The Direction of Intention

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

From the department of very odd moments, twice in the past 24 hours I have walked by elderly men standing on street corners, arms raised to the sky, eyes open, blessing passers-by. They did not offer their blessing in full voice or with great intention. The blessing came in a whisper. It came as a ghost might whisper from behind you.

The first man I passed while I was walking home from tai-chi. I saw him from several blocks away and the closer I got the more he piqued my curiosity. It was clearly painful for him to keep his arms stretched toward the sky. As I passed he whispered his blessing and only then did I wonder if his outstretched arms were a form of penance: suffering for sins or reaching the godhood through intentional infliction of pain. I will never understand that. I’m not a believer in sin nor do I think one need suffer to experience the divine. From my perspective there is nothing corrupt about nature or anything (including humans) in nature. To me, the divine is in all things. One need not reach for it as much as realize it. Be it.

This morning, far across town from my first encounter, I saw another elderly man standing on a street corner, arms raised to the sky. I changed my route so that I might pass him. I wanted to know if he, too, would whisper a blessing as I went by. He did and I stopped and turned to look at him. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the sky, his arms shaking with the strain of their reach. It was odd. He offered a blessing to me but he refused to engage with me.

There are many paths up this mountain. There are many roads that lead back to the tree of life. Separation seeks unity in many forms. As I turned and walked away I wondered what worth was a blessing that comes from one who would look to the sky as a way of avoiding engagement with me. I turned back. I wanted to ask him if he wanted a cup of coffee. I wanted to know what path in life made him choose pain as his route to the godhood. I stopped myself. I wanted to respect his choices, not criticize them. I walked away glad that I see the divine in all of the eyes that look back at me. I felt relief that on my path I need not peer into the sky and disengage from this glorious world to seek for my reassurance.

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

Images from the past few days:

In the early morning light a young couple dance in the swirling pink blossoms raining from the trees.

A father sits at the base of a slide so his daughter sitting at the top will let go and slide.

A woman is trying to catch a train. She will miss it because she can’t carry her luggage down the escalator. Strangers intervene to help. They carry her luggage. They communicate with the conductor. She catches her train.

The mountain emerged from the mist and stopped commuters cold in their tracks. One muttered, “I’ll never get used to that.” Another muttered, “Me, too.”

A man enters a coffee house and the barista knows what he wants before he orders. The man does not take it for granted. He tells the barista, “No one takes the time to pay attention to me. Thank you.” The barista’s eyes tear up.

Carol told me that kindness is easy. It is easy to be kind. It is easy to transform the day of another. It is easy to offer your small gift to this big world. It is easy to enjoy the moment. It is easy to see the wonder. It’s easy if you pay attention. It’s easy if you open yourself to see it. The opportunities are all around us. It’s easy and it matters.

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

This is a random report on a random day.

The fun began when the Rejuvenation Fairly tried to insert herself into my new comic strip for entrepreneurs entitled Flip. As you may or may not know, the Rejuvenation Fairy smokes unfiltered cigarettes and cusses like a sailor. I’m trying to keep Flip relatively clean so I feared the rudeness the Rejuvenation Fairy could introduce into the world of Flip. I managed to hold her off for today but I know it’s only a matter of time before she wiggles her way in. She is nothing if not persistent. And she is very funny. And Flip is a cartoon strip so funny is a good thing. I will lose this battle.

The moment after I placated the Rejuvenation Fairy I discovered that Freddie Mercury had cast himself as an entity in Flip. I use the term “entity” specifically. He will now play the role of the “soul of business.” At first I protested but the more I thought about it the more I laughed and thought Freddie would appreciate his casting as an entity identified as the soul of business. So I’m going with it.

Of course, casting Freddie unleashed all manner of havoc when the Rejuvenation Fairy learned that Freddie was in but she was out. The characters in my mind are as jealous as actors in the real world. They vie for rolls. They get snarky when someone else gets the role and they do not. I amuse myself with their dramatics so I allowed the Rejuvenation Fairy to pitch a fit. I sat behind my casting agent desk and replied to her protests, “It’s not fair,” I agreed. “You are right.” I commiserated. Life is not fair. Especially in a world that is entirely a figment of my imagination.

What I most appreciate, what my characters have taught me is that it is all a figment of my imagination. We are creating this world together as surely as I am creating the Rejuvenation Fairy or Flip or casting the lead singer of Queen as my soul of business. All of our wrangling, our dramas, our power games, and our cultural misconceptions are concoctions. We make them up. We hurt or love each other in our imaginations long before we act it out on the world stage. This is the key to propaganda and it is at the heart of every abuse: I first must diminish you in my mind before it is okay for me to inflict my story upon you. Or, I must first recognize the power of love and feel it within myself before I am capable of weaving a story of love. Tell the story and that is what you create. Or, to say it another way, it is all made up. And it is all true. Both, and.

The Rejuvenation Fairy is telling me. “Enough already.” Freddie has a lyric that he’d like to sing but I’ll save that for another day.

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747. 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 was gorgeous in Seattle so I decided to walk across town to my studio. En route I saw six men dressed in full foliage-style camouflage. None were in the military. The first I barely noticed. Later when the second crossed my path I thought, “Oh. Bookends!” When, a few moments later I saw a third, my curiosity was piqued. One would not have caught my attention but six was a bowling team and a half so I began to ponder. What would inspire a man to dress in full camouflage when headed downtown? And, why so many camouflage clad men in such a short amount of time?

The point of camouflage is to blend in to the environment. Had they been wearing the taupe brick pattern or perhaps cement and asphalt design, their clothes might have served to conceal. I would have passed them without notice. Perhaps my subconscious would have alerted me to the oddity in the bricks but I would have glazed over it without raising their attire to my consciousness. Their camouflage achieved the exact opposite of its design! They stood out! Six foliage-pattern-peacocks sauntering down the urban streets of Seattle. Perhaps that was the point! To be seen in an environment that is otherwise anonymous. Amidst so many grey suits they were a festival of pattern and color.

Many years ago I used to buy green military cargo pants because the pockets were great for a painter. All kinds of rags and brushes fit in cargo pockets. They were comfortable and infinitely destroy-able so they were perfect for artist wear. Perhaps my bowling team and a half were dedicated to function and comfort. Had they been wearing only the pants or only the shirt I would have thought them artistic but no self-respecting artist wears statements of regiment and uniformity. In full regalia they were making a statement other than artistry.

Clothes are a statement. Mine are just as much a statement as are the choices made by my bowling team plus two. Perhaps that is what caught my attention. It is an odd statement of choice when a person dons camouflage while they have full freedom of choice. Sameness in the military serves an important function. To choose uniformity as a route to self-expression is a paradox almost too beautiful to ignore. Or, perhaps my guys are not comfortable with choices. Perhaps self-expression is too much to consider so military gear is a nice solution to overwhelming angst. I remember watching a film about a man who came to the USA from a third world country. The first time he entered an American grocery store he was completely overwhelmed by too many choices. It’s possible that my bowling team plus two suffer from option anxiety.

Of course, I am speculating. Perhaps their mothers still lay out their clothes; matching tops to bottoms is easier when dealing only with camouflage. One need not think too much when there is only one option.

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