Truly Powerful People (178)

178.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Today I cleaned my studio. I made space for the new. There are few rituals I enjoy more and few rituals that I take as seriously. It has been months since I painted. I have been empty, in winter. The first time I experienced this emptiness I panicked! I wondered if my artist had left me. I wondered if the well of my gift had run dry.

The answer to both questions was, of course, yes. I’m not sure if other artists experience what I do, but I have seasons. I go fallow, dark, underground. The first cycle I panicked and pushed and became more empty and dark. It was the magic Karola who told me that my cup could not refill unless I allowed it to drain completely. So I stopped chasing. I sat still, lost in the woods of my self-pity and without faith. One day, months later, I felt a stirring; the seeds buried deep within me began to crack open, tender shoots (impulses to draw) reached the surface and I found myself again with a pencil in my hand.

Now, I know enough to sit still, to be quiet and enjoy being alive without purpose or direction. I’ve even learned to rest (my inner puritan always grouses but I’ve learned to love that voice, too – like a cranky old neighbor who wants attention I listen to the unforgiving work ethic and smile. “More lemonade?” I ask). When I feel the seeds stirring, I set a full day aside. I go into the studio, close out the world, put on some “welcome home” music, and do some spring-cleaning.

Faith is no longer an issue. I’ve learned that faith, like trust, follows experience, not the other way around.

Truly Powerful People (142)

142.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

I am 18 years old and work at a school for developmentally disabled children and adults. I spend the majority of each day in the therapy pool: the water is VERY warm to help with mobility, to soothe and loosen the stiff or frozen muscles and joints of the students.

I love this work because the simple things are never taken for granted. A student, Danny, has been working for months to catch a ball. One day in the pool his little frozen hand managed to stretched open and a miracle happened: it closed in time to catch the red sponge ball. After a moment of stunned silence everyone in the pool roared in triumph. Word spread outside the pool and down the hall. The whole school cheered and people cried; Danny caught the ball. By the size of the celebration a visitor might have thought we won the world cup (we did).

This is what I learned: when eating takes Herculean effort, when walking down the hall requires all the energy that you have for a day, when the greater society will never know how to include you, when it takes all the love in your heart and effort in your body to open your hand, you are much more capable of seeing the miracles; they are all around us.

Sometimes when I have stopped seeing, when the colors of this world go dull and flat, I remember Danny and remember that the miracles are riding the bus with me or sitting in the next desk, or driving in the car that just cut me off. I remember that each of us has something that we desperately want to do and strive to do and fear to do. I remember that it may not seem like much from other people’s perspective but each of us, in one way or another, is trying to open our hand and catch that little red sponge ball.

Truly Powerul People (131)

131.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Dear Horatio,
There are many, many ways to suffer in this world. There is starvation and cold. There is war and the brutality that befalls people living in the way of a resource like oil, rubber or water. These are the obvious and are easy to see.

Many forms of suffering live only in our heads but are no less real because of it. They are spawned in pools of false expectations like trying to be perfect (whatever that means) or when false comparisons obscure your unique offer to the world. They come from false investments in a story that says you can or can’t do something or that you are not valid until…. These forms of suffering are insidious and pervasive; I see them everywhere. Almost every person I meet is suffering because they are hiding their investment in the idea that they are not good enough or that they can’t realize their dreams. They discount the road already traveled; they judge themselves for every decision. Hiding compounds the suffering and is exhausting.

I have read mountains of material on the fear of success and I doubt that it is success that we fear. It is being seen. It is vulnerable to show up 100% and make your strong offer to the world without investment in what others might think; without investment in how your offer (you) will be received.

When I am afraid I check in with what I am doing (am I making art or trying to please?). If I am trying to please I stop and throw away what I am doing because it has no merit. If I am making art I make a list of the actions I need to take. The actions are rarely difficult; the story I wrap around them is where the challenge arises. How can you take the actions without investing in the story? I break the actions into small steps. I take the first step and actively doubt the story I try to tell myself. The purpose of the story is to keep me from moving, to keep me from showing up. How can you invest in the actions and not the story?

[to be continued]

Two Practices Useful For Stepping Off The Edge

This is an excerpt from my forthcoming (and yet to be titled) book in collaboration with Patti Digh

Photo by Paulo Brabo

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Two Practices

There must be a moment when the butterfly, newly emerged from the cocoon, virgin wings gently flapping, untested and unknown, releases for the first time its hold on the branch; it cannot know what will happen because it has never experienced flight and yet it lets go. It steps into space. Can you imagine? The earthbound caterpillar following an internal imperative, an impulse devoid of sense-making, weaves a chamber around itself and falls into a deep sleep, fully protected, safe and warm. When it awakens it is profoundly changed. Does it wonder, “who am I?” Its once comfy cocoon is now a complete misfit for its body, a giant cramped in a kid’s bed it wrestles mightily to be free of this tight chamber. Once free of its wrapping it shakes and stretches its new body for the first time – and recognizes nothing about itself. Had it a mirror it would gape at its reflection looking for some remnant of its former self. Nothing in its experience has prepared it for a body with wings. Nothing in its experience has prepared it for that first big step into space. And, at the same time, every impulse in its body says, “Let go! See what happens!” The same imperative that drove the caterpillar into the cocoon fulfills itself in when the butterfly steps into space.

 

We do not underestimate how difficult it is to step out of the cocoon of the story you tell yourself about yourself though, if you are reading this book, you are probably like the newly minted butterfly still locked in the cocoon of an old story. You are following an inner imperative that makes no intellectual sense. If you are like the rest of us you daily ask yourself, “What am I doing?” Following an inner imperative necessarily comes with struggle because, like the butterfly, it requires you to leave the safety and comfort of everything you know and step into a new way of being that makes no sense from the old perspective. The struggle to be free of the cocoon is necessary – in fact it is vital to the growth and survival of the butterfly. In fact, if you help a butterfly out of its cocoon, if you try to eliminate the struggle, you will kill it. The inner imperative requires an obstacle and this is true in every process of transformation.

 

To help you begin the process of wrestling your way out of the old story we offer these two practices that are helpful in the struggle – these are the first of sixteen practices and form the foundation upon which all the others are built. And as is true of every practice we offer, you will only benefit from them if you practice them. They are practices; they are not inert concepts:

 

Have the experience first and then make meaning of the experience second. Much of what we ask you to do won’t make sense until the end of the series. Making meaning second is actually how things work naturally with your brain and yet we find most people invested in the idea that they need to make sense of something BEFORE they try it; that’s folly and will keep you in the cocoon forever. It’s the equivalent of the butterfly standing on the branch saying, “No Way! I’ve never done this before! I don’t care what the rest of you do but this caterpillar is keeping its belly safe on the ground!” Following an imperative rarely makes sense until after you step off the branch. So, we ask that you suspend your need to know, your need to control, your need to be right and open yourself to having experiences that may or may not make sense.  We promise the meaning will emerge – it always does. Practice having the experience first and then make meaning of the experience second.

 

All significant learning happens at the edges of your comfort zone. Think about it: it is generally uncomfortable to “not know.” In fact, most people go to great lengths to create the illusion that they know because to “not know” is vulnerable. The first thing we do when we are uncomfortable is to judge ourselves and/or others, usually both. When you go into judgment you impede your capacity to learn. Self-judgment creates a thick blanket of fog around you; it’s one of the most dense stories you can generate and (obviously) obscures your capacity to see. Ironically, most of us have an inner superhero that tells a great story about what it does in the face of danger but has no idea of what it really does when uncomfortable. The second practice is to suspend your judgments and learn: witness what you actually do at the edges as opposed to what you think you do. Suspending your judgments allows you to see and honor your choices: running away is just as valid as jumping over the edge or standing very still –  they are valuable because they are conscious choices available to you whey you give yourself the gift of not having to know. Suspending your judgment affords you the privilege of learning something new.