it I learn something, or probably more appropriately I remember something that I knew and had slipped from consciousness. I am also reenergized about my decision to release it as an e-book.
Not long before finishing my typing project this afternoon, a reader called. She's had the book for several years and says it has a special place on her book shelf. I took that as affirmation that this book has special value in the hearts and minds of those who have read it and will with electronic readers as well. (I am not sure what the Kindle version of a special place on the book shelf is, but I am listening.)
There is a deep sense of relief at having gotten The Game Called Life this far on the journey to e-bookdom, and I know that tomorrow the proof-reading begins. For now, I celebrate having made it over the first hurdle.
Not long before finishing my typing project this afternoon, a reader called. She's had the book for several years and says it has a special place on her book shelf. I took that as affirmation that this book has special value in the hearts and minds of those who have read it and will with electronic readers as well. (I am not sure what the Kindle version of a special place on the book shelf is, but I am listening.)
There is a deep sense of relief at having gotten The Game Called Life this far on the journey to e-bookdom, and I know that tomorrow the proof-reading begins. For now, I celebrate having made it over the first hurdle.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
What a difference a day makes
When I wrote my post yesterday morning, the reality of being without job and paycheck during the government shutdown was just sinking in. Treating this experience as a gift, I set out to focus my intentions on three things that I have wanted to increase in my life. I wanted more exercise and healthier eating, more meditation, and to e-publish at least one of my books--The Game Called Life.
I am already feeling even better than usual. Maybe eating healthfully is a bit like riding a bike: our bodies remember. As soon as I passed up sugar a couple times, I found myself craving certain vegetables that I haven't bought for a while. When I wanted a mid-afternoon snack, raw nuts came to mind for the first time in months. Yet, this is a journey. I would be less than honest if I didn't say that when I sat down for dinner, I did miss my glass of red wine, abandoned because alcohol contains sugar, but having brewed a pitcher of fresh iced tea in the afternoon, wine was quickly out of mind.
Skipping the train, I walked 70 minutes while running errands on foot yesterday and 40 today so far. The chemicals that our brains release when we exercise kicked in right away, and by the time I was back, I was energized and joyful to get to work on my e-book.
After working a while, I took a meditation break. For over 20 years, I've meditated, and for much of that time, it was 20 minutes a day. In 2008 my life seemed to be thrust into fast-forward with many travel days ending with me falling asleep on my computer. Most of that time I still meditated 20 minutes a day, but at some point the exhaustion got the better part of me. I'd regularly fall asleep during my meditation, so I started staying in bed another 15 minutes. I'd still take 5 minutes to center myself before leaving my hotel room. The schedules and reasons have changed over the last 5 years, but the pace has not.
Occasionally, meditation has slipped, but most of the time it has been more like taking 5 or 10 minutes before I raced off to work. Yesterday, I took my full 20 minutes. Like taking a hot soak at the end of a hard day, I was enveloped in the warmth of Love from All That Is. How could I ever have imagined that skipping this was serving me? Only some kind of warped rationality could have convinced me that abandoning this in the middle of the craziness was a good idea.
I made good progress on the e-book yesterday and this morning. As a "project," it is definitely a success, but I am most certain that thinking it is a project is only an illusion. I write spiritual books--books that are written to help readers get back on their paths and to stay on them. I couldn't have imagined the impact of being up close and personal with this book--I have to touch every single word--that I've read at least 8-10 times since I wrote it would have on me.
There is a joke about turning one's life over to God. It goes something like this: When you turn your life over to God, the first thing you hear is, "Thank you!" The second thing that you hear is "Hold on!"
I am in "Hold on!" right now. Every page seems to give me a lesson that I need to re-member--to make a conscious part of me again. Perhaps most important right now is that The Game Called Life is a game and the point of the game is spiritual growth. Every thing that happens in our lives is an opportunity to grow, including furloughs, and every person that passes through, even for a brief time, is a spiritual learning partner, even trying bosses. I must have been spiritually comatose to have forgotten that when the busyness of my life distracted me from the things that matter most in my life--health, mediation, writing and spiritual growth. These are things that I truly know in my heart, but I've just not been listening enough lately.
The Game Called Life will continue to jar me from "the sleeping state that men call waking." (The Upanishads) And, I am holding on to see what other changes will be wrought in my life during this unplanned spiritual adventure.
I am already feeling even better than usual. Maybe eating healthfully is a bit like riding a bike: our bodies remember. As soon as I passed up sugar a couple times, I found myself craving certain vegetables that I haven't bought for a while. When I wanted a mid-afternoon snack, raw nuts came to mind for the first time in months. Yet, this is a journey. I would be less than honest if I didn't say that when I sat down for dinner, I did miss my glass of red wine, abandoned because alcohol contains sugar, but having brewed a pitcher of fresh iced tea in the afternoon, wine was quickly out of mind.
Skipping the train, I walked 70 minutes while running errands on foot yesterday and 40 today so far. The chemicals that our brains release when we exercise kicked in right away, and by the time I was back, I was energized and joyful to get to work on my e-book.
After working a while, I took a meditation break. For over 20 years, I've meditated, and for much of that time, it was 20 minutes a day. In 2008 my life seemed to be thrust into fast-forward with many travel days ending with me falling asleep on my computer. Most of that time I still meditated 20 minutes a day, but at some point the exhaustion got the better part of me. I'd regularly fall asleep during my meditation, so I started staying in bed another 15 minutes. I'd still take 5 minutes to center myself before leaving my hotel room. The schedules and reasons have changed over the last 5 years, but the pace has not.
Occasionally, meditation has slipped, but most of the time it has been more like taking 5 or 10 minutes before I raced off to work. Yesterday, I took my full 20 minutes. Like taking a hot soak at the end of a hard day, I was enveloped in the warmth of Love from All That Is. How could I ever have imagined that skipping this was serving me? Only some kind of warped rationality could have convinced me that abandoning this in the middle of the craziness was a good idea.
I made good progress on the e-book yesterday and this morning. As a "project," it is definitely a success, but I am most certain that thinking it is a project is only an illusion. I write spiritual books--books that are written to help readers get back on their paths and to stay on them. I couldn't have imagined the impact of being up close and personal with this book--I have to touch every single word--that I've read at least 8-10 times since I wrote it would have on me.
There is a joke about turning one's life over to God. It goes something like this: When you turn your life over to God, the first thing you hear is, "Thank you!" The second thing that you hear is "Hold on!"
I am in "Hold on!" right now. Every page seems to give me a lesson that I need to re-member--to make a conscious part of me again. Perhaps most important right now is that The Game Called Life is a game and the point of the game is spiritual growth. Every thing that happens in our lives is an opportunity to grow, including furloughs, and every person that passes through, even for a brief time, is a spiritual learning partner, even trying bosses. I must have been spiritually comatose to have forgotten that when the busyness of my life distracted me from the things that matter most in my life--health, mediation, writing and spiritual growth. These are things that I truly know in my heart, but I've just not been listening enough lately.
The Game Called Life will continue to jar me from "the sleeping state that men call waking." (The Upanishads) And, I am holding on to see what other changes will be wrought in my life during this unplanned spiritual adventure.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Embracing the gifts
This morning I am officially unemployed for the first time in almost 30 years. I have to admit that my first reaction was to contact a friend to do something. Thankfully, she was not available today. Then I did what the very thing I should have done first: turn to my heart.
"What are your intentions?" is the question it had for me. Ah.
Suddenly, the floodgates opened to all those things that I've been saying I really want to do but don't have time. While cleaning my very cluttered desk might have been one of them, that is a "should," not a "really want." What is the difference? A "should" is something that comes from outside of me. I "should" clean my desk so if someone comes to visit, they won't think I'm a slob. (Probably wouldn't happen anyway because generally I am a neatnik except at my desk.) The cluttered desk only bothers me when I start looking for something that I can't find, and amazingly, most of the time I am able to find things.
A "really want" is something that I want in my heart. A "really want" is something I really yearn for. When I started writing this blog, it was because writing again was a "really want" for me. I felt like part of my soul was being ripped from me every day I didn't write. When I started writing this blog, I almost immediately experienced deep peace and satisfaction. I truly cannot explain how wonderful it has been for me.
What are my "really wants" right now? Three things came immediately:
"What are your intentions?" is the question it had for me. Ah.
Suddenly, the floodgates opened to all those things that I've been saying I really want to do but don't have time. While cleaning my very cluttered desk might have been one of them, that is a "should," not a "really want." What is the difference? A "should" is something that comes from outside of me. I "should" clean my desk so if someone comes to visit, they won't think I'm a slob. (Probably wouldn't happen anyway because generally I am a neatnik except at my desk.) The cluttered desk only bothers me when I start looking for something that I can't find, and amazingly, most of the time I am able to find things.
A "really want" is something that I want in my heart. A "really want" is something I really yearn for. When I started writing this blog, it was because writing again was a "really want" for me. I felt like part of my soul was being ripped from me every day I didn't write. When I started writing this blog, I almost immediately experienced deep peace and satisfaction. I truly cannot explain how wonderful it has been for me.
What are my "really wants" right now? Three things came immediately:
- Take better care of my body. Start exercising regularly again and get rid of sugar which really has negative effects on me. For over 25 years, I exercised almost every day, and I felt great. However, in the craziness of my life in recent years, I acted different priorities than what I know in my heart. I am going to start acting on what I know to be true for me: exercising regularly makes me feel great. And, the sugar...I give it up every year at Lent and really notice the difference how much better I feel, but my sweet tooth never takes long to lure me back. I know--truly know--that I am happier and more peaceful without it.
- Meditate every day--really meditate for a full 20 minutes. When my life was working better, exercise and meditation were rituals. They were the centerpieces around which I fit my life instead of vice versa.
- E-publish at least The Game Called Life. I started to do this a few months ago and the word document had totally gone missing from my computer. I can't find it anywhere--on my computer, on memory sticks, or on my back up hard drive. I am going to put it in my computer again (and back it up several places!) I sense that I really need to be up close and personal with this book again. Every time I read it, I am impacted by it. I think it is time to really have a relationship with it. If the government shutdown continues, I have a couple other books I've been wanting to get out there. Who knows? By the end of the furlough, I may have a whole library out there.
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.
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