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!

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

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.

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

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!”

Scratch The Wall

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I am house sitting for Judy this weekend so I have the great pleasure of being cared for by Fuji the cat. This morning before dawn Fuji woke me up by scratching on the wall. It was like finger nails on a chalkboard and made me laugh. Fuji does not couch her intentions in a layer of false modesty or in a set of imposed manners. She is direct and that is refreshing. After scratching the wall she sat on my chest. It was time for some good loving and then food. When she’d had enough of petting she jumped down and led me to her bowl. Later, after she ate, we re-pouched and slept until a more decent waking hour.

Fuji is sage. She is very old and seems thinner every time I see her. She still loves a good scratching and eats like farm hand. She sleeps, eats, and wanders her realm with great self-possession. Fuji does not entertain doubts. She chooses and acts. There is no gap created by inner debate. She does not hesitate and will always take the direct path to her intention while also living a circular life. She knows that wisdom takes time and some questions cannot be rushed; answers will come when enough life has been lived. Fuji is fond of Rilke and knows that we must live the questions.

My favorite thing to do with Fuji is tell her my troubles. I sit with her on the floor and confess my foibles and she listens attentively. I usually ask her to resolve my issues – to tell me what to do – and then act as if she is withholding the answer that I seek. “Fuji!” I exclaim, “I thought you were going to help me out with this one!” She purrs and sits at my feet as if to say, “This one is yours to resolve.” She is a good counselor. She listens with great attention and refuses to provide easy answers. She knows I have all my answers inside me and am usually looking in the wrong place for my resolution. Fuji also knows that all the drama of life is made-up so it is pointless to expend any energy dealing with it.

I strive to be like Fuji and know that I will be old, thinning, and eating soft foods with porcelain teeth before I have enough road behind me to stand with certainty in this question we call life. I look forward to scratching the wall at any hour of the day or night and saying to my human, “Love on me and then let’s eat!”

Root And Reach

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Here’s a simple image that came to me from Megan-the-brilliant. She and I have been having an extended conversation about roots and hope. She told me that roots are filled with hope. The green plant that grows from the hope-root is an expression of faith. Hope reaches into the earth providing a sturdy basis for faith to reach into the sky.

Both are nourished in their reaching. Hope is fed from reaching deep into the warm, fecund earth. Faith is fed bountifully by opening its green leaves to the sun and drinking deep draughts of light. The earth nourishment is released into the sky while the sunlight is pulled into the earth via the hope-root.

One cannot live without the other. They are, in fact, not separate even though it would seem that they reach in opposite directions and are nourished from seemingly different sources. The separations do not exist. The root-hope and plant-faith are in fact a single organism – as are the earth and sky. The separation lives only in our language and necessity to distinguish the parts.

Let Go

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The world was different when I woke up today. For weeks I’ve been wading through some confusion. Big questions yawned in front of me like a field of shifting boulders; the geography would not stand still so my maps were meaningless. I’d watched the boulders shift for weeks. I feared stepping into the field. All I knew to do was to watch. And, in my sleep last night, finally, the pattern emerged. The path was crystal clear. All that was required was to let go of a dream that I held dear. I had to say good-bye to an ideal. Holding the dream was at the heart of the shifting boulders. The moment I let go, the boulders stood still. The path was simple, clear, and necessary. I let go during the night. I awoke to a different world. I sighed. The inner quiet returned.

It’s a paradox when you discover that your dream is also your restriction. Or, perhaps it is more accurate to say that the attachment to a specific form of the dream is restricting the flow, limiting the possibilities. Dreams can take many forms. Most of the time I know enough to hold the dream and not the form. This time, the little kid in me stamped his feet and cried, “I want that one!” Why can’t I have that one? When I paid attention it was clear that every step on the path that I desired required pushing. I was forcing a direction and the energy pushed back and was hurting me. And as I pushed, as I forced the path, the only visible impact was to hurt those I wanted most to love. I realized that I was hurting everyone. I was hurting myself the most. The boulders started shifting because I was pushing. The resistance stopped my forward motion. I became too tired and scared to walk. I wanted my dream in a specific form and no other. The boulders moved faster and became more lethal.

And then I let go. To hold on would be to do more damage. To keep pushing would only cause those that I love more pain. When I let go the boulders not only stood still, they disappeared.

To what dreams do you cling that might be the source of your turmoil? What ideals are so lofty that they cannot reach good soil in which to take root and grow? Are you unknowingly sourcing your own discomfort? What are you forcing to happen when all indications are that it shouldn’t happen? What might show itself if you let go? What might come forward if you stopped pushing? In transformational presence coaching we talk about partnering with the energy; to partner with energy one must first listen to it. To partner requires paying attention to what is, not what you want to be.

I know these things. I teach them. And, I learn them again and again. The world always changes when we stop pushing long enough to sit down, survey the field, and listen. The hard work is rarely about the creation of the new. The hard work comes with admitting what is necessary to let go.