End The Ambiguity

Photo by Paulo Brabo

Photo by Paulo Brabo

I’ve been reading books about training a puppy because I have a puppy who already knows how to train me. Whenever I need to level the playing field I buy a book. I’ve bought several on puppy training and still I’m being out-maneuvered at every turn.

The notion I’m reading over and over again in my books is that puppies are happy when there is no ambiguity (no grey zone – see yesterday’s post: Exit The Grey). Puppies don’t do well with debates. They require a clear and consistent message.

In this regard, people are no different than puppies. Children prosper when they know the boundaries. People play when they know they will be safe. Artistic freedom is often defined by the constraints. Doug Durham, a brilliant teacher of at-risk youth, once told me that his job was to draw boundaries and hold them: kids know they matter when the adults hold a clear, fair, and consistent line.

Coincidently, I’ve also been rereading The Mastery of Love by Don Miguel Ruiz and it turns out that fear stories (stories of enabling) are filled with ambiguous grey zones and the subsequent debates that weak boundaries breed. To master love is to practice love. To practice love is to eliminate the grey zone. Eliminating the grey zone requires knowing what is yours-to-do and what is not yours-to-do. It is puppy simple: taking responsibility for your happiness is yours-to-do.  Taking responsibility for the happiness of others is not yours-to-do. There’s no grey when the message to your self is clear and consistent. There is no grey zone when your message to others is clear and consistent. Life becomes the mastery of love.

Assuming ownership for your own happiness ends the ambiguity. Paradoxically, a black and white line opens life to a full range of color. When you understand that your happiness is your responsibility, there is no one else to blame. What remains is the recognition of love without condition; something my puppy knows without doubt and is diligently attempting to teach me.

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Practice

It has been the perfect autumn day: warm sun and a drive along the shore. The trees are just beginning to turn. Autumn days demand a slower pace. They inspire reflection and quiet. I’m giving great slices of time to staring into space. I am not asking any deep or life altering questions. I’m listening. I’m closing my eyes and feeling the sun on my face.

Yesterday we stopped work early and walked north on the beach. The lake was quiet. It is listening, too. We found two adirondack chairs and sat with our feet up on a log and talked about writing songs and ideas for paintings. We talked about spiritual practices and meditation. We talked about new beginnings and tying up loose ends.

Art has always been a spiritual practice for me. When I was younger it was my route to inner quiet. While the rest of my life might be a cacophony of mind noise, the moment I picked up my brushes I grew quiet. I became present. As I have been learning to make all-the-world my studio – and consciously making every action of my life the same as picking up my brushes – I’ve grown to understand that every action I take is really a spiritual practice. How I do what I do, being as present as possible in all of my life’s moments, is a practice.

Not only are all actions a form of spiritual practice, but all places are sacred places. The idea of separation -being in church or out of church – is an illusion. It’s a recognition. If we are to walk a sacred path then we are never off the path. Here’s another cliché that is mostly true: It is the in little routines and small moments of life where the riches are found. Sitting on the shores of Lake Michigan in an adirondack chair, talking about art with Kerri, the autumn sun on my face, the waves lolling in – what could be more sensual, sacred, eternal and passing?

Dance With Grace

Chris wrote to me of Grace. His words were beautiful and I have been meditating on them these past few days. Chris has that way with me. We used to take long walks or sit in cafes late at night after rehearsal and talk about god, faith and spirituality. Chris is solid in his faith and is among the few people in my life who has deeply challenged and informed my personal path through the forests of belief and disbelief in the divine. He gets me thinking. Better, he helps me listen to the deep rivers within me.

Grace has many definitions but the one that is percolating within me is Grace as a gift of the divine to humankind. Another definition is the generosity of spirit. And aren’t these two definitions remarkably similar? Here’s the phrase from Chris that most struck me:

Unless, we experience in human form what undeserved, unmerited Love looks like, we will always be skeptical or confused about what Grace even means.

Isn’t that lovely? He is writing about Grace as a gift of love freely given from one person to another; no strings attached. He implies that love is what happens between us and what happens between us is divine. This is Grace.

This morning Skip told me of a book called The Gift. The author offers different understandings of what it means to give a gift. In some cultures a gift is something experienced and then passed on – receiving a gift comes with the expectation of giving it. The value of the gift is in the giving of it, not the possessing of it. It is to understand “gift” as a verb, an ongoing action. From this point of view, it is impossible to separate the gift from the giver. If love is the gift freely given, love is also the giver. And, it follows: to receive love freely given is to become love. The giver and the receiver unite in an ongoing dance called “life.” This love dance is Grace.

Each of us has unique gift to offer the world and all too often withhold our gift or hide it or fear it. We ask, “What if I’m not good enough…?” What if the generosity you seek from the world would become available the moment you became generous with offering your gift? What if the real value of your gift was in the giving of it. What would your life look like if your gift was freely given? Isn’t that what we strive to do: fully express without inhibition or expectation our gift to the world? Isn’t that what we call “fulfillment?” Isn’t this freedom? Isn’t this cycle of giving freely and receiving freely and giving…, the generosity of spirit? Isn’t that Grace?

For a humorous look at the wonderful world of innovation and new ventures, check out my new comic strip Fl!p and the gang at Fl!p Comics.

Choose Love

Kerri is practicing. Tomorrow she will sing for a wedding. The song she is singing is original, one of her new compositions. It takes my breath away.

“What kind of miracle had to happen for this to be…..”

Chris emailed earlier today with some big news. He will be a daddy in the spring. He will be a great father.

“Come let me love you. Let me give my life to you.” Now she is singing a song from John Denver. Isn’t this a song a daddy might sing to his child?

I slept in today. I’m doing that a lot lately, so deep is my exhaustion. Sleep feels good! The sun was streaming in the windows and warmed me. I had work to do but chose to linger in my blankets. Is there anything better than the sun on an autumn morning?

“Is it love that brings you here or is it love that brings you life
There is love…”

Skip will fly this weekend to meet his new granddaughter. Her name is Hazel and her grandpa already loves her to the stars. New life is all around! I can only imagine what it must feel like to see your granddaughter for the first time. Is it love that brings you life? Ask Skip. Yes. Oh, yes.

Now Kerri is singing a song by Dan Fogelberg. When I was younger I listened to Dan Fogelberg all the time. Today, for me, this song is both old and new. It is a kind of time capsule:

“Stronger than any mountain cathedral. Truer than any tree ever grew…”

It is a funny thing about the music we choose for weddings. The lyrics sound cliché unless you’re in love or meeting your granddaughter or standing in the river- and then the lyrics become personal. Is it love that brings you life? There is nothing cliché about that question. It should be asked every day.

In the book, The Pilgrimage by Paulo Coehlo, at the very beginning of the story, the guide Petrus says to Paulo that the path must be rooted in agape. Root your action in love. Make choices from a loving place. Orient yourself to love. That, too, can sound like a cliché until you actually find the root and begin living your life from love and not fear. There is nothing cliché about embracing power and power, true power, is always born of love. The other choice is control and control is the blossom of fear.

“Deeper than any forest primeval, I am in love with you….”

Yes. And, again, yes!

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For a humorous look at the wonderful world of innovation and new ventures, check out my new comic strip Fl!p and the gang at Fl!p Comics.

Take Off Your Shoes

Today I participated on a call with an extraordinary community. They are trying to identify next steps and set some new growth intentions. They are in the business of transformation and isn’t it lovely that they themselves are in the process of transforming? There’s nothing like first hand experience going through a passage to inform how you will help others move through their passage.

Each member of this community is dedicated to transforming their lives and, in that way, also transforming the world in which they work and live and love. During the call my imagination was flooded with images of bare feet in the grass, feet digging into the sand. I saw patterns and routines. I saw shovels with dirt and lives passing one after the other. I wanted to shout, “Get dirty!” Transformation is not meant to be clean. It is not abstract. It is happening every day in a million small ways. A man got off the bus and took a deep breath of air and was glad that he was alive. A mother packed lunch for her child for the umpteenth time. I saw a homeless man use the curb as his pillow. It was a place in the sun and he sighed and smiled when his body settled. Transformation is happening every moment of every day in every life. When we ignored the homeless man, we too were transformed. The door swings both ways. Think on this: when is transformation not happening?

The better questions are, “Are you conscious of your transforming self? Are you present with it and grateful for it?” Last night as I walked home I passed beneath a tree alive with bird chatter. There must have been hundreds of them. I could not see them in the dark but their gossip stopped me in my tracks and snapped me into my moment. In that moment I was transformed. I was part of the conversation.

I wanted to whisper to my fellow callers, we have it backwards. The divine is ordinary. It is everyday stuff. Take your shoes off and feel it through the soles of your feet.

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For a humorous look at the wonderful world of innovation and new ventures, check out my new comic strip Fl!p and the gang at Fl!p Comics.

Share The Quilt

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Linda led me around her house and told me stories of her quilts. She has a large atrium with dozens of quilts draped over the balcony. There are quilts on every bed in the house. “This one my grandmother made for me on my 5th birthday,” she said. “Grandma died shortly after that so I never really knew her. That’s why I cherish this quilt.”

She explained to me that many people are shocked to see her family quilts in use or displayed. “They tell me that they’ll get ruined or the colors will fade.” She paused for a moment and added, “But I think these were made to be used and seen, not to be tucked away in some closet. Life is meant to be lived, not preserved.”

This has been one of the lessons of this past year: Life is meant to be lived, not preserved or maintained or suffered or controlled or endured. It sounds like a cliché. You will find the phrase on greeting cards everywhere. But ask yourself, “Why do we have to remind ourselves that life is meant to be lived?”

I’m learning that living life fully is impossible if you have cut yourself off from your root. Living life fully requires a deep and solid root system that supports your arms as they reach to the sky and drink in the sun. Linda is surrounded by her legacy. She cannot tell me about the quilts without telling me of the people who made them and the moment she received them. Her roots are alive and well. She lives fully. You can tell by the sparkle in her eyes.

“The one on the bed where you are sleeping was made by mother. She loved to quilt and so do I,” Linda smiled. “Here’s the thing,” she said, “quilting takes time and attention, something most people don’t have enough of these days.”

Know Your Root

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With Tom’s death yesterday I’ve been thinking about legacy. So many people called me today to make sure that I knew of his passing. I’ve had many wonderful and brief conversations with people who knew what Tom meant to me. All of them said, “His passing has left a hole….”

Tom taught me more about the theatre and teaching and story than any other person. He was my great mentor and later my friend. The irony is that I never saw him direct a play (I caught a rehearsal or two) or teach a class. I did, however, spend hours and hours listening to him tell stories. Tom was an amazing storyteller. I spent hours asking him questions. I carry forward his philosophy of working. All of my work in education is sourced in Tom. Every time I stand in front of an audience and tell a story I carry him forward.

He liked to tell this story: When he was a little boy the 90-year old Countess Valencia would visit the ranch each Sunday to have a chat with his grandmother. The Countess was a local girl who’d married a count. They lived on a vast ranch nearby and the count was long dead. Because the Countess was too old to get out of the car, Tom’s grandmother would sit with her in the backseat. They’d have tea and talk. One Sunday, the Countess opened the car door and called Tom over. She asked him to sit in her lap. Tom said she was a little bird and brittle and he was afraid that she would break but he crawled into her lap never-the-less. She said to him, “I want you always to remember what I am about to tell you. This might not seem important to you now but it will later when you are old enough to understand.” She paused and said, “Thomas, you are sitting in the lap of someone who sat in the lap of Abraham Lincoln. He smelled of lilac water and saddle soap.”

He had a lifelong fascination for Abraham Lincoln. He read every book. He even looked a bit like Mr. Lincoln. Abraham Lincoln is not so far in the past. Two long lives stand between him and me.

Tom impacted more people than any other person I’ve since met. If I ever have or will tell you a story, I’ll be introducing you to Tom.

Receive The Message

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Images from this magic day:

The space needle disappeared into the fog. A jogger saw it and jogged in place for a full minute before pointing at the shrouded space needle and mouthed, “Holy Cow.” He touched his heart and spun around and then jogged on.

A young man stood very still until the pigeons gathered around him. And then he slowly started to spin and the pigeons lifted off the ground, swirling around him. He laughed a belly laugh and then he stood very still until the pigeons again gathered around him.

A child from another life touched my heart. She had my eyes and hair that she refused to comb.

Skip glanced at his phone. His face, for a moment, looked as if he’d seen a ghost. It wasn’t possible but his infant granddaughter had sent him a message. He caught the mischief and burst into laughter.

I took a walk as the sun was setting and the night grew still as the sky melded pink into purple. Gratitude like a rushing river gushed from me and overran my banks.

She asked me the best question I’ve ever been asked: “What keeps you from receiving this with joy?”

The biggest shooting star, the kind that you can actually see the flames right before it disappears, arced across the night sky at just the right moment. I received the message.

Listen To The Dragonfly

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This is a note to the blue dragonfly that marked the path today. I am given to seeing metaphor and symbol in almost everything. Serendipity and synchronicity hold hands everyday in my life. Karma meets coincidence. All year I’ve told people, “There have been helping hands all along this path.” There have been harbingers and guardians. To me, a few of my friends look a lot like angels.

Dragonflies have been present throughout this time of wandering, too. One year ago I came to a leaping point in my life that was marked by a dragonfly. It was singly dedicated to staying by my side. I have come to think of that particular dragonfly as a threshold guardian. I was ready for the passage so it accompanied me as I stepped through the water (the deep memory) and into unknown lands. I literally passed through a watercourse with the dragonfly as my constant companion. He left when I made it to the far shore and leapt.

A week ago, I was visited by an orange and crimson dragonfly. I’d just emerged from the faery ring when it came calling. This was a visitor of another sort. It felt like reassurance. If it could have spoken it might have said, “Did you feel that? The faery ring signals a change. The cycle is shifting with this new moon: the centrifugal will become centripetal. The hard growth is nearly done. The fruit of your labor will ripen now. All is spiraling back to the center.” This dragonfly was a harbinger of the return. “You are almost home,” it whispered with its wings.

Today the dragonfly was blue. This, I believe, was Hermes. He is the messenger of the gods, walking freely between the world of mortals and the divine. He is also the protector of travelers and I think he came today to give comfort, protection and to deliver a message. The message read something like this: despite what you think, you do not walk this path alone. I am with you.

And so to the blue dragonfly, thank you. The message was clear. Keep stepping into the unknown. I know that there is no other direction. I know that my intellect and reason are of no use on this path. There is no sense to be made. Intuition is all.

Where Are You Going?

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1) Pastor Tom’s father died quite suddenly during a family gathering. He was sitting in a room filled with family and play and laughter. When death came for him he was surrounded by his children and grandchildren. The last thing he saw on this earth was the people in this life that he most loved.

2) Late night at the train station in Chicago the ticket master asked, “Did you have a good time?”

“Yes. We had a great time.”

He said, “You have to take advantage of every moment in this life!”

“Yes,” we said. “Every moment.”

“Life is short!” he smiled. “You can’t let a moment slip by unnoticed.”

We smiled. No you can’t.

“It’s all about spreading the love. Keep on spreading the love!” he called after us as we walked toward the train.

3) It’s late at night in the Seattle airport. I have a very early morning flight and decided not to sleep. I’ve come to the airport to spend the night writing. The Starbucks is open 24 hours in the main atrium and as I approach the counter I say, “It must be hard to work here all night.” The barista responds, “I love the night.” I tell her that I do, too. She continues, “We’re all on our way from here to somewhere and just don’t know it. Working here at night I see it. Life is a journey,” she says, aware of her cliché. I smile at her. She adds, “This life is all one big continuous trip. I love it!” I do, too. Then she asks, “So where are you going?” I’m going to the same place as Pastor Tom’s father. But I don’t say that. I tell her that I’m going on an adventure. She smiles and says, “Me, too!”